.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 54214
   :PG.Title: A Story of the Golden Age
   :PG.Released: 2017-02-20
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: James Baldwin
   :MARCREL.ill: Howard Pyle
   :DC.Title: A Story of the Golden Age
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1915
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

=========================
A STORY OF THE GOLDEN AGE
=========================

.. clearpage::

.. pgheader::

.. container:: coverpage

   .. vspace:: 3

   .. _`Cover art`:

   .. figure:: images/img-cover.jpg
      :figclass: white-space-pre-line
      :align: center
      :alt: Cover art

      Cover art

   .. vspace:: 4

.. container:: frontispiece

   .. _`PYRRHUS FINDS PHILOCTETES IN A CAVE`:

   .. figure:: images/img-front.jpg
      :figclass: white-space-pre-line
      :align: center
      :alt: PYRRHUS FINDS PHILOCTETES IN A CAVE.

      PYRRHUS FINDS PHILOCTETES IN A CAVE.

   .. vspace:: 4

.. container:: titlepage center white-space-pre-line

   .. class:: x-large

      *HEROES OF THE OLDEN TIME*

   .. class:: x-large bold

      A STORY

   .. class:: large bold

      OF

   .. class:: xx-large bold

      THE GOLDEN AGE

   .. vspace:: 2

   .. class:: medium

      BY

   .. class:: large

      JAMES BALDWIN

   .. vspace:: 3

   .. class:: medium

      *Illustrated by Howard Pyle*

   .. vspace:: 3

   .. class:: medium

      NEW YORK
      CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
      1927

   .. vspace:: 4

.. container:: verso center white-space-pre-line

   .. class:: small

      COPYRIGHT, 1887, 1888, BY
      CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

   .. class:: small

      COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY
      JAMES BALDWIN

   .. class:: small

      Printed in the United States of America

   .. vspace:: 4

.. container:: dedication center white-space-pre-line

   .. class:: medium

      TO MAY.

   .. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE FORE WORD`:

.. class:: center large bold

   THE FORE WORD.

.. vspace:: 2

You have heard of Homer, and of the two wonderful
poems, the Iliad and the Odyssey, which bear his
name.  No one knows whether these poems were
composed by Homer, or whether they are the work of
many different poets.  And, in fact, it matters very
little about their authorship.  Everybody agrees that
they are the grandest poems ever sung or written or
read in this world; and yet, how few persons,
comparatively, have read them, or know any thing about
them except at second-hand!  Homer commences his
story, not at the beginning, but "in the midst of
things;" hence, when one starts out to read the
Iliad without having made some special preparation
beforehand, he finds it hard to understand, and
is tempted, in despair, to stop at the end of the first
book.  Many people are, therefore, content to admire
the great masterpiece of poetry and story-telling simply
because others admire it, and not because they have
any personal acquaintance with it.

Now, it is not my purpose to give you a "simplified
version" of the Iliad or the Odyssey.  There
are already many such versions; but the best way
for you, or any one else, to read Homer, is *to read
Homer*.  If you do not understand Greek, you can read
him in one of the many English translations.  You
will find much of the spirit of the original in the
translations by Bryant, by Lord Derby, and by old
George Chapman, as well as in the admirable prose
rendering by Butcher and Lang; but you can get
none of it in any so-called simplified version.

My object in writing this "Story of the Golden
Age" has been to pave the way, if I dare say it, to
an enjoyable reading of Homer, either in translations
or in the original.  I have taken the various legends
relating to the causes of the Trojan war, and, by
assuming certain privileges never yet denied to
story-tellers, have woven all into one continuous narrative,
ending where Homer's story begins.  The hero of the
Odyssey--a character not always to be admired or
commended--is my hero.  And, in telling the story of
his boyhood and youth, I have taken the opportunity
to repeat, for your enjoyment, some of the most
beautiful of the old Greek myths.  If I have, now and then,
given them a coloring slightly different from the
original, you will remember that such is the right of the
story-teller, the poet, and the artist.  The essential
features of the stories remain unchanged.  I have, all
along, drawn freely from the old tragedians, and now
and then from Homer himself; nor have I thought
it necessary in every instance to mention authorities,
or to apologize for an occasional close imitation of
some of the best translations.  The pictures of old
Greek life have, in the main, been derived from the
Iliad and the Odyssey, and will, I hope, help you to
a better understanding of those poems when you
come to make acquaintance directly with them.

Should you become interested in the "Story of the
Golden Age," as it is here related, do not be
disappointed by its somewhat abrupt ending; for you will
find it continued by the master-poet of all ages, in a
manner both inimitable and unapproachable.  If you
are pleased with the discourse of the porter at the
gate, how much greater shall be your delight when
you stand in the palace of the king, and hearken to
the song of the royal minstrel!

.. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center large bold

   CONTENTS.

.. vspace:: 2

`THE FORE WORD`_

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent small

   ADVENTURE

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

I.  `A Glimpse of the World`_
II.  `A Voyage on the Sea`_
III.  `The Centre of the Earth`_
IV.  `The Silver-Bowed Apollo`_
V.  `The King of Cattle Thieves`_
VI.  `Two Famous Boar Hunts`_
VII.  `At Old Cheiron's School`_
VIII.  `The Golden Apple`_
IX.  `The Swineherd`_
X.  `The Sea Robbers of Messene`_
XI.  `The Bow of Eurytus`_
XII.  `The Most Beautiful Woman in the World`_
XIII.  `A Race for a Wife`_
XIV.  `How a Great Hero met His Master`_
XV.  `Long Live the King`_
XVI.  `The Children of Prometheus`_
XVII.  `A Cause of War`_
XVIII.  `An Unwilling Hero`_
XIX.  `Heroes in Strange Garb`_
XX.  `Becalmed at Aulis`_
XXI.  `The Long Siege`_

.. vspace:: 1

`THE AFTER WORD`_

.. vspace:: 1

`NOTES`_

.. vspace:: 1

`INDEX TO PROPER NAMES`_

.. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center large bold

   LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

.. vspace:: 2

`Pyrrhus Finds Philoctetes in a Cave`_ . . . Frontispiece

.. vspace:: 1

`Odysseus and His Mother`_

.. vspace:: 1

`Apollo Slaying the Python`_

.. vspace:: 1

`Meleager Refuses to Help in the Defence of the City`_

.. vspace:: 1

`The Silver-Footed Thetis Rising from the Waves`_

.. vspace:: 1

`The Swineherd Telling His Story to Odysseus`_

.. vspace:: 1

`Alpheus and Arethusa`_

.. vspace:: 1

`Odysseus Advises King Tyndareus Concerning Helen's Suitors`_

.. vspace:: 1

`Deianeira and the Dying Centaur Nessus`_

.. vspace:: 1

`Prometheus`_

.. vspace:: 1

`Palamedes Tests the Madness of Odysseus`_

.. vspace:: 1

`Odysseus and Menelaus Persuading Agamemnon to Sacrifice Iphigenia`_

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center large bold

   *MAPS.*

.. vspace:: 1

`A Glimpse of the World.`_ (The Map which Phemius Drew in the Sand)

.. vspace:: 1

`General Map of Greece`_





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD`:

.. class:: center x-large bold

   A STORY OF THE GOLDEN AGE.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE I.*

.. class:: center large bold

   A GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD.

.. vspace:: 2

To the simple-hearted folk who dwelt in that island
three thousand years ago, there was never a sweeter
spot than sea-girt Ithaca.  Rocky and rugged though
it may have seemed, yet it was indeed a smiling land
embosomed in the laughing sea.  There the air was
always mild and pure, and balmy with the breath of
blossoms; the sun looked kindly down from a cloudless
sky, and storms seldom broke the quiet ripple of the
waters which bathed the shores of that island home.
On every side but one, the land rose straight up out of
the deep sea to meet the feet of craggy hills and
mountains crowned with woods.  Between the heights were
many narrow dells green with orchards; while the
gentler slopes were covered with vineyards, and the steeps
above them gave pasturage to flocks of long-wooled
sheep and mountain-climbing goats.

On that side of the island which lay nearest the
rising sun, there was a fine, deep harbor; for there the
shore bent inward, and only a narrow neck of land lay
between the eastern waters and the western sea.  Close
on either side of this harbor arose two mountains,
Neritus and Nereius, which stood like giant watchmen
overlooking land and sea and warding harm away; and on
the neck, midway between these mountains, was the
king's white palace, roomy and large, with blossoming
orchards to the right and the left, and broad lawns in
front, sloping down to the water's edge.

Here, many hundreds of years ago, lived Laertes--a
man of simple habits, who thought his little island
home a kingdom large enough, and never sighed for a
greater.  Not many men had seen so much of the world
as he; for he had been to Colchis with Jason and the
Argonauts, and his feet had trod the streets of every
city in Hellas.  Yet in all his wanderings he had seen
no fairer land than rocky Ithaca.  His eyes had been
dazzled by the brightness of the Golden Fleece, and the
kings of Argos and of Ilios had shown him the gold
and gems of their treasure-houses.  Yet what cared he
for wealth other than that which his flocks and
vineyards yielded him?  There was hardly a day but that
he might be seen in the fields guiding his plough, or
training his vines, or in his orchards pruning his trees,
or gathering the mellow fruit.  He had all the good
gifts of life that any man needs; and for them he never
failed to thank the great Giver, nor to render praises
to the powers above.  His queen, fair Anticleia,
daughter of the aged chief Autolycus, was a true housewife,
overseeing the maidens at their tasks, busying herself
with the distaff and the spindle, or plying the shuttle
at the loom; and many were the garments, rich with
finest needlework, which her own fair fingers had
fashioned.

To Laertes and Anticleia one child had been born,--a
son, who, they hoped, would live to bring renown to
Ithaca.  This boy, as he grew, became strong in body
and mind far beyond his playfellows; and those who
knew him wondered at the shrewdness of his speech no
less than at the strength and suppleness of his limbs.
And yet he was small of stature, and neither in face
nor in figure was he adorned with any of Apollo's grace.
On the day that he was twelve years old, he stood with
his tutor, the bard Phemius, on the top of Mount
Neritus; below him, spread out like a great map, lay what
was to him the whole world.  Northward, as far as his
eyes could see, there were islands great and small; and
among them Phemius pointed out Taphos, the home of
a sea-faring race, where Anchialus, chief of warriors,
ruled.  Eastward were other isles, and the low-lying
shores of Acarnania, so far away that they seemed mere
lines of hazy green between the purple waters and the
azure sky.  Southward beyond Samos were the wooded
heights of Zacynthus, and the sea-paths which led to
Pylos and distant Crete.  Westward was the great sea,
stretching away and away to the region of the setting
sun; the watery kingdom of Poseidon, full of strange
beings and unknown dangers,--a sea upon which none
but the bravest mariners dared launch their ships.

The boy had often looked upon these scenes of beauty
and mystery, but to-day his heart was stirred with an
unwonted feeling of awe and of wonder at the greatness
and grandeur of the world as it thus lay around
him.  Tears filled his eyes as he turned to his tutor.
"How kind it was of the Being who made this pleasant
earth, to set our own sunny Ithaca right in the centre
of it, and to cover it all over with a blue dome like
a tent!  But tell me, do people live in all those lands
that we see?  I know that there are men dwelling in
Zacynthus and in the little islands of the eastern sea;
for their fishermen often come to Ithaca, and I have
talked with them.  And I have heard my father tell of
his wonderful voyage to Colchis, which is in the region
of the rising sun; and my mother often speaks of her
old home in Parnassus, which also is far away towards
the dawn.  Is it true that there are men, women, and
children, living in lands which we cannot see? and do
the great powers above us care for them as for the
good people of Ithaca?  And is there anywhere another
king so great as my father Laertes, or another kingdom
so rich and happy as his?"

Then Phemius told the lad all about the land of
the Hellenes beyond the narrow sea; and, in the sand
at their feet, he drew with a stick a map of all the
countries known to him.

.. _`A GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD.`:

.. figure:: images/img-004.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: A GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD. The Map which Phemius drew in the Sand.

   A GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD.
   The Map which Phemius drew in the Sand.

"We cannot see half of the world from this spot,"
said the bard, "neither is Ithaca the centre of it, as it
seems to you.  I will draw a picture of it here in the
sand, and show you where lies every land and every
sea.  Right here in the very centre," said he, heaping
up a pile of sand into the shape of a mountain,--"right
here in the very centre of the world is Mount
Parnassus, the home of the Muses; and in its shadow
is sacred Delphi, where stands Apollo's temple.  South
of Parnassus is the Bay of Crissa, sometimes called the
Corinthian Gulf.  The traveller who sails westwardly
through those waters will have on his right hand the
pleasant hills and dales of Ætolia and the wooded
lands of Calydon; while on his left will rise the rugged
mountains of Achaia, and the gentler slopes of Elis.
Here to the south of Elis are Messene, and sandy Pylos
where godlike Nestor and his aged father Neleus reign.
Here, to the east, is Arcadia, a land of green pastures
and sweet contentment, unwashed by any sea; and
next to it is Argolis,--rich in horses, but richest of all
in noble men,--and Lacedæmon in Laconia, famous for
its warriors and its beautiful women.  Far to the north
of Parnassus is Mount Olympus, the heaven-towering
home of Zeus, and the place where the gods and
goddesses hold their councils."

Then Phemius, as he was often wont to do, began to
put his words into the form of music; and he sang a
song of the world as he supposed it to be.  He sang
of Helios the Sun, and of his flaming chariot and his
four white steeds, and of the wonderful journey which
he makes every day above the earth; and he sang of
the snowy mountains of Caucasus in the distant east;
and of the gardens of the Hesperides even farther to the
westward; and of the land of the Hyperboreans, which
lies beyond the northern mountains; and of the sunny
climes where live the Ethiopians, the farthest distant
of all earth's dwellers.  Then he sang of the flowing
stream of Ocean which encircles all lands in its
embrace; and, lastly, of the Islands of the Blest, where
fair-haired Rhadamanthus rules, and where there is
neither snow nor beating rains, but everlasting spring,
and breezes balmy with the breath of life.

"O Phemius!" cried the boy, as the bard laid aside
his harp, "I never knew that the world was so large.
Can it be that there are so many countries and so
many strange people beneath the same sky?"

"Yes," answered Phemius, "the world is very broad,
and our Ithaca is but one of the smallest of a thousand
lands upon which Helios smiles, as he makes his daily
journey through the skies.  It is not given to one man
to know all these lands; and happiest is he whose only
care is for his home, deeming it the centre around
which the world is built."

"If only the half of what you have told me be true,"
said the boy, "I cannot rest until I have seen some of
those strange lands, and learned more about the
wonderful beings which live in them.  I cannot bear to
think of being always shut up within the narrow
bounds of little Ithaca."

"My dear boy," said Phemius, laughing, "your mind
has been greatly changed within the past few moments.
When we came here, a little while ago, you thought
that Neritus was the grandest mountain in the world,
and that Ithaca was the centre round which the earth
was built.  Then you were cheerful and contented;
but now you are restless and unhappy, because you
have learned of possibilities such as, hitherto, you had
not dreamed about.  Your eyes have been opened to
see and to know the world as it is, and you are no
longer satisfied with that which Ithaca can give you."

"But why did you not tell me these things before?"
asked the boy.

"It was your mother's wish," answered the bard,
"that you should not know them until to-day.  Do you
remember what day this is?"

"It is my twelfth birthday.  And I remember, too,
that there was a promise made to my grandfather,
that when I was twelve years old I should visit him in
his strong halls on Mount Parnassus.  I mean to ask
my mother about it at once."

And without waiting for another word from Phemius,
the lad ran hurriedly down the steep pathway, and was
soon at the foot of the mountain.  Across the fields
he hastened, and through the vineyards where the
vines, trained by his father's own hand, were already
hanging heavy with grapes.  He found his mother in
the inner hall, sitting before the hearth, and twisting
from her distaff threads of bright sea-purple, while her
maidens plied their tasks around her.  He knelt upon
the marble floor, and gently clasped his mother's knees.

"Mother," he said, "I come to ask a long-promised
boon of you."

"What is it, my son?" asked the queen, laying aside
her distaff.  "If there be any thing in Ithaca that I
can give you, you shall surely have it."

"I want nothing in Ithaca," answered the boy; "I
want to see more of this great world than I ever yet
have known.  And now that I am twelve years old,
you surely will not forget the promise, long since made,
that I should spend the summer with my grandfather
at Parnassus.  Let me go very soon, I pray; for I tire
of this narrow Ithaca."

.. _`ODYSSEUS AND HIS MOTHER`:

.. figure:: images/img-008.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: ODYSSEUS AND HIS MOTHER.

   ODYSSEUS AND HIS MOTHER.

The queen's eyes filled with tears as she answered,
"You shall have your wish, my son.  The promise given
both to you and to my father must be fulfilled.  For,
when you were but a little babe, Autolycus came to
Ithaca.  And one evening, as he feasted at your father's
table, your nurse, Dame Eurycleia, brought you into
the hall, and put you into his arms.  'Give this dear
babe, O king, a name,' said she.  'He is thy daughter's
son, the heir to Ithaca's rich realm; and we hope that
he will live to make his name and thine remembered.'

"Then Autolycus smiled, and gently dandled you
upon his knees.  'My daughter, and my daughter's lord,'
said he, 'let this child's name be Odysseus; for he shall
visit many lands and climes, and wander long upon the
tossing sea.  Yet wheresoever the Fates may drive him,
his heart will ever turn to Ithaca his home.  Call him
by the name which I have given; and when his twelfth
birthday shall have passed, send him to my strong halls
in the shadow of Parnassus, where his mother in her
girlhood dwelt.  Then I will share my riches with him,
and send him back to Ithaca rejoicing!'  So spake my
father, great Autolycus; and before we arose from that
feast, we pledged our word that it should be with you
even as he wished.  And your name, Odysseus, has
every day recalled to mind that feast and our binding
words."

"Oh that I could go at once, dear mother!" said
Odysseus, kissing her tears away.  "I would come
home again very soon.  I would stay long enough to
have the blessing of my kingly grandfather; I would
climb Parnassus, and listen to the sweet music of the
Muses; I would drink one draught from the Castalian
spring of which you have so often told me; I would
ramble one day among the groves and glens, that
perchance I might catch a glimpse of Apollo or of his
huntress sister Artemis; and then I would hasten back
to Ithaca, and would never leave you again."

"My son," then said Laertes, who had come unheard
into the hall, and had listened to the boy's earnest
words,--"my son, you shall have your wish, for I know
that the Fates have ordered it so.  We have long looked
forward to this day, and for weeks past we have been
planning for your journey.  My stanchest ship is ready
to carry you over the sea, and needs only to be launched
into the bay.  Twelve strong oarsmen are sitting now
upon the beach, waiting for orders to embark.
To-morrow, with the bard Phemius as your friend and
guide, you may set forth on your voyage to Parnassus.
Let us go down to the shore at once, and offer prayers
to Poseidon, ruler of the sea, that he may grant you
favoring winds and a happy voyage."

Odysseus kissed his mother again, and, turning,
followed his father from the hall.

Then Anticleia rose, and bade the maidens hasten to
make ready the evening meal; but she herself went
weeping to her own chamber, there to choose the
garments which her son should take with him upon his
journey.  Warm robes of wool, and a broidered tunic
which she with her own hands had spun and woven,
she folded and laid with care in a little wooden chest;
and with them she placed many a little comfort, fruit
and sweetmeats, such as she rightly deemed would please
the lad.  Then when she had closed the lid, she threw
a strong cord around the chest, and tied it firmly down.
This done, she raised her eyes towards heaven, and lifting
up her hands, she prayed to Pallas Athené:--

"O queen of the air and sky, hearken to my prayer,
and help me lay aside the doubting fears which creep
into my mind, and cause these tears to flow.  For now
my boy, unused to hardships, and knowing nothing of
the world, is to be sent forth on a long and dangerous
voyage.  I tremble lest evil overtake him; but more
I fear, that, with the lawless men of my father's household,
he shall forget his mother's teachings, and stray
from the path of duty.  Do thou, O queen, go with him
as his guide and guard, keep him from harm, and bring
him safe again to Ithaca and his loving mother's arms."

Meanwhile Laertes and the men of Ithaca stood
upon the beach, and offered up two choice oxen to
Poseidon, ruler of the sea; and they prayed him that
he would vouchsafe favoring winds and quiet waters
and a safe journey to the bold voyagers who to-morrow
would launch their ship upon the deep.  And when the
sun began to sink low down in the west, some sought
their homes, and others went up to the king's white
palace to tarry until after the evening meal.

Cheerful was the feast; and as the merry jest went
round, no one seemed more free from care than King
Laertes.  And when all had eaten of the food, and had
tasted of the red wine made from the king's own
vintage, the bard Phemius arose, and tuned his harp, and
sang many sweet and wonderful songs.  He sang of
the beginning of things; of the broad-breasted Earth,
the mother of created beings; of the sky, and the sea,
and the mountains; of the mighty race of Titans,--giants
who once ruled the earth; of great Atlas, who
holds the sky-dome upon his shoulders; of Cronos and
old Oceanus; of the war which for ten years raged on
Mount Olympus, until Zeus hurled his unfeeling father
Cronos from the throne, and seized the sceptre for
himself.

When Phemius ended his singing, the guests withdrew
from the hall, and each went silently to his own
home; and Odysseus, having kissed his dear father and
mother, went thoughtfully to his sleeping-room high up
above the great hall.  With him went his nurse, Dame
Eurycleia, carrying the torches.  She had been a
princess once; but hard fate and cruel war had
overthrown her father's kingdom, and had sent her forth a
captive and a slave.  Laertes had bought her of her
captors for a hundred oxen, and had given her a place
of honor in his household next to Anticleia.  She loved
Odysseus as she would love her own dear child; for,
since his birth, she had nursed and cared for him.
She now, as was her wont, lighted him to his chamber;
she laid back the soft coverings of his bed; she
smoothed the fleeces, and hung his tunic within easy
reach.  Then with kind words of farewell for the night,
she quietly withdrew, and closed the door, and pulled
the thong outside which turned the fastening latch.
Odysseus wrapped himself among the fleeces of his
bed, and soon was lost in slumber.[1]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[1] See `Note 1`_ at the end of this volume.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A VOYAGE ON THE SEA`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE II.*

.. class:: center large bold

   A VOYAGE ON THE SEA.

.. vspace:: 2

Early the next morning, while yet the dawn was
waiting for the sun, Odysseus arose and hastened to
make ready for his journey.  The little galley which
was to carry him across the sea had been already
launched, and was floating close to the shore; and the
oarsmen stood upon the beach impatient to begin the
voyage.  The sea-stores, and the little chest in which
the lad's wardrobe lay, were brought on board and
placed beneath the rowers' benches.  The old men of
Ithaca, and the boys and the maidens, hurried down to
the shore, that they might bid the voyagers God-speed.
Odysseus, when all was ready, spoke a few last kind
words to his mother and sage Laertes, and then with a
swelling heart went up the vessel's side, and sat down
in the stern.  And Phemius the bard, holding his
sweet-toned harp, followed him, and took his place in
the prow.  Then the sailors loosed the moorings, and
went on board, and, sitting on the rowers' benches,
wielded the long oars; and the little vessel, driven by
their well-timed strokes, turned slowly about, and then
glided smoothly across the bay; and the eyes of all on
shore were wet with tears as they prayed the rulers of
the air and the sea that the voyagers might reach their
wished-for port in safety, and in due time come back
unharmed to Ithaca.

No sooner had the vessel reached the open sea, than
Pallas Athené sent after it a gentle west wind to urge
it on its way.  As the soft breeze, laden with the
perfumes of blossoming orchards, stirred the water into
rippling waves, Phemius bade the rowers lay aside their
oars, and hoist the sail.  They heeded his behest, and
lifting high the slender mast, they bound it in its place;
then they stretched aloft the broad white sail, and the
west wind caught and filled it, and drove the little bark
cheerily over the waves.  And the grateful crew sat
down upon the benches, and with Odysseus and Phemius
the bard, they joined in offering heartfelt thanks
to Pallas Athené, who had so kindly prospered them.
And by and by Phemius played soft melodies on his
harp, such as the sea-nymphs liked to hear.  And all
that summer day the breezes whispered in the rigging,
and the white waves danced in the vessel's wake, and
the voyagers sped happily on their way.

In the afternoon, when they had begun somewhat to
tire of the voyage, Phemius asked Odysseus what they
should do to lighten the passing hours.

"Tell us some story of the olden time," said Odysseus.
And the bard, who was never better pleased
than when recounting some wonderful tale, sat down
in the midships, where the oarsmen could readily hear
him, and told the strange story of Phaethon, the rash
son of Helios Hyperion.

.. vspace:: 2

"Among the immortals who give good gifts to men,
there is no one more kind than Helios, the bestower
of light and heat.  Every morning when the Dawn
with her rosy fingers illumes the eastern sky, good
Helios rises from his golden couch, and from their
pasture calls his milk-white steeds.  By name he calls
them,--

"'Eos, Æthon, Bronté, Astrape!'

"Each hears his master's voice, and comes obedient.
Then about their bright manes and his own yellow
locks he twines wreaths of sweet-smelling flowers,--amaranths
and daffodils and asphodels from the heavenly
gardens.  And the Hours come and harness the
steeds to the burning sun-car, and put the reins into
Helios Hyperion's hands.  He mounts to his place, he
speaks,--and the winged team soars upward into the
morning air; and all earth's children awake, and give
thanks to the ruler of the Sun for the new day which
smiles down upon them.

"Hour after hour, with steady hand, Helios guides
his steeds; and the flaming car is borne along the
sun-road through the sky.  And when the day's work
is done, and sable night comes creeping over the earth,
the steeds, the car, and the driver sink softly down
to the western Ocean's stream, where a golden vessel
waits to bear them back again, swiftly and unseen, to
the dwelling of the Sun in the east.  There, under the
home-roof, Helios greets his mother and his wife and
his dear children; and there he rests until the Dawn
again leaves old Ocean's bed, and blushing comes to
bid him journey forth anew.

"One son had Helios, Phaethon the Gleaming, and
among the children of men there was no one more fair.
And the great heart of Helios beat with love for his
earth-child, and he gave him rich gifts, and kept nothing
from him.

"And Phaethon, as he grew up, became as proud as
he was fair, and wherever he went he boasted of his
kinship to the Sun; and men when they looked upon
his matchless form and his radiant features believed his
words, and honored him as the heir of Helios Hyperion.
But one Epaphos, a son of Zeus, sneered.

"'Thou a child of Helios!' he said; 'what folly!
Thou canst show nothing wherewith to prove thy kinship,
save thy fair face and thy yellow hair; and there
are many maidens in Hellas who have those, and are
as beautiful as thou.  Manly grace and handsome
features are indeed the gifts of the gods; but it is by
godlike deeds alone that one can prove his kinship to
the immortals.  While Helios Hyperion--thy father,
as thou wouldst have it--guides his chariot above the
clouds, and showers blessings upon the earth, what dost
thou do?  What, indeed, but dally with thy yellow
locks, and gaze upon thy costly clothing, while all the
time thy feet are in the dust, and the mire of the earth
holds them fast?  If thou hast kinship with the gods,
prove it by doing the deeds of the gods!  If thou art
Helios Hyperion's son, guide for one day his chariot
through the skies.'

"Thus spoke Epaphos.  And the mind of Phaethon
was filled with lofty dreams; and, turning away from
the taunting tempter, he hastened to his father's house.

"Never-tiring Helios, with his steeds and car, had
just finished the course of another day; and with words
of warmest love he greeted his earth-born son.

"'Dear Phaethon,' he said, 'what errand brings thee
hither at this hour, when the sons of men find rest in
slumber?  Is there any good gift that thou wouldst
have?  Say what it is, and it shall be thine.'

"And Phaethon wept.  And he said, 'Father, there
are those who say that I am not thy son.  Give me,
I pray thee, a token whereby I can prove my kinship
to thee.'

"And Helios answered, 'Mine it is to labor every
day, and short is the rest I have, that so earth's
children may have light and life.  Yet tell me what token
thou cravest, and I swear that I will give it thee.'

"'Father Helios,' said the youth, 'this is the token
that I ask: Let me sit in thy place to-morrow, and
drive thy steeds along the pathway of the skies.'

"Then was the heart of Helios full sad, and he said
to Phaethon, 'My child, thou knowest not what thou
askest.  Thou art not like the gods; and there lives
no man who can drive my steeds, or guide the sun-car
through the skies.  I pray thee ask some other
boon.'

"But Phaethon would not.

"'I will have this boon or none.  I will drive thy
steeds to-morrow, and thereby make proof of my birthright.'

"Then Helios pleaded long with his son that he
would not aspire to deeds too great for weak man to
undertake.  But wayward Phaethon would not hear.
And when the Dawn peeped forth, and the Hours harnessed
the steeds to the car, his father sadly gave the
reins into his hands.

"'My love for thee cries out, "Refrain, refrain!"
Yet for my oath's sake, I grant thy wish.'

"And he hid his face, and wept.

"And Phaethon leaped into the car, and lashed the
steeds with his whip.  Up they sprang, and swift as a
storm cloud they sped high into the blue vault of
heaven.  For well did they know that an unskilled
hand held the reins, and proudly they scorned his
control.

"The haughty heart of Phaethon sank within him,
and all his courage failed; and the long reins dropped
from his nerveless grasp.

"'Glorious father,' he cried in agony, 'thy words
were true.  Would that I had hearkened to thy
warning, and obeyed!'

"And the sun-steeds, mad with their new-gained freedom,
wildly careered in mid-heaven, and then plunged
downward towards the earth.  Close to the peopled
plains they dashed and soared, dragging the car behind
them.  The parched earth smoked; the rivers turned
to vaporous clouds; the trees shook off their scorched
leaves and died; and men and beasts hid in the caves
and rocky clefts, and there perished with thirst and the
unbearable heat.

"'O Father Zeus!' prayed Mother Earth, 'send help
to thy children, or they perish through this man's
presumptuous folly!'

"Then the Thunderer from his high seat hurled his
dread bolts, and unhappy Phaethon fell headlong from
the car; and the fire-breathing steeds, affrighted but
obedient, hastened back to the pastures of Helios on
the shores of old Ocean's stream.

"Phaethon fell into the river which men call Eridanos,
and his broken-hearted sisters wept for him; and as
they stood upon the banks and bewailed his unhappy
fate, Father Zeus in pity changed them into tall green
poplars; and their tears, falling into the river, were
hardened into precious yellow amber.  But the daughters
of Hesperus, through whose country this river
flows, built for the fair hero a marble tomb, close by
the sounding sea.  And they sang a song about Phaethon,
and said that although he had been hurled to the
earth by the thunderbolts of angry Zeus, yet he died
not without honor, for he had his heart set on the
doing of great deeds."

As Phemius ended his story, Odysseus, who had been
too intent upon listening to look around him, raised his
eyes and uttered a cry of joy; for he saw that they had
left the open sea behind them, and were entering the
long and narrow gulf between Achaia and the Ætolian
land.  The oarsmen, who, too, had been earnest listeners,
sprang quickly to their places, and hastened to ply
their long oars; for now the breeze had begun to
slacken, and the sail hung limp and useless upon the
ship's mast.  Keeping close to the northern shore they
rounded capes and headlands, and skirted the mouths
of deep inlets, where Phemius said strange monsters
often lurked in wait for unwary or belated seafarers.
But they passed all these places safely, and saw no
living creature, save some flocks of sea-birds flying
among the cliffs, and one lone, frightened fisherman,
who left his net upon the sands, and ran to hide himself
in the thickets of underbrush which skirted the beach.

Late in the day they came to the mouth of a little
harbor which, like one in Ithaca, was a favored haunt
of old Phorcys the elder of the sea.  Here the captain
of the oarsmen said they must tarry for the night,
for the sun was already sinking in the west, and after
nightfall no ship could be guided with safety along
these shores.  A narrow strait between high cliffs led
into the little haven, which was so sheltered from the
winds that vessels could ride there without their
hawsers, even though fierce storms might rage upon the
sea outside.  Through this strait the ship was guided,
urged by the strong arms of the rowers; and so swiftly
did it glide across the harbor that it was driven upon
the shelving beach at the farther side, and stopped not
until it lay full half its length high upon the warm, dry
sand.

Then the crew lifted out their store of food, and their
vessels for cooking; and while some took their bows
and went in search of game, others kindled a fire, and
hastened to make ready the evening meal.  Odysseus
and his tutor, when they had climbed out of the ship,
sauntered along the beach, intent to know what kind
of place it was to which fortune had thus brought
them.  They found that it was in all things a pattern
and counterpart of the little bay of Phorcys in their
own Ithaca.[1]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[1] See the description of this bay, in the Odyssey,
Book xiii. l. 102.

.. vspace:: 2

Near the head of the harbor grew an olive tree,
beneath whose spreading branches there was a cave, in
which, men said, the Naiads sometimes dwelt.  In this
cave were great bowls and jars and two-eared pitchers,
all of stone; and in the clefts of the rock the wild bees
had built their comb, and filled it with yellow honey.
In this cave, too, were long looms on which, from their
spindles wrought of stone, the Naiads were thought to
weave their purple robes.  Close by the looms, a
torrent of sweet water gushed from the rock, and flowed
in crystal streams down into the bay.  Two doorways
opened into the cave: one from the north, through
which mortal man might enter, and one from the south,
kept as the pathway of Phorcys and the Naiads.  But
Odysseus and his tutor saw no signs of any of these
beings: it seemed as if the place had not been visited
for many a month.

After the voyagers had partaken of their meal, they
sat for a long time around the blazing fire upon the
beach, and each told some marvellous story of the sea.
For their thoughts were all upon the wonders of the
deep.

"We should not speak of Poseidon, the king of
waters," said the captain, "save with fear upon our lips,
and reverence in our hearts.  For he it is who rules the
sea, as his brother Zeus controls the land; and no one
dares to dispute his right.  Once, when sailing on the
Ægæan Sea, I looked down into the depths, and saw his
lordly palace,--a glittering, golden mansion, built on
the rocks at the bottom of the mere.  Quickly did we
spread our sails aloft, and the friendly breezes and our
own strong arms hurried us safely away from that
wonderful but dangerous station.  In that palace of
the deep, Poseidon eats and drinks and makes merry
with his friends, the dwellers in the sea; and there he
feeds and trains his swift horses,--horses with hoofs
of bronze and flowing golden manes.  And when he
harnesses these steeds to his chariot, and wields above
them his well-wrought lash of gold, you should see, as
I have seen, how he rides in terrible majesty above the
waves.  And the creatures of the sea pilot him on his
way, and gambol on either side of the car, and follow
dancing in his wake.  But when he smites the waters
with the trident which he always carries in his hand,
the waves roll mountain high, the lightnings flash, and
the thunders peal, and the earth is shaken to its very
core.  Then it is that man bewails his own weakness,
and prays to the powers above for help and succor."

"I have never seen the palace of Poseidon," said the
helmsman, speaking slowly; "but once, when sailing to
far-off Crete, our ship was overtaken by a storm, and
for ten days we were buffeted by winds and waves,
and driven into unknown seas.  After this, we vainly
tried to find again our reckonings, but we knew not
which way to turn our vessel's prow.  Then, when the
storm had ended, we saw upon a sandy islet great
troops of seals and sea-calves couched upon the beach,
and basking in the warm rays of the sun.

"'Let us cast anchor, and wait here,' said our captain;
'for surely Proteus, the old man of the sea who
keeps Poseidon's herds, will come erewhile to look after
these sea-beasts.'

"And he was right; for at noonday the herdsman of
the sea came up out of the brine, and went among his
sea-calves, and counted them, and called each one by
name.  When he was sure that not even one was missing,
he lay down among them upon the sand.  Then
we landed quickly from our vessel, and rushed silently
upon him, and seized him with our hands.  The old
master of magic tried hard to escape from our clutches,
and did not forget his cunning.  First he took the form
of a long-maned lion, fierce and terrible; but when this
did not affright us, he turned into a scaly serpent; then
into a leopard, spotted and beautiful; then into a wild
boar, with gnashing tusks and foaming mouth.  Seeing
that by none of these forms he could make us loosen
our grasp upon him, he took the shape of running
water, as if to glide through our fingers; then he became
a tall tree full of leaves and blossoms; and, lastly,
he became himself again.  And he pleaded with us for
his freedom, and promised to tell us any thing that we
desired, if we would only let him go.

"'Tell us which way we shall sail, and how far we
shall go, that we may surely reach the fair harbor of
Crete,' said our captain.

"'Sail with the wind two days,' said the elder of the
sea, 'and on the third morning ye shall behold the hills
of Crete, and the pleasant port which you seek.'

"Then we loosened our hold upon him, and old Proteus
plunged into the briny deep; and we betook ourselves
to our ship, and sailed away before the wind.
And on the third day, as he had told us, we sighted the
fair harbor of Crete."

As the helmsman ended his story, his listeners
smiled; for he had told them nothing but an old tale,
which every seaman had learned in his youth,--the
story of Proteus, symbol of the ever-changing forms of
matter.  Just then Odysseus heard a low, plaintive
murmur, seeming as if uttered by some lost wanderer
away out upon the sea.

"What is that?" he asked, turning towards Phemius.

"It is Glaucus, the soothsayer of the sea, lamenting
that he is mortal," answered the bard.  "Long time
ago, Glaucus was a poor fisherman who cast his nets
into these very waters, and built his hut upon the
Ætolian shore, not very far from the place where we now
sit.  Before his hut there was a green, grassy spot,
where he often sat to dress the fish which he caught.
One day he carried a basketful of half-dead fish to that
spot, and turned them out upon the ground.  Wonderful
to behold!  Each fish took a blade of grass in its
mouth, and forthwith jumped into the sea.  The next
day he found a hare in the woods, and gave chase to it.
The frightened creature ran straight to the grassy plat
before his hut, seized a green spear of grass between
its lips, and dashed into the sea.

"'Strange what kind of grass that is!' cried Glaucus.
Then he pulled up a blade, and tasted it.  Quick
as thought, he also jumped into the sea; and there he
wanders evermore among the seaweeds and the sand
and the pebbles and the sunken rocks; and, although
he has the gift of soothsaying, and can tell what things
are in store for mortal men, he mourns and laments
because he cannot die."

Then Phemius, seeing that Odysseus grew tired of
his story, took up his harp, and touched its strings, and
sang a song about old Phorcys,--the son of the Sea
and Mother Earth,--and about his strange daughters
who dwell in regions far remote from the homes of men.

He touched his harp lightly, and sang a sweet lullaby,--a
song about the Sirens, the fairest of all the daughters
of old Phorcys.  These have their home in an
enchanted island in the midst of the western sea; and
they sit in a green meadow by the shore, and they
sing evermore of empty pleasures and of phantoms
of delight and of vain expectations.  And woe is
the wayfaring man who hearkens to them! for by
their bewitching tones they lure him to his death,
and never again shall he see his dear wife or his
babes, who wait long and vainly for his home-coming.
Stop thine ears, O voyager on the sea, and listen not
to the songs of the Sirens, sing they ever so sweetly;
for the white flowers which dot the meadow around
them are not daisies, but the bleached bones of their
victims.

Then Phemius smote the chords of his harp, and
played a melody so weird and wild that Odysseus
sprang to his feet, and glanced quickly around him, as
if he thought to see some grim and horrid shape
threatening him from among the gathering shadows.  And
this time the bard sang a strange, tumultuous song,
concerning other daughters of old Phorcys,--the three
Gray Sisters, with shape of swan, who have but one
tooth for all, and one common eye, and who sit forever
on a barren rock near the farthest shore of Ocean's
stream.  Upon them the sun doth never cast a beam,
and the moon doth never look; but, horrible and alone,
they sit clothed in their yellow robes, and chatter
threats and meaningless complaints to the waves which
dash against their rock.

Not far away from these monsters once sat the three
Gorgons, daughters also of old Phorcys.  These were
clothed with bat-like wings, and horror sat upon their
faces.  They had ringlets of snakes for hair, and their
teeth were like the tusks of swine, and their hands were
talons of brass; and no mortal could ever gaze upon
them and breathe again.  But there came, one time, a
young hero to those regions,--Perseus the godlike;
and he snatched the eye of the three Gray Sisters, and
flung it far into the depths of Lake Tritonis; and he
slew Medusa, the most fearful of the Gorgons, and
carried the head of the terror back to Hellas with him as
a trophy.

The bard chose next a gentler theme: and, as he
touched his harp, the listeners fancied that they heard
the soft sighing of the south wind, stirring lazily the
leaves and blossoms; they heard the plashing of fountains,
and the rippling of water-brooks, and the songs
of little birds; and their minds were carried away in
memory to pleasant gardens in a summer land.  And
Phemius sang of the Hesperides, or the maidens of the
West, who also, men say, are the daughters of Phorcys
the ancient.  The Hesperian land in which they dwell
is a country of delight, where the trees are laden with
golden fruit, and every day is a sweet dream of joy and
peace.  And the clear-voiced Hesperides sing and dance
in the sunlight always; and their only task is to guard
the golden apples which grow there, and which Mother
Earth gave to Here the queen upon her wedding day.

Here Phemius paused.  Odysseus, lulled by the soft
music, and overcome by weariness, had lain down upon
the sand and fallen asleep.  At a sign from the bard,
the seamen lifted him gently into the ship, and,
covering him with warm skins, they left him to slumber
through the night.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE CENTRE OF THE EARTH`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE III.*

.. class:: center large bold

   THE CENTRE OF THE EARTH.

.. vspace:: 2

The next morning, before the sun had risen, the
voyagers launched their ship again, and sailed out of
the little harbor into the long bay of Crissa.  And
Pallas Athené sent the west wind early, to help them
forward on their way; and they spread their sail, and
instead of longer hugging the shore, they ventured
boldly out into the middle of the bay.  All day long
the ship held on its course, skimming swiftly through
the waves like a great white-winged bird; and those
on board beguiled the hours with song and story as on
the day before.  But when the evening came, they
were far from land; and the captain said that as the
water was deep, and he knew the sea quite well, they
would not put into port, but would sail straight on all
night.  And so, when the sun had gone down, and the
moon had risen, flooding earth and sea with her pure,
soft light, Odysseus wrapped his warm cloak about
him, and lay down again to rest upon his bed of skins
between the rowers' benches.  But the helmsman stood
at his place, and guided the vessel over the shadowy
waves; and through the watches of the night the
west wind filled the sails, and the dark keel of the little
bark ploughed the waters, and Pallas Athené blessed
the voyage.

When, at length, the third morning came, and Helios
arose at summons of the Dawn, Odysseus awoke.  To
his great surprise, he heard no longer the rippling of
the waves upon the vessel's sides, nor the flapping
of the sail in the wind, nor yet the rhythmic dipping of
the oars into the sea.  He listened, and the sound
of merry laughter came to his ears, and he heard the
twittering of many birds, and the far-away bleating of
little lambs.  He rubbed his eyes, and sat up, and
looked about him.  The ship was no longer floating on
the water, but had been drawn high up on a sandy
beach; and the crew were sitting beneath an olive
tree, at no great distance from the shore, listening to
the melodies with which a strangely-garbed shepherd
welcomed on his flute the coming of another day.

Odysseus arose quickly and leaped out upon the
beach.  Then it was that a scene of beauty and quiet
grandeur met his gaze,--a scene, the like of which had
never entered his thoughts nor visited his dreams.  He
saw, a few miles to the northward, a group of high
mountains whose summits towered above the clouds;
and highest among them all were twin peaks whose
snow-crowned tops seemed but little lower than the
skies themselves.  And as the light of the newly risen
sun gilded the gray crags, and painted the rocky slopes,
and shone bright among the wooded uplands, the whole
scene appeared like a living picture, glorious with purple
and gold and azure, and brilliant with sparkling gems.

"Is it not truly a fitting place for the home of beauty
and music, the dwelling of Apollo, and the favored
haunt of the Muses?" asked Phemius, drawing near,
and observing the boy's wondering delight.

"Indeed it is," said Odysseus, afraid to turn his eyes
away, lest the enchanting vision should vanish like a
dream.  "But is that mountain really Parnassus, and
is our journey so nearly at an end?"

"Yes," answered the bard, "that peak which towers
highest toward the sky is great Parnassus, the centre
of the earth; and in the rocky cleft which you can
barely see between the twin mountains, stands sacred
Delphi and the favored temple of Apollo.  Lower down,
and on the other side of the mountain, is the white-halled
dwelling of old Autolycus, your mother's father.
Although the mountain seems so near, it is yet a long
and toilsome journey thither,--a journey which we
must make on foot, and by pathways none the safest.
Come, let us join the sailors under the olive tree; and
when we have breakfasted, we will begin our journey
to Parnassus."

The strange shepherd had killed the fattest sheep
of his flock, and had roasted the choicest parts upon
a bed of burning coals; and when Odysseus and his
tutor came to the olive tree, they found a breakfast fit
indeed for kings, set out ready before them.

"Welcome, noble strangers," said the shepherd;
"welcome to the land most loved of the Muses.  I
give you of the best of all that I have, and I am ready
to serve you and do your bidding."

Phemius thanked the shepherd for his kindness; and
while they sat upon the grass, and ate of the pleasant
food which had been provided, he asked the simple
swain many questions about Parnassus.

"I have heard that Parnassus is the hub around which
the great earth-wheel is built.  Is it really true?"

"A long, long time ago," answered the man, "there
were neither any shepherds nor sheep in Hellas, and
not even the gods knew where the centre of the earth
had been put.  Some said that it was at Mount Olympus,
where Zeus sits in his great house with all the
deathless ones around him.  Others said that it was
in Achaia; and others still, in Arcadia, now the land
of shepherds; and some, who, it seems to me, had lost
their wits, said that it was not in Hellas at all, but in
a strange land beyond the western sea.  In order that
he might know the truth, great Zeus one day took two
eagles, both of the same strength and swiftness, and
said, 'These birds shall tell us what even the gods
do not know.'  Then he carried one of the eagles to
the far east, where the Dawn rises out of Ocean's
bed; and he carried the other to the far west where
Helios and his sun-car sink into the waves; and he
clapped his hands together, and the thunder rolled, and
the swift birds flew at the same moment to meet each
other; and right above the spot where Delphi stands,
they came together, beak to beak, and both fell dead
to the ground.  'Behold! there is the centre of the
earth,' said Zeus.  And all the gods agreed that he
was right."

"Do you know the best and shortest road to Delphi?"
asked Phemius.

"No one knows it better than I," was the answer.
"When I was a boy I fed my sheep at the foot of
Parnassus; and my father and grandfather lived there,
long before the town of Delphi was built, or there was
any temple there for Apollo.  Shall I tell you how men
came to build a temple at that spot?"

"Yes, tell us," said Odysseus.  "I am anxious to
know all about it."

"You must not repeat my story to the priests at
Delphi," said the shepherd, speaking now in a lower
tone.  "For they have quite a different way of telling
it, and they would say that I have spoken lightly of
sacred things.  There was a time when only shepherds
lived on the mountain slopes, and there were neither
priests nor warriors nor robbers in all this land.  My
grandfather was one of those happy shepherds; and he
often pastured his flocks on the broad terrace where the
town of Delphi now stands, and where the two eagles,
which I have told you about, fell to the ground.  One
day, a strange thing happened to him.  A goat which
was nibbling the grass from the sides of a little crevice
in the rock, fell into a fit, and lay bleating and helpless
upon the ground.  My grandfather ran to help the
beast; but as he stooped down, he too fell into a fit,
and he saw strange visions, and spoke prophetic words.
Some other shepherds who were passing by saw his
plight, and lifted him up; and as soon as he breathed
the fresh air, he was himself again.

"Often after this, the same thing happened to my
grandfather's goats; and when he had looked carefully
into the matter, he found that a warm, stifling vapor
issued at times from the crevice, and that it was the
breathing of this vapor which had caused his goats and
even himself to lose their senses.  Then other men
came; and they learned that by sitting close to the
crevice, and inhaling its vapor, they gained the power
to foresee things, and the gift of prophecy came to
them.  And so they set a tripod over the crevice for a
seat, and they built a temple--small at first--over the
tripod; and they sent for the wisest maidens in the
land to come and sit upon the tripod and breathe
the strange vapor, so that they could tell what was
otherwise hidden from human knowledge.  Some say
that the vapor is the breath of a python, or great
serpent; and they call the priestess who sits upon the
tripod Pythia.  But I know nothing about that."

"Are you sure," asked Phemius, "that it was your
grandfather who first found that crevice in the rock?"

"I am not quite sure," said the shepherd.  "But I
heard the story when I was a little child, and I know
that it was either my grandfather or my grandfather's
grandfather.  At any rate, it all happened many, many
years ago."

By this time they had finished their meal; and after
they had given thanks to the powers who had thus far
kindly prospered them, they hastened to renew their
journey.  Two of the oarsmen, who were landsmen as
well as seamen, were to go with them to carry their
luggage and the little presents which Laertes had sent
to the priests at Delphi.  The shepherd was to be their
guide; and a second shepherd was to keep them company,
so as to help them in case of need.

The sun was high over their heads when they were
ready to begin their long and toilsome walk.  The road
at first was smooth and easy, winding through meadows
and orchards and shady pastures.  But very soon the
way became steep and uneven, and the olive trees gave
place to pines, and the meadows to barren rocks.  The
little company toiled bravely onward, however, the two
shepherds leading the way and cheering them with
pleasant melodies on their flutes, while the two sailors
with their heavy loads followed in the rear.

It was quite late in the day when they reached the
sacred town of Delphi, nestling in the very bosom of
Parnassus.  The mighty mountain wall now rose straight
up before them, seeming to reach even to the clouds.
The priests who kept the temple met them on the
outskirts of the town, and kindly welcomed them for the
sake of King Laertes, whom they knew and had seen;
and they besought the wayfarers to abide for some time
in Delphi.  Nor, indeed, would Phemius have thought
of going farther until he had prayed to bright Apollo,
and offered rich gifts at his shrine, and questioned the
Pythian priestess about the unknown future.

And so Odysseus and his tutor became the honored
guests of the Delphian folk; and they felt that surely
they were now at the very centre of the world.  Their
hosts dealt so kindly with them, that a whole month
passed, and still they were in Delphi.  And as they
talked with the priests in the temple, or listened to the
music of the mountain nymphs, or drank sweet draughts
of wisdom from the Castalian spring, they every day
found it harder and harder to tear themselves away
from the delightful place.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE SILVER-BOWED APOLLO`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE IV.*

.. class:: center large bold

   THE SILVER-BOWED APOLLO.

.. vspace:: 2

One morning Odysseus sat in the shadow of Parnassus
with one of the priests of Apollo, and they talked
of many wonderful things; and the boy began to think
to himself that there was more wisdom in the words of
his companion than in all the waters of the Castalian
spring.  He could see, from where he sat, the stream
of that far-famed fountain, flowing out of the rocks
between two cliffs, and falling in sparkling cascades down
the steep slopes.

"Men think that they gain wisdom by drinking from
that spring," said he to the priest; "but I think that
they gain it in quite another way.  They drink of its
waters every day; but while they drink, they listen to
the wonderful words which fall from your lips, and they
become wise by hearing, and not by drinking."

The old priest smiled at the shrewdness of the boy.
"Let them think as they please," said he.  "In any
case, their wisdom would come hard, and be of little
use, if it were not for the silver-bowed Apollo."

"Tell me about Apollo," said Odysseus.

The priest could not have been better pleased.  He
moved his seat, so that he could look the boy full in the
face, and at the same time have the temple before him,
and then he began:--

.. vspace:: 2

"A very long time ago, Apollo was born in distant
Delos.  And when the glad news of his birth was told,
Earth smiled, and decked herself with flowers; the
nymphs of Delos sang songs of joy that were heard
to the utmost bounds of Hellas; and choirs of white
swans flew seven times around the island, piping notes
of praise to the pure being who had come to dwell
among men.  Then Zeus looked down from high
Olympus, and crowned the babe with a golden head-band,
and put into his hands a silver bow and a sweet-toned
lyre such as no man had ever seen; and he gave him a
team of white swans to drive, and bade him go forth to
teach men the things which are right and good, and
to make light that which is hidden and in darkness.

"And so Apollo arose, beautiful as the morning sun,
and journeyed through many lands, seeking a dwelling-place.
He stopped for a time at the foot of Mount
Olympus, and played so sweetly upon his lyre that Zeus
and all his court were entranced.  Then he went into
Pieria and Iolcos, and he wandered up and down through
the whole length of the Thessalian land; but nowhere
could he find a spot in which he was willing to dwell.
Then he climbed into his car, and bade his swan-team
fly with him to the country of the Hyperboreans beyond
the far-off northern mountains.  Forthwith they obeyed;
and through the pure regions of the upper air they bore
him, winging their way ever northward.  They carried
him over the desert flats where the shepherd folk of
Scythia dwell in houses of wicker-work perched on
well-wheeled wagons, and daily drive their flocks and herds
to fresher pastures.  They carried him over that
unknown land where the Arimaspian host of one-eyed
horsemen dwell beside a river running bright with gold;
and on the seventh day they came to the great Rhipæan
Mountains where the griffins, with lion bodies and
eagle wings, guard the golden treasures of the North.
In these mountains, the North Wind has his home; and
from his deep caves he now and then comes forth, chilling
with his cold and angry breath the orchards and the
fair fields of Hellas, and bringing death and dire disasters
in his train.  But northward this blustering Boreas
cannot blow, for the heaven-towering mountains stand
like a wall against him, and drive him back; and hence
it is that beyond these mountains the storms of winter
never come, but one happy springtime runs through
all the year.  There the flowers bloom, and the grain
ripens, and the fruits drop mellowing to the earth, and
the red wine is pressed from the luscious grape, every
day the same.  And the Hyperboreans who dwell in
that favored land know neither pain nor sickness, nor
wearying labor nor eating care; but their youth is as
unfading as the springtime, and old age with its
wrinkles and its sorrows is evermore a stranger to them.
For the spirit of evil, which leads all men to err,
has never found entrance among them, and they are
free from vile passions and unworthy thoughts; and
among them there is neither war, nor wicked deeds,
nor fear of the avenging Furies, for their hearts are
pure and clean, and never burdened with the love of
self.

"When the swan-team of silver-bowed Apollo had
carried him over the Rhipæan Mountains, they alighted
in the Hyperborean land.  And the people welcomed
Apollo with shouts of joy and songs of triumph, as one
for whom they had long been waiting.  And he took up
his abode there, and dwelt with them one whole year,
delighting them with his presence, and ruling over them
as their king.  But when twelve moons had passed, he
bethought him that the toiling, suffering men of Hellas
needed most his aid and care.  Therefore he bade the
Hyperboreans farewell, and again went up into his
sun-bright car; and his winged team carried him back
to the land of his birth.

"Long time Apollo sought a place where he might
build a temple to which men might come to learn of
him and to seek his help in time of need.  At length
he came to the plain of fair Tilphussa, by the shore of
Lake Copais; and there he began to build a house, for
the land was a pleasant one, well-watered, and rich in
grain and fruit.  But the nymph Tilphussa liked not
to have Apollo dwell so near her, lest men seeing and
loving him should forget to honor her; and one day
garmented with mosses and crowned with lilies, she
came and stood before him in the sunlight.

"'Apollo of the silver bow,' said she, 'have you not
made a mistake in choosing this place for a dwelling?
These rich plains around us will not always be as
peaceful as now; for their very richness will tempt the
spoiler, and the song of the cicada will then give place
to the din of battle.  Even in times of peace, you would
hardly have a quiet hour here: for great herds of cattle
come crowding down every day to my lake for water;
and the noisy ploughman, driving his team afield,
disturbs the morning hour with his boorish shouts; and
boys and dogs keep up a constant din, and make life
in this place a burden.'

"'Fair Tilphussa,' said Apollo, 'I had hoped to
dwell here in thy happy vale, a neighbor and friend
to thee.  Yet, since this place is not what it seems to
be, whither shall I go, and where shall I build my
house?"

"'Go to the cleft in Parnassus where the swift eagles
of Zeus met above the earth's centre,' answered the
nymph.  'There thou canst dwell in peace, and men
will come from all parts of the world to do thee honor.'

"And so Apollo came down towards Crissa, and here
in the cleft of the mountain he laid the foundations
of his shrine.  Then he called the master-architects of
the world, Trophonius and Agamedes, and gave to them
the building of the high walls and the massive roof.
And when they had finished their work, he said, 'Say
now what reward you most desire for your labor, and
I will give it you.'

"'Give us,' said the brothers, 'that which is the
best for men.'

"'It is well,' answered Apollo.  'When the full moon
is seen above the mountain-tops, you shall have your
wish."

"But when the moon rose full and clear above the
heights, the two brothers were dead.

.. _`APOLLO SLAYING THE PYTHON`:

.. figure:: images/img-042.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: APOLLO SLAYING THE PYTHON.

   APOLLO SLAYING THE PYTHON.

"And Apollo was pleased with the place which he had
chosen for a home; for here were peace and quiet, and
neither the hum of labor nor the din of battle would
be likely ever to enter.  Yet there was one thing to be
done before he could have perfect rest.  There lived
near the foot of the mountain a huge serpent called
Python, which was the terror of all the land.  Oftentimes,
coming out of his den, this monster attacked the
flocks and herds, and sometimes even their keepers;
and he had been known to carry little children and
helpless women to his den, and there devour them.

"The men of Delphi came one day to Apollo, and
prayed him to drive out or destroy their terrible enemy.
So, taking in hand his silver bow, he sallied out at
break of day to meet the monster when he should issue
from his slimy cave.  The vile creature shrank back
when he saw the radiant god before him, and would
fain have hidden himself in the deep gorges of the
mountain.  But Apollo quickly launched a swift arrow
at him, crying, 'Thou bane of man, lie thou upon the
earth, and enrich it with thy dead body!'  And the
never-erring arrow sped to the mark; and the great
beast died, wallowing in his gore.  And the people in
their joy came out to meet the archer, singing pæans
in his praise; and they crowned him with wild flowers
and wreaths of olives, and hailed him as the Pythian
king; and the nightingales sang to him in the groves,
and the swallows and cicadas twittered and tuned
their melodies in harmony with his lyre.[1]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[1] See `Note 2`_ at the end of this volume.

.. vspace:: 2

"But as yet there were no priests in Apollo's temple;
and he pondered, long doubting, as to whom he should
choose.  One day he stood upon the mountain's top-most
peak, whence he could see all Hellas and the seas
around it.  Far away in the south, he spied a little ship
sailing from Crete to sandy Pylos; and the men who
were on board were Cretan merchants.

"'These men shall serve in my temple!' he cried.

"Upward he sprang, and high he soared above the
sea; then swiftly descending like a fiery star, he
plunged into the waves.  There he changed himself
into the form of a dolphin, and swam with speed to
overtake the vessel.  Long before the ship had reached
Pylos, the mighty fish came up with it, and struck its
stern.  The crew were dumb with terror, and sat still
in their places; their oars were motionless; the sail
hung limp and useless from the mast.  Yet the vessel
sped through the waves with the speed of the wind,
for the dolphin was driving it forward by the force of
his fins.  Past many a headland, past Pylos and many
pleasant harbors, they hastened.  Vainly did the pilot
try to land at Cyparissa and at Cyllene: the ship would
not obey her helm.  They rounded the headland of
Araxus, and came into the long bay of Crissa; and
there the dolphin left off guiding the vessel, and swam
playfully around it, while a brisk west wind filled the
sail, and bore the voyagers safely into port.

"Then the dolphin changed into the form of a glowing
star, which, shooting high into the heavens, lit up the
whole world with its glory; and as the awe-stricken
crew stood gazing at the wonder, it fell with the
quickness of light upon Parnassus.  Into his temple Apollo
hastened, and there he kindled an undying fire.  Then,
in the form of a handsome youth, with golden hair
falling in waves upon his shoulders, he hastened to the
beach to welcome the Cretan strangers.

"'Hail, seamen!' he cried.  'Who are you, and from
whence do you come?  Shall I greet you as friends
and guests, or shall I know you as robbers bringing
death and distress to many a fair home?'

"Then answered the Cretan captain, 'Fair stranger,
the gods have brought us hither; for by no wish of our
own have we come.  We are Cretan merchants, and we
were on our way to sandy Pylos with stores of
merchandise, to barter with the tradesmen of that city.
But some unknown being, whose might is greater than
the might of men, has carried us far beyond our wished-for
port, even to this unknown shore.  Tell us now, we
pray thee, what land is this?  And who art thou who
lookest so like a god?'

"'Friends and guests, for such indeed you must be,'
answered the radiant youth, 'think never again of
sailing upon the wine-faced sea, but draw now your vessel
high up on the beach.  And when you have brought
out all your goods, and built an altar upon the shore,
take of your white barley which you have with you, and
offer it reverently to Phœbus Apollo.  For I am he;
and it was I who brought you hither, so that you might
keep my temple, and make known my wishes unto men.
And since it was in the form of a dolphin that you first
saw me, let the town which stands around my temple
be known as Delphi, and let men worship me there as
Apollo Delphinius.'

"Then the Cretans did as he had bidden them: they
drew their vessel high up on the white beach, and
when they had unladen it of their goods, they built an
altar on the shore, and offered white barley to Phœbus
Apollo, and gave thanks to the ever-living powers who
had saved them from the terrors of the deep.  And
after they had feasted, and rested from their long
voyage, they turned their faces toward Parnassus; and
Apollo, playing sweeter music than men had ever
heard, led the way; and the folk of Delphi, with choirs
of boys and maidens, came to meet them, and they
sang a pæan and songs of victory as they helped
the Cretans up the steep pathway to the cleft of
Parnassus.

"'I leave you now to have sole care of my temple,'
said Apollo.  'I charge you to keep it well; deal
righteously with all men; let no unclean thing pass your
lips; forget self; guard well your thoughts, and keep
your hearts free from guile.  If you do these things,
you shall be blessed with length of days and all that
makes life glad.  But if you forget my words, and deal
treacherously with men, and cause any to wander from
the path of right, then shall you be driven forth homeless
and accursed, and others shall take your places in
the service of my house.'

"And then the bright youth left them and hastened
away into Thessaly and to Mount Olympus.  But every
year he comes again, and looks into his house, and
speaks words of warning and of hope to his servants;
and often men have seen him on Parnassus, playing his
lyre to the listening Muses, or with his sister,
arrow-loving Artemis, chasing the mountain deer."

.. vspace:: 2

Such was the story which the old priest related to
Odysseus, sitting in the shadow of the mountain; and
the boy listened with eyes wide open and full of
wonder, half expecting to see the golden-haired Apollo
standing by his side.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE KING OF CATTLE THIEVES`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE V.*

.. class:: center large bold

   THE KING OF CATTLE THIEVES.

.. vspace:: 2

Odysseus and his tutor tarried, as I have told you, a
whole month at Delphi; for Phemius would not venture
farther on their journey until the Pythian oracle should
tell him how it would end.  In the mean while many
strangers were daily coming from all parts of Hellas,
bringing rich gifts for Apollo's temple, and seeking
advice from the Pythia.  From these strangers Odysseus
learned many things concerning lands and places
of which he never before had heard; and nothing
pleased him better than to listen to the marvellous
tales which each man told about his own home and
people.

One day as he was walking towards the spring of
Castalia, an old man, who had come from Corinth to
ask questions of the Pythia, met him, and stopped
to talk with him.

"Young prince," said the old man, "what business
can bring one so young as you to this place sacred to
Apollo?"

"I am on my way to visit my grandfather," said
Odysseus, "and I have stopped here for a few days
while my tutor consults the oracle."

"Your grandfather!  And who is your grandfather?"
asked the old man.

"The great chief Autolycus, whose halls are on the
other side of Parnassus," answered Odysseus.

The old man drew a long breath, and after a
moment's silence said, "Perhaps, then, you are going
to help your grandfather take care of his neighbors'
cattle."

"I do not know what you mean," answered Odysseus,
startled by the tone in which the stranger spoke these
words.

"I mean that your grandfather, who is the most
cunning of men, will expect to teach you his trade,"
said the man, with a strange twinkle in his eye.

"My grandfather is a chieftain and a hero," said the
boy.  "What trade has he?"

"You pretend not to know that he is a cattle-dealer,"
answered the old man, shrugging his shoulders.
"Why, all Hellas has known him these hundred
years as the King of Cattle Thieves!  But he is very
old now, and the herdsmen and shepherds have little
to fear from him any more.  Yet, mind my words,
young prince: it does not require the wisdom of the
Pythian oracle to foretell that you, his grandson, will
become the craftiest of men.  With Autolycus for
your grandfather and Hermes for your great-grandfather,
it would be hard indeed for you to be otherwise."

At this moment the bard Phemius came up, and the
old man walked quickly away.

"What does he mean?" asked Odysseus, turning to
his tutor.  "What does he mean by saying that my
grandfather is the king of cattle thieves, and by
speaking of Hermes as my great-grandfather?"

"They tell strange tales about Autolycus, the
mountain chief," Phemius answered; "but whether their
stories be true or false, I cannot say.  The old man
who was talking to you is from Corinth, where once
reigned Sisyphus, a most cruel and crafty king.  From
Corinth, Sisyphus sent ships and traders to all the
world; and the wealth of Hellas might have been his,
had he but loved the truth and dealt justly with his
fellow-men.  But there was no honor in his soul; he
betrayed his dearest friends for gold; and he crushed
under a huge block of stone the strangers who came to
Corinth to barter their merchandise.  It is said, that,
once upon a time, Autolycus went down to Corinth in
the night, and carried away all the cattle of Sisyphus,
driving them to his great pastures beyond Parnassus.
Not long afterward, Sisyphus went boldly to your
grandfather's halls, and said,--

"'I have come, Autolycus, to get again my cattle
which you have been so kindly pasturing.'

"'It is well,' said Autolycus.  'Go now among my
herds, and if you find any cattle bearing your mark
upon them, they are yours: drive them back to your
own pastures.  This is the offer which I make to
every man who comes claiming that I have stolen his
cattle.'

"Then Sisyphus, to your grandfather's great surprise,
went among the herds, and chose his own without
making a single error.

"'See you not my initial, [sigma symbol], under the hoof of each
of these beasts?' asked Sisyphus.

"Autolycus saw at once that he had been outwitted,
and he fain would have made friends with one who was
more crafty than himself.  But Sisyphus dealt treacherously
with him, as he did with every one who trusted
him.  Yet men say, that, now he is dead, he has his
reward in Hades; for there he is doomed to the
never-ending toil of heaving a heavy stone to the top of a
hill, only to see it roll back again to the plain.[1]  It was
from him that men learned to call your grandfather the
King of Cattle Thieves; with how much justice, you
may judge for yourself."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[1] See `Note 3`_ at the end of this volume.

.. vspace:: 2

"You have explained a part of what I asked you,"
said Odysseus thoughtfully, "but you have not
answered my question about Hermes."

"I will answer that at another time," said Phemius;
"for to-morrow we must renew our journey, and I must
go now and put every thing in readiness."[2]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[2] See `Note 4`_ at the end of this volume.

.. vspace:: 2

"But has the oracle spoken?" asked Odysseus in
surprise.

"The Pythia has answered my question," said the
bard.  "I asked what fortune should attend you on
this journey, and the oracle made this reply:--

   |  'To home and kindred he shall safe return e'er long,
   |  With scars well-won, and greeted with triumphal song.'"
   |

"What does it mean?" asked Odysseus.

"Just what it says," answered the bard.  "All that
is now needed is that we should do our part, and
fortune will surely smile upon us."

And so, on the morrow, they bade their kind hosts
farewell, and began to climb the steep pathway, which,
they were told, led up and around to the rock-built
halls of Autolycus.  At the top of the first slope they
came upon a broad table-land from the centre of which
rose the peak of Parnassus towering to the skies.
Around the base of this peak, huge rocks were piled,
one above the other, just as they had been thrown in
the days of old from the mighty hands of the Titans.
On every side were clefts and chasms and deep gorges,
through which flowed roaring torrents fed from the
melting snows above.  And in the sides of the cliffs
were dark caves and narrow grottos, hollowed from
the solid rock, wherein strange creatures were said to
dwell.

Now and then Odysseus fancied that he saw a
mountain nymph flitting among the trees, or a satyr
with shaggy beard hastily hiding himself among the
clefts and crags above them.  They passed by the
great Corycian cavern, whose huge vaulted chambers
would shelter a thousand men; but they looked in vain
for the nymph Corycia, who, they were told, sometimes
sat within, and smiled upon passing travellers.  A little
farther beyond, they heard the mellow notes of a lyre,
and the sound of laughter and merry-making, in a grove
of evergreens, lower down the mountain-side; and
Odysseus wondered if Apollo and the Muses were not
there.

The path which the little company followed did not
lead to the summit of the peak, but wound around its
base, and then, by many a zigzag, led downward to a
wooded glen through the middle of which a mountain
torrent rushed.  By and by the glen widened into a
pleasant valley, broad and green, bounded on three
sides by steep mountain walls.  Here were rich
pasture-lands, and a meadow, in which Odysseus saw
thousands of cattle grazing.  The guide told them that
those were the pastures and the cattle of great Autolycus.
Close to the bank of the mountain torrent,--just
where it leaped from a precipice, and, forgetting its
wild hurry, was changed to a quiet meadow brook,--stood
the dwelling of the chief.  It was large and low,
and had been hewn out of the solid rock; it looked
more like the entrance to a mountain cave than like the
palace of a king.

Odysseus and his tutor walked boldly into the great
hall; for the low doorway was open and unguarded,
and the following words were roughly carved in the
rock above: "Here lives Autolycus.  If your heart
is brave, enter."  They passed through the entrance-hall,
and came to a smaller inner chamber.  There
they saw Autolycus seated in a chair of ivory and
gold, thick-cushioned with furs; and near him sat fair
Amphithea his wife, busy with her spindle and distaff.
The chief was very old; his white hair fell in waves
upon his great shoulders, and his broad brow was
wrinkled with age: yet his frame was that of a giant,
and his eyes glowed and sparkled with the fire of
youth.

"Strangers," said he kindly, "you are welcome to
my halls.  It is not often that men visit me in my
mountain home, and old age has bound me here in
my chair so that I can no longer walk abroad among
my fellows.  Besides this, there are those who of late
speak many unkind words of me; and good men care
not to be the guests of him who is called the King
of Cattle Thieves."  Then seeing that his visitors still
lingered at the door, he added, "I pray you, whoever
you may be, fear not, but enter, and be assured of a
kind welcome."

Then Odysseus went fearlessly forward, and stood
before the chief, and made himself known, and showed
them the presents which his mother Anticleia had
sent.  Glad indeed was the heart of old Autolycus as
he grasped the hand of his grandson; and Amphithea
took the lad in her arms, and kissed his brow and both
his eyes, and wept for very fulness of joy.  Then, at a
call from the old chief, an inner door was opened, and
his six sons came in.  Stalwart men were they, with
limbs strong as iron, and eyes like those of the
mountain eagle; and they warmly welcomed the young
prince, and asked him a thousand questions about his
home in Ithaca, and his queen-mother, their sister
Anticleia.

"Waste not the hours in talk!" cried old Autolycus
at last.  "There is yet another day for words.  Make
ready at once a fitting feast for this my grandson and
his friend the bard; and let our halls ring loud with
joyful merriment."

The sons at once obeyed.  From the herd which was
pasturing in the meadows, they chose the fattest calf;
this they slew and quickly dressed; and then, cutting
off the choicest parts, they roasted them on spits before
the blazing fire.  And when the meal was ready, great
Autolycus, his wife, and his sons sat down with their
guests at the heavy-laden table; and they feasted
merrily until the sun went down, and darkness covered
the earth.  Then the young men brought arm-loads of
dry branches, and logs of pine, and threw them upon
the fire, and the blaze leaped up and lighted the hall
with a rich ruddy glow; and Odysseus sat upon a
couch of bearskins, at his grandfather's feet, and
listened to many a wonderful story of times long past,
but ever present in the old man's memory.

"Truly there are two things against which it is useless
for any man to fight," said Autolycus, "and these
are old age and death.  The first has already made me
his slave, and the second will soon have me in his
clutches.  When I was young, there was not a man
who could outstrip me in the foot race.  I even thought
myself a match for the fleet-footed maiden Atalanta.
There were very few men, even among the great heroes,
who could hurl a spear with more force than I; and
there was hardly one who could bend my great bow.
But now both spear and bow are useless.  You see
them standing in the corner there, where my eyes can
rest upon them.  To-morrow you shall help me polish
them."

Then after a moment's pause he added, "But, oh
the wrestling and the leaping!  There was never but
one mortal who could excel me in either."

"I have heard," said Odysseus, "that even great
Heracles was your pupil."

"And such indeed he was," answered the old man.
"The first time I saw the matchless hero, he was but a
child, tall and beautiful, with the eyes of a wild deer,
and with flaxen hair falling over his shoulders.  But he
was stronger even then than any common mortal.  His
stepfather Amphitryon called me to Thebes to be the
boy's teacher, for he saw in him rich promises of future
greatness.  With me he called many of the noblest
men of Hellas.  First there was Eurytus, the master
of archers, who taught the hero how to bend the bow
and send the swift arrow straight to the mark.  But in
an evil day Eurytus met his fate, and all through his
own folly.  For, being proud of his skill, which no
mortal could excel, he challenged great Apollo to a
shooting match; and the angry archer-god pierced him
through and through with his arrows.

"Second among the teachers of Heracles was Castor,
the brother of Polydeuces and of Helen, the most
beautiful of women.  He taught the hero how to wield
the spear and the sword.  Then, there was Linus, the
brother of Orpheus, sweetest of musicians, who came
to teach him how to touch the lyre and bring forth
bewitching melody; but the boy, whose mind was set
on great deeds, cared naught for music, and the lessons
which Linus gave him were profitless.  'Thou art but
a dull and witless youth!' cried the minstrel one day,
striking his pupil upon the cheek.  Then Heracles in
wrath smote Linus with his own lyre, and killed him.
'Even a dull pupil has his rights,' said he, 'and one of
these is the right not to be called a blockhead.'  The
Theban rulers brought the young hero to trial for his
crime; but he stood up before them, and reminded them
of a half-forgotten law which Rhadamanthus, the ruler
of the Elysian land, had given them: '*Whoso defends
himself against an unjust attack is guiltless, and shall
go free*.'  And the judges, pleased with his wisdom, gave
him his liberty."

"Did Heracles have any other teachers?" asked
Odysseus, anxious to hear more.

"Yes; Amphytrion himself taught the lad how to
drive a chariot skilfully, and how to manage horses.
And, as I have said, he called me to teach him the
manly arts of leaping and running and wrestling.  He
was an apt pupil, and soon excelled his master; and
Amphitryon, fearing that in a thoughtless moment he
might serve me as he had served unlucky Linus, sent
him away to Mount Cithaeron to watch his herds
which were pasturing there."

"Surely," said Odysseus, looking at the giant arms
of his grandfather, ridged with iron muscles,--"surely
there was no danger of the young hero harming you."

"A son of Hermes, such as I," said the old chief,
"might dare to stand against Heracles in craft and
cunning, but never in feats of strength.  While the lad fed
Amphytrion's flocks in the mountain meadows, he grew
to be a giant, four cubits in height, and terrible to look
upon.  His voice was like the roar of a desert lion; his
step was like the march of an earthquake; and fire
flashed from his eyes like the glare of thunderbolts
when they are hurled from the storm clouds down to
the fruitful plains below.  He could tear up trees by
their roots, and hurl mountain crags from their places.
It was then that he slew the Cithæron lion with his
bare hands, and took its skin for a helmet and a mantle
which, I am told, he wears to this very day.  Only a
little while after this, he led the Thebans into a battle
with their enemies, the Minyans, and gained for them a
glorious victory.  Then Pallas Athené, well pleased
with the hero, gave him a purple robe; Hephaestus
made for him a breastplate of solid gold; and Hermes
gave him a sword, Apollo a bow, and Poseidon a team
of the most wonderful horses ever known.  Then, that
he might be fully armed, he went into the Nemæan
wood, and cut for himself that stout club which he
always carries, and which is more terrible in his hands
than spear, or sword, or bow and arrows."

"I have heard," said Odysseus, "that Cheiron, the
centaur, was one of the teachers of Heracles."

"He was not only his teacher," said Autolycus, "but
he was his friend.  He taught what was just and true;
he showed him that there is one thing greater than
strength, and that is gentleness; and he led him to
change his rude, savage nature into one full of kindness
and love: so that in all the world there is no one
so full of pity for the poor and weak, so full of
sympathy for the down-trodden, as is Heracles the strong.
Had it not been for wise Cheiron, I fear that Heracles
would not have made the happy decision which he once
did, when the choice of two roads was offered him."

"What was that?" asked Odysseus.  "I have never
heard about it."

"When Heracles was a fair-faced youth, and life was
all before him, he went out one morning to do an errand
for his stepfather Amphitryon.  But as he walked, his
heart was full of bitter thoughts; and he murmured
because others no better than himself were living in
ease and pleasure, while for him there was naught but
a life of labor and pain.  And as he thought upon these
things, he came to a place where two roads met; and
he stopped, not certain which one to take.  The road
on his right was hilly and rough; there was no beauty
in it or about it: but he saw that it led straight towards
the blue mountains in the far distance.  The road on
his left was broad and smooth, with shade trees on
either side, where sang an innumerable choir of birds;
and it went winding among green meadows, where
bloomed countless flowers: but it ended in fog and
mist long before it ever reached the wonderful blue
mountains in the distance.

"While the lad stood in doubt as to these roads, he
saw two fair women coming towards him, each on a
different road.  The one who came by the flowery way
reached him first, and Heracles saw that she was
beautiful as a summer day.  Her cheeks were red, her eyes
sparkled; she spoke warm, persuasive words.  'O noble
youth,' she said, 'be no longer bowed down with labor
and sore trials, but come and follow me.  I will lead
you into pleasant paths, where there are no storms to
disturb and no troubles to annoy.  You shall live in
ease, with one unending round of music and mirth; and
you shall not want for any thing that makes life
joyous,--sparkling wine, or soft couches, or rich robes, or the
loving eyes of beautiful maidens.  Come with me, and
life shall be to you a day-dream of gladness.'

"By this time the other fair woman had drawn near,
and she now spoke to the lad.  'I have nothing to
promise you,' said she, 'save that which you shall win
with your own strength.  The road upon which I would
lead you is uneven and hard, and climbs many a hill,
and descends into many a valley and quagmire.  The
views which you will sometimes get from the hilltops
are grand and glorious, but the deep valleys are dark,
and the ascent from them is toilsome; but the road
leads to the blue mountains of endless fame, which you
see far away on the horizon.  They cannot be reached
without labor; in fact, there is nothing worth having
that must not be won by toil.  If you would have fruits
and flowers, you must plant them and care for them;
if you would gain the love of your fellow-men, you must
love them and suffer for them; if you would enjoy the
favor of Heaven, you must make yourself worthy of
that favor; if you would have eternal fame, you must
not scorn the hard road that leads to it.'

"Then Heracles saw that this lady, although she was
as beautiful as the other, had a countenance pure and
gentle, like the sky on a balmy morning in May.

"'What is your name?' he asked.

"'Some call me Labor,' she answered, 'but others
know me as Virtue.'

"Then he turned to the first lady.  'And what is
your name?' he asked.

"'Some call me Pleasure,' she said, with a bewitching
smile, 'but I choose to be known as the Joyous and
Happy One.'

"'Virtue,' said Heracles, 'I will take thee as my
guide!  The road of labor and honest effort shall be
mine, and my heart shall no longer cherish bitterness
or discontent.'

"And he put his hand into that of Virtue, and
entered with her upon the straight and forbidding road
which leads to the fair blue mountains on the pale and
distant horizon.[1]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[1] See `Note 5`_ at the end of this volume.

.. vspace:: 2

"My dear grandson, make thou the same wise choice.

"But now the fire has burned low, and it is time that
both old and young should seek repose.  Go now to
your chamber and your couch; and pleasant dreams
be yours until the new day dawns, bringing its labors
and its victories."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`TWO FAMOUS BOAR HUNTS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE VI.*

.. class:: center large bold

   TWO FAMOUS BOAR HUNTS.

.. vspace:: 2

Hardly had the morning tinged the eastern sky with
her yellow light, when Odysseus arose from his couch,
and quickly clothed himself; for he had been awakened
by the sound of hurrying feet, and many voices,
and the barking of dogs, beneath his chamber window.
When he went down into the great hall, he was greeted
by his six stalwart uncles, all of whom were dressed for
the chase, and armed with spears and knives.

"To-day we hunt the wild boar on the wooded slopes
of Parnassus," said Echion, the eldest.  "How glad we
should be if you were old enough and strong enough to
join us in the sport!"

The heart of Odysseus was stirred at once, like that
of a warrior when he hears the battle-call.  "I am
certainly strong enough!" he cried.  "I will ask my
grandfather if I may go."

Autolycus smiled when the boy made known his wish.
Indeed, he was expecting such a request, and would
have been disappointed and displeased if it had not
been made.

"Yes, go, my child," he said; "and while I sit here,
bound with the fetters of old age, my blessing shall
go with you."

Odysseus thanked his grandfather, and lost no time in
making himself ready for the hunt.  A hasty meal was
eaten; and then the huntsmen, with a great number of
dogs and serving-men, sallied forth, and began to climb
the mountain slopes.  The master of the hunt was an
old, gray-bearded man, one of the last of the ancient
race of heroes, whose whole life had been spent in the
household of Autolycus.  Old as he was, he outstrode
all the other huntsmen; but Odysseus, young and supple,
kept close behind him,--a dwarf following in the
wake of a giant.  Upward and still upward they toiled,
while their comrades, with the hounds, followed slowly
far below them.  They passed through the belt of pine
trees, and left the wooded slopes behind.  There was
now nothing but bare rocks before and above them.
The cold winds whistled about their heads; the mountain
eagles soared and screamed in the sharp morning
air.

"Surely, my father," said Odysseus, "the lair of the
wild boar cannot be on these bleak heights.  Would it
not be better to seek him among the woods of the lower
slopes?"

"You are right," said the old man, stopping at last
upon one of the highest crags.  "I have brought you
to this spot, not in search of game, but to show you
what is a truly great and beautiful sight.  Your tutor
has told me that you once had a glimpse of the world
from Mount Neritus; now look around you, and see the
world itself!"

Then the lad looked; and far away on the blue horizon
he saw the silvery heights of Olympus, the throne
of mighty Zeus, glittering in the sunlight, and canopied
with clouds.  On his right he beheld Mount Helicon
and the fruitful plains of Bœotia, and the blue sea of
Ægæa stretching away and away towards the sunrise
halls of Helios.  Southward lay the Bay of Crissa, and
beyond it the land of mighty Pelops, and busy Corinth,
and the rich pasture-lands of Arcadia.  Then turning
to the west, he saw, like a mere speck on the horizon,
his own loved Ithaca; while nearer were the woods of
Calydon and the green headlands of Achaia.  At that
moment the clouds which had been hanging about the
mountain-top suddenly melted away, and the sun shone
out bright and clear, bathing the woods and crags in
purple and gold; while at the same time the music of
ten thousand voices of birds and beasts and nymphs
and waterfalls was borne up from below to their
delighted ears.

"Is not this a beautiful world?" asked the aged hero,
baring his gray head to the cold winds.  "What would
you not give to have it all for your own?"

The lad answered not a word; but his eyes filled with
tears as he thought of his home and of those whom he
loved, far away by the green slopes of little Neritus.

"My son," then said the hero, "remember the choice
of Heracles.  Happiness is to be gotten from within
us.  It is not to be bought with silver and gold, nor yet
is it to be seized upon with violence.  Better have a
clean conscience than to own all Hellas; better--  But
hark!  I hear the dogs in the dells far below
us!  Let us hasten down, for they have started the game."

Within a thorny thicket where grew the vines and
leaves so closely that the sun's rays never struggled
through them, the huge wild boar had made his lair.
Hither the hounds had tracked him; and their deep
baying, and the trampling of many feet among the dead
leaves upon the ground, had roused the beast, and
stirred him into fury.  Suddenly he sprang from his
lair, and gnashing his huge tusks, and foaming with
fury, he charged upon his foes.  The dogs fell back,
afraid to come too close to an enemy so fierce and
strong; and with their many-toned bays they made the
echoes of Parnassus ring.

Just at this moment, the boy Odysseus rushed down
into the glen, his long spear poised and ready to strike.
But the great beast waited not for the stroke: he dashed
furiously at the boy, who quickly leaped aside, although
too late.  The boar's sharp tusk struck Odysseus just
above the knee, cutting a fearful gash, tearing the flesh,
and even grazing the bone.  But the lad, undaunted,
struck manfully with his weapon.  The bright spear
was driven straight to the heart of the beast; with one
great cry he fell, and gnashing his huge jaws helplessly
he died among the withered leaves.  The boy, faint
with pain and the joy of victory, staggered into the
arms of his stalwart uncles, who had hastened to succor
him.  Gently they bound up the ghastly wound, and
with charms and witchery stanched the flowing blood.
Then, upon a litter woven of vines and pliant twigs,
they bore him down the deep glen to the broad halls of
old Autolycus; and the men and boys, having flayed
the grisly beast, brought afterward its head and bristly
hide, and set them up as trophies in the gateway.

For many weary days, Odysseus lay helpless on a
couch of pain.  But his kind kinsmen, and Phemius
his tutor, waited on him tenderly, and his fair
grandmother Amphithea nursed him.  And when the pain
left him, and he began to grow strong again, he loved
to lie on the bearskins at his grandfather's feet, and
listen to tales of the earlier days, when the older race
of heroes walked the earth.

"When I was younger than I am to-day," said the
old chief, as they sat one evening in the light of the
blazing brands,--"when I was much younger than now,
it was my fortune to take part in the most famous boar
hunt the world has ever known.

"There lived at that time, in Calydon, a mighty
chief named Oineus,--and, indeed, I know not but that
he still lives.  Oineus was rich in vineyards and in
orchards, and no other man in all Ætolia was happier
or more blessed than he.  He had married, early in life,
the princess Althea, fairest of the Acarnanian maidens,
and to them a son had been born, golden-haired and
beautiful, whom they called Meleager.

"When Meleager was yet but one day old, his father
held him in his arms, and prayed to Zeus and the
ever-living powers above: 'Grant, Father Zeus, and all ye
deathless ones, that this my son may be the foremost
among the men of Hellas.  And let it come to pass,
that when they see his valiant deeds, his countrymen
shall say, "Behold, this youth is greater than his father,"
and all of one accord shall hail him as their guardian
king.'

"Then his mother Althea, weeping tears of joy,
prayed to Pallas Athené, that the boy might grow up
to be pure-minded and gentle, the hope and pride of
his parents, and the delight and staff of their declining
years.  Scarcely had the words of prayer died from her
lips, when there came into her chamber the three
unerring Fates who spin the destinies of men.  White-robed
and garlanded, they stood beside the babe, and
with unwearied fingers drew out the lines of his
untried life.  Sad Clotho held the golden distaff in her
hand, and twirled and twisted the delicate thread.
Lachesis, now sad, now hopeful, with her long white
fingers held the hourglass, and framed her lips to say,
'It is enough.'  And Atropos, blind and unpitying as
the future always is, stood ready, with cruel shears, to
clip the twist in twain.  Busily and silently sad Clotho
spun; and the golden thread, thin as a spider's web,
yet beautiful as a sunbeam, grew longer and more
golden between her skilful fingers.  Then Lachesis
cried out, 'It is finished!'  But Atropos hid her shears
beneath her mantle, and said, 'Not so.  Behold, there
is a brand burning upon the hearth.  Wait until it is
all burned into ashes and smoke, and then I will cut
the thread of the child's life.  Spin on, sweet Clotho!'

"Quick as thought, Althea sprang forward, snatched
the blazing brand from the hearth, and quenched its
flame in a jar of water; and when she knew that not a
single spark was left glowing upon it, she locked it
safely in a chest where none but she could find it.  As
she did this, the pitiless sisters vanished from her sight,
saying as they flitted through the air, 'We bide our
time.'[1]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[1] See `Note 6`_ at the end of this volume.

.. vspace:: 2

"Meleager grew up to be a tall and fair and gentle
youth; and when at last he became a man, he sailed on
the ship Argo, with Jason, and Laertes your father,
and the great heroes of that day, to far-off Colchis, in
search of the Golden Fleece.  Many brave deeds were
his in foreign lands; and when he came home again to
Calydon, he brought with him a fair young wife, gentle
Cleopatra, daughter of Idas the boaster.

"Oineus had gathered in his harvest; and he was
glad and thankful in his heart, because his fields had
yielded plenteously; his vines had been loaded with
purple grapes, and his orchards filled with abundance
of pleasant fruit.  Grateful, as men should always be, to
the givers of peace and plenty, he held within his halls
a harvest festival, to which the brave and beautiful of
all Ætolia came.  Happy was this feast, and the hours
were bright with smiles and sunshine; and men forgot
sorrow and labor, and thought only of the gladness of
life.

"Then Oineus took of the first-fruits of his fields and
his vineyards and his orchards, and offered them in
thankful offerings to the givers of good.  But he forgot
to deck the shrine of Artemis with gifts, little thinking
that the arrow-darting queen cared for any thing which
mortal men might offer her.  Ah, woful mistake was
that!  For, in her anger at the slight, Artemis sent a
savage boar, with ivory tusks and foaming mouth, to
overrun the lands of Calydon.  Many a field did the
monster ravage, many a tree uproot; and all the growing
vines, which late had borne so rich a vintage, were
trampled to the ground.  Sadly troubled was Oineus,
and the chieftains of Ætolia knew not what to do.  For
the fierce beast could not be slain, but with his terrible
tusks he had sent many a rash hunter to an untimely
death.  Then the young man Meleager said, 'I will
call together the heroes of Hellas, and we will hunt the
boar in the woods of Calydon.'

"And so at the call of Meleager, the warriors flocked
from every land, to join in the hunt of the fierce wild
boar.  Among them came Castor and Polydeuces, the
twin brothers from Lacedæmon; and Idas the boaster,
the father-in-law of Meleager, from Messene; and
mighty Jason, captain of the Argo; and Atalanta,
the swift-footed daughter of Iasus of Arcadia; and
many Acarnanian huntsmen led by the sons of Thestios,
Althea's brothers.  Thither also did I, Autolycus,
hasten, although men spitefully said that I was far
more skilful in taking tame beasts than in slaying wild
ones.

"Nine days we feasted in the halls of Oineus; and
every day we tried our skill with bows and arrows, and
tested the strength of our well-seasoned spears.  On
the tenth, the bugles sounded, and hounds and huntsmen
gathered in the courtyard of the chief, chafing for
the hunt.  But a proud fellow named Cepheus, of
Arcadia, when he saw fair Atalanta equipped for the
chase, drew back disdainfully, and said,--

"'In my country, it is not the custom for heroes to
go to battle or to hunt side by side with women.
Woman's place is at home: her weapons are the distaff
and the needle; her duty is to practise well the household
virtues.  If you allow this young girl to join in
this hunt, then I will turn my face homeward, and seek
in the Arcadian land adventures worthy of men.'

"Then Meleager angrily answered, 'In the Arcadian
land, if report speaks truly, the deeds deemed worthiest
of men are the watching of flocks and the tuning of
the shepherd's pipe.  It is fear, not bravery, that
makes you seek an excuse to leave the chase of the
wild boar before it is begun.  You are afraid of the
beast; and you are still more afraid of the maiden Atalanta,
lest she should prove to be more skilled than you.
Have you heard how, when an infant, she was left to
perish on the Parthenian hill, and would have died, had
not a she-bear cared for her until some hunters rescued
her?  Have you heard how, as she grew up, her beauty
was greater than that of any other maiden, and how no
one but Artemis, the archer-queen, could shoot the
swift arrow so fair and straight?  Have you heard what
she did on the ship Argo, when, with Jason as our
captain, we sailed to the utmost bounds of the earth,
and brought home with us the fleece of gold?  Have
you heard how, with her own arrows, she slew the
beastly centaurs, Rhoecus and Hylaeus, because they
dared to make love to one so pure and beautiful?
Doubtless you have heard all these things, and you are
afraid to go to the field of danger with one so much
nobler than yourself.  Go back, then, to your
sheep-tending Arcadia!  No one will miss you in the chase.'

"Then Cepheus blushed, but more from shame than
anger.  'I will ride with you into the wood," said he,
'and never again shall any man accuse me of having a
timid heart.'

"Soon we sallied forth from the town, a hundred
huntsmen, with dogs innumerable.  Through the fields
and orchards, laid waste by the savage beast, we
passed; and Atalanta, keen of sight and swift of foot,
her long hair floating in the wind behind her, led all
the rest.  It was not long until, in a narrow dell once
green with vines and trees, but now strewn thick with
withered branches, we roused the fierce creature from
his lair.  At first he fled, followed closely by the
baying hounds.  Then suddenly he faced his foes; with
gnashing teeth and bloodshot eyes, he charged
furiously upon them.  A score of hounds were slain
outright; and Cepheus, rushing blindly onward, was
caught by the beast, and torn in pieces by his sharp
tusks.  Brave Peleus of Phthia with unsteady aim let
fly an arrow from his bow, which, falling short of the
mark, smote his friend Eurytion full in the breast, and
stretched him lifeless upon the ground.  Then swift-footed
Atalanta, bounding forward, struck the beast a
deadly blow with her spear.  He stopped short his
furious onslaught; and Amphiaraus, the hero and prophet
of Argos, launching a swift arrow, put out one of his
eyes.  Terrible were the cries of the wounded creature,
as, blinded and bleeding, he made a last charge upon
the huntsmen.  But Meleager with a skilful sword-thrust
pierced his heart, and the beast fell weltering
in his gore.  Great joy filled the hearts of the
Calydonians, when they saw the scourge of their land laid
low and helpless.  They quickly flayed the beast, and
the heroes who had shared in the hunt divided the
flesh among them; but the head and the bristly hide
they gave to Meleager.

"'Not to me does the prize belong,' he cried, 'but to
Atalanta, the swift-footed huntress.  For the first
wound--the true death stroke, indeed--was given by her;
and to her, woman though she be, all honor and the
prize must be awarded.'

"With these words, he bore the grinning head and the
bristly hide to the fair young huntress, and laid them
at her feet.  Then his uncles, the sons of Acarnanian
Thestios, rushed angrily forward, saying that no woman
should ever bear a prize away from them; and they
seized the hide, and would have taken it away, had not
Meleager forbidden them.  Yet they would not loose
their hold upon the prize, but drew their swords, and
wrathfully threatened Meleager's life.  The hero's heart
grew hot within him, and he shrunk not from the affray.
Long and fearful was the struggle,--uncles against
nephew; but in the end the sons of Thestios lay bleeding
upon the ground, while the victor brought again the
boar's hide, and laid it the second time at Atalanta's
feet.  The fair huntress took the prize, and carried it
away with her to deck her father's hall in the pleasant
Arcadian land.  And the heroes, when they had feasted
nine other days with King Oineus, betook themselves
to their own homes.

"But the hearts of the Acarnanians were bitter
towards Meleager, because of the death of the sons of
Thestios, and because no part of the wild boar was
awarded to them.  They called their chiefs around
them, and all their brave men, and made war upon King
Oineus and Meleager.  Many battles did they fight
round Calydon, and among the Ætolian hills; yet while
Meleager led his warriors to the fray, the Acarnanians
fared but ill.

"Then Queen Althea, filled with grief for her
brothers' untimely death, forgot her love for her son, and
prayed that her Acarnanian kinsmen might prevail
against him.  Upon the hard earth she knelt: she beat
the ground with her hands, and heaped the dust about
her; and, weeping bitter tears, she called upon Hades
and heartless Persephone to avenge her of Meleager.
And even as she prayed, the pitiless Furies, wandering
amid the darkness, heard her cries, and came, obedient
to her wishes.

"When Meleager heard that his mother had turned
against him, he withdrew in sorrow to his own house,
and sought comfort and peace with his wife, fair
Cleopatra; and he would not lead his warriors any more
to battle against the Acarnanians.  Then the enemy
besieged the city: a fearful tumult rose about the gates;
the high towers were assaulted, and everywhere the
Calydonians were driven back dismayed and beaten.
With uplifted hands and tearful eyes, King Oineus and
the elders of the city came to Meleager, and besought
him to take the field again.  Rich gifts they offered
him.  They bade him choose for his own the most
fertile farm in Calydon,--at the least fifty acres, half
for tillage and half for vines; but he would not listen to
them.  The din of battle thickened outside the gates;
the towers shook with the thundering blows of the
besiegers.  Old Oineus with trembling limbs climbed
up the stairway to his son's secluded chamber, and,
weeping, prayed him to come down and save the city
from fire and pillage.  Still he kept silent, and went not.
His sisters came, and his most trusted friends.  'Come,
Meleager,' they prayed, 'forget thy grief, and think
only of our great need.  Aid thy people, or we shall
all perish!'

.. _`MELEAGER REFUSES TO HELP IN THE DEFENCE OF THE CITY`:

.. figure:: images/img-074.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: MELEAGER REFUSES TO HELP IN THE DEFENCE OF THE CITY.

   MELEAGER REFUSES TO HELP IN THE DEFENCE OF THE CITY.

"None of these prayers moved him.  The gates were
beaten down; the enemy was within the walls; the
tide of battle shook the very tower where Meleager sat;
the doom of Calydon seemed to be sealed.  Then came
the fair Cleopatra, and knelt before her husband, and
besought him to withhold no longer the aid which he
alone could give.  'O Meleager,' she sobbed, 'none but
thou can save us.  Wilt thou sit still, and see the city
laid in ashes, thy dearest friends slaughtered, and thy
wife and sweet babes dragged from their homes and
sold into cruel slavery?'

"Then Meleager rose and girded on his armor.  To
the streets he hastened, shouting his well-known
battle-cry.  Eagerly and hopefully did the Calydonian
warriors rally around him.  Fiercely did they meet the foe.
Terrible was the bloodshed.  Back from the battered
gates and the crumbling wall, the Acarnanian hosts
were driven.  A panic seized upon them.  They turned
and fled, and not many of them escaped the swords of
Meleager's men.

"Again there was peace in Calydon, and the orchards
of King Oineus blossomed and bore fruit as of old;
but the gifts and large rewards which the elders had
promised to Meleager were forgotten.  He had saved
his country, but his countrymen were ungrateful.

"Then Meleager again laid aside his war-gear, and
sought the quiet of his own home, and the cheering
presence of fair Cleopatra.  For the remembrance of
his mother's curse and his country's ingratitude weighed
heavily on his mind, and he cared no longer to mingle
with his fellow-men.

"Then it was that Althea's hatred of her son waxed
stronger, and she thought of the half-burnt brand which
she had hidden, and of the words which the fatal sisters
had spoken so many years before.

"'He is no longer my son,' said she, 'and why should
I withhold the burning of the brand?  He can never
again bring comfort to my heart; for the blood of my
brothers, whom I loved, is upon his head.'

"And she took the charred billet from the place where
she had hidden it, and cast it again into the flames.
And as it slowly burned away, so did the life of
Meleager wane.  Lovingly he bade his wife farewell; softly
he whispered a prayer to the unseen powers above; and
as the flickering flames of the fatal brand died into
darkness, he gently breathed his last.

"Then sharp-toothed remorse seized upon Althea, and
the mother-love which had slept in her bosom was
reawakened.  Too late, also, the folk of Calydon
remembered who it was that had saved them from slavery and
death.  Down into the comfortless halls of Hades,
Althea hastened to seek her son's forgiveness.  The
loving heart of Cleopatra, surcharged with grief, was
broken; and her gentle spirit fled to the world of shades
to meet that of her hero-husband.  And Meleager's
sisters would not be consoled, so great was the sorrow
which had come upon them; and they wept and
lamented day and night, until kind Artemis in pity for
their youth changed them into the birds which we call
Meleagrides."

.. vspace:: 2

Lying on the bearskins at his grandfather's feet, and
listening to stories like this, Odysseus did not feel that
time was burdensome.  The wound upon his knee
healed slowly; and when at last he could walk again, a
white scar, as long and as broad as a finger, told the
story of his combat with the fierce wild boar.  By this
time the summer was far spent, and the bard Phemius
was impatient to return to Ithaca.

"The grapes in your father's vineyard are growing
purple, and his orchards are laden with ripening fruit,"
said he to Odysseus; "and the days are near at hand
when your anxious mother will gaze with longing over
the sea, expecting your return."

But there was no vessel at the port on the bay to
carry them home by the nearest way; and days' and
months might pass ere any ship, sent thither by
Laertes, would arrive.  How, then, were they to return
to Ithaca?

"Here is your uncle, bold Echion, who goes to-morrow
to Iolcos by the sea, carrying gifts and a
message from Autolycus to old King Peleus.  We
will go with him."

"But Iolcos is farther still from Ithaca," said
Odysseus.

"True," answered Phemius.  "But from Iolcos, at
this season of the year, there are many vessels sailing
to Corinth and the islands of the sea.  Once at Corinth,
and we shall find no lack of ships to carry us across the
bay of Crissa to our own loved Ithaca."

And thus the journey home was planned.  It was a
long and devious route by way of Iolcos and the Eubœan
Sea; and no one could say how many dangers they
might meet, or how many delays they should encounter.
Yet nothing better could be done, if they would return
before the summer ended.

The great Autolycus blessed Odysseus on departing,
and gave him rich gifts of gold and priceless gems, and
many words of sage advice.  "I shall see thee no
more," he said; "but thy name shall be spoken countless
ages hence, and men shall say, 'How shrewd and
far-seeing, brave in war, and wise in counsel, was
Odysseus!'"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`AT OLD CHEIRON'S SCHOOL`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE VII.*

.. class:: center large bold

   AT OLD CHEIRON'S SCHOOL.

.. vspace:: 2

After a long, hard journey by land and sea,
Odysseus and his tutor, with bold Echion, came to
Iolcos.  Aged Peleus, king of Phthia and the fertile
plains of Iolcos, greeted them with show of heartiest
welcome; for he remembered that Laertes had been
his friend and comrade long years before, when
together on the Argo they sailed the briny deep, and
he was glad to see the son of that old comrade;
and he took Odysseus by the hand, and led him into
his palace, and gave him of the best of all that
he had.

"Tarry with me for a month," he said.  "My ships
are now at sea, but they will return; and when the
moon rises again full and round, as it did last night, I
will send you safe to Corinth on the shores of the Bay
of Crissa."

And so Odysseus and the bard staid a whole month
at Iolcos, in the house of Peleus the king.  There were
feasting and merriment in the halls every day; and yet
the time hung heavily, for the boy longed to re-behold
his own loved Ithaca, and could hardly wait to see the
moon grow full and round again.

"What mountain is that which looms up so grandly
on our left, and whose sides seem covered with dark
forests?" asked Odysseus one day, as he walked with
his tutor beside the sea.

"It is famous Mount Pelion," said the bard; "and
that other mountain with the steeper sides, which
stands out faintly against the far horizon, is the scarcely
less famed Ossa."

"I have heard my father speak of piling Pelion upon
Ossa," said Odysseus, "but I cannot understand how
that can be done."

"There were once two brothers, the tallest that the
grain-giving earth has ever reared," said Phemius.
"Their names were Otus and Ephialtes; and they
threatened to make war even against the deathless
ones who dwell on Mount Olympus.  They boasted
that they would pile Ossa on Olympus, and Pelion,
with all its woods, upon the top of Ossa, that so they
might make a pathway to the sky.  And, had they
lived to manhood's years, no one can say what deeds
they would have done.  But silver-bowed Apollo, with
his swift arrows, slew the twain ere yet the down had
bloomed upon their cheeks or darkened their chins
with the promise of manhood.  And so Pelion still
stands beside the sea, and Ossa, in its own place,
guards the lovely vale of Tempe."[1]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[1] See Odyssey, Book xi. l. 306,

.. vspace:: 2

"Oh, now I remember something else about Mount
Pelion," cried Odysseus.  "It was from the trees which
grew upon its sides, that the ship Argo was built.
And I have heard my father tell how Cheiron the
Centaur once lived in a cave on Pelion, and taught
the young heroes who came to learn of him; and how
young Jason came down the mountain one day, and
boldly stood before King Pelias, who had robbed old
Æson, his father, of the kingdom which was rightfully
his.  Would that I had been one of Cheiron's pupils,
and had shared the instruction which he gave to those
youthful heroes!"

"The old Centaur still lives in his cave on Mount
Pelion," said Phemius.  "To-morrow, if King Peleus is
willing, we will go and see him."

And so, the next day, the two went out of Iolcos,
through vineyards and fields and olive orchards,
towards Pelion, the snow-crowned warder of the shore.
They followed a winding pathway, and came ere long
to the foot of the mighty mountain.  Above them were
frowning rocks, and dark forests of pine, which seemed
ready to fall upon and crush them.  But among the
trees, and in the crannies of the rocks, there grew
thousands of sweetest flowers, and every kind of health
giving herb, and tender grass for the mountain-climbing
deer.  Up and up they climbed, until the dark forests
gave place to stunted shrubs, and the shrubs to barren
rocks.  Then the pathway led downward again to the
head of a narrow glen, where roared a foaming
waterfall.  There they came to the mouth of a cave opening
out upon a sunny ledge, and almost hidden behind a
broad curtain of blossoming vines.  From within the
cave there came the sound of music,--the sweet
tones of a harp, mingled with the voices of singers.
Of what did they sing?

They sang of things pure and good and beautiful,--of
the mighty sea, and the grain-bearing earth, and the
blue vault of heaven; of faith, strong and holy; of
hope, bright and trustful; of love, pure and mighty.
Then the singing ceased, and the harp was laid aside.

Odysseus and the bard went quickly forward, and
stood waiting beside the wide-open door.  They could
see, by looking in, that the low walls of the cave were
adorned with shields of leather or bronze, with the
antlers of deer, and with many other relics of battle
or of the chase.  Upon the smooth white floor were
soft couches of bearskins; and upon the hearthstone
in the centre blazed a bright fire of twigs, casting a
ruddy, flickering light into the farthest nook and cranny
of that strange room.

They had not long to wait at the door.  An old man
with white hair, and beard reaching to his waist, with
eyes as clear and bright as those of a falcon, and with
a step as firm as that of youth, came quickly forward to
greet them.  Odysseus thought that he had never seen
a man with so noble and yet so sad a mien.

"Hail, strangers!" said the aged hero, taking their
hands.  "Hail, son of Laertes--for I know thee!--welcome
to the home of Cheiron, the last of his race!
Come in, and you shall be kindly entertained; and after
you have rested your weary limbs, you shall tell me
why you have come to Pelion, and what favor you
have to ask of me."

Therewith he turned again into the broad cave-hall,
and Odysseus and his tutor followed him.  And he led
his guests, and seated them on pleasant couches not far
from the glowing fire upon the hearth.  Then a comely
youth brought water in a stone pitcher, and poured it
in a basin, that they might wash their hands.  And
another lad brought wheaten bread, and set it by them
on a polished table; and another brought golden honey
in the honeycomb, and many other dainties, and laid
them on the board.  And when they were ready, a
fourth lad lifted and placed before them a platter of
venison, and cups full of ice-cold water from the
mountain cataract.  While they sat, partaking of these
bounties, not a word was spoken in the cave; for old
Cheiron never forgot the courtesy due to guests and
strangers.  When they had finished, he bade them stay
a while upon the couches where they sat; and he took a
golden lyre in his hands, and deftly touched the chords,
bringing forth the most restful music that Odysseus had
ever heard.  He played a soft, low melody which seemed
to carry their minds far away into a summer land of
peace, where they wandered at will by the side of still
waters, and through sunlit fields and groves, and
reposed under the shelter of calm blue skies, shielded
by the boundless love of the unknown Creator.  When
he had finished, Odysseus thought no more of the toilsome
journey from Iolcos, or of the wearisome climbing
of the mountain: he thought only of the wise and
wonderful old man who sat before him.

"Now tell me," said Cheiron, laying his lyre aside,--"tell
me what errand brings you hither, and what I can
do to aid you."

"We have no errand," answered Phemius, "save to
see one of the immortals, and to listen to the words of
wisdom and beauty which fall from his lips.  We know
that you have been the friend and teacher of heroes
such as have not had their peers on earth; and this
lad Odysseus, who is himself the son of a hero, would
fain learn something from you."

Cheiron smiled, and looked full into the young lad's
face.

"I have trained many such youths as you for the
battle of life," he said.  "And your father, as were all
the Argonauts, was well known to me.  You are welcome
to Mount Pelion, and to old Cheiron's school.
But why do you look at my feet?"

Odysseus blushed, but could make no answer.

"I understand it," said Cheiron, speaking in a tone
of sadness.  "You expected to find me half man, half
horse, and you were looking for the hoofs; for thus
have many men thought concerning me and my race.
Long time ago my people dwelt in the valleys and upon
the plains of Thessaly; and they were the first who
tamed the wild horses of the desert flats, and taught
them to obey the hand of their riders.  For untold years
my fathers held this land, and they were as free as the
winds that play upon the top of Pelion.  Their warriors,
galloping on their swift horses with their long
lances ready in their hands, knew no fear, nor met any
foe that could stand against them; and hence men
called them Centaurs,[2] the piercers of the air.  But by
and by there came a strong people from beyond the
sea, who built houses of stone, and lived in towns; and
these made cruel war upon the swift-riding Centaurs.
They were the Lapiths,[3] the stone-persuaders, and they
had never seen or heard of horses; and for a long time
they fancied that our warriors were monsters, half-steed,
half-man, living wild among the mountains and upon
the plain.  And so the story has gone abroad throughout
the world, that all the Centaurs, and even I, the
last of the race, are hardly human, but have hoofs and
manes, and live as horses live.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[2] From [Greek: kentein ten auran].

.. class:: noindent small

[3] From [Greek: laas peithein].

.. vspace:: 2

"Long and sad was the war between the Centaurs
and the Lapiths; but the stone-persuaders were
stronger than the piercers of the air.  In time, my
people were driven into the mountains, where they
lived as wild men in the caves, and in the sunless
gorges and ravines; and our enemies, the Lapiths,
abode in the rich valleys, and held the broad
pasture-lands which had once been ours.  Then it chanced
that Peirithous, king of the Lapiths, saw Hippodameia,
fairest of our mountain maidens, and wished to wed
her.  Whether her father consented to the marriage,
or whether the Lapiths carried her away by force, I
cannot tell; but Peirithous made a great wedding feast,
and to it he invited the chiefs of the Centaurs, and
great Theseus of Athens, and Nestor of sandy Pylos,
and many others of the noblest heroes of Hellas.
Many wild and dark stories have been told of what
happened at that wedding feast; but you must remember
that all these stories have come from the mouths
of our enemies, the stone-persuading Lapiths, and that
their truth may well be doubted.  Let me tell you about
it, as I understand the facts to be:--

"In the midst of the feast, when the Lapiths were
drunken with wine, Eurytion, the boldest of the
Centaurs, rose quickly to his feet, and beckoned to his
fellows.  Without a word they seized upon the bride;
they carried her, not unwilling, from the hall; they
seated her upon a swift steed which stood ready at the
door; then in hot haste they mounted, aiming to ride
with their prize back to their mountain homes.  But
the Lapiths were aroused, and rushed from the hall
ere our horsemen were outside of the gates.  Fearful
was the struggle which followed.  Our men were armed
with pine clubs only, which they had hidden beneath
their cloaks, for they dared not bring weapons to the
wedding feast.  The Lapiths fought with spears; and
with pitiless hate they slew one after another of the
Centaurs, until hardly a single man escaped to the
mountains.  But the war ended not with that; for
Peirithous, burning with anger, drove the remnant of
my people out of their mountain homes, and forced
them to flee far away to the lonely land of Pindus; and
I, alone of all my race, was left in my cavern-dwelling
on the wooded slopes of Pelion."

When Cheiron had ended his story, Odysseus saw
that his eyes were filled with tears, and that his hand
trembled as he reached again for his lyre, and played a
short, sad melody, as mournful as a funeral song.

"Why did you not go with your kindred to the land
of Pindus?" asked Phemius.

"This is my home," answered Cheiron.  "The fair
valley which you see yonder was once my father's
pasture land.  All the country that lies before us, even
to the meeting of the earth and the sky, is the country
of my forefathers.  I have neither parents, nor brothers,
nor wife, nor children.  Why should I wish to go away
from all that is dear to me?  This is a pleasant place,
and the young boys who have been my pupils have
made my life very happy."

"Please tell us about your pupils," said Odysseus,
moving nearer to the wise old man.

"So many boys have been under my care," said
Cheiron, "that I could not tell you about them all.
Some have come and been taught, and gone back
to their homes; and the world has never heard of
them, because their lots have been cast in pleasant
places, and their lives have been spent in peace.
There have been others who have made their names
famous upon the earth; for their paths were beset with
difficulties, and before them loomed great mountains
which they must needs remove or be crushed by them.
Among these latter were Heracles, doomed to a life
of labor, because another had usurped the place which
he should have had; young Jason, hiding from the cruel
hatred of his uncle Pelias; and gentle Asclepius, bereft
of a mother's love, and cast friendless upon the world's
cold mercies.  And there were also Peleus my grandson,
who is now your host at Iolcos; and Actæon, the
famous hunter; and many of the heroes who afterward
sailed on the Argo, to the golden strand of Colchis.
Each of these lads had a mind of his own, and tastes
which it was for me to foster and to train.  Heracles
was headstrong, selfish, impulsive,--terrible when he
did not bridle his passions; and yet his great heart
was full of love for the poor, the weak, and the
down-trodden, and he studied to make plans for lightening
their burdens.  Jason loved the water; and wrapped in
his cloak, he would sit for hours on Pelion's top, and
gaze with longing eyes upon the purple sea.  Asclepius
delighted to wander among the crags and in the ravines
of Pelion, gathering herbs and flowers, and studying the
habits of birds and beasts.  And Actæon had a passion
for the woods and the fields, and had ever a pack of
swift hounds at his heels, ready for the chase of wild
boar or mountain deer.

"When these lads came to me, I saw that I must give
to each the food which was best fitted for his needs, and
which his mind most craved.  Had I dealt with all
alike, and taught all the same lessons, I doubt if any
would have grown to manhood's full estate.  But, while
I curbed the headstrong will of Heracles, I did what I
could to foster his love of virtue and his inventive
genius; I taught young Jason all that I knew about
this wonderful earth, and the seas and islands which lie
around it; I led Asclepius farther along the pathway
which he had chosen, and showed him the virtues that
were hidden in plants and flowers; I went with Actæon
upon the chase, and taught him that there is no sport
in cruelty, and that the life of the weakest creature
should not be taken without good cause.  Thus I
moulded the mind of each of the lads according to
its bent; and each one grew in stature and in strength
and in beauty, before my eyes.  And then there were
general lessons which I gave to them all, leading them
to the knowledge of those things which are necessary
to the well-equipped and perfect man of our day.  I
taught them how to wield the weapons of warfare and
of the chase; how to ride and to swim; and how to
bear fatigue without murmuring, and face danger
without fear.  And I showed them how to take care of
their own bodies, so that they might be strong and
graceful, and full of health and vigor; and I taught
them how to heal diseases, and how to treat wounds,
and how to nurse the sick.  And, more than all else,
I taught them to reverence and love that great Power,
so little understood by us, but whom mankind will some
day learn to know.

"It was not long till Heracles went out in his might
to rid the world of monsters, to defend the innocent
and the helpless, and to set right that which is wrong;
and, for aught I know, he is toiling still along the
straight road of Virtue, towards the blue mountains of
Fame.  And Jason, as you know, left me, and went
down to Iolcos, to claim his birthright of old Pelias;
and being bidden to bring the Golden Fleece to Hellas,
he built the Argo, and sailed with the heroes to
far-away Colchis.  It was a proud day for me, his old
teacher, when he came back to Iolcos with the glittering
treasure; and I trusted that a life of happiness and
glory was before him.  But, alas! he had forgotten my
teaching, and had joined himself to evil; and Medea
the witch, whom he loved, brought untold misery upon
his head, and drove him ere long to an untimely
death.

"Then Asclepius went out upon his mission; and
everywhere that he went, he healed and purified and
raised and blessed.  He was the greatest conqueror
among all my pupils; but he won, not by strength like
Heracles, nor by guile like Jason, but through
gentleness and sympathy and brotherly love, and by
knowledge and skill and patient self-sacrifice; and to him
men gave the highest honor, because he cured while
others killed.  But the powers of darkness are ever
hateful towards the good; and Hades, when he saw
that Asclepius snatched back to life even those who
were at death's door, complained that the great healer
was robbing his kingdom.  And men say that Zeus
hearkened to this complaint, and that he smote Asclepius
with his thunderbolts.  Then the face of the sun
was veiled in sorrow, and men and beasts and all creatures
upon the earth wept for great grief, and the trees
dropped their leaves to the ground, and the flowers
closed their petals and withered upon their stalks,
because the gentle physician, who had cured all pains and
sickness, was no longer in the land of the living.  And
the wrath of silver-bowed Apollo was stirred within him,
and he went down to the great smithy of Hephaestus,
and, with his swift arrows, slew the Cyclopes who had
forged the thunderbolts for Zeus, and spared not one.
Then Zeus in his turn was filled with anger; and he
sent the golden-haired Apollo to Pherae, in Thessaly,
to serve for a whole year as bondsman to King Admetus."[4]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[4] See `Note 7`_ at the end of this volume.

.. vspace:: 2

At this moment, a tall and very handsome lad, whom
Odysseus had not yet seen, came into the room.  He
was not more than six years old; his long amber hair
fell in waves upon his shoulders; his eyes twinkled and
flashed like the sunlight on the blue sea waves; he
held his head erect, and he walked with a noble grace
which betokened the proud soul within his breast.
The eyes of Odysseus were fixed upon him, and he
wondered who this noble human being could be.
Cheiron saw his questioning look, and called the young
lad to him.

"Odysseus," said he, "this is my great-grandchild,
young Achilles, the son of King Peleus your host.
Something tells me that your life and his will in
after-times be strangely mingled; whether as friends or as
foes, I cannot tell.  You shall be friends to-day, at
least, and after a while you shall go out together, and
try your skill at archery.  But, Achilles, you may go
now and play with your fellows: I have something
more to say to young Odysseus."

The lad turned, and left the room as gracefully as he
had entered.  Then Cheiron turned again to Odysseus
and the bard.

"I was telling you about my pupils," he said; "and
I will speak of but one other, for there are reasons
why you should know his history.  Peleus, the son of
Æacus and my loved daughter Endeis, was brought to
me by his mother from Ægina.  There was something
in the boy's face which showed that a strange, sad life
was to be his; and, although he was not a promising
lad, yet when he left me to go with Jason to Colchis,
I felt great grief at losing him.  But by and by, after
the heroes had returned, I heard that Peleus had done
many wicked things in Ægina, and that he had been
driven into exile for his crimes.  He went first to Ceyx
in Thessaly, a lonely wanderer, cast off and forsaken
by all his friends.  And a story is told, that in his
loneliness and his sorrow, he one day prayed to Zeus that
he would give him companions.  And Zeus heard his
prayer, and great armies of ants were changed at once
into men; and they did homage to Peleus, and became
his subjects, and hence he is still called the King
of the Myrmidons.  Then he went to Phthia where
Eurytion reigned.  And Eurytion purified him from
his crimes, and gave him his daughter Antigone in
wedlock, and with her the third of his kingdom.  But
in an evil day they hunted the wild boar together in
the woods of Calydon, and Peleus unwittingly slew his
friend with an ill-aimed arrow.  Then he fled from
the people of Phthia, and came to Iolcos, where
Acastus, the son of old Pelias, ruled.  And Acastus
welcomed him kindly, and purified him from the stain of
Eurytion's death, and gave him of the best of all that
he had, and entertained him for a long time as his
guest.  But Astydamia, the wife of King Acastus,
falsely accused Peleus of another crime, and besought
her husband to slay him.  Then the heart of Acastus
was sad, for he would not shed the blood of one who
was his guest.  But he persuaded Peleus to join him in
hunting wild beasts in the woods of Pelion; for he
hoped that then some way might open for him to rid
himself of the unfortunate man.  All day long they
toiled up and down the slopes; they climbed the steep
cliffs; they forced their way through brakes and briery
thickets; and at last Peleus was so overwearied that
he sank down on a bed of moss, and fell asleep.  Then
Acastus slyly took his weapons from him, and left him
there alone and unarmed, hoping that the wild beasts
would find and slay him.  When Peleus awoke, he
saw himself surrounded by mountain robbers; he felt
for his sword, but it was gone; even his shield was
nowhere to be found.  He called aloud to Acastus, but
the king was dining at that moment in Iolcos.  I
heard his cry, however; I knew his voice, and I
hastened to his aid.  The robbers fled when they saw me
coming; and I led my dear but erring grandson back to
my cavern, where the days of his boyhood and
innocence had been spent.

"But I see that the sun is sinking in the west.  I
will say no more until after we have partaken of food."

With these words Cheiron arose, and left the room.
Odysseus, anxious to become acquainted with the lads,
arose also, and walked out into the open air.  Achilles
was waiting for him just outside the door, and the two
boys were soon talking with each other as if they had
long been friends.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE GOLDEN APPLE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE VIII.*

.. class:: center large bold

   THE GOLDEN APPLE.

.. vspace:: 2

After the evening meal had been eaten and the cave-hall
set in order, the lads brought armloads of dry sticks
and twigs, and threw them upon the fire.  And the
flame leaped up, and shone upon all around with a ruddy
glow; and the great cavern was emptied of gloom, and
was so filled with light and warmth that it seemed a fit
place for joy and pleasure.  Old Cheiron sat upon his
high couch like a king upon his throne; and the five
comely lads, with Odysseus, sat before him, while
Phemius the bard stood leaning against the wall.  After
Cheiron had played a brief melody upon his harp, and
the boys had sung a pleasant song, the wise old master
thus began:--

.. vspace:: 2

"There is a cavern somewhere on Mount Pelion
larger by far and a thousand times more beautiful than
this; but its doorway is hidden to mortals, and but few
men have ever stood beneath its vaulted roof.  In that
cavern the ever-living ones who oversee the affairs of
men, once held high carnival; for they had met there
at the marriage feast of King Peleus, and the woods
and rocks of mighty Pelion echoed with the sound of
their merry making.  But wherefore should the marriage
feast of a mortal be held in such a place and with
guests so noble and so great?  I will tell you.

"After Peleus had escaped from the plot which King
Acastus had laid for him, he dwelt long time with me;
for he feared to go down upon the plain lest the men
of Iolcos should seize him by order of Acastus, or the
folk of Phthia should kill him in revenge for old
Eurytion's death.  But the days seemed long to him, thus
shut out from fellowship with men, and the sun seemed
to move slowly in the heavens; and often he would
walk around to the other side of the mountain, and
sitting upon a great rock, he would gaze for long hours
upon the purple waters of the sea.  One morning as
thus he sat, he saw the sea nymph Thetis come up out
of the waves and walk upon the shore beneath him.
Fairer than a dream was she,--more beautiful than
any picture of nymph or goddess.  She was clad in a
robe of sea-green silk, woven by the Naiads in their
watery grottos; and there was a chaplet of pearls upon
her head, and sandals of sparkling silver were upon her
feet.

"As Peleus gazed upon this lovely creature, he heard
a voice whispering in his ear.  It was the voice of
Pallas Athené.

.. _`THE SILVER-FOOTED THETIS RISING FROM THE WAVES`:

.. figure:: images/img-096.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: THE SILVER-FOOTED THETIS RISING FROM THE WAVES.

   THE SILVER-FOOTED THETIS RISING FROM THE WAVES.

"'Most luckless of mortal men,' she said, 'there is
recompense in store for those who repent of their
wrong-doing, and who, leaving the paths of error, turn
again to the road of virtue.  The immortals have seen
thy sorrow for the evil deeds of thy youth, and they
have looked with pity upon thee in thy misfortunes.
And now thy days of exile and of sore punishment are
drawing to an end.  Behold the silver-footed Thetis,
most beautiful of the nymphs of the sea, whom even
the immortals have wooed in vain!  She has been sent
to this shore, to be won and wedded by thee.'

"Peleus looked up to see the speaker of these words,
but he beheld only a blue cloud resting above the
mountain-top; he turned his eyes downward again, and,
to his grief, the silver-footed Thetis had vanished in the
waves.  All day he sat and waited for her return, but
she came not.  When darkness began to fall he sought
me in my cave-hall, and told me what he had seen and
heard; and I taught him how to win the sea nymph for
his bride.

"So when the sun again gilded the crags of Pelion,
brave Peleus hid himself among the rocks close by
the sea-washed shore, and waited for the coming of the
silver-footed lady of the sea.  In a little time she rose,
beautiful as the star of morning, from the waves.  She
sat down upon the beach, and dallied with her golden
tresses, and sang sweet songs of a happy land in the
depths of the sounding sea.  Peleus, bearing in mind
what I had taught him, arose from his hiding-place, and
caught the beauteous creature in his arms.  In vain
did she struggle to leap into the waves.  Seven times
she changed her form as he held her: by turns she
changed into a fountain of water, into a cloud of mist,
into a burning flame, and into a senseless rock.  But
Peleus held her fast; and she changed then into a
tawny lion, and then into a tall tree, and lastly she took
her own matchless form again.

"And Peleus held the lovely Thetis by the hand, and
they walked long time together upon the beach, while
the birds sang among the leafy trees on Pelion's slopes,
and the dolphins sported in the sparkling waters at their
feet; and Peleus wooed the silver-footed lady, and won
her love, and she promised to be his bride.  Then the
immortals were glad; and they fitted up the great cavern
on Mount Pelion for a banquet hall, and made therein
a wedding feast, such as was never seen before.  The
vaulted roof of the cavern was decked with gems which
shone like the stars of heaven; a thousand torches,
held by lovely mountain nymphs, flamed from the niches
in the high walls; and upon the floor of polished marble,
tables for ten thousand guests were ranged.

"When the wedding feast was ready, all those who
live on high Olympus, and all the immortals who dwell
upon the earth, came to rejoice with King Peleus and
his matchless bride; and they brought rich presents for
the bridegroom, such as were never given to another
man.  They gave him a suit of armor, rich and fair, a
wonder to behold, which lame Hephaestus with rare
skill had wrought and fashioned.  Poseidon bestowed on
him the deathless horses, Balios and Xanthos, and a
deftly-wrought chariot with trimmings of gold.  And I,
one of the least of the guests, gave him an ashen spear
which I had cut on Pelion's top, and fashioned with my
own hands.

"At the table sat Zeus, the father of gods and men;
and his wife, the white-armed Here; and smile-loving
Aphrodite; and gray-eyed Pallas Athené; and all the
wisest and the fairest of the immortals.  The Nereides,
nymphs of the sea, danced in honor of Thetis their
sister; and the Muses sang their sweetest songs; and
silver-bowed Apollo played upon the lyre.  The Fates,
too, were there: sad Clotho, twirling her spindle;
unloving Lachesis, with wrinkled lips ready to speak the
fatal word; and pitiless Atropos, holding in her hand
the unsparing shears.  And around the table passed the
youthful and joy-giving Hebe, pouring out rich draughts
of nectar for the guests.

"Yet there was one among all the immortals who
had not been invited to the wedding; it was Eris, the
daughter of War and Hate.  Her scowling features,
and her hot and hasty manners, were ill-suited to grace
a feast where all should be mirth and gladness; yet in
her evil heart she planned to be avenged for the slight
which had been put upon her.  While the merry-making
was at its height, and the company were listening to
the music from Apollo's lyre, she came unseen into the
hall, and threw a golden apple upon the table.  No one
knew whence the apple came; but on it were written
these words, 'FOR THE FAIREST.'

"'To whom does it belong?' asked Zeus, stroking
his brows in sad perplexity.

"The music ceased, and mirth and jollity fled at once
from the banquet.  The torches, which lit up the scene,
flickered and smoked; the lustre of the gems in the
vaulted roof was dimmed; dark clouds canopied the
great hall: for Discord had taken her place at the table,
uninvited and unwelcome though she was.

"'The apple belongs to me,' said Here, trying to
snatch it; 'for I am the queen, and gods and men
honor me as having no peer on earth.'

"'Not so!' cried white-armed Aphrodite.  'With me
dwell Love and Joy; and not only do gods and men
sing my praises, but all nature rejoices in my presence.
The apple is mine, and I will have it!'

"Then Athené joined in the quarrel.  'What is it to
be a queen,' said she, 'if at the same time one lacks
that good temper which sweetens life?  What is it to
have a handsome form and face, while the mind is
uncouth and ill-looking?  Beauty of mind is better than
beauty of face; for the former is immortal, while the
latter fades and dies.  Hence no one has a better right
than I to be called the fairest.'

"Then the strife spread among the guests in the hall,
each taking sides with the goddess that he loved best;
and, where peace and merriment had reigned, now hot
words and bitter wrangling were heard.  And had not
Zeus bidden them keep silence, thus putting an end to
the quarrel, all Pelion would have been rent, and the
earth shaken to its centre in the mêlée that would
have followed.

"'Let us waste no words over this matter,' he said.
'It is not for the immortals to say who of their
number is most beautiful.  But on the slopes of Mount Ida,
far across the sea, the fairest of the sons of men--Paris,
the son of Trojan Priam--keeps his flocks; let
him judge who is fairest, and let the apple be hers to
whom he gives it.'

"Then Hermes, the swift-footed messenger, arose,
and led the three goddesses over sea and land to distant
Ida, where Paris, with no thought of the wonderful life
which lay before him, piped on his shepherd's reeds,
and tended his flock of sheep."

.. vspace:: 2

Here Cheiron paused in his story; and the five lads,
who had heard it oftentimes before, bade him a kind
good-night, and withdrew into an inner chamber to
pass the hours in sleep.  When more wood had been
thrown upon the fire, and the flames leaped up high
and bright towards the roof of the cave, Odysseus
and Phemius sat down again before the wise old master,
and asked him to finish the tale which he had begun.

"But first tell us," said Odysseus, "about that Paris,
who was to award the golden apple to the one whom
he should deem the fairest."

Then Cheiron smiled, and went on thus with his
story:--


"On the other side of the sea there stands a city,
rich and mighty, the like of which there is none in
Hellas.  There an old man, named Priam, rules over a
happy and peace-loving people.  He dwells in a great
palace of polished marble, on a hill overlooking the
plain; and his granaries are stored with corn, and his
flocks and herds are pastured on the hills and mountain
slopes behind the city.  Many sons has King Priam;
and they are brave and noble youths, well worthy of
such a father.  The eldest of these sons is Hector, who,
the Trojans hope, will live to bring great honor to his
native land.  Just before the second son was born, a
strange thing troubled the family of old Priam.  The
queen had dreamed that her babe had turned into a
firebrand, which burned up the walls and the high
towers of Troy, and left but smouldering ashes where
once the proud city stood.  She told the king her
dream; and when the child was born, they called a
soothsayer, who could foresee the mysteries of the
future, and they asked him what the vision meant.

"'It means,' said he, 'that this babe, if he lives, shall
be a firebrand in Troy, and shall turn its walls and its
high towers into heaps of smouldering ashes."

"'But what shall be done with the child, that he
may not do this terrible thing?" asked Priam, greatly
sorrowing, for the babe was very beautiful.

"'Do not suffer that he shall live,' answered the
soothsayer.

"But Priam, the gentlest and most kind-hearted of
men, could not bear to harm the babe.  So he called
Archelaus, his master shepherd, and bade him take
the helpless child into the thick woods, which grow
high up on the slopes of Ida, and there to leave him
alone.  The wild beasts that roam among those woods,
he thought, would doubtless find him, or, in any case,
he could not live long without care and nourishment;
and thus the dangerous brand would be quenched while
yet it was scarcely a spark.

"The shepherd did as he was bidden, although it
cost his heart many a sharp pang thus to deal barbarously
with the innocent.  He laid the smiling infant,
wrapped in its broidered tunic, close by the foot of an
oak, and then hurried away that he might not hear
its cries.  But the Dryads, who haunt the woods and
groves, saw the babe, and pitied its helplessness, and
cared for it so that it did not die.  Some brought it
yellow honey from the stores of the wild bees; some fed
it with milk from the white goats that pastured on the
mountainside; and others stood as sentinels around
it, guarding it from the wolves and bears.  Thus five
days passed, and Archelaus the shepherd, who could
not forget the babe, came cautiously to the spot to see
if, mayhap, even its broidered cloak had been spared
by the beasts.  Sorrowful and shuddering he glanced
toward the foot of the tree.  To his surprise, the babe
was still there; it looked up and smiled, and stretched
its fat hands toward him.  The shepherd's heart would
not let him turn away the second time.  He took the
child in his arms, and carried it to his own humble home
in the valley, where he cared for it and brought it up
as his own son.

"The boy grew to be very tall and very handsome;
and he was so brave, and so helpful to the shepherds
around Mount Ida, that they called him Alexandras, or
the helper of men; but his foster-father named him
Paris.  And as he tended his sheep in the mountain
dells, he met OEnone, the fairest of the river-maidens,
guileless and pure as the waters of the stream by whose
banks she loved to wander.  Day after day he sat with
her in the shadow of her woodland home, and talked of
innocence and beauty, and of a life of sweet contentment,
and of love; and the maiden listened to him with
wide-open eyes and a heart full of trustfulness and faith.
Then, by and by, Paris and OEnone were wedded; and
their little cottage in the mountain glen was the fairest
and happiest spot in Ilios.  The days sped swiftly by,
and neither of them dreamed that any sorrow was in
store for them; and to OEnone her shepherd-husband
was all the world, because he was so noble and brave
and handsome and gentle.

"One warm summer afternoon, Paris sat in the shade
of a tree at the foot of Mount Ida, while his flocks were
pasturing upon the hillside before him.  The bees
were humming lazily among the flowers; the cicadas
were chirping among the leaves above his head; and
now and then a bird twittered softly among the bushes
behind him.  All else was still, as if enjoying to the
full the delicious calm of that pleasant day.  Paris was
fashioning a slender reed into a shepherd's flute; while
OEnone, sitting in the deeper shadows of some clustering
vines, was busy with some simple piece of needle-work.
A sound as of sweet music caused the young
shepherd to raise his eyes.  Before him stood the four
immortals, Here, Athené, Aphrodite, and Hermes the
messenger; their faces shone with a dazzling radiance,
and they were fairer than any tongue can describe.  At
their feet rare flowers sprang up, crocuses and
asphodels and white lilies; and the air was filled with the
odor of orange blossoms.  Paris, scarce knowing what
he did, arose to greet them.  No handsomer youth ever
stood in the presence of beauty.  Straight as a
mountain pine was he; a leopard skin hung carelessly upon
his shoulders; his head was bare, but his locks
clustered round his temples in sunny curls, and formed fit
framework for his fair brows.

"Then Hermes spoke first: 'Paris, we have come to
seek thy help; there is strife among the folk who dwell
on Mount Olympus.  Here are Here, Athené, and Aphrodite,
each claiming to be the fairest, and each clamoring
for this prize, this golden apple.  Now we pray that
you will judge this matter, and give the apple to the
one whom you may deem most beautiful.'

"Then Here began her plea at once: 'I know that
I am the fairest,' she said, 'for I am queen, and mine
it is to rule among gods and men.  Give me the
prize, and you shall have wealth, and a kingdom, and
great glory; and men in after-times shall sing your
praises.'

"And Paris was half tempted to give the apple,
without further ado, to Here the proud queen.  But
gray-eyed Athené spoke: 'There is that, fair youth, which
is better than riches or honor or great glory.  Listen
to me, and I will give thee wisdom and a pure heart;
and thy life shall be crowned with peace, and sweetened
with love, and made strong by knowledge.  And though
men may not sing of thee in after-times, thou shalt find
lasting happiness in the answer of a good conscience
towards all things.'

"Then OEnone whispered from her place among the
leaves, 'Give the prize to Athené; she is the fairest.'  And
Paris would have placed the golden apple in her
hand, had not Aphrodite stepped quickly forward, and
in the sweetest, merriest tones, addressed him.

"'You may look at my face, and judge for yourself as
to whether I am fair,' said she, laughing, and tossing
her curls.  'All I shall say is this: Give me the prize,
and you shall have for your wife the most beautiful
woman in the world.'

"The heart of OEnone stood still as Paris placed the
apple in Aphrodite's hand; and a nameless dread came
over her, as if the earth were sinking beneath her feet.
But the next moment the blood came back to her cheeks,
and she breathed free and strong again; for she heard
Paris say, 'I have a wife, OEnone, who to me is the
loveliest of mortals, and I care not for your offer; yet
I give to you the apple, for I know that you are the
fairest among the deathless ones who live on high Olympus.'

"On the very next day it happened that King Priam
sat thoughtfully in his palace, and all his boys and
girls--nearly fifty in number--were about him.  His
mind turned sadly to the little babe whom he had sent
away, many years ago, to die alone on wooded Ida.
And he said to himself, 'The child has been long dead,
and yet no feast has been given to the gods that they
may make his little spirit glad in the shadowy land of
Hades.  This must not be neglected longer.  Within
three days a feast must be made, and we will hold
games in his honor.'

"Then he called his servants, and bade them go to
the pastures on Mount Ida, and choose from the herds
that were there the fattest and handsomest bull,
to be given as a prize to the winner in the games.
And he proclaimed through all Ilios, that on the third
day there would be a great feast in Troy, and games
would be held in honor of the little babe who had died
twenty years before.  Now, when the servants came
to Mount Ida, they chose a bull for which Paris had
long cared, and which he loved more than any other.
And he would not let the beast be driven from the
pasture until it was agreed that he might go to the city
with it and contend in the games for the prize.  But
OEnone, the river nymph, wept and prayed him not
to go.

"'Leave not the pleasant pasture lands of Ida, even
for a day,' said she; 'for my heart tells me that you
will not return.'

"'Think not so, my fair one,' said Paris.  'Did not
Aphrodite promise that the most beautiful woman in
the world shall be my wife?  And who is more
beautiful than my own OEnone?  Dry now your tears; for
when I have won the prizes in the games I will come
back to you, and never leave you again.'

"Then the grief of OEnone waxed still greater.  'If
you will go,' she cried, 'then hear my warning!
Long years shall pass ere you shall come again to
wooded Ida, and the hearts which now are young shall
grow old and feeble by reason of much sorrow.  Cruel
war and many dire disasters shall overtake you, and
death shall be nigh unto you; and then OEnone,
although long forgotten by you, will hasten to your
side, to help and to heal and to forgive, that so the old
love may live again.  Farewell!'

"But Paris kissed his wife, and hastened, light of
heart, to Troy.  How could it be otherwise but that,
in the games which followed, the handsome young
shepherd should carry off all the prizes?

"'Who are you?' asked the king.

"'My name is Paris,' answered the shepherd, 'and
I feed the flocks and herds on wooded Ida.'

"Then Hector, full of wrath because of his own failure
to win a prize, came forward to dispute with Paris.

"'Stand there, Hector,' cried old Priam; 'stand
close to the young shepherd, and let us look at you!'  Then
turning to the queen, he asked, 'Did you ever
see two so nearly alike?  The shepherd is fairer and
of slighter build, it is true; but they have the same
eye, the same frown, the same smile, the same motion
of the shoulders, the same walk.  Ah, what if the
young babe did not die after all?'

"Then Priam's daughter Cassandra, who has the gift
of prophecy, cried out, 'Oh, blind of eye and heart,
that you cannot see in this young shepherd the child
whom you sent to sleep the sleep of death on Ida's
wooded slopes!'

"And so it came about, that Paris was taken into his
father's house, and given the place of honor which was
his by right.  And he forgot OEnone his fair young
wife, and left her to pine in loneliness among the
woods and in the narrow dells of sunny Ida."[1]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[1] See `Note 8`_ at the end of this volume.

.. vspace:: 2

By this time the fire had burned low upon the
hearth, and Cheiron the master would fain have ended
his talk.  But Odysseus was anxious to hear more.

"To-morrow," said he, "we must go back to Iolcos,
for perchance the ships of Peleus may then be ready to
sail.  So tell us, I pray you, yet more about that
strange wedding feast in the cavern halls of Pelion."

"There is little more to tell," said the master.
"After the feast, King Peleus went down with his
bride into Phthia; and there his Myrmidons, who had
waited so long for his coming, rallied around him,
ready to help him in any undertaking.  And they
marched upon Iolcos, and entered the gates, carrying
all before them; and they slew King Acastus, and set
Peleus on his throne.  Thus ended this hero's days of
exile; and now for seven years he has ruled Iolcos and
Phthia both wisely and well; yet, though you have
found him at this season of the year in Iolcos, he
loves best his old home of Phthia, where dwell his
Myrmidons."

"Please tell me about his son, fair young Achilles,
who is here in your hall," said Odysseus.

Cheiron answered briefly by telling him how the
young lad's mother, the sea nymph Thetis, had longed
to make her son immortal; and how it was said that
she each night threw him into the fire to purge away
whatever mortal stains might cling to him; and how
each day she anointed him with ambrosia, and sang
him to sleep with sweet lullabies of the sea.

"But one night," added Cheiron, "King Peleus happened
to see the babe lying in the fire; and in his
fright he cried out, and snatched him from the coals.
Then Thetis sorrowfully gave up her plan; and the
boy was sent to me, that I might train him in all that
goes to the making of a man.  There are those who
say that I feed the lad on the hearts of lions, and the
marrow of bears and wild boars; and those may believe
the story who wish to do so.  But I have lived
long enough to know that there are other and better
ways of training up heroes and fitting them for the
strife of battle."

And thus the long talk with Cheiron, the wise master,
ended; and Odysseus retired to his couch, and was
soon dreaming of far-away Ithaca and of his anxious
mother, who was even then hoping for his return.

The next morning the lad and his tutor went down
the mountain; and, following the pathway which Jason
had taken when he went to claim his birthright of
Pelias, they came, in good time, back to Iolcos by the
sea.  There they found that a ship was just making
ready to sail for Corinth; and bidding a hasty farewell to
King Peleus, and to bold Echion, who still tarried there,
they embarked, and were soon well on their way.  The
voyage was a long and hard one; but kind Athené
favored them, and Poseidon gave them smooth waters
and many pleasant days upon the sea.  Nor were they
delayed at Corinth; for they found waiting there a
ship, which Laertes had sent out on purpose to meet
them and bring them home.  And so, before the
autumn had closed, Odysseus, much wiser and stronger
than he was when he departed, gazed with glad eyes
once more upon the shores of sea-girt Ithaca.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE SWINEHERD`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE IX.*

.. class:: center large bold

   THE SWINEHERD.

.. vspace:: 2

When Odysseus stepped ashore upon the sandy
beach of Ithaca, the good people of the town, both
young and old, had gathered there to welcome him;
and they sang a song of greeting like that with which
they were wont to meet their returning heroes.  He
staid only a moment to speak with them.  With winged
feet he hastened to the hall where his queenly mother
waited for his coming.  She threw her arms about him,
and in the fulness of her joy wept aloud; and she kissed
his head and his eyes and both his hands, and welcomed
him as one saved from death.

"Thou hast come at last, Odysseus," she said.
"The light is not more sweet to me.  I feared that I
should never see thee more, when I heard that thou
hadst gone from Parnassus to distant Pelion.  Come
now, and sit before me as of yore, and let me look into
those eyes which have been so long time away."

And Laertes, too, folded the boy in his arms, and
kissed him, and plied him with a thousand questions
which he could not answer.  Then, in the halls of the
king, a feast was made ready, and the day was given
over to music and merry-making; and all the people
joined in offering thanks to Pallas Athené, who had
brought the wanderer safe home to his friends and his
kindred.

When the evening had come, and the guests had
gone to their own homes, Odysseus sat upon a low
stool at his mother's feet, while she asked him many
questions about her aged sire Autolycus, and about the
dear home of her girlhood on the farther side of Mount
Parnassus.  And he told her of all that she asked him,
and of the wonderful things that he had seen and heard
in far-away lands and seas.

"But were you not afraid that evil would befall you,
and that your eyes would never more behold fair Ithaca?"
asked his mother, tenderly stroking his yellow hair.

"Nightly I prayed to Pallas Athené," answered the
lad, "and she watched kindly over me every hour.
Who would be afraid when shielded and led by so
great a friend?  Then, too, good Phemius questioned
the Pythian oracle about me; and the answer was such
as to make me sure of safety.  It was this:--

   |  'To home and kindred he shall safe return ere long,
   |  With scars well-won, and greeted with triumphal song.'"
   |

"Well," said Laertes, "the oracle doubtless spoke
the truth.  We know that you have returned to your
home, and that you have been greeted with songs, but
I fear you have yet to gain the scars."

"Not so, father," answered Odysseus.  And then he
showed them the great white scar which the tusk of the
wild boar had made upon his knee; and he told them
of the famous hunt in the woods of Parnassus, and of
the days of pain and enforced quiet which he had
afterward spent on an invalid's couch.  And all those
who listened to his story were struck with the wisdom
of his thoughts; and they wondered at the choice
beauty of the words which fell from his lips, soft and
persuasive like the flakes of snow on a quiet day in
winter.

After this, many pleasant days came and passed.
The simple-hearted folk of Ithaca went about their
tasks as of yore,--some tending their flocks in the
mountain pastures, some gathering the autumn fruits
from the overladen trees, and some twirling the spindle
or plying the loom in their humble homes.  King
Laertes himself worked early and late in his vineyards
or in his well-tilled orchard grounds; and Odysseus was
often with him, as busy as he, tending his own trees
and vines.  For, long time before, when he was but a
little child, the boy had walked through these grounds
with his father, and had asked the names of the trees.
And Laertes had not only answered the prattler, but
had given him a whole small orchard for his own: of
pear trees, thirteen; of apple trees, ten; of fig trees,
forty; and he promised to give him fifty rows of vines,
each of which ripened at a different time, with all
manner of clusters on their boughs.

Sometimes Odysseus went out with other boys of his
age, to ramble among the hills and on the wooded
mountain slopes.  Sometimes they played at ball in the
open field, or loitered around the flowing spring whence
the people of the town drew water.  This well had been
digged and walled by Ithacus and Neritus, the first
settlers of the island; and close by it was a thicket
of reeds and alders, growing green and rank from the
boggy soil; while, on the rock from beneath which the
ice-cold water gushed, an altar had been built, where
all wayfarers laid some offering for the nymphs.  This
was a lovely spot; and in the heat of the day, the boys
would often sit in the cool shade of the trees, and play
a quiet game with pebbles, or talk about the noble
deeds of the heroes.

Once they wandered far over the hills to the sheltered
woodland where the swine of Laertes were kept.  There,
near the rock called Corax, was the spring of Arethusa,
around which grew many great oak trees, yielding
abundance of acorns.  There the slave Eumæus lived in
a humble lodge of his own building, and fed and tended
his master's swine, far from the homes of other men.

When the swineherd saw Odysseus, and knew that
he was the master's son, he ran to welcome him and his
comrades to his lowly home.  He led them to the lodge,
and took them in, and strewed fragrant leaves upon
the floor, and stirred the blazing fire upon the hearth.
Then he hastened to the sties where the fattest young
pigs were penned.  Two of these he killed and dressed;
and when he had cut them in pieces, he roasted the
choicest parts on spits before the fire.  Then he set
the smoking food upon a table before Odysseus and his
comrades, and sprinkled it all over with white
barley-meal.  After this, he mixed honey-sweet wine with
water in a wooden bowl, and sat down to the feast with
them.  Right heartily did they eat and drink, and many
were the pleasant jests that were passed among them.
When they had finished, Odysseus said,--

"Swineherd Eumæus, you have fed us right nobly,
and there is nothing more welcome to tired and hungry
boys than plenty of well-seasoned food.  Surely one
who can serve so royally as you have done was not
born a slave?"

"Nor indeed was I," answered Eumæus.  "In my
childhood I was a prince, noble as yourself.  But the
Fates bring strange fortunes to some men, and strangely
have I been tossed about in the world."

"Do tell us," said Odysseus, "how this great change
was made in your life.  Was the goodly town in which
your father and your lady mother dwelt, laid waste by
an enemy?  Or did unfriendly men find you in the
fields alone, and sell you to him who would pay the
goodliest price?"

.. _`THE SWINEHERD TELLING HIS STORY TO ODYSSEUS`:

.. figure:: images/img-116.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: THE SWINEHERD TELLING HIS STORY TO ODYSSEUS.

   THE SWINEHERD TELLING HIS STORY TO ODYSSEUS.

"Since you ask me for my story, young master," said
Eumæus, "I will tell it you.  But sit you here upon
this couch of goat skins while you listen, for I know
that your long walk has wearied you.

"Far out in the sea there is an island called Syria,
above which the sun turns in its course.  It is not very
thickly peopled, but it is rich in vineyards and wheatfields,
and in pastures where thousands of cattle graze.
There no one ever goes hungry for lack of food, and
sickness never comes; but when men grow old, then
silver-bowed Apollo, and Artemis his huntress sister,
strike them with their noiseless arrows, and they cease
to live.  In that island stand two cities, fair and rich;
and over them both my father is sole lord and king.
There, in his white halls where care never enters,
my infancy was passed; and never did I dream of
the hard lot which the pitiless Fates had decreed
for me.

"One day there came to our island some Phoenician
merchants, shrewd seafaring men, intent on trade and
profit.  In their ship they brought countless trinkets
to barter with our folk for corn and wine; and they
moored their vessel in the harbor close to the shore.
In my father's house there dwelt a Phoenician slave-woman,
tall and fair, and skilled in needlework.  And
when the merchants knew that she spoke their
language, they asked her who she was and from whence
she came.

"'In Sidon I was born,' she answered, 'and Arybas
my father was one of the wealthiest of Sidonian
merchants.  Once as I was walking on the shore, a band of
Taphian sea-robbers seized me unawares, and carried
me in their dark-hulled ship across the sea.  They
brought me to this far-distant island, and sold me, for
much gold, to the man who lives in yonder palace.'  And
she pointed to my father's lofty dwelling.

"Then the merchants asked her if she would return
with them to Sidon, where she might again behold her
father and mother, and the sweet home of her girlhood.
And she consented, only asking that they pledge
themselves to take her safely home.

"'Now say no more,' she said; 'and should any of
you meet me on the road or by the well, hold your
tongues, and let no word be spoken between us.  But
when you have sold your goods, and have filled your
ship with corn and wine, send some one to the house
who shall tell me secretly.  Then I will hie me to your
swift-sailing vessel, bringing gold wherewith to pay my
fare, and, if fortune favor, even more than gold.  For I
am nurse to the little son of my master, a cunning
prattler whom I often take with me in my walks.  I will
bring him on board your ship, and when you have
reached some rich foreign land you can sell him for a
goodly price.'

"And thus having settled upon a plan, the Phoenician
woman went back to my father's halls; and the
merchants staid a whole year in our harbor, and filled
their ship with grain.  But when at last they were
ready to sail, they sent a messenger to tell the woman.
He came to our house with many trinkets, bracelets,
and golden necklaces, which pleased the eyes of my lady
mother and her maidens.  And while they were looking,
and asking the price, he signed to my Phoenician nurse,
and straightway gathered up his goods, and hastened
back to his fellows.  When the sun went down, the
woman took my hand, and led me from the house as
she had often done before.  Thoughtlessly I followed
her to the shore where the fast-sailing ship was moored.
The Phoenicians took us both on board; they hoisted
the broad sail, and a brisk wind quickly carried us far
away from my home and friends.  On the seventh day,
Artemis the archer queen smote the woman with her
silent arrows, and her eyes saw no more the sweet light
of heaven.  Then the crew cast her forth into the sea,
to be food for fishes and the sea calves; and I was left
alone and stricken with grief and fear.  But the swift
ship brought us ere long to Ithaca, and there those
who had stolen me bartered me to Laertes for a
goodly price.  And that is why I am your father's
thrall, and dwell here lonely underneath these
sheltering oaks."[1]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[1] See Note 9 at the end of this volume.

.. vspace:: 2

Such was the tale which the swineherd told Odysseus
and his young companions as they sat together in the
lodge.

"I pity thee, Eumæus," said the lad.  "Thy story is
indeed a sad one; and, could I do so, I would gladly
send thee back to far-off Syria where thy mother
sorrows even yet for thee."

"Alas!" answered the swineherd.  "There is no
hope.  No ship will ever sail through the unknown
sea-ways which lead to my boyhood's home.  My life must
be spent in this spot; yet I am happy in knowing that
my master is the kindest of men, and that I shall be well
provided for.  Even a slave may find enjoyment if his
heart be right; for it is the mind, and not the force of
outward things, that makes us rich and free."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE SEA ROBBERS OF MESSENE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE X.*

.. class:: center large bold

THE SEA ROBBERS OF MESSENE.

.. vspace:: 2

Five years passed quietly by, and brought few
changes to Ithaca.  The flocks still grazed in their
mountain pastures; the orchard trees still bent under
their loads of ripening fruit; the vines still yielded their
treasures of purple and red.  The simple-hearted islanders
arose each day with the coming of the dawn; they
went about their tasks with cheerfulness; they sang,
and danced, and ate their accustomed meals, and then
with the coming of night they lay down to sleep: to
them, all days were alike, and life was but one pleasant
round of duties.  But King Laertes, as he grew older,
sought more and more the quiet of his farm and garden;
and, for the most part, he allowed his little kingdom
to take care of itself, and his subjects to do as they
pleased.

And in these five years young Odysseus had become
a man.  He had grown not so much in stature as in
wisdom, nor yet so much in size of limb and body as
in strength of bone and muscle.  There was nothing in
his face or figure that could be called handsome, and
yet he was the pride of Ithaca.  For, in all the deeds
and feats most worthy of men, he was without a peer.
In wrestling and leaping, in rowing and swimming, in
shooting with the bow, and in handling the heavy spear,
there was no one that could equal him.  He was a very
master of words; and when his speech warmed into
earnestness, the dullest hearer was spell-bound by his
eloquence.  Even to the Achaian mainland and among
the islands of the sea, he was famed for his far-reaching
shrewdness.  Indeed, his craftiness oftentimes outweighed
his sense of honor; for, in that early day, to
outwit one's fellows even by fraud was thought to be
praiseworthy.

One evening in summer, four strange ships, with long
black hulls, sailed into the harbor at Ithaca, and were
moored in the deep water close to the shore.  They
were found to be manned by crews of seafarers from
the low-lying shores of Messene; and their captain
brought greetings from Orsilochus their king, and
offered to barter silver and merchandise for Ithacan
wool and long-horned sheep.  Laertes welcomed the
strangers warmly; and as the night was near, he advised
that early on the morrow they should bring their wares
ashore, and allow his people to bargain for what they
needed most.  And soon darkness covered all the ways,
and Ithaca was wrapped in slumber.

When the gray dawn peeped into his chamber, and
awakened him, the king arose, and looked out towards
the harbor.  Not one of the black-hulled ships could
he see.  They had silently cast their moorings, and had
stolen away through the darkness.  While the king
looked and wondered, an old shepherd with frightened
face and gestures of alarm came running in breathless
haste to the palace.  In a few words he told what
strange things had happened.  By the light of the
waning moon, the sea rovers from Messene had sailed
around to a little cove where the pastures slope down
to the water's edge.  There they had landed, and without
much ado had driven a whole flock of sheep aboard
their ships,--three hundred long-wooled ewes and
bleating lambs, the choicest of the fields.  And they
had carried away not only these, but the six sleepy
shepherds whose duty it had been to guard them.

An alarm was quickly sounded, and the news was
passed from mouth to mouth until it was known to all.
The bravest men of Ithaca hastened to the shore, where
stood Odysseus and his father, ready to direct them.
Their fleetest vessels, lying high upon the beach, were
cleared ready to be launched.  Five ships with vermilion
prows were pushed into the waves; and each was
manned by a score of lusty rowers, and headed towards
the open sea.  The long oars dipped into the water, as
if all were moved by a single hand; and the vessels
sped out upon their errand, like dogs of the chase intent
upon a fleeing victim.

The sky was clear.  The waves danced merrily in
the sunlight.  The wind blew gently from the shore.
The crews of the Ithacan ships bent to the oars like
practised seamen; but when they rounded the headlands
at the foot of the bay, and came out upon the
open sea, they saw no trace of the pirate fleet, nor
even a single sail upon the laughing face of the deep.
Whether the men of Messene had pushed straight
homeward with their plunder, or whether they had put
into some other cove or inlet farther down the coast,
no one could guess.  All that their pursuers could do
was to sail close along the shore, southward towards
Cephallenia, peering behind every jutting headland,
and into every sheltered nook, in hopes of coming upon
them.

Five days afterward, the red-prowed ships returned
to Ithaca.  Nothing had been seen of the sea robbers:
nothing had been heard of the stolen flocks.

What was to be done?  The robbers were known to
be men of Messene, the subjects of Orsilochus.  It
was no secret, that much of the wealth of Messene had
been gotten by the plunder and pillage of foreign
coasts; but were the pirates of that country to be
allowed thus to rob their near neighbors and kinsfolk?
Laertes called together a council of the chiefs and
elders, and asked them what it was best to do.

"We are a peaceful, home-loving people," said some
of the older men, "and it would neither be wise nor
pleasant to entangle ourselves in a war with a strong
king like Orsilochus.  The loss of three hundred sheep
is not much where there are so many, and it is not
likely that the sea robbers will ever trouble us again.
Let us go quietly back to our fields and homes, and
leave well enough alone."

But the young men would not listen to a plan so
tame and spiritless.  They were eager, if they could
not recover what was their own, to take at least what
was of equal value from the Messenians.  It would be
easy, they said, for a few stanch ships with well-chosen
crews to cross the sea-ways, and land by night upon the
rich coast of Messene; there they could fill the roomy
holds of their vessels with fruit and grain; and before
any one could hinder, they would sail safely back to
Ithaca laden with wealth far greater than three hundred
sheep.

Then Odysseus, though a mere youth among bearded
men, stood up before them, and said,--

"My good friends, I like neither the one plan nor
the other.  It is but the part of a slave to suffer wrong
without striking back.  It is but the part of a coward
to strike in the dark, as if fearing the enemy's face.
Why not send boldly to Messene, and demand either
the stolen sheep, or a fair price for them?  I myself
will undertake the business, and I promise you that
I will bring back to Ithaca gifts and goods worth twice
as much as the flock that has been taken."

The elders listened with favor to the young man's
words; and, after further talk, it was settled that he
should go forthwith across the sea to claim the debt
which was due from the people of Messene.

The goodliest ship of all the Ithacan galleys was
made ready for Odysseus.  The needed stores of food
and drink were brought on board, and placed in the
vessel's hold.  The young hero, with his friend and
tutor Phemius, climbed over the vessel's side, and sat
down in the prow.  The long-haired seamen cast loose
the moorings; they plied their oars, and the swift ship
was soon far out upon the waters.  A steady north
wind filled the sail, and the vessel sped swiftly on her
way, cleaving the white foam with her keel.  By and
by the sun went down, and night wrapped the world
in her sober mantle; but the ship still held its course,
being guided by the moon's pale light, and the steadfast
star of the north.

The next day they sailed within sight of the low-lying
coast of Elis, which stretched northward and
southward farther than their eyes could reach.  Yet
they turned not to the shore, but sailed straight on;
for Odysseus, advised by Pallas Athené, wished first
to visit Pylos, where wise old Nestor ruled with his
father, the ancient Neleus.  This Neleus was the uncle
of Jason, chief of the Argonauts, and had been driven
from Iolcos by Pelias the usurper.  Long time had he
wandered, an exile in strange lands, until Aphareus of
Arene gave him leave to build a city on the sandy
plain close by the sea.  There he had reared a noble
palace; and there he still dwelt, having outlived three
generations of men.  But he had given up his kingdom,
many years before, to his son Nestor, himself a
sage old man.

It was not until late on the third day that the voyagers
turned their ship's prow into the harbor of Pylos.
It touched the shore, and Odysseus with his tutor
sprang out upon the sands.  They found the people
of the city offering sacrifices there to Poseidon, ruler of
the deep.  Upon nine long seats they were sitting, five
hundred or more on each seat; and the priest stood up
before them, pouring out libations and offering sacrifices.
Nine coal-black heifers he offered to Poseidon.

King Nestor sat upon a lofty seat while the elders of
the city stood around him, or plied their several duties
at the feast.  Some of them were busy cutting choice
bits of flesh from the slaughtered beeves; others fixed
these bits upon spits, and roasted them over heaps of
glowing coals; and still others handed the smoking
food to the waiting people who sat hungry in their
places.  When Nestor saw Odysseus and the bard, two
strangers, standing upon the shore, he arose and went
down to meet them.  He gave to each a hand, and
leading them to the feast he seated them upon soft
skins spread on piles of yielding sand.  Then he
brought to them, in his own hands, choicest pieces of
well-cooked and well-flavored food; and when they had
eaten as much as they liked, he poured rich wine into
a golden goblet, and as he offered it first to the noble
bard, he said, "Right welcome are you, stranger,
whoever you may be, to this our midsummer festival.  I
give this golden goblet to you first, you being the older
man, that you may pray as beseemeth you to great
Poseidon.  When you have made your prayer, hand
then the cup to the young man who is with you, that
he too may pour out a libation; for all men have need
to pray."

Then the bard took the goblet, and pouring out a
rich libation, lifted up his eyes and prayed, "Great
Poseidon, thou who dost hold the earth in thy strong
arms, hear now the prayer of thy suppliant.  Prolong
still the life of our aged host, and add to Nestor with
each circling year new honors and greater wealth.  To
the folk of Pylos give rich contentment and that peace
which is the befitting prize of those who are mindful
of life's varied duties.  And lastly, grant that this
young man may find that which he seeks, and then
return rejoicing to his home and friends."

When he had thus spoken, he gave the goblet to
Odysseus, and he in like manner poured out libations,
and prayed to great Poseidon.

Then said Nestor as he took again the goblet,
"Strangers, you do wisely thus to offer prayers to the
gods; for they are far above us in virtue, strength,
and honor.  When men have failed to do aright, and
have broken Heaven's just laws, they may still, by
humble vows and supplications, turn aside from evil-doing,
and soften the wrath of the ever-living powers."

"Yes, truly," answered Phemius, "by prayers we do
honor both ourselves and those to whom we pray.
There is an ancient saying, which no doubt you oft have
heard, that prayers are the feeble-sighted daughters of
Father Zeus, and wrinkled and lame they follow in
misfortune's track.  But misfortune, strong and swift,
out-runs them often, and brings distress upon the sons of
men; then these blessed prayers, following after, kindly
heal the hurts and bind up the aching wounds which
have been made.  And for this reason the man who is
wont to pray feels less the strokes of fortune than does
he who lives forgetful of the gods."[1]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[1] See Note 10 at the end of this volume.

.. vspace:: 2

The feast being soon ended, Nestor turned again to
the strangers, and said, "Behold now, the day is
well-nigh gone, and all have paid their vows to the
ever-living gods.  The time has come when we may ask our
stranger-guests their names and errand.  Who are you
who come thus unheralded to the sandy shores of
Pylos?  Is your visit one of peace, and shall we
welcome you as friends?  Or do you come as spies, to
find out what there may be of wealth or of weakness
in our city?"

Odysseus answered: "O noble Nestor, we will speak
the truth, and hide nothing from you.  I am Odysseus
of Ithaca; my father is King Laertes, who was once
your comrade when you sailed on the Argo to golden
Colchis.  Ten days ago, there came to our island
seafaring men from Messene, whom we welcomed as friends
and neighbors.  But under cover of the night they
landed on our shores; they seized three hundred of
our long-wooled sheep, together with the shepherds,
and bore them across the sea to some one of the pirate
harbors of Messene.  I now am on my way to King
Orsilochus, to bid him send back the stolen flock; and
if he will not hearken to my words, then I shall either
gain by guile or take by force double the value of the
sheep.  But I have come first to Pylos, that you, my
father's old-time friend, might know my errand, and,
if need be, lend me your aid."

"You have spoken well," answered Nestor; "and for
your father's sake you are thrice welcome to the lofty
halls of Pylos.  Abide with me for one night, and in
the morning I will give you a car and steeds, and a
trustworthy guide, to take you by the straightest road
to Pherae, where the king of Messene dwells.  Orsilochus
must learn from me, that, though his pirate-crews
may plunder foreign shores, they must not molest the
flocks and goods of our home-staying neighbors."

Having thus spoken, he led the way to the fair palace,
which his father Neleus erstwhile had built.  There
they found that aged chieftain sitting in the great hall,
upon a soft couch spread with purple coverings.  His
hair and his long beard were white as the driven snow,
and his hands trembled from very feebleness, for he
was exceeding old.  He spoke kindly to Odysseus, and
asked many questions about his father Laertes, and his
home in Ithaca; but he seemed most pleased when the
young man told him of his visit, when a boy, to Iolcos
and Mount Pelion.  For Iolcos had been the home of
Neleus in his youth; and he it was who had helped
Pelias drive Æson from the kingdom which was his by
right.  But Nemesis had followed him, and punished
him for the deed.

Soon the shades of night began to darken the fair
hall, and the chiefs and elders went each one to his
own house.  But Nestor led Odysseus and the bard to
an upper chamber, where a fair, soft couch was spread
upon a jointed bedstead.  There he left them for the
night, and there they soon found rest in soothing
slumber.

As soon as the light of day began to streak the
eastern sky, the aged Neleus, as was his wont, arose from
his couch, and, leaning on the arm of Nestor, went
feebly out, and took his seat upon a smooth white stone
before the palace gate.  Then every one who had aught
of grievance, or had suffered any wrong, came and told
his story, and made his plea; and the old hero weighed
the matter with an even hand, and gave judgment for
the right.

"What shall be done to aid the son of Laertes, that
so his journey into Messene shall prosper?" asked
Nestor.  "Thou knowest that King Orsilochus has
ever been our friend and ally; yet shall we allow his
lawless men thus to despoil our neighbors and old-time
comrades?"

"Send to Pherae, with the young man, a trusty
messenger who shall speak for him," answered old Neleus.
"Send them both in thy own chariot, and ask Orsilochus,
in the name of a friend, to deal justly with the
son of Laertes."

By this time Odysseus and the bard had awakened
from their slumber.  They arose; and when they had
bathed, and had been anointed with soft oil, they clothed
themselves in robes of noble texture, and went down
into the banquet hall.  There they found King Nestor
waiting; and they sat down with him at the table, and
willing servants waited on them, bringing choice food
and pouring sweet wine into golden goblets.

When the meal was finished, the bard bade his host
farewell; and, praying that the gods would speed
Odysseus on his errand, he went down to the
red-prowed ship which was waiting by the shore.  And as
soon as he stepped on board, the sailors loosed the
moorings, and set the sail; and a brisk wind bore them
swiftly back towards Ithaca.

But Nestor spoke to the young men about him,
"Bring out my finest horses, and yoke them forthwith
to my lightest car.  They shall carry Odysseus on
his journey across the plain to Pherae; and my son
Antilochus shall bear him company, and be my
messenger to the Messenian king."

Soon the car was ready.  The young men took their
places; and Antilochus touching the restive horses
with his whip, they sped across the dusty plain.  It
was a rough and tiresome journey, along unbroken
ways, and roads scarcely marked with tracks of wheels
or horses' hoofs; and night had begun to fall ere they
came to the river Nedon and the high walls of Pherae
where dwelt Orsilochus, the king of Messene.

.. _`ALPHEUS AND ARETHUSA`:

.. figure:: images/img-132.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: ALPHEUS AND ARETHUSA.

   ALPHEUS AND ARETHUSA.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE BOW OF EURYTUS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE XI.*

.. class:: center large bold

   THE BOW OF EURYTUS.

.. vspace:: 2

In Arcadia there is a little mountain stream called
Alpheus.  It flows through woods and meadows and
among the hills for many miles, and then it sinks
beneath the rocks.  Farther down the valley it rises
again, and dancing and sparkling, as if in happy chase
of something, it hurries onward towards the plain; but
soon it hides itself a second time in underground
caverns, making its way through rocky tunnels where the
light of day has never been.  Then at last it gushes
once more from its prison chambers; and, flowing
thence with many windings through the fields of Elis,
it empties its waters into the sea.

Of this strange river a strange tale is told, and this
is what Antilochus related to Odysseus as they rode
across the plain towards Pherae:--

.. vspace:: 2

"Years ago there was no river Alpheus; the channel
through which it flows had not then been hollowed out,
and rank grass and tall bending reeds grew thick where
now its waters sparkle brightest.  It was then that a
huntsman, bearing the name of Alpheus, ranged through
the woods, and chased the wild deer among the glades
and glens of sweet Arcadia.  Far away by the lonely
sea dwelt Telegona, his fair young wife, and his lovely
babe Orsilochus; but dearer than home or wife or babe
to Alpheus, was the free life of the huntsman among
the mountain solitudes.  For he loved the woods and
the blue sky and the singing birds, and the frail flowers
upon the hillside; and he longed to live among them
always, where his ears could listen to their music, and
his eyes look upon their beauty.

"'O Artemis, huntress-queen!' he cried, 'I ask but
one boon of thee.  Let me ramble forever among these
happy scenes!'

"And Artemis heard him, and answered his prayer.
For, as he spoke, a bright vision passed before him.  A
sweet-faced maiden went tripping down the valley,
culling the choicest flowers, and singing of hope and joy
and the blessedness of a life pure and true.  It was
Arethusa, the Arcadian nymph, by some supposed to
be a daughter of old Nereus, the elder of the sea.  Then
Alpheus heard no more the songs of the birds, or the
music of the breeze; he saw no longer the blue sky
above him, or the nodding flowers at his feet: he was
blind and deaf to all the world, save only the beautiful
nymph.  Arethusa was the world to him.  He reached
out his arms to catch her; but, swifter than a frightened
deer, she fled down the valley, through deep ravines
and grassy glades and rocky caverns underneath the
hills, and out into the grassy meadows, and across the
plains of Elis, to the sounding sea.  And Alpheus
followed, forgetful of every thing but the fleeing vision.
When, at length, he reached the sea, he looked back;
and, lo! he was no longer a huntsman, but a river doomed
to meander forever among the scenes, for love of which
he had forgotten his wife and his babe and the duties
of life.  It was thus that Artemis answered his prayer.

"And men say that Arethusa the nymph was afterwards
changed into a fountain; and that to this day, in
the far-off island of Ortygia, that fountain gushes from
the rocks in an unfailing, crystal stream.  But Orsilochus,
the babe forgotten by his father, grew to manhood,
and in course of time became the king of Pherae
and the seafaring people of Messene."

.. vspace:: 2

When Odysseus and his companion reached Pherae,
the sun had set and the gates of the palace were closed.
But the porter sent a messenger into the hall where
King Orsilochus was sitting at the evening meal, who
said, "O king, the car of Nestor, our worthy neighbor,
stands outside the gate; and in the car are two young
men, richly clothed like princes, and bearing themselves
in a most princely manner."

Forthwith the king arose, and went out to the gate,
and welcomed the young men to his city and his
high-built halls.  And he took them by the hand, and led
them into the feast-chamber where the chiefs of Pherae
and Messene already sat at meat.  He put the spears
which they bore, in a spear-stand, where were other
goodly weapons leaning against the wall.  Then he
seated them on chairs of cunning workmanship,
beneath which were linen rugs of many colors; and he
gave to each an oaken footstool for his feet.  Then a
maid poured water into a basin of silver, that they
might wash their hands; and she drew a polished table
near them, on which another maid placed white loaves
of bread, and many dainties well-pleasing to the taste of
tired travellers.  And the carver brought divers tempting
dishes of roasted meats; and a herald poured red
wine into golden bowls, and set them within easy reach.

When they had eaten, and had forgotten their hunger
and thirst and weariness, an old blind bard came into
the hall; and as he sat in a high seat leaning against a
pillar, he took his harp in his hand, and, touching it
with his deft fingers, sang sweet songs of the gods and
the heroes and famous men.  Not until he had finished
his music and laid aside his harp, did Orsilochus
venture to speak of any thing that might disturb the
pleasure of his guests.  Then with well-chosen words,
he asked them their names and their errand.

"Our fathers," answered Odysseus, "are Nestor and
Laertes, well known among the heroes who sailed with
Jason to the golden strand of Colchis; and the errand
upon which we come is one of right and justice."

And then he told the king how the crews of the
Messenian ships had landed in Ithaca and carried away
his father's choicest flock.  Orsilochus listened kindly;
and when Odysseus had ended, he said, "Think no
more of this troublesome matter, for I will see that it
is righted at once.  The men who dared thus to wrong
your father shall restore fourfold the value of the stolen
flocks, and shall humbly beg the pardon of Laertes, as
well as of myself.  I have spoken, and it shall be done;
but you must tarry a while with me in Pherae, and be
my honored guest."

Thus Odysseus brought to a happy end the quest
upon which he had come to Messene and the high-walled
town of Pherae.  And he tarried many days in
the pleasant halls of the king, and was held in higher
honor than all the other guests.  But Antilochus, on
the second morning, mounted again his father's chariot,
and journeyed onward into Laconia: why he went
thither, and did not return to Pylos, Odysseus was soon
to learn.

One evening there came to Pherae a lordly stranger,
bringing with him a train of well-armed men and
bearing a handsome present for Orsilochus.  He was very
tall and handsome; he stood erect as a mountain pine,
and his eyes flashed keen and sharp as those of an
eagle; but his long white hair and frosted beard
betokened a man of many years, and his furrowed brow
showed plainly that he had not lived free from care.

"I am Iphitus of Œchalia," he said, "and I am
journeying to Lacedæmon where great Tyndareus
rules."

When Odysseus heard the name of Iphitus, he
remembered it as that of a dear friend of whom his
father had often spoken; and he asked,--

"Are you that Iphitus who sailed with Jason to
golden Colchis?  And do you remember among your
comrades, one Laertes of Ithaca?"

"There is but one Iphitus," was the answer, "and I
am he.  Never can I forget the noble-hearted Laertes
of Ithaca; for, on board the Argo, he was my messmate,
my bedfellow, my friend, my sworn brother.
There is no man whom I love more dearly.  Would
that I could see him, or even know that he still lives!"

When he learned that Odysseus was the son of his
old-time friend, he was overjoyed; and he took him
by the hand, and wept for very gladness.  Then he
asked the young man a thousand questions about his
father and his mother, and his father's little kingdom
of Ithaca.  And Odysseus answered him truly; for his
heart was filled with love for the noble old hero, and he
felt justly proud of his friendship.  And after this, so
long as they staid at Pherae, the young man and the old
were constantly together.

One day, as they were walking alone outside of the
city walls, Iphitus said, "Do you see this noble bow
which I carry, and which I always keep within easy
reach?"

"It would be hard not to see it," answered Odysseus,
smiling; "for where you are, there also is the bow.  I
have often wondered why you guard it with so great
care."

"It is the bow of my father Eurytus," answered
the hero, "and, next to Apollo's silver weapon, it is the
most wonderful ever made.  My father dwelt in Œchalia,
and was skilled in archery above all other men;
and the sons of the heroes came to him to learn how
to shoot the silent arrow with most deadly aim.  Even
Heracles, the mightiest of earth-dwellers, was taught
by him; but Heracles requited him unkindly.

"In my father's halls, close by the shore of the
eastern sea, there were many bright treasures and precious
gems and rarest works of art.  But more beautiful than
any of these, and more precious to my father's heart
than any glittering jewel, was our only sister, the lovely
Iole.  And when Heracles went out from the land of
his birth to toil and do the bidding of false Eurystheus,
he tarried for a day in my father's halls.  There he saw
Iole, the blue-eyed maiden, and his great strong heart
was taken captive by her gentle will; but the stern words
of Eurystheus fell upon his ears, and bade him go forth
at once to the labors which had been allotted him.  He
went; for he had vowed, long time before, always to
obey the calls of duty.  And Iole grieved for him in
secret; yet every day she grew wiser and more beautiful,
and every day the tendrils of her love were twined
more and more closely about my father's heart.

"Heracles went out to do the thankless tasks which
his master Eurystheus had bidden him do.  In the
swamps of Lerna, he slew the nine-headed Hydra,
and dipped his arrows in its poisonous blood.  In the
forests of Arcadia, he caught the brazen-footed stag
sacred to Artemis.  In the snowy glens of Erymanthus,
he hunted the fierce wild boar which had long
been the terror of men; and, having caught him in a
net, he carried him to Mycenæ.  In Elis he cleansed
the stables of Augeas, turning the waters of the river
Alpheus into the stalls of his oxen.  In the marshes of
Stymphalus, he put to flight the loathsome Harpies,
and rested not from following them until they were
outside the borders of Hellas.  In the sunset land of
the Hesperides, he plucked the golden apples which
hung ripe in the gardens of Here; and he slew the fiery
dragon that kept watch and ward around them.  And,
lastly, he went down into the dark kingdom of Hades,
and brought thence the mighty hound Cerberus, carrying
him in his strong arms into the very presence of
Eurystheus.  All these deeds, and many more, did
Heracles, because they were tasks set for him by his
master; but other things, even mightier than they, did he
do because of his love for suffering men.[1]  At length,
when the days of his servitude to Eurystheus were
ended, he came again to Hellas, and dwelt a long time
in Calydon with his old-time friend Oineus."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[1] See Note 11 at the end of this volume.

.. vspace:: 2

When Iphitus had thus spoken, he was silent for a
time; and Odysseus, seeing that he was busy with his
own thoughts, asked him no questions.  Then, as if
talking in a dream, he said,--

"Do you see this bow,--the bow of my father Eurytus?
Much grief has it brought upon our house; and
yet it was not the bow, but my father's overweening
pride, that wrought the mischief, and caused me to go
sorrowing through life.  Shall I finish my story by
telling you how it all ended?"

"Tell me all," answered Odysseus.

"My father Eurytus, as I have said, was the king of
archers; for no man could draw an arrow with so
unerring aim as he, and no man could send it straight to
the mark with a more deadly force.  Every thought
of his waking hours was upon his bow, and he aspired
to excel even the archery of Artemis and Apollo.  At
length he sent a challenge into every city of Hellas:
'*Whosoever will excel Eurytus in shooting with the bow
and arrows, let him come to Œchalia, and try his skill.
The prize to be given to him who succeeds is Iole, the fair
daughter of Eurytus.*'

"Then there came to the contest, great numbers of
young men, the pride of Hellas.  But when they saw
this wonderful bow of Eurytus, and tried its strength,
their hearts sank within them; and when they aimed
their shafts at the target, they shot far wide of the mark,
and my father sent them home ashamed and without
the prize.

"'My dearest Iole,' he would often say, 'I am not
afraid of losing you, for there lives no man who knows
the bow as well as I.'

"But by and by great Heracles heard of my father's
boasts, and of the prize which he had offered.

"'I will go down to Œchalia,' said he, 'and I will win
the fair Iole for my bride.'

"And when he came, my father remembered how he
had taught him archery in his youth; and he felt that
in his old pupil he had at last found a peer.  Yet he
would not cease his boasting.  'If the silver-bowed
Apollo should come to try his skill, I would not fear to
contend even with him.'

"Then the target was set up, so far away that it
seemed as if one might as well shoot at the sun.

"'Now, my good bow,' said my father, 'thou hast
never failed me: do thou serve me better to-day than
ever before!'

"He drew the strong cord back, bending the bow to
its utmost tension; and then the swift arrow leaped
from its place, and sped like a beam of light straight
towards the mark.  But, before it reached its goal,
the strength which my father's arm had imparted to it
began to fail; it wavered in the air, its point turned
downward, and it struck the ground at the foot of the
target.

"Then Heracles took up his bow, and carelessly aimed
a shaft at the distant mark.  Like the lightning which
Zeus hurls from the high clouds straight down upon the
head of some lordly oak, so flashed the unfailing arrow
through the intervening space, piercing the very centre
of the target.

"'Lo, now, Eurytus, my old-time friend,' said Heracles,
'thou seest that I have won the victory over thee.
Where now is the prize, even the lovely Iole, that was
promised to him who could shoot better than thou?'

"But my father's heart sank within him, and shame
and grief took mighty hold of him.  And he sent Iole
away in a swift-sailing ship, to the farther shores of the
sea, and would not give her to Heracles as he had
promised.  Then the great hero turned him about in
anger, and went back to his home in Calydon,
threatening vengeance upon the house of Eurytus.  I
besought my father that he would remember his word,
and would call Iole home again, and would send her to
Heracles to be his bride.  But he would not hearken,
for the great sorrow which weighed upon him.  He
placed his matchless bow in my hands, and bade me
keep it until I should find a young hero worthy to
bear it.

"'It has served me well,' he said, 'but I shall never
need it more.'  Then he bowed his head upon his
hands, and when I looked again the life had gone from
him.  Some men say that Apollo, to punish him for his
boasting, slew him with one of his silent arrows; others
say that Heracles smote him because he refused to give
to the victor the promised prize, even fair Iole, the idol
of his heart.  But I know that it was grief and shame,
and neither Apollo nor Heracles, that brought death
upon him.

"As to Heracles, he dwelt a long time in Calydon,
where he wooed and won the princess Deianeira, the
daughter of old Oineus; but the memory of Iole, as she
had been to him in the bright days of his youth, was
never blotted from his mind.  And the people of
Calydon loved him, because, with all his greatness
and his strength, he was the friend and helper of the
weak and needy.  But one day, at a feast, he killed by
accident a little boy in the palace of Oineus, named
Eunomos; and his heart was filled with grief, and he
took his wife Deianeira, and, leaving Calydon, he
journeyed aimlessly about until he came to Trachis in
Thessaly.  There he built him a home, but his restless
spirit would give him no peace; and so, leaving
Deianeira in Trachis, he came back towards Argolis by way
of the sea.  Three moons ago, I met him in Tiryns.
He greeted me as a dear old friend, and kindly offered
to help me in the undertaking which I had then on
foot; for robbers had driven from my pastures twelve
brood mares, the finest in all Hellas, and I was
searching for them.

"'Go you with your men into Messene,' said he,
'for doubtless you will find that which you seek among
the lawless men who own Orsilochus as king.  If you
find them not, come again to Tiryns, and I will aid
you in further search, and will have them restored to
you, even though Hermes, or great Autolycus, be the
thief.'

"So I left him, and came hither to Messene, and
to the high-walled towers of Pherae; and thus you
know my errand which I have kept hidden from Orsilochus.
I have found no traces of the stolen mares; and
so to-morrow I shall return to Argolis and Tiryns
where the great hero waits for me."

Much more would godlike Iphitus have spoken; but
now the sun had set, and the two friends hastened back
to the palace of Orsilochus.

"Never have I met a man whose friendship I prized
more highly than thine," said Odysseus, as they crossed
the courtyard, and each was about to retire to his
chamber.  "I pray that thou wilt take this sharp
sword, which was my father's, and this mighty spear,
as tokens of the beginnings of a loving friendship."  And
the young man put the noble weapons into the
old hero's hands.

"And do thou take in return an equal present," said
Iphitus.  "Here is the matchless bow of Eurytus my
father; it shall be thine, and shall be to thee a worthy
token of the love which I bear towards thee."

Odysseus took the bow.  It was a bow of marvellous
beauty, and its strength was so great that no man, save
its proud new owner, could string it.  It was indeed
a matchless gift, and a treasure to be prized.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN THE WORLD`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE XII.*

.. class:: center large bold

   THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN THE WORLD.

.. vspace:: 2

Very early on the following day, Iphitus bade Orsilochus
farewell, and started on his journey back towards
Tiryns; and Odysseus, to the surprise of all, went with
him, riding in the same chariot.

"I know that you want to go into Laconia," Iphitus
had said.  "Why not go now?  For I and my brave
men will convoy you safely as far as Lacedæmon; and
when there, I will commend you to my old comrades,
Castor and Polydeuces, who dwell in the palace of their
father, King Tyndareus."

And Odysseus had gladly consented; for, although
his host had pressed him hard to stay longer, he was
very anxious for many reasons to visit Lacedæmon.

For two days the company travelled slowly eastward.
They crossed the mountain land which lies between
Messene and Laconia, and came to the plain, rich with
wheat-fields, which lay beyond.  And now the way was
easier, and the road led straight towards Lacedæmon.

At noon on the second day, they rested upon the
banks of a little stream; and, as the sun was hot, they
sat a long time in the pleasant shade of some trees
which grew not far from the roadside.  Some distance
down the valley they caught glimpses of the high towers
of the city; and now and then they heard the sound of
busy workers within the walls, or the shouts of the
toilers in the neighboring fields.  A ride of only a few
minutes would bring them to the gates of Lacedæmon.
While they were thus waiting and resting, an old
minstrel, who had come out of the city, joined them
by the roadside, and began to entertain them.  At first
he played sweetly upon his lyre, and sang songs, new
and old, which he thought would be pleasing to his
listeners.  Then he told them stories of the times, now
long past, when yet men lived in peaceful innocence,
unbeset with eating cares.

"And now," he said, "since you are about to enter
Lacedæmon, and will spend the night within the kingly
halls of great Tyndareus, you must needs hear of the
beauty and the courage and the wealth for which this
city is far famed among all the states of Hellas.  The
riches of which we boast cannot be measured like gold
and precious stones; our wealth lies in the courage and
true-heartedness of our men, and in the beauty and
devotedness of our women."

And then he told them of the four wonderful
children whom King Tyndareus and his wife Leda had
reared in the pleasant halls of Lacedæmon,--Castor
and Polydeuces, the devoted brothers; and the sisters,
proud Clytemnestra, and Helen the beautiful.  He told
how Castor and Polydeuces were famed among all the
heroes of Greece; how they had sailed with Jason on
the Argo; how they had hunted the wild boar in the
woods of Calydon; and how they had fought under the
banner of Peleus when he stormed the town of Iolcos,
and drove the false Acastus from his kingdom.  He
told how Helen, while yet a mere child, had been stolen
from her home and her parents, and carried by Theseus
of Athens to far-distant Attica; and how her brothers
Castor and Polydeuces had rescued her, and brought
her back to her loving friends in Lacedæmon.  He told
how the two brothers excelled in all the arts of war,
and in feats of courage and skill; how Castor was
renowned at home and abroad as a tamer of horses, and
how Polydeuces was without a peer as a boxer and as
a skilful wielder of the sword.  And he told how the
beauty of Helen had brought hosts of suitors from
every quarter of the world; and how her father, old
Tyndareus, was all the time beset with courtiers,
princes, and heroes, the noblest of the earth,--all
beseeching him for the hand of the matchless fair
one.

No one knows how long the old man would have
kept on talking, had not Iphitus bade him cease.  "We
have heard already, a thousand times, the tales that
you tell us," he said.  "Waste no more time with vain
words which are on the tongue of every news-monger
in Argolis; but make haste back to the city, and say
to Castor and Polydeuces that Iphitus, who erstwhile
was their comrade on the Argo, waits outside the
gates of Lacedæmon."

The minstrel bowed, and said, "It is not for me to
act the part of a herald for a stranger.  But do you
send one of your young men into the city, and I will
gladly go with him into the broad palace of the king,
where he may announce your coming."

Then Iphitus called to one of the young men in his
company, and bade him go before them to the palace,
to herald their coming; and the old minstrel went with
him.

Now when the sun was beginning to sink behind the
heights of lofty Taygetes, the company arose from their
resting-place by the roadside, and began to move slowly
towards the city.  At the same time, two horsemen
came out through the gate, and rode rapidly up the
valley to meet them.  Iphitus waved his long-plumed
helmet in the air, and shouted aloud.  "There they
come," he cried,--"the twin heroes! as noble and as
handsome, and seemingly as young, as when we sailed
together on the Argo."

It seemed but a moment until the horsemen
approached and drew rein before them.  They were tall
and comely youths, exceedingly fair, and so alike that
no man could tell which one was Castor or which
Polydeuces.  Their armor was of gold, and glowed in the
light of the setting sun like watch-fires on the
mountain-tops.  Their steeds were white as snow, with long
manes that glimmered and shone like the silvery beams
of the moon on a still summer's evening.

"All hail, our old-time comrade!" they cried.  "Welcome
to the halls of Lacedæmon!  We bid you welcome
in the name of our aged father, King Tyndareus."

Then they turned, and led the way to the lofty palace
gates.

As Odysseus and his aged friend dismounted from
their car, a score of ready squires came out to serve
them.  Some loosed the horses from the yoke, and led
them to the stables, and fed them plentifully with oats
and white-barley grains; others tilted the car against
the wall of the outer court, so that no careless passer-by
would run against or injure it; and still others carried
the arms of the heroes into the spacious hall, and leaned
them with care against the grooved columns.

Then Castor and Polydeuces, the glorious twins, led
the heroes into the broad hall of King Tyndareus.
Odysseus gazed about him with wondering eyes, for he
had never seen so great magnificence.  Walls of
polished marble ran this way and that from the brazen
threshold; the doors were of carved oak inlaid with
gold, and the door-posts were of shining silver.
Within were seats and sumptuous couches ranged against
the wall, from the entrance even to the inner
chambers; and upon them were spread light coverings,
woven and embroidered by the deft hands of women.
And so great was the sheen of brass, of gold and silver,
and of precious gems, within this hall, that the light
gleamed from floor to ceiling, like the beams of the sun
or the round full moon.[1]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[1] See Note 12 at the end of this volume.

.. vspace:: 2

The aged king was pleased to see the heroes; for
Iphitus and he had been lifelong friends, firm and true,
through every turn of fortune.  And when he learned
the name and parentage of young Odysseus, he took
him by the hand, and bade him welcome for the sake
of his father, good Laertes.

The first words of greeting having been spoken,
Odysseus, still wondering, went down into the polished
baths.  There, when he had bathed, he clothed himself
in princely garments; and he threw a soft, rich cloak
about his shoulders, and made himself ready to stand
in the presence of beauty, nobility, and courage.  Then
Polydeuces led him back into the great hall.

But a change had taken place while he was gone.
The king was no longer alone.  There stood around
him, or sat upon couches, all the noblest young heroes
of Hellas.  The king's son-in-law, tall Agamemnon of
Mycenæ, stood behind the throne; and near him was
his handsome brother Menelaus.  Among all the princes
then at Lacedæmon, these two sons of Atreus were
accounted worthiest; for not only did they excel in
strength and wisdom, but they were heirs to the
kingdom of Argolis, and the lordship over men.  Next to
them stood Ajax the son of Telamon; he was nephew
to old King Peleus, who had wedded the sea-nymph
in the cave-halls of Mount Pelion; and among the
younger heroes there was none who equalled him in
bravery.

Reclining on a couch at the king's left hand was
another prince of the same name,--Ajax, the son of
Oileus.  He had come from distant Locris, where he
was noted as the swiftest runner and the most skilful
spearsman in all Hellas.  He was neither so tall nor so
handsome as the son of Telamon; but the very glance
of his eye and the curl of his lip, made men admire
and love him.

Below him stood Diomede of Tiryns, who, though
still a mere youth, was a very lion in war.  His father,
brave Tydeus, had met his death while fighting with
the Thebans; but he had long ago avenged him.

Idomeneus, a prince of Crete, known far and wide
for his skill in wielding the spear, was next, a man
already past the prime of life.  And beyond him in
order were other princes: Philoctetes of Melibœa,
famous for his archery; Machaon, son of Asclepius,
from Œchalia, the home of Iphitus; Antilochus of
Pylos, late the companion of Odysseus; Nireus of Syma,
famed only for his comeliness; and Menestheus of
Athens, who, in the management of men and horses
and the ordering of battle, had not a peer on earth.

All these were in the hall of King Tyndareus; and
they received Odysseus with words of seeming
kindness, although a shade of jealousy was plainly seen
upon their faces.  While they were speaking, a
minstrel entered, and began to play deftly upon his lyre;
and, as he played and sung, two dancers sprang upon
the floor, and whirled in giddy mazes about the hall.
Then from their high-roofed chamber, where the air
was full of sweet perfumes, came three women to listen
to the music.  Helen, like in form to Artemis the
huntress-queen, led the rest; and when Odysseus saw
her, he remembered no more the golden splendor which
had dazzled his eyes when first he stood upon the
threshold of the palace, for every thing else paled in
the light of Helen's unspeakable beauty.  Next to her
came Clytemnestra, who, a few years before, had been
wedded to Agamemnon of Mycenæ.  She was fair, but
not beautiful; and the glance which fell from her eye
sent a thrill of pain to the heart of the young hero.
The two sisters were followed by their cousin, sweet
Penelope, who, blushing like the morning, kept her
eyes modestly upon the ground, and looked not once
towards the company of princely strangers.  And, as
she stood leaning against a lofty column, Odysseus
wondered within himself whether he admired more the
glorious beauty of Helen, or the retiring sweetness of
Penelope.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A RACE FOR A WIFE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE XIII.*

.. class:: center large bold

   A RACE FOR A WIFE.

.. vspace:: 2

Days and weeks passed by, and still Odysseus tarried
as a guest at the court of King Tyndareus.  His friend
Iphitus had gone on to Tiryns to meet the hero
Heracles, and had left with him his blessing and the bow
of Eurytus.  But the young princes who had come to
Lacedæmon to woo the beautiful Helen remained in
the palace, and each had vowed in the secret of his
heart that he would not depart until he had won the
matchless lady for his bride.  Each had offered to
the king gifts of countless value,--gold and jewels,
fine horses, and well-wrought armor; and each had
prayed him that he would himself set the bride-price
for his daughter, and bestow her on whom he would,
even on the man who pleased him best.  But the king,
for reasons of his own, would give them no answer.

All this time, Odysseus held himself aloof from the
crowd of wooers, and kept his own counsel; and, though
all believed that he too was smitten with love for the
peerless Helen, yet in his heart the blue-eyed Penelope
reigned queen.  One day as he sat alone with Tyndareus
in his chamber, he saw that the king was sorely
troubled; and he began in his own way to find out the
cause of his distress.

.. _`ODYSSEUS ADVISES KING TYNDAREUS CONCERNING HELEN'S SUITORS`:

.. figure:: images/img-154.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: ODYSSEUS ADVISES KING TYNDAREUS CONCERNING HELEN'S SUITORS.

   ODYSSEUS ADVISES KING TYNDAREUS CONCERNING HELEN'S SUITORS.

"Surely, O king!" he said, "you are the happiest
of men.  For here you have, in Lacedæmon, every
thing that can delight the eye, or please the heart.
Wherever you may turn, there you see wealth and
beauty; and it is all yours, to do with as you like.
Your sons are the bravest in the world; your daughters
are the fairest; your palace is the most beautiful;
your kingdom is the strongest.  There is certainly
nothing to be wished for that is not already yours."

"And yet," answered Tyndareus, with a sigh, "I am
the most miserable of mortals.  I would rather be a
witless swineherd in the oak forests, living in a hut,
and feeding upon roots and wild fruits, than dwell in
this palace, beset with cares like those which daily
weigh me down."

"I cannot understand you," said Odysseus.  "You
are at peace with all the world; your children are all
with you; you have no lack of comfort.  There is
nothing more for you to desire.  How, indeed, can care
come in through these golden doors, and sit upon your
brow, and weigh you down with heaviness?"

"I will tell you," answered the king, "for I know
that I can trust your good judgment.  Here in my
palace are all the noblest princes of Hellas suing for
the hand of Helen, whom the gods have cursed with
more than mortal beauty.  Each has offered me a
price, and each expects to win her.  I dare not
withhold her long; for then all will become angered, and
my kingdom as well as my daughter will be the prey
of him who is the strongest.  I dare not give her to
one of them, for then the other nine and twenty will
make cause against me and bring ruin to Lacedæmon.
On this side grin the heads of Scylla, all black with
death; on that side dread Charybdis roars; and there
is no middle way.  Why, oh, why did not the immortals
bless my daughter by giving her a homely face?"

Then Odysseus drew nearer to the king, and spoke
in lower tones.  "I pray you, do not despair," he said.
"There is a safe way out of all this trouble.  If you
will only trust me, I will lead the whole matter to a
happy issue."

"How, how?" eagerly asked the king.

"I will tell you," said Odysseus.  "But you must
first listen to a plea that I have to make.  To you
alone it is known that I am not a suitor for the hand
of Helen, but that my hopes are all for coy Penelope.
Speak to her father, your brother Icarius, and help
me win her for my own, and I will settle this matter
between you and the princely lovers of fair Helen in a
manner pleasing to every one."

"It shall be as you wish!" cried the king, taking
heart.  "I will trust the management of this business
to you, and may the wise Pallas Athené prosper you!"

The next morning shrewd Odysseus arose, and
clothed himself in princely fashion; and, after the
morning meal had been eaten, he bade the heralds call
the suitors into the council chamber.  And the heralds
called the gathering; and the young heroes quickly
came, one after another, until nine and twenty sat
within the chamber where the elders of Lacedæmon
were wont to meet.  Then Odysseus stood on the
raised platform, close to the door; and Pallas Athené,
unseen by the dull eyes of mortals, stood beside him,
and whispered words of wisdom in his ear.

"Noble men of Hellas," said Odysseus, "I pray that
you will hearken to the words which I shall speak, and
that you will duly weigh them in your minds.  We have
all come to Lacedæmon with one wish and one intent,--and
that is, to win the most beautiful woman in
the world.  We have offered, each one for himself, a
bride-price worthy of the bride; yet the king, for
reasons which you ought to understand, is slow in
bestowing her upon any of us.  And so weeks and
even months have passed, and we are still here, devouring
the substance of our kind host, and yet as far as
ever from the prize which we desire.  Now, it behooves
us to bring this matter to an end; for otherwise we all
shall suffer loss by being too long absent from our
homes."

The princely suitors listened kindly to his words
and all nodded their assent.  Then he went on:--

"Upon how many of you, now, has the peerless
Helen smiled as if in admiration?"

Every man among them raised his hand in answer.

"Who, among you all, believes that fair Helen
would prefer him, above every other, for a husband?"

Every man arose, and, glancing proudly around him,
answered "I!"

"I have, then, a plan to offer," said Odysseus.
"Let us leave the choice to Helen.  And, in order that
each may the better show whether there be aught of
nobility in him, let us go forth straightway, and make
trial of all the games in which any one of us excels.
And when the games are ended, let glorious Helen
come and choose him whom she will wed."

At this all the suitors shouted assent; for each felt
sure that he would be the chosen one.

"But hearken to one word more!" cried Odysseus.
"The most beautiful woman in the world is a prize of
priceless value; and he who wins that prize will hardly
keep it through the might of his unaided arm.  Let us
bind ourselves by an oath that he whom Helen chooses
shall be her wedded husband, and that the rest will
depart at once from Lacedæmon; and that if any man,
from near or far, shall carry peerless Helen from her
husband or her husband's home, then we will join our
forces, and never falter in the fight until we have
restored her to him."

"And further still," added Ajax Telamon, "let us
swear that should any one of us forget the agreement
made this day, then the remaining nine and twenty
will cause swift punishment, and terrible, to fall upon
him."

Much more did shrewd Odysseus and the assembled
princes say; and in the end they made a solemn sacrifice
to Father Zeus, and lifting up their hands they
swore that they would hold to all that had been spoken.
Then, at an hour which had been set, they went out
to make trial of their skill in all kinds of manly games,
so that each might show wherein he excelled all other
men, and thus stand higher in the regards of matchless
Helen.  And the heralds made announcement, and
a great company followed them to the broad market-place
between the palace and the city walls.  King
Tyndareus, happy that his perplexities were soon to
end, sat upon a high throne overlooking the place;
and at his side stood the glorious twins, Castor and
Polydeuces, clad in their snow-white armor.  But
Helen, dowered with beauty by the gods, stood with
her maidens at the window of her high-built chamber,
and watched the contest from afar.

Then all the suitors, arrayed in princely garments, as
became the mightiest men of Hellas, stood up in the
lists, each for himself to take his part in the games.
And each fondly believed that he, among them all, was
the favored suitor of fair Helen.  But shrewd Odysseus
kept his own counsels, and wisely planned to reach the
ends which he so much desired.

Then the games began.  And they made trial, first,
in throwing the heavy spear; and gray-bearded Idomeneus
led all the rest.  Then in shooting with the bow;
and Odysseus was far the best, for no one else could
string or handle the matchless bow of Eurytus.  Then
in throwing heavy weights; and Ajax, son of Telamon,
sent a huge stone hurtling from his strong arms far
beyond all other marks.  Then in wrestling; and there
was not one that could withstand the stout-limbed son
of Oileus.  Then in boxing; and Philoctetes, the
armor-bearer of Heracles, carried off the palm.  Then in
fencing with the broad-sword; and Diomede held the
championship, and found no peer.  Then in leaping;
and Thoas of Ætolia, one of the later comers, excelled
all others.  Then in the foot-race; and here again the
lesser Ajax left all the rest behind.

And now the car of Helios was sloping towards the
western sea, and King Tyndareus by a signal ordered
that the games should cease.

"Come, my friends," said he, "the day is spent, and
nothing can be gained by further trials of strength and
skill.  Let us go forthwith to my banquet hall, where
the tables groan already with the weight of the good
cheer which has been provided for you.  And when you
have rested yourselves, and put away from you the
thought of hunger, fair Helen will descend from her
high chamber, and choose from among you him who
shall be her husband."

And all obeyed, and went straightway to the great
banquet hall of the king.  Now the court, and the hall,
and even the passage-ways of the palace, were thronged
with people old and young, noble and base-born; for all
had heard of what was to follow.  And the steward of
the king had slain a score of long-wooled sheep, and
many swine, and two slow-footed oxen; and these he
had flayed and dressed for the goodly banquet.  Then
all sat down at the tables, and stretching forth their
hands, they partook of the pleasant food so bounteously
spread before them.  And though some of the princely
suitors had been beaten in the games, yet all were
merry and hopeful, and many a pleasant jest was bandied
back and forth among them.

"The son of Oileus should remember," said Nireus,
"that the race is not always to the swift."

"And Nireus should remember," said Thoas, "that
beauty does not consort with comeliness.  Aphrodite
did not choose Apollo for her husband, but rather the
limping smith, Hephaestus."

Then some one asked Nireus what was the price of
hair-oils in Syma; and this led to much merriment and
many jokes about his smooth curls, his well-shaven face,
and his tight-fitting doublet.

"If his father were living," said one, "he would be
setting a bride-price upon him."

In the midst of the merriment, a herald passed
through the hall, crying out, "Remember your oaths,
O princes of the Hellenes!  Remember your promises
to the immortal gods!"

A silence fell upon that multitude, like the stillness
which takes hold upon all nature when waiting for
the thunder-cloud to vent its fury upon the plains.  And
the minstrel, who sat upon a raised seat at the farther
side of the hall, touched his harp with his deft fingers,
and brought forth sounds so sweet and low and musical
that the ears of all the hearers were entranced.
Then the door of the inner chamber opened, and the
glorious Helen, leaning on the arm of old Tyndareus,
came forth to make her choice.  The hearts of all the
suitors stood still; they could not bear to look toward
her, although her heavenly beauty was modestly hidden
beneath her thick veil.  She came into the hall: she
passed Idomeneus, who sat nearest the inner chamber;
she passed the mighty Ajax, him of the noble form
and the eagle eye; she passed the doughty Diomede,
wielder of the sword; she passed Philoctetes, and
Odysseus, and the stout-limbed son of Oileus.  The
hearts of the younger suitors on the hither side of the
hall began to beat with high hopes.

"She surely has her eyes on me!" said the coxcomb
Nireus, speaking to himself.

She came to the table where Menelaus, the brother
of Agamemnon, sat.  She paused a moment, and then
she held out her lily-white hand, in token that he was
the husband of her choice.  The great silence was at
once broken, and a mighty shout went up to the high
roof of the palace.  Every one of the slighted suitors
felt for an instant the keen pang of disappointment;
then, remembering their oaths, all joined in wishing joy
to Menelaus and his bride.  Some, however, chagrined
and crestfallen, soon withdrew from the palace; and
calling their servitors about them, they secretly and in
haste departed from Lacedæmon.  When the morning
dawned, only ten of the young princes still staid in
the halls of old Tyndareus.

It was easy to understand why these remained.
Sweet-faced Penelope had won other hearts beside that
of young Odysseus.  "Since the glorious Helen is to
be the bride of Menelaus," said each of those who
tarried, "why shall not her fair cousin--who is
worthier if not so beautiful--be mine to wed?"

And straightway they beset Icarius with offers of
rich gifts, begging him to set a bride-price on his
daughter, and bestow her upon him who should agree most
willingly to pay it.  The old man was sorely troubled,
for he loved his daughter dearly; and he could not bear
the thought that a strange prince should lead her into
distant lands where, perchance, his eyes should never
more behold her.

While he pondered sadly, sitting alone and bewildered
in his chamber, he heard a minstrel singing in the hall.
He listened.  It was a song about Atalanta the fair
huntress of Arcadia, beginning with the time when
Meleager of the golden hair awarded her the prize
in the far-off wood of Calydon.

Then the minstrel sang of the maiden's return to
Arcadia: How she had stopped at Delphi on her way,
and had asked the Pythia in Apollo's temple to reveal
the secrets of her future life.  How the oracle could
tell her nothing of the things that would befall her,
but only gave her this advice: "Keep thyself from
wedlock's chains!"  How, when she came again to her
father's palace, she found him beset by suitors asking
for the hand of his fleet-footed daughter.  Then the
maiden, calling to mind the Pythia's warning, besought
her father to send the suitors home, and let her, like
Artemis, live unwedded; for she would be as free as
the winds which play in the lovely vales of Mantinea,
or beat the bleak tops of Mount Enispe.  But old Iasus
was a crafty man--an unfeeling father, loving gold
more than his daughter.  "Behold," said he, "the
bride-price that is offered.  Shall I refuse so great gain,
simply to please thy silly whims?"  Then Atalanta
was sorely troubled, and she prayed Artemis, the
huntress-queen, to send her help in the time of her great
need.  And Artemis hearkened, and spoke words of
comfort to her heart; and kind Pallas Athené gave her
wisdom.

"My father," said she to old Iasus, "take thou the
bride-price that any suitor may offer for me--but on
these conditions: that he shall make trial with me in
the foot-race, and if he outrun me, then I will go with
him as his bride; but if I outstrip him in the race, then
he is to lose the bride-price offered, and his life is to be
at your mercy."

Crafty Iasus was highly pleased, and he rubbed his
palms together with delight; and he caused the heralds
to proclaim the terms on which the matchless Atalanta
might be won.  Some of the suitors departed in
despair, for they knew that no mortal man was so fleet
of foot as the lovely huntress of Arcadia.  But many
others, less wise, put themselves in training for the
trial.  Then one by one, like silly moths plunging into
the candle's flame, they went down to the race-course
of old Iasus, and tried their speed with that of the
wing-footed damsel; but all failed miserably, and none
of them ever returned to their homes or their loving
friends.  And Iasus grew rich upon the spoils--the
jewels, and the bride-gifts, and the arms--which he
thus gained from the luckless lovers.

One day Milanion, a youth from distant Scandia, came
to try his fortune.  "Knowest thou the terms?" asked
Iasus.

"I know them," was the answer, "and though they
were thrice as hard, yet would I win Atalanta."

And Atalanta, when she saw his manly, handsome
face, and heard his pleasant voice, was sad to think that
one so noble and so brave should meet so hard a fate.
But Milanion went down to the race-course with a firm
step and a heart full of hope.  For he had prayed to
Aphrodite that she would kindly aid his suit, and lend
him wings to reach the goal in advance of Atalanta;
and Aphrodite had listened to his plea, and had given
him three golden apples, and had whispered a secret in
his ear.

The signal was given, and youth and maiden bounded
from the lists like arrows shot from a bow.  But the
maiden was much the fleeter of the two, and was soon
far in advance.

"Another fool will soon come to grief!" said Iasus,
laughing loudly.

By this time Atalanta was near the turning-post,
while Milanion, straining every nerve, was many yards
behind.  Then he remembered the secret which Aphrodite
had whispered, and he threw one of the golden
apples far beyond the post.  It fell upon the green
lawn, a stone's-throw outside of the course.  The quick
eyes of Atalanta marked its beauty, and she ran to pick
it up.  And while she was seeking it among the grass,
Milanion passed the turning-post, and was speeding
swiftly back towards the goal.  It was only a moment,
however, until Atalanta swift as the wind overtook him,
and was again far in the lead.  Then the young man
threw a second apple, this time some distance to the
right of the course.  The maiden followed, catching it
almost before it fell; but Milanion had gained a
hundred paces on her.  Ere she could again overtake him,
he threw his third apple over his shoulder and to the
left of the course.  Atalanta, forgetting in her
eagerness that the goal was so near, stopped to secure this
prize also; and lo! as she lifted her eyes, Milanion
had reached the end of the course.  Old Iasus stormed
with rage, and threatened many fearful things.  But
Milanion, smiling, came boldly forward and claimed his
bride; and she, blushing and happy, covered her face
with her veil, and followed him willingly to the home
of his fathers, in distant Cythera.

Such was the song which the minstrel sang, and to
which Icarius listened while sitting in his chamber.
Suddenly a new thought seemed to strike him, and he
bade a herald call before him all the suitors of sweet
Penelope.

"My young friends," he said, "you have asked me
for my daughter's hand, and promised me a liberal
bride-price.  I need none of your gold, nor do I wish to give
my daughter to a stranger with whom she would be
loath to go.  Hence I shall do after this manner: He
who shall win in a foot-race to-day, on the long course
beyond the market-place, shall be husband of Penelope,
but on this condition: that, if she choose to go with
him, then he is to have her without the payment of a
price; but if she choose to stay with me, then he shall
pay me a rich dower, and straightway depart forever
from the gates of Lacedæmon."

The suitors heard the words of old Icarius, and all
assented.  Then soon the people were gathered again
in the broad market-place; the long race-course was
cleared and put in order, and every thing was made ready
for the trial.  The trumpet sounded, and the young
princes came forward lightly clad for the race.
Palamedes, the cousin of Menelaus, fair and tall; and Ajax
Oileus, who had won the race on the preceding day;
and Megas, brave as Mars, from far Dulichium; and
Thoas, the Ætolian prince; and Phidippus, the grandson
of great Heracles; and Protesilaus, from distant
Thessaly; and Eumelus, son of Admetus and the divine
Alcestis; and Polypoetes, descended from the Lapith
king Peirithous and Hippodameia the daughter of the
Centaurs; and Elphenor, the son of large-souled
Chalcodon, ruler of Eubœa and the valorous Abantes; and
lastly, Odysseus, who had shrewdly planned all matters
to this end.  Rarely have ten men so noble stood up
together to contend for honors or the winner's prize.

The word was given, and they darted forth, at once
and swiftly, raising a cloud of dust along the course.
From the very start, they strained at utmost speed;
they reached the turning-post, and hurried onward to
the goal.  But now stout Ajax no longer took the lead;
for Odysseus ran before the rest, and passed the goal,
and came to the crowd by the lists, while yet the others
with laboring breath were speeding down the course.

Old Icarius was pleased with the issue of the race.
For he hoped that Penelope would not consent to wed
Odysseus and follow him to distant Ithaca; and, if so,
he would be happily rid of all the troublesome suitors.

"Come here, my sweet daughter," he said.  "This
young man, a stranger from a far-off land, has won thee
in the games; yet the choice is thine.  Wilt thou leave
thy old father, lonely and alone in Lacedæmon, preferring
to share the fortunes of this stranger?  Or wilt
thou stay with me, and bid him seek a wife among the
daughters of his own people?"

And sweet Penelope covered her face with her veil to
hide her blushes, and said, "He is my husband; I will
go with him."

Icarius said no more.  But on that spot he after
wards raised a marble statue--a statue of Penelope
veiling her blushes--and he dedicated it to Modesty.

Soon afterward Odysseus returned with his young
wife to his own home and friends in sea-girt Ithaca.
And, next to Penelope, the richest treasure that he
carried thither was the bow of Eurytus.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`HOW A GREAT HERO MET HIS MASTER`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE XIV.*

.. class:: center large bold

   HOW A GREAT HERO MET HIS MASTER.

.. vspace:: 2

Now, after two years and more had passed in peace,
there came one day to Ithaca an aged wanderer who
had many things of great import to tell.  For he had
been in every land and in every clime, and had trod the
streets of every city, even from Pylos to Iolcos by
the sea; and he knew what deeds had been done by all
the heroes, and what fortunes or misfortunes had
befallen mankind in every part of Hellas.  And Odysseus
and the elders of Ithaca loved to sit around him in the
banquet chamber of Laertes, and listen to his stories,
of which there was no end.  For in that wonderful
Golden Age, these strollers--blind bards and
story-tellers--were the people's newspapers, and oftentimes
the only means by which those of one country could
learn aught of what was passing in another.

"Alas! the world is no longer as it was in the days
of my youth," said the old newsmonger, one morning,
with a sigh.  "The heroes are all passing away.
Indeed, of the older race, I can now remember only three
who are still living,--Peleus, the king of the Myrmidons;
Nestor, of lordly Pylos; and Laertes, in whose
halls we are sitting."

"You forget Cheiron, the wise master," said Odysseus.

"By no means," was the answer.  "It is now seven
years since Zeus took him from earth, and set him
among the stars.  Some say that Heracles, while fighting
with unfriendly Centaurs, unwittingly struck the
great master with one of his poisoned arrows.  Others
say that the master, while looking at an arrow,
carelessly dropped it upon his own foot, thus wounding
himself unto death.  But who is right, I cannot tell.
I only know that Cheiron lives no longer in his
cave-hall on rugged Pelion, and that the old heroes are all
fast following him to the land of the unknown."

"But what of Neleus, the old father of Nestor?
And what of my dear friend Iphitus of Œchalia?  And
what of great Heracles?  Surely the race of heroes
still lives in them."

"Can it be that you have not heard the sad story?"
asked the old man.  "Can it be that no one has yet
brought to you the strange news, over which all Hellas
has been weeping?  Two harvests now have passed
since the noble spirit of Iphitus fled down the dark
ways,--it may be to the gloomy halls of Hades, it may
be to the dwelling-place of fair-haired Rhadamanthus
in the Islands of the Blest.  And old Neleus followed
swiftly in his footsteps, his feeble life snuffed out by
the mad hand of Heracles.  Nor did great Heracles
himself long survive the evil deed and the wrath of the
eternal powers.  But now he sits enthroned on high
Olympus, and walks the earth no more."

"Pray tell us how it all came about," said King
Laertes anxiously.

Then the old news-monger, prefacing his story with a
sad, wild song, told how the greatest hero of the Golden
Age met at last his master, even Death, the master of
all earth's creatures.  And this was the story that he
told:--

.. vspace:: 2

"When Heracles fled from Calydon, as you already
know, he went to Trachis in Thessaly, close by the
springs of Œta; and there he abode a long time.  Yet
his mind was ill at rest, and dire forebodings filled his
soul; for cruel Here was threatening him with madness,
such as had once before darkened his life and driven
him to deeds too terrible to think upon.  And so, at
length, he kissed his dear wife and his lovely babes,
and went forth to wander once more in loneliness from
land to land.  He knew that he would not return;
and, unknown to Deianeira, he left in his dwelling a
letter, such as men write when they feel that the end is
drawing nigh.  In it he told how the doves in the old
oaks of Dodona had shown him that within the space
of a year and three months he should depart from this
earth; and then he gave directions how his goods
should be given to his children and his friends, and
what they should do to hold his memory in honor.

"After this he took ship, and came by sea to his
old home at Tiryns, where erstwhile he had served
his brother and task-master, Eurystheus.  There he
sojourned many days; and there he met Iphitus of
Œchalia, his friend in early youth, seeking twelve
horses of great worth and beauty, which had been
stolen from him.

"'Go you to Pherae in Messene,' said Heracles, his
mind even then verging towards madness.  'It may be
that the beasts have been taken by the lawless men of
that country, for they live by robbery.  But if you fail
to find your horses there, come again to Tiryns, and
report to me; and then I will aid you, even though we
should have to seek them in the pasture lands of old
Autolycus beneath the shadow of Parnassus.'

"So Iphitus, with a score of his bravest followers,
went down into Messene and Laconia, and even to the
gates of Lacedæmon, looking for his horses.  But he
found no traces of the beasts; and in time he came
again to Tiryns, as the great hero had directed him.

"Sad, however, was the day of his return, for the
mind of Heracles was shrouded in deep darkness.
While Iphitus sat as a guest at his table, the mighty
son of Zeus arose in his madness, and slew him; and
Heracles cared not for the vengeance of the gods, nor
for the honor of his own board.  Moreover, the goodly
horses of Iphitus were even then feeding in his stables
at Tiryns, for Heracles himself had found them.

"But after this the light began to struggle feebly
in his mind, and the thought of his crime bore heavily
upon him.  Then he remembered old Neleus, the most
ancient of men, and knew that he sat in the market-place
at Pylos dealing out justice to all who came to
him.  And straightway he went by the nearest road
to Pylos, and besought Neleus the venerable to purify
him for the evil deed that he had done.  But Iphitus
and his father, old Eurytus, had been very dear to
Neleus,--comrades and friends, indeed, in the stirring
days of their youth.

"'The blood of good Iphitus be upon you,' said the
old man to Heracles; and he would not purify him,
neither would he comfort him with words of kindness.

"Then madness again overpowered the great hero,
and in his wrath he marched through Pylos breathing
slaughter.  And he slew old Neleus in the market-place,
and put his sons and the elders of Pylos to
the sword, sparing only the knightly Nestor, most
discreet of men.  But the fury of the great hero was not to
run unchecked.  The ever-living powers can never look
with favor upon that man who slays his guest in his
halls or who deals harshly with old age.  And so they
caused Heracles to be sold to Omphalé, queen of
Lydia, to serve her as a bond-slave for a year and a day.
And in that far-distant land he toiled at many a
thankless task until the days of his bondage were ended.
Yet the great cloud was only a little way lifted from his
mind, and he thought to himself that all the misery that
had ever been his had come upon him through the
house of Eurytus.  So he swore with a great oath,
that, when he had gotten his freedom, he would utterly
destroy Œchalia, and would sell all its people into
bondage.  For, in a dazed, unreasoning way, he remembered
fair Iole, and the slight which Eurytus had put
upon him when he made trial of his skill in archery.

"Now, when he was set free, he remembered all too
well the vow which he had made; and when he had
overthrown Œchalia, and had taken captive all the
fair women and children, he bethought him that he
would go again to Trachis where his wife and children
still dwelt.  But on his way thither he stopped for a
time in Eubœa to offer sacrifice to Zeus; and he sent
his herald Lichas on before him, with certain of the
captives.  When Lichas came to Trachis, and made
himself known to Deianeira, she asked him what word
he had brought from Heracles his master.

"'He is alive and well,' said the herald, 'and he
tarries for a while in Eubœa to build an altar to Zeus.

"'Why does he do that?' asked Deianeira.

"'He does it to fulfil a vow,' answered the herald,--'a
vow which he made ere yet he had overthrown
Œchalia and had led captive these fair women whom
thou seest.'

"Then Deianeira drew nearer, and looked with pity
upon the captives as they stood in sad array on the
shore of the desolate sea.  And she lifted her hands
toward heaven, and prayed that the great powers would
keep her from such a fate and would shield her children
that so sad an evil should never overtake them.  Then
she saw that one among the captives was much more
beautiful than the others, tall and very fair, with long
golden tresses, and eyes as round as the moon and as
blue as the deep sea.  And Deianeira, wondering
whether she were not some great man's daughter,
asked her who she was; but the sad captive answered
not a word.  The tender heart of the queen was filled
with pity; and she bade that the beautiful lady should
be taken into the great hall of Heracles, and treated
with the utmost kindness, that so she should not have
sorrow heaped upon sorrow.  Then she asked Lichas
to tell her who the lady was; but he said that he knew
not, save that she seemed to be well born.

"But now when Lichas had gone to the tents by the
shore, there came to Deianeira in the palace a mischief-maker
who told her that Lichas had not answered truly
in this matter.

"'He knows, as well as I, who this fair stranger
is,' said the mischief-maker.  'She is the daughter of
King Eurytus of Œchalia, and the sister of Iphitus.
Her name is Iole; and it was for the sake of her
beauty that Heracles destroyed her father's city.'

.. _`DEIANEIRA AND THE DYING CENTAUR NESSUS`:

.. figure:: images/img-176.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: DEIANEIRA AND THE DYING CENTAUR NESSUS.

   DEIANEIRA AND THE DYING CENTAUR NESSUS.

"Then Deianeira was sadly troubled lest the heart
of the great hero should be turned away from her, and
his affections set upon this lovely captive.  So she sent
again for Lichas, and questioned him still further.  At
first he denied that he knew any thing about the fair
lady; but afterwards, when hard pressed, he said,
'She is indeed Iole, the fair damsel whom Heracles
loved in the springtime of youth.  But why he has
brought this great grief upon her, and upon her
father's house, I cannot tell.'

"Sorely troubled now was Deianeira, and all day long
she sat in her chamber, and pondered what she should
do.  And when the evening was come, she called her
friends together, the women and maidens who dwelt
in Trachis, and talked with them.

"'I have been thinking of what I can do to keep
my husband's love,' she said.  'I had almost forgotten
that I have a charm which will help me, or I might not
have been so sadly troubled.  Years and years ago,
when we were fleeing from my dear old home at
Calydon, we came to the river Evenus.  The water was
very deep, and the current very swift; but there lived
on the banks of the stream an old Centaur, named
Nessus, whose business it was to ferry travellers across
to the other shore.  He first took my husband safely
over, and then myself and our little son Hyllus.  But
he was so rude, and withal so savage in his manners,
that Heracles was greatly angered at him; and he
drew his bow, and shot the brutish fellow with one of
his poisoned arrows.  Then my woman's heart was
filled with pity for the dying Centaur, wicked though
he was; and I felt loath to leave him suffering alone
upon the banks of Evenus.  And he, seeing me look
back, beckoned me to him.  "Woman," he said, "I am
dying; but first I would give thee a precious gift.
Fill a vial with the blood that flows from this wound,
and it shall come to pass that if ever thy husband's
affections grow cold, it will serve as a charm to make
him love thee as before.  It needs only that thou
shouldst smear the blood upon a garment, and then
cause him to wear the garment so that the heat of the
sun or of a fire shall strike upon it."  I quickly filled
the vial, as he directed, and hastened to follow my
husband.'

"Then Deianeira called the herald Lichas, and said,
'Behold, here is a fair white garment which I have
woven with my own hands; and I vowed many days
ago, that, if my husband should again come home, I
would give him this garment to wear while offering
sacrifice.  Now he tarries, as you say, to do homage to
the gods in Eubœa.  Go back, therefore, to meet him,
and give him this white robe as a gift from his wife.
Say to him that on no account shall he let another
wear it; and that he shall keep it carefully folded up,
away from the light and the heat, until he shall be
ready to clothe himself in it.'

"The herald promised to do as he was bidden; and in
that same hour he hastened back to meet his master
in Eubœa, taking with him his master's young son
Hyllus.

"Not many days after this, a great cry and sad
bewailings were heard in the house of Heracles; and
Deianeira rushed forth from her chamber crying aloud
that she had done some terrible deed.  'For I
anointed the fair robe which I sent to my husband
with the blood of Nessus the Centaur; and now,
behold, the bit of woollen cloth which I dipped into the
charm, and used as a brush in spreading it upon the
robe, is turned to dust, as if a fire had burned it
up.  I have not forgotten any thing that the Centaur
told me: how I was to keep the charm where neither
the light of the sun nor the heat of the fire could
touch it.  And this I have done until now; only the
bit of woollen cloth was left lying in the sunshine.
Oh, fearful am I that I have slain my husband!  For
why should the Centaur wish to do well by the man
who brought death upon him?'

"Hardly had she spoken these words when her son
Hyllus came in great haste to the palace, even into the
woman's hall where she stood.

"'O my mother!' he cried.  'Would that you were
not my mother!  For do you know that you have this
day brought death and destruction upon my father.'

"'Oh, say not so, my son,' wailed Deianeira.  'It
cannot be!'

"'But truly it is so,' said Hyllus.  'For when
Lichas and myself came to Eubœa bearing the white
robe which you sent, we found my father ready to
begin his offering of sacrifices.  And he was glad
to see me and to hear from you; and he took the
beautiful robe and put it upon him.  Then he slew twelve
fair oxen, and joyfully worshipped the ever-living
powers.  But when the fire grew hot, the deadly robe
began to cling to him, and pangs, as if caused by the
stings of serpents, shot through him, and the pains of
death seized on him.  He asked Lichas why he had
brought that robe; and when the herald told him
that it was your gift, he seized the wretch, and cast
him over the cliff upon the sharp rocks beneath.
And great fear filled the hearts of all who saw the
sufferings of the mighty hero; and none of them
dared come near him, so terrible were his struggles.
Then he called to me, and said, "Come here, my son.
Do not flee from your father in his great distress; but
carry me from this land, and set me where the eyes of
no man shall see me."  And so we put him in the hold
of our good ship, and brought him home with us to
Trachis.  And soon you shall see what you have done;
for you have slain your husband,--a hero the like of
whom the world shall never see again.'

"When Deianeira heard these words she made no
answer, but, with one despairing cry, she hasted to
her high-built chamber; and when, soon afterward, her
maidens sought her there, she was dead.  Then Hyllus
came, also seeking her; for the women of the household
had told him how she had been deceived by the
dying Centaur.  And when he saw her lifeless form, he
wept bitterly, and cried out that now indeed the Fates
had bereft him of both father and mother on the same
day.

"Then they brought Heracles into his own broad
hall, bearing him upon a litter.  He was asleep; for the
pain had left him a little while, and tired Nature was
taking her dues.  But the sad wailings of his son awoke
him; and again he cried aloud in his agony, and
besought those who stood around him that they would
give him a sword wherewith to end his pain.  Then
Hyllus came into the hall, and told his father all about
the terrible mistake which his mother had made, and
how the Centaur had deceived her, and how she was at
that moment lying dead, with a broken heart, in the
chamber overhead.

"'Then, indeed, is my doom come,' cried Heracles.
'For long ago the oracles spake of me, that I should
die, not by the hands of any living being, but by the
guile of one dwelling in the regions of the dead.  So
now Nessus, whom I slew so long ago, is avenged; for
he has slain me.  Now, my son, carry me to the wooded
summit of the hill of Œta, and build there a great pile
of olive beams and of oak; and, when it is finished, lay
me upon it, and set fire unto it.  And shed no tear,
neither utter any cry, but work in silence; for thus
thou shalt prove thyself a son of Heracles.'

"The boy promised to do all this as his father wished,
only he would not set fire to the pile.  So when he had
built the pile, and had put between the beams great
stores of spices and sweet-smelling herbs, they laid
Heracles upon it; and Philoctetes, the hero's
armor-bearer, set fire to the pile.  And Heracles, for this
kindness, gave to Philoctetes his famous bow,--a
weapon more marvellous even than the bow of Eurytus.
Then the red flames shot high towards heaven,
shedding brightness over land and sea; and the mighty
hero was at rest.  He had met his master."

.. vspace:: 2

Such was the story that the old news-monger told
in the hall of King Laertes.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`LONG LIVE THE KING`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE XV.*

.. class:: center large bold

   LONG LIVE THE KING!

.. vspace:: 2

"Surely," sighed Laertes, "the old heroes pass
away; but the younger heroes press hard in their
footsteps, and will fill their places well.  The gods have
written it in every tree, and upon every blade of grass,
that the aged, however worthy, cannot endure forever.
The ripened fruit falls to the ground, but there will be
other and better fruit on the branches by and by.
Ancient Cronos gave place, not willingly, to Zeus; and
Zeus is by far the greater of the two.  And there be
certain oracles which have foretold the doom of Zeus;
even that he shall be hurled from his throne by a king
of peace, who shall reign everlastingly."

Then on a day, he called the elders of Ithaca
together, and spoke to them in this wise: "My son
Odysseus is now a grown-up man, wise and shrewd
beyond any other among you.  He is skilled in all kinds
of knowledge and of handicraft; in matters of judgment
he is without a peer, and in matters requiring
courage he is foremost among men.  Moreover, he is
married to a wife, sweet Penelope, unexcelled in wifely
virtues; and he has a son and heir, Telemachus,--a
smiling babe who has not yet seen the round of one full
moon.  Now, why should the old branch stand longer
in the way of the new and vigorous shoot?  This day
I will give up my kingdom to my son, and he shall
henceforth rule this island in his own name."

And all the people rejoiced when they heard his
words; and straightway they hailed Odysseus king of
Ithaca, and offered thanksgiving and sacrifice to Pallas
Athené, who had blessed him with wisdom above
that of other men.  And good Laertes retired to his
mountain farm, where no vexing questions of government
would take him away from his vines and fruit-trees.
"Here," said he, "I hope to end my days in peace."

When the men of Cephallenia and the dwellers in
the rugged island of Zacynthus heard that young
Odysseus ruled by his own right in Ithaca, they came
and offered him their friendship and allegiance; for
they were kinsmen of the Ithacans.  They brought
rich presents of corn and wine and of long-wooled
sheep, and promised to bear him aid in time of need,
if ever that time should come.

At about this time, old Icarius, the father of Penelope,
came to Ithaca for a brief visit to his daughter.
For his eyes had long yearned to see her, and he could
find no rest until he knew that she was happy and well
cared for in the new home which she had chosen.
And Penelope asked him a thousand questions about
her friends and her kinsfolk in dear old Lacedæmon,
and to all these questions he made answer as he best
knew.

"We have now a new king at Lacedæmon," said
Icarius, "even brave Menelaus, the husband of your
cousin Helen."

"But where is King Tyndareus, my good uncle?"
asked Penelope.  "And where are my noble twin
cousins, Castor and Polydeuces?  Do they share the
kingdom with Menelaus?"

"I will tell you all about it," answered her father.
And then he told her how it had come about that
Menelaus was called to the kingship of Lacedæmon:--

.. vspace:: 2

"As the feebleness of age began to take hold upon
him, King Tyndareus bethought him that he would
resign his kingdom to his sons, the twin heroes Castor
and Polydeuces.  But the restless youths cared not to
take upon them duties which would keep them within
the narrow bounds of Lacedæmon; for they were not
home-stayers, but they wandered hither and thither over
many seas and through strange lands, doing brave and
noble deeds innumerable.  The story of their labors in
times of peace and of their prowess in times of war
was upon every tongue, and was sung by minstrels
in every city of Hellas.  Wherever public games were
held, there the twins were the masters of the course
and the field, and the awarders of the prizes.  Wherever
battles raged and where the fight was thickest,
there the glorious heroes, on their snow-white steeds,
were seen striking fearlessly for the cause of right.
And men told how it was they who first taught the
bards to sing songs of battle and pæans of victory; and
how it was they who first showed the glad feet of the
victors how to tread the wild mazes of the war-dance;
and how it was they who, in their friendship for
seafarers, had guided many a vessel over the roughest seas,
safe into the wished-for haven.  They belonged not
more to their native Lacedæmon than to the whole
wide world.

"There came a time, however, when the men of
Laconia quarrelled with their neighbors of Arcadia,
and there was war upon the borders.  Then Castor
and Polydeuces hastened to take sides with their
kinsmen.  Mounted on their swift steeds, Phlogios and
Harpagos, the gifts of Hermes, they made raid after
raid across the mountains; and they brought back
many a choice herd of cattle, or flock of sheep, from
the pasture lands of Arcadia.

"It happened on a day, that their cousins Idas and
Lynceus, two lawless men from Messene, joined them,
and the four drove many cattle across the borders, and
hid them in a glen at the foot of Mount Taygetus.
Then they agreed that Idas should divide the booty
into four parts, and give to each a part.  But Idas was
a crafty man, more famed for his guile than for his
courage; and he planned how he might take all the
herd for his own.  So he killed a fat ox, and having
flayed and dressed it, he cut it into four parts.  Then
he called the other men about him.

"'It would be a great pity to divide so fine a herd as
this of ours among four owners,' he said.  'Therefore
I have a plan by which one, or at most two of us, may
fairly gain the whole.  Behold, here are the four quarters
of the ox which I have slain.  This quarter belongs
to Castor, this to Polydeuces, this to Lynceus, and this
to myself.  He who first eats the share allotted to him
shall have half of the cattle for his own; he who next
finishes shall have the other half.'

"Then, without another word, he began to eat the
quarter which he had allotted to himself; nor was he
long devouring it, but with greedy haste consumed it
before his comrades had tasted even a morsel.  Next
he seized upon the part assigned to Lynceus, and ate it
as quickly as his own.

"'The cattle are all mine!' he cried.  And calling
upon his brother to help him, they drove the whole herd
into Messene.

"Then anger filled the souls of the twin heroes, and
they vowed to take vengeance upon their crafty
kinsmen.  One night when the moon lighted up both plain
and mountain with her silvery beams, they made a rapid
ride into Messene, and brought back not only the herd
which Idas had taken from them by fraud, but as many
cattle as were feeding in the Messenian meadows.
Then, knowing that their cousins would follow them
in hot haste, they hid themselves in the hollow
of a tree in the mountain pass, and waited for the
morning.

"At break of day, the two Messenians, having missed
their cattle, hastened to follow their trail to Mount
Taygetus.  Then Lynceus, whose sharp eyes could see
through rocks and the trunks of trees, climbed to the
top of a crag to look about them; for they feared lest
they should fall into an ambush.  And as he peered
into every nook and glen and gorge of the wild
mountain, he saw the twins close-hidden in the hollow
trunk of an oak.  Then quickly he descended, and with
stealthy tread he and Idas drew near their hiding-place.
Castor saw them first; but before he could speak, a
spear from the hand of Idas laid him low in death.
Then mighty Polydeuces leaped forth in his wrath, and
rushed upon the slayers of his brother.  Fear seized
upon them, and they fled with winged feet into
Messene, and paused not until they stood by the marble
tomb of their father, great Aphareus.  But Polydeuces,
following on, overtook them there, and with his spear
he smote Lynceus a deadly blow.  At the same time, a
peal of thunder shook the mountain and rolled over the
plain; and Zeus hurled his fiery bolts at the bosom of
crafty Idas, and laid him dead upon his father's tomb.

"The grief of Polydeuces for the death of Castor was
terrible to see; and there was no one in all the world
who could comfort him, or in any way make him forget
his loss.  Then he prayed the gods that they would
take him, too, to Hades, that he might be in the dear
company of his brother.  And Zeus heard his prayer;
and he asked Polydeuces to choose whether he would
sit in the courts of Olympus, and be the peer of Ares
and Pallas Athené, or whether he would share all things
with Castor.  And the glorious hero cried, 'Let me
be forever with my brother!'  His wish was granted
to him; and the twin heroes still live, although the
quickening earth lies over them.  One day they wander
in the fields of asphodel, and enjoy the bliss of
immortality; the next, they flit among the unquiet shades in
the sunless regions of the dead.  And thus they share
together whatever of joy or woe the grave can bring.

"When King Tyndareus learned that he was bereft
of his sons, he fell prone to the earth; and no one in
Lacedæmon could console him.  'Send for Helen, my
peerless daughter!' he cried.  'Send for Menelaus.
He is my only son.  He shall dwell in my palace, and
rule in my stead!'

"And that is the way in which it came about, that
Menelaus was called to the kingship of Lacedæmon."

.. vspace:: 2

Old Icarius remained but a short time at Ithaca.  A
ship was waiting in the harbor, ready to sail to Pylos
and the ports beyond; and he knew that a like
opportunity to return to Lacedæmon might not soon be
offered.  And so, leaving his blessing with his children
Odysseus and Penelope and the babe Telemachus, he
departed.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE CHILDREN OF PROMETHEUS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE XVI.*

.. class:: center large bold

   THE CHILDREN OF PROMETHEUS.

.. vspace:: 2

There was sore distress in Lacedæmon.  Famine
and a deadly pestilence grieved the land, and in every
household the notes of wailing and despair were heard.
For Apollo, vexed because the men of Laconia were so
slow to understand his wishes, was shooting his fateful
arrows broadcast among them.  Like a night-cloud he
brooded over the land, and strong men and fair women
and helpless babes all fell alike beneath the sharp blows
of his deadly shafts.  And the heart of Menelaus the
king was burdened with grief because of the people's
sore affliction.  Then, when he found that sacrifice of
lambs and goats availed him nothing, he sent in haste
to ask the oracles the cause of Apollo's wrath, and to
learn what could be done to stay the plague.  The
answer came as quickly:--

"When the bones of the children of Prometheus
are brought from Ilios, and entombed in Lacedæmon,
then the wrath of silver-bowed Apollo shall be turned
aside, and the smiles of his favor shall bless the land."

Then Menelaus made ready to depart at once to Troy
to do that which Apollo demanded.  A short journey
by land brought him to the strong-built town of Helos
on the shore of the eastern sea.  There a swift-sailing
ship lay at its moorings, while a score of long-haired
seamen paced the beach, anxious to embark upon any
errand across Poseidon's watery kingdom.  The captain
hailed the king with joy, and the ship was soon made
ready for the long voyage to Ilios.  A plenteous stock
of food was stored away in the broad hold; arms, for
defence against sea robbers and savage men, were put
in order, and hung in their places; and rich presents
for Priam, king of Troy, were taken on board.

The next day a favoring wind sprang up; the sails
were set; the seamen took their places; and the ship
with King Menelaus on board sped on its way to
distant Ilios.  Poseidon, looking out from his golden
palace beneath the sea, saw the vessel as it hastened
on its errand; and he bade the waves be still and in
no wise hinder its speed, for Apollo's business must not
be delayed; and he called upon the breezes to blow
steadily towards Ilios, that so the embassy of Menelaus
might be happily performed.

"Surely the gods are all in league with us," said the
captain of the ship one day, pleased with the delightful
voyage.  "To-morrow we shall doubtless sight the Lesbian
coast, and from thence it is but a short sail to Ilios
and Troy.  And now, as we sit together in the prow of
our good vessel, I pray you to tell us the story, once
more, of great Prometheus, the bones of whose children
seem so precious to Apollo."

And Menelaus willingly consented, and told the story
as he himself had oft-times heard it from the bards:--

.. vspace:: 2

"When Zeus waged pitiless war upon the Titans, and
hurled them headlong from the heights of Mount Olympus,
he spared from the general ruin those who fought
not with their own kindred, but espoused his cause.
Among these and foremost of all was great Prometheus,
whose name is Forethought, and whose chiefest glory
lies in this, that he was the friend and lover of
mankind.  It was the hope of bettering man's condition
that led him to fight against his kindred, and to aid in
placing Zeus upon the throne of ancient Cronos.  Yet
Zeus cared naught for the feeble children of earth, but
sought rather to make their burdens heavier and their
lives more sad, that so the race might perish utterly.
And the great mind of Prometheus set to work to
learn how to make their lot less sad and their lives less
miserable.

"He saw that as yet they dwelt without forethought
upon the earth, their life's whole length being aimless,
and their minds as void of reason as is the beast's.
They lived in sunless caverns, or in holes scooped in
the ground; and no provision did they make for heat or
cold or times of scarcity, or the varying needs of youth
and age.  And Prometheus wasted no vain words in
pity, but took at once upon him the Titanic task of
lifting the race up to a level with the gods.  First, he
taught them the use of fire, which, some say, he stole
from Helios' car, and brought to the earth, hidden in a
fennel-stalk.  Then he showed them how the stars rise
and set, and how the seasons change in never-varying
order.  He showed them how to yoke and make submissive
to their will the wild steeds of the desert plain;
how to turn the sod beneath the soil by means of the
furrowing plough; and how to build fair houses and
cities with strong walls and frowning towers.  He
taught them how to make ships, the storm-winged
chariots of the sea, and how to navigate the briny deep.
He showed them the treasures which lie hidden
underneath the ground,--gold, silver, iron,--and taught
them how to turn them into forms of beauty, strength,
and use.  In short, all arts now known to men came to
them from the hands and mind of pitying Prometheus.

"Now, when Zeus looked down from high Olympus,
and saw the puny tribes of men no longer grovelling in
the earth like senseless beasts, but standing upright,
and claiming kinship with the gods, he shook with
pent-up anger.  And he called two of his mightiest servants,
Strength and Force, whom none can resist, and bade
them seize the friend of man, and bind him upon a peak
of the snow-crowned Caucasus, there to linger through
the ages in loneliness and pain.

"Then the ruthless slaves of Zeus went forth to do
his bidding.  They seized the mighty Titan, and dragged
him to the bleak and barren regions of the Caucasus,
beyond the utmost limit of the habitable earth.  And
with them went the mighty smith Hephaestus, all
unwillingly, to bind the great victim with bonds of brass,
which none could loose, to the lonely mountain crags.

"'This thing I do loathing,' said Hephaestus.  'Here
I must perforce leave thee, chained and bolted to the
immovable rocks.  Thou shalt never behold the face of
man, nor hear the accents of his voice; but the blaze
of the unpitying sun shall scorch thy fair skin, and
thou shalt long for the night with its shimmering stars
to cast a veil of coolness over thee.  Year after year,
thou shalt keep thy lonely watch in this joyless place,
unblest with sleep, and uttering many a cry and
unavailing moan.  For Zeus is pitiless.  This is what
thou gainest for befriending man.'

"There, then, they left him fettered; but not until
rude Strength had taunted him: 'Lo, thou lover of
mankind!  Call now the puny race of mortals round
thee, and crown them with honors!  Could all of them
together lessen thy punishment in the least?  Surely
the gods did jest when they gave thee the name of
"Forethought," for thou hast need of forethought to
free thee from these bonds.'

"Then, when the solitary sufferer knew that there
was no one to hear him, save only the sun, and the
earth and the winds, and the winding river and the
distant sea, he broke forth in grievous cries and
lamentations:--

"'O pitying sky, and swift-winged winds, and river-springs,
and the many-twinkling smile of ocean, I cry
to you!  O mother Earth, and thou all-seeing Sun! behold
what I endure because I gave honor to mortals!
Behold what torture is in store for me, while for ten
thousand years I writhe in these unseemly chains!
Yet the things that come are all foreknown to me, and
nothing happens unexpected; and I must bear as best
I may the ills that will perforce be mine, knowing that
the end of all these things shall come to me at last.'

"Then the Ocean nymphs, with the fragrance of
flowers and a rustling sound like the whirr of birds,
came floating through the air, and hovered about the
crag where Prometheus was bound.  They had heard
the clank of the iron and the heavy blow of the sledge
resounding to the very cavern-depths of Ocean; and
they had hastened to come, and offer him their sympathy.

"Following them, came old Oceanus himself, riding
in his winged chariot; for no firmer friend had
Prometheus than this hoary-headed ancient of the encircling
sea.  He came to condole with the suffering Titan,
and to counsel patience and submission.  But he staid
not long.

"'I will drink the cup of bitterness to its very dregs,'
said Prometheus, 'and will bide the time when Zeus
shall have quenched his wrath.'

"And Oceanus, feeling that he had come in vain,
turned about, and gladly hastened homeward to his
halls beneath the ocean billows.

"After this many others came, weeping tears of sorrow
for the sufferer,--tears of anger at the tyranny of
Zeus.  And wails of mourning were borne thither on
the wings of the wind from all the tribes that dwelt
in Asia,--from the warrior maidens on the Colchian
coasts, from the savage horsemen of the Scythian
plains, and from the dwellers on the farther shores of
Araby.  But the Titan, chained to the desolate crags,
suffered on.  Above him the vultures hovered, and the
wild eagles shrieked; and sun and storm beat mercilessly
upon his head, as the weary days and the lengthening
years passed by.  And yet no deliverance came.

"One day, as he writhed helplessly in his chains,
Prometheus saw in the valley below him what at so
great distance seemed to be a beautiful heifer, having a
fair face like that of a woman.  'Surely,' said he aloud,
'it is the child of Inachus, she who warmed the heart
of Zeus, and is now through Here's hate changed into
an unseemly shape, and driven to weary wanderings.'

"Then the maiden gazed at him in wonder, and
asked, 'Who are you whom the gods have doomed to
suffer in this solitary place?  And how came you to
know my father's name, and the sorrows that have come
upon me?  And tell me, I pray, if such knowledge be
yours, whether there shall ever be any help for me, and
when my sufferings shall have an end.'

"The Titan answered, 'I who speak to thee am Prometheus,
who brought down fire to men, and gave them
knowledge, and taught them how to do godlike things.
And I know that thou art Io, once the lovely daughter
of Inachus, king of Argos; but what thou art now, let
thy own lips speak and answer.'

"'I cannot choose but tell you all,' the maiden
answered, 'though my speech shall with sobs be broken
when I recall the memory of happy days forever gone.
There was a time when in my father's halls I dwelt in
maidenly freedom, a spoiled and petted child.  But as I
grew to womanhood, dreams came to me which told me
that I was beloved by Zeus.  Such trouble did these
visions bring to me, that I was fain to tell my father
of them.  He knew not what to do.  But he sent swift
messengers to Delphi and Dodona to ask the oracles
what the dreams portended, and how he could best give
pleasure to the gods.  The answer came, that he should
drive me from his doors into the wide and cruel world,
or otherwise the fiery bolts of Zeus would burn up all
his household and destroy him utterly.  Reluctantly
and weeping bitter tears, he shut me out; and
lo! straightway my body was changed into the loathed form
which stands before you, and a gad-fly stung me with
its fangs, and I rushed away in madness, vainly hoping
to find relief at Lerne's fountain water.  But there the
herdsman Argus, with his hundred eyes, did track me
out; and with his scourge and the goading fly, I was
driven along unending ways.  Then Hermes, seeing
my distress, took pity on me, and sought to free me
from my cruel keeper.  But Argus never slept; and with
his hundred eyes he saw every danger, and shunned it
while it was yet afar.  At last Hermes bethought him
of the power of music.  Playing a soft melody on his
lute, he stole gently towards the herdsman; the sweet
sounds charmed the savage ear, and sleep overpowered
the hundred eyes.  Then Hermes drew his sword
quickly, and smote off the head of Argus, thus gaining
for himself the name of the Argus-queller.  But the
shade of the terrible herdsman still follows me, and I
find no rest; and aimlessly I have come, thus goaded
onward, to this wild mountain region.'

.. _`PROMETHEUS`:

.. figure:: images/img-198.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: PROMETHEUS.

   PROMETHEUS.

"Then Prometheus in pitying accents said, 'Listen
now to me, and I will tell thee, Io, what other sorrows
thou must bear from Here; for it is she who brought
this woe upon thee and who hounds thee thus from land
to land.  Thou shalt journey onward from these mountain
regions through the Scythian land, and the region
of the uncouth Chalybes who work in iron.  Thence
thou shalt cross the mountains to the dwelling-place of
the Amazons, who shall lead thee to the place where
the ocean-gates are narrowest.  There thou shalt
plunge into the waves, and swim with fearlessness of
heart to Asia's shore.  And that strait shall by its
name, Bosphorus, tell to latest ages the story of thy
wandering.  But what I have told thee is only the
beginning of thy doom.'

"Then Io wept.

"'Were it not better to die,' she asked, 'than to
endure this hopeless misery?'

"'Not so, O maiden,' answered the Titan; 'for if
thou livest, then a son of thine shall loose me from my
fetters, and perchance shall shake the throne of Zeus
himself.  When thou hast crossed the sea-ways which
part the continent, thou shalt wander on until thou hast
reached the outmost islands where the Gorgons dwell;
then returning thou shalt pass through the country of
the griffins and the region of Ethiopia, and shalt come
at last to the three-cornered ground where flows the
Nile.  There thou shalt rest, and thy maiden form with
all its comeliness shall be thine again.  In Canobus, a
fair city by the sea, shall a home be made for thee; and
there shall Epaphos thy son be born, from whom in
after-times shall spring great Heracles, who shall break
my bonds and set me free from these hated fetters.'

"Then Io, with a sigh of mingled hope and despair,
went on her weary way, and left Prometheus alone
again in the everlasting solitudes.  And the wild eagles
swooped down from their high-built nests, and circled
with threatening screams about him; a grim vulture
flapped its wings in his face, and buried its talons
in his bosom; a mighty storm came hurtling down
through the mountain passes; the earth shook to and
fro, and the peaks of Caucasus seemed as if toppling
to their base; a hurricane of snow and hail and
rattling ice smote the Titan about the head, and wrapped
his body in eddying gusts; the lightnings leaped with
lurid glare athwart the sky, and the thunders crashed
with deafening roar among the crags; and earth and
air and sea seemed blent together in a mighty turmoil,
and whirling into utter chaos.  Yet, in the midst of all,
the old Titan quailed not; but with voice serene and
strong he sang of the day when right shall triumph over
might, when truth shall trample error in the dust, and
the reign of Zeus give place to that of a nobler monarch
just and perfect in all his ways.

"Thus years upon years passed, and ages circled by,
until thirteen generations of men had lived and died
upon the earth.  Then came Heracles, the descendant
of Io, to purge the world of vile monsters, and to give
freedom to those who were in bonds.  And as he wandered
from land to land, to do the bidding of his master
Eurystheus, he passed through Ethiopia, and came to
the region of the Caucasus, close by the eastern Ocean's
stream.  There, as he gazed upward at the everlasting
peaks, he saw the great Titan fettered to the naked
rock, while the eagles circled about him, and the grim
vulture digged its talons into his flesh; and Heracles
knew that this was Prometheus the ancient, the friend
of the human race and the foe of tyrants.  He drew his
bow, and with his unerring arrows slew the eagles and
the vulture; and then, with mighty blows of his club,
he broke the chains which Hephaestus of old had
wrought, and with his strong hands he loosed the
long-suffering prisoner from his fetters.  And the earth
rejoiced; and men everywhere sang pæans of triumph,
because freedom had been given to him who raised
them from the dust, and endowed them with the light
of reason and the fire of god-like intelligence."

This was the tale which Menelaus told to a company
of eager listeners seated about him, in the prow of the
swift-sailing vessel.

"Now you should know," he added, "that every
lover of freedom in Hellas is in truth a child of
Prometheus.  And so when Apollo, through his oracle, bade
me fetch from Ilios the bones of the old Titan's children,
I understood that I was to gather the dust of all
the Hellenes who have died in the Trojan land, and
carry it to Lacedæmon for honored burial.  And such
is the errand upon which we are sailing to-day."

"But why is it said that every Hellene is a child
of Prometheus?" asked the captain.  "Is it simply
because he is a lover of freedom and a hater of tyrants,
as the old Titan was?  Or is there a real line of
kinship reaching from us up to him?"

"I will tell you," answered the king.  "While Prometheus
hung fettered to the bleak crag of Caucasus, and
in grim patience bided the day of deliverance, his son
Deucalion tilled the plains of Phthia, and gathered the
ripe fruits on its sunny hills.  And he dwelt in peace
with all men, cherishing in his heart the words which
his father had spoken to him in former times.  But the
world was full of wickedness, and there was violence
and bloodshed everywhere; and men no longer had
respect for the gods, or love for one another.  'We
are a law unto ourselves,' they cried.  'Why then
should any one obey the behests of a master whom he
has not seen?'  And they went on eating and
drinking and making merry, and gave no thanks to the giver
of every good.

"At length, when their wickedness waxed so great
that it was past all bearing, Zeus spoke the word, and
a mighty flood burst upon the land.  The west wind
came sweeping in from the great sea, bringing in its
arms dark clouds laden with rain.  And when Deucalion
saw the veil of darkness covering the sky, and
heard the roar of the hurricane in the valley below him,
he called to Pyrrha, his golden-haired wife, and said,
'Surely, now, the day has come of which my father
told me often,--the day when floods of water shall
come upon the earth to punish the wickedness of men.
Hasten into the ark which I have built, that, if so be,
we may save ourselves from the merciless waves.'

"And they made the ark ready, and put a great store
of food in its broad hold, and waited for the rising of
the waters.  Nor was it long; for the torrents gushed
down from the hillsides and filled the valleys, and the
plains were covered over, and the forests sank from
sight beneath the waves.  But Deucalion and Pyrrha
sat in the ark, and floated safely on the bosom of the
heaving waters.  Day after day they drifted hither and
thither, until at last the ark rested on the lofty peak
of Parnassus.  Then Deucalion and Pyrrha stepped out
upon the dry ground; the rain ceased to fall, the clouds
were scattered, and the waters fled down the valleys
and hastened to the sea; but all the people of Hellas,
save only Deucalion and Pyrrha, had perished in the
flood.  And feeling their loneliness in the midst of the
ruin and death which had come upon the land, these
two built an altar to the gods, and offered thanks for
their deliverance.  Then Zeus sent Hermes, the bright
messenger, to speak words of comfort to them.

"'Among all the folk of this land,' he said, 'you
alone have lived blameless lives, and with your clean
hands and pure hearts have pleased the immortals.  Ask
now what you most desire, and it shall be given to
you.'

"Then Deucalion wept as he bowed before the
messenger.  'Grant that we may see the earth teeming
again with busy men,' he said.

"'It shall be as you wish,' answered Hermes.  'As
you go down the mountain into the plain, cover your
faces with your mantles, and throw the bones of your
mother behind you.'

"Then the messenger left them, and they wondered
between themselves what was the meaning of his words.

"'Who is our mother?' asked Pyrrha.

"'Is not the earth the mother of us all?' then
answered Deucalion.  'His meaning is plain enough now.'

"So, as they went down Parnassus, they took up
stones, and threw them behind them.  And the stones
which Deucalion threw sprang up and were mighty
armed men; and those which Pyrrha threw became fair
women.  Thus the hills and the valleys were peopled
anew; and the earth smiled and was glad that a new
and happier day had dawned.

"But Deucalion went with Pyrrha into Locris; and
there he built the city of Opus, where he reigned king
for many years; and there sons and daughters, noble
and beautiful, were born; but the noblest was Hellen,
from whom the Hellenes are descended, and our country
of Hellas takes its name.

"Do you understand now how every one of us can
claim to be a son of great Prometheus?"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A CAUSE OF WAR`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE XVII.*

.. class:: center large bold

   A CAUSE OF WAR.

.. vspace:: 2

Time passed.

Menelaus had returned from Ilios, bringing with him
the bones of his countrymen who had died in that
distant land.  The great plague had been stayed, for the
anger of Apollo had been assuaged.  And it had seemed
for a time that the old days of peace and plenty had
come again to Lacedæmon, never to depart.

Yet within a few weeks all was changed once more.
There was silence in the golden halls of Menelaus, and
guests sat no longer as of yore around the banquet
tables.  Anger and grief and uneasiness were plainly
seen in every face.  Men gathered in the streets, and
talked in wild, excited tones about the strange things
which had lately happened in Lacedæmon; and the
words "Helen," and "Paris," and "Troy," and "Ilios"
seemed to be on every tongue, and repeated with every
sign of love and hatred, of admiration and anxiety.

"Our good king, by his visit to Ilios, lifted the
scourge of pestilence and famine from our land," said
one of the elders of the city; "but he brought to our
shores a greater evil,--even Paris, the handsome prince
of Troy.  And now the glory of our country, the sun
which delighted all hearts, the peerless Helen, has been
stolen by the perfidious one, and carried to his home
beyond the sea."

"And do you think there will be war?" asked a long-haired
soldier, toying with the short dagger in his belt.

"How can it be otherwise?" answered the elder.
"When Menelaus won peerless Helen for his wife, the
noblest princes of Hellas promised with solemn oaths
that they would aid him against any one who should try
either by guile or by force to take her from him.  Let
the word be carried from city to city, and all Hellas will
soon be in arms.  The king, with his brother Agamemnon,
has even now crossed over to Pylos to take counsel
with old Nestor, the wisest of men.  When he comes
back to Lacedæmon, you may expect to see the watch-fires
blazing on the mountain-tops."

"No sight would be more welcome," answered the
soldier.

"None, indeed, save only the towers and palaces of
Troy in flames!" returned the other earnestly.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



Meanwhile, with troubled brow and anxious heart,
Menelaus sat in Nestor's halls, and told the story of
his wrongs.  Before him, seated on a fair embroidered
couch, was the aged king, listening with eager ears.
Behind him stood his brother Agamemnon, tall and
strong, and with eye and forehead like mighty Zeus.
Close by his feet two heroes sat: on this side,
Antilochus, the valiant son of Nestor; and on that, sage
Palamedes, prince of Eubœa's distant shores.  The last
had just arrived at Pylos, and had not learned the
errand which had brought the king of Lacedæmon
thither.

"Tell again the story of your visit to Troy," said
Nestor.  "Our guest, good Palamedes, would fain
understand it all; and I doubt not that he may be of
service to your cause."

Then Menelaus began once more at the beginning,--

"There is no need that I should speak of the long
voyage to Ilios, or of the causes which persuaded me
to undertake it.  When I drew near the lofty citadels
of Troy, and through the Scæan gates could see the
rows of stately dwellings and Athené's marble temple,
and the busy market-place of that great city, I stopped
there in wonder, fearing to venture farther.  Then I
sent a herald to the gates, who should make known my
name and lineage, and the errand upon which I had
come; but I waited without in the shade of a spreading
beech, not far from the towering wall.  Before me
stood the mighty city; behind me the fertile plain
sloped gently to the sea; in the distance I could see
the tomb of Ilus and the sparkling waters of
Scamander; while much farther, and on the other side,
the wooded peak of Ida lifted itself toward the clouds.
But I had not long to view this scene; for a noble
company of men led by Paris himself, handsome as
Apollo, came out of the gates to welcome me.  With
words of kind greeting from the king, they bade me
enter within the walls.  They led me through the
Scæan gates and along the well-paved streets, until we
came, at last, to Priam's noble hall.  It was a splendid
house, with broad doorways and polished porticos, and
marble columns richly carved.  Within were fifty
chambers, joining one another, all walled with polished
stone; in these abode the fifty sons of Priam with
their wedded wives.  On the other side, and opening
into the court, were twelve chambers, built for his
daughters; while over all were the sleeping-rooms for
that noble household, and around were galleries and
stairways leading to the king's great hall below.

"King Priam received me kindly, and, when he
understood my errand, left naught undone to help me
forward with my wishes.  Ten days I abode as a guest
in his halls, and when I would return to Lacedæmon
he pressed me to tarry yet a month in Troy.  But the
winds were fair, and the oracles promised a pleasant
voyage, and I begged that on the twelfth day he would
let me depart.  So he and his sons brought many
gifts, rich and beautiful, and laid them at my feet,--a
fair mantle, and a doublet, and a talent of fine gold,
and a sword with a silver-studded hilt, and a drinking-cup
richly engraved that I might remember them when
I pour libations to the gods.

"'Take these gifts,' said Priam, 'as tokens of our
friendship for you, and not only for you, but for all who
dwell in distant Hellas.  For we too are the children
of the immortals.  Our mighty ancestor, Dardanus,
was the son of Zeus.  He it was who built Dardania
on the slopes of Ida, where the waters gush in many
silvery streams from underneath the rocky earth.  To
Dardanus a son was born named Erichthonius, who,
in his time, was the richest of mortal men.  And
Erichthonius was the father of Tros, to whom were
born three noble sons, Ilus, Assaracus, and Ganymedes.
The last was the handsomest of men, and for his beauty's
sake the gods carried him to Ida's sacred summit to
be the cup-bearer of Father Zeus and the companion
of the immortals.  Then Ilus had a son, famous in
song and story, named Laomedon, who in his old age
became my father.  He, though my sire, did many
unwise things, and brought sore distress upon the
people of this land.

"'One day Apollo and Poseidon came to sacred Troy,
disguised as humble wayfarers seeking some employment.
This they did because so ordered by mighty Zeus.

"'"What can you do?" asked my father, when the
two had told their wishes.

"'Poseidon answered, "I am a builder of walls."

"'And Apollo answered, "I am a shepherd, and a
tender of herds."

"'"It is well," answered Laomedon.  "The wall-builder
shall build a wall around this Troy so high and
strong that no enemy can pass it.  The shepherd shall
tend my herds of crook-horned kine in the wooded
glens of Ida.  If at the end of a twelvemonth, the wall
be built, and if the cattle thrive without loss of one,
then I will pay you your hire: a talent of gold, two
tripods of silver, rich robes, and armor such as heroes
wear."

"'So the shining archer, and the shaker of the earth,
served my father through the year for the hire which
he had promised.  Poseidon built a wall, high and fair,
around the city; and Apollo tended the shambling kine,
and lost not one.  But when they claimed their hire,
Laomedon drove them away with threats, telling them
that he would bind their feet and hands together, and
sell them as slaves into some distant land, having first
sheared off their ears with his sharp sword.  And the
twain went away with angry hearts, planning in their
minds how they might avenge themselves.

"'Back to his watery kingdom, and his golden palace
beneath the sea, went great Poseidon.  He harnessed
his steeds to his chariot, and rode forth upon the waves.
He loosed the mighty winds from their prison-house,
and sent them raging over the sea.  The angry waters
rushed in upon the land; they covered the pastures and
the rich plain of Troy, and threatened even to beat
down the mighty walls which their king had built.
Then, little by little, the flood shrank back again; and
the people went out of the city to see the waste of slime
and black mud which covered their meadows.  While
they were gazing upon the scene, a fearful monster,
sent by angry Poseidon, came up out of the sea, and
fell upon them, and drove them with hideous slaughter
back to the city gates; neither would he allow any one
to come outside of the walls.

"'Then my father, in his great distress, clad himself
in mourning, and went in deep humility to the temple
of Athené, where stands the heaven-sent statue which
we call Palladion.  In sore distress, he called unto the
goddess, and besought to know the means whereby the
anger of Poseidon might be assuaged.  And in solemn
tones a voice came from the moveless lips of the
Palladion, saying,--

"'"Every day one of the maidens of Troy must be
fed to the monster outside of the walls.  The shaker
of the earth has spoken.  Disobey him not, lest more
cruel punishments befall thee."

"'Then in every house of Troy there was sore distress
and lamentation, for no one knew upon whom the
doom would soonest fall.  And every day a hapless
maiden, young and fair, was chained to the great rock
by the shore, and left there to be the food of the pitiless
monster.  And the people cried aloud in their distress,
and cursed the mighty walls and the high towers which
had been reared by the unpaid labors of Poseidon; and
my father sat upon his high seat, and trembled because
of the dire calamities which his own deeds had brought
upon his people.

"'At last, after many humbler victims had perished,
the lot fell upon the fairest of my sisters, Hesione, my
father's best-loved daughter.  In sorrow we arrayed her
in garments befitting one doomed to an untimely death;
and when we had bidden her a last farewell, we gave her
to the heralds to lead forth to the place of sacrifice.
Just then, however, a noble stranger, taller and more
stately than any man in Troy, came down the street
from the Scæan gate.  Fair-haired and blue-eyed, handsome
and strong, he seemed a very god to all who looked
upon him.  Over his shoulder he wore the tawny skin
of a mighty lion, while in his hand he carried a club
most wonderful to behold.  And the people, as he
passed, prayed him that he would free our city from the
dread monster who was robbing us of our fair loved
ones.

"'"I know that thou art a god!" cried my father,
when he saw the stranger.  "I pray thee, save my
daughter, who even now is being led forth to a cruel
death!"

"'"You make mistake," answered the fair stranger.
"I am not one of the gods.  My name is Heracles, and
like you I am mortal.  Yet I may help you in this your
time of need."

"'Now, in my father's stables there were twelve fair
steeds, the best that the earth ever knew.  So light of
foot were they, that when they bounded over the land,
they might run upon the topmost ears of ripened corn,
and break them not; and when they bounded over the
sea, not even Poseidon's steeds could glide so lightly
upon the crests of the waves.  Some say they were the
steeds of Boreas given to my grandfather Tros, by his
sire Erichthonius; others, that they were the price
which Zeus paid for godlike Ganymedes, most beautiful
of men.  These steeds, my father promised to give to
Heracles if he would save Hesione.

"'Then the heralds led my fair sister to the shore,
and chained her to the rock, there to wait for the
coming of the monster.  But Heracles stood near her,
fearless in his strength.  Soon the waves began to
rise; the waters were disturbed, and the great beast,
with hoarse bellowings, lifted his head above the
breakers, and rushed forward to seize his fair prey.
Then the hero sprang to meet him.  With blow upon
blow from his mighty club, he felled the monster;
the waters of the sea were reddened with blood;
Hesione was saved, and Troy was freed from the
dreadful curse.

"'"Behold thy daughter!" said Heracles, leading her
gently back to the Scæan gate, and giving her to her
father.  "I have saved her from the jaws of death, and
delivered your country from the dread scourge.  Give
me now my hire.'

"'Shame fills my heart as I tell this story, for
thanklessness was the bane of my father's life.  Ungrateful
to the hero who had risked so much and done so much
that our homes and our country might be saved from
ruin, he turned coldly away from Heracles; then he
shut the great gates in his face, and barred him out
of the city, and taunted him from the walls, saying,
"I owe thee no hire!  Begone from our coasts, ere
I scourge thee hence!"

"'Full of wrath, the hero turned away.  "I go, but I
will come again," he said.

"'Then peace and plenty blessed once more the land
of Ilios, and men forgot the perils from which they
had been delivered.  But ere long, great Heracles
returned, as he had promised; and with him came a
mighty fleet of white-sailed ships and many warriors.
Neither gates nor strong walls could stand against him.
Into the city he marched, and straight to my father's
palace.  All fled before him, and the strongest warriors
quailed beneath his glance.  Here, in this very court,
he slew my father and my brothers with his terrible
arrows.  I myself would have fallen before his wrath,
had not my sister, fair Hesione, pleaded for my life.

"'"I spare his life," said Heracles, in answer to her
prayers, "for he is but a lad.  Yet he must be my slave
until you have paid a price for him, and thus redeemed
him."

"'Then Hesione took the golden veil from her head,
and gave it to the hero as my purchase price.  And
thenceforward I was called Priam, or the purchased;
for the name which my mother gave me was Podarkes,
or the fleet-footed.

"After this, Heracles and his heroes went on board
their ships and sailed back across the sea, leaving me
alone in my father's halls.  For they took fair Hesione
with them, and carried her to Salamis, to be the wife
of Telamon, the sire of mighty Ajax.  There, through
these long years she has lived in sorrow, far removed
from home and friends and the scenes of her happy
childhood.  And now that the hero Telamon, to whom
she was wedded, lives no longer, I ween that her life is
indeed a cheerless one.'

"When Priam had finished his tale, he drew his seat
still nearer mine, and looked into my face with anxious,
beseeching eyes.  Then he said, 'I have long wished
to send a ship across the sea to bring my sister back to
Troy.  A dark-prowed vessel, built for speed and safety,
lies now at anchor in the harbor, and a picked crew is
ready to embark at any moment.  And here is my son
Paris, handsome and brave, who is anxious to make
voyage to Salamis, to seek unhappy Hesione.  Yet our
seamen, having never ventured far from home, know
nothing of the dangers of the deep, nor do they feel
sure that they can find their way to Hellas.  And so
we have a favor to ask of you; and that is, that when
your ship sails to-morrow, ours may follow in its wake
across the sea.'

"I was glad when Priam spoke these words, for, in
truth, I was loath to part with Paris; and I arranged at
once that he should bear me company in my own swift
ship, while his vessel with its crew followed not far
behind.

"And so with favoring winds being blessed, we made
a quick voyage back to Lacedæmon, bringing with us
the bones of my beloved countrymen.  What followed
is too sad for lengthy mention, and is in part already
known to you.  Need I tell you how I opened my halls
to Paris, and left no act of courtesy undone that I
might make him happy?  Need I tell you how he was
welcomed by fair Helen, and how the summer days fled
by on golden wings; and how in the delights of Lacedæmon
he forgot his errand to Salamis, and cared only
to remain with me, my honored guest and trusted friend?
One day a message came to me from my old friend
Idomeneus.  He had planned a hunt among the mountains
and wooded vales of Crete, and he invited me to join
him in the sport.  I had not seen Idomeneus since the
time that we together, in friendly contention, sought
the hand of Helen.  I could not do otherwise than
accept his invitation, for he had sent his own ship to
carry me over to Crete.  So I bade farewell to Helen,
saying, 'Let not our noble guest lack entertainment
while I am gone; and may the golden hours glide
happily until I come again.'  And to Paris I said,
'Tarry another moon in Lacedæmon; and when I return
from Crete, I will go with you to Salamis, and aid
you in your search for Hesione.'  Then I went on board
the waiting ship, and prospering breezes carried us
without delays to Crete.

"Idomeneus received me joyfully, and entertained me
most royally in his palace; and for nine days we feasted
in his halls, and made all things ready for the hunt.
But, lo! on the evening of the last day, a vision came
to me.  Gold-winged Iris, the fleet-footed messenger of
the gods, stood before me.  'Hasten back to Lacedæmon,'
she cried, 'for thou art robbed of thy dearest
treasure!'  And even while she spoke, one of my own
ships came sailing into the harbor, bringing trusted
heralds whom the elders of Lacedæmon had sent to
me.  They told me the fatal news.  'No sooner were
you well on your way,' they said, 'than Paris began to
put his ship in readiness to depart.  Helen prayed him
to tarry until your return, but he would not hearken.
"I will stay no longer," he said.  "My seamen rest
upon their oars; the sails of my ship are spread; the
breeze will soon spring up that will carry me to my own
fair home across the sea.  But you, beauteous Helen,
shall go with me; for the deathless gods have spoken
it.  Aphrodite, long ago, promised that the most
beautiful woman in the world should be my wife.  And who
is that most beautiful woman if it is not yourself?
Come! fly over the sea, and be my queen.  It is the
will of the gods."'

"It was thus that the perfidious Trojan wrought the
ruin of all that was dear to me.  At first, Helen refused.
But Paris is a handsome prince, and day after day he
renewed his suit.  Then on the sixth day she yielded.
In the darkness of the night they went on board his
waiting vessel, carrying with them the gold and jewels
of my treasure-house; and in the morning, when
the sun arose on Lacedæmon, they were far out at sea.

"You know the rest: how in wrath and great sorrow
I hurried home from Crete; how I first counselled with
my own elders, and then with my brother Agamemnon
of Mycenæ.  And now, O noble Nestor, we have come
to Pylos, seeking thy advice.  On these two things my
mind is set: Helen must be mine again, and Paris must
suffer the punishment due to traitors."

.. vspace:: 2

When Menelaus had ended, sage Nestor answered
with many words of counsel.  "Keep the thought of
vengeance ever before you," he said.  "Yet act not
rashly.  The power of Troy is very great; and, in case
of war, all the tribes of Asia will make common cause
with Ilios.  But an insult to Lacedæmon is an insult
to all Hellas, and every loyal Hellene will hasten to
avenge it.  More than this, the chiefs of almost every
state have already sworn to aid you.  We have but to
call upon them, and remind them of their oaths, and
all the mightiest warriors of our land will take up arms
against the power of Troy."

Then Palamedes spoke in like manner, and his
words had great weight with Menelaus; for among all
the heroes there were few who equalled him in wisdom.
He it was who first built beacon fires on the headlands,
and lighthouses to warn venturous seamen of the hidden
dangers in their way; he it was who first invented
scales for weighing, and who taught men how to
measure grain and wine by certain standards; he it was
who first made dice, and who showed what beauty and
mystery lie hidden in the letters which Cadmus brought
from Phoenicia to Hellas.  And he was wise in statecraft
and the knowledge of human nature.

"Nestor has spoken well," he said, addressing Menelaus,
"and it behooves us to follow his advice.  Now
do you and Agamemnon return at once to Argos and
Lacedæmon, and call upon the fighting men along the
eastern coast to join you in the war.  In the mean
while, Nestor and myself will do the same, here on the
western coast and among the islands of the sea."

"By the way," said Nestor, "there is Odysseus, king
of Ithaca,--the rarest and bravest of men.  Did he
but know of this affair, he would be a host within
himself, to lead us to sure victory."

"That is true," said Palamedes, "and we must seek
his aid first.  My ship lies now at anchor, just off the
beach; and if noble Nestor will be my comrade, we will
sail to-morrow to Ithaca, and make sure of his valued
aid."

"Most surely I will go with you," said old Nestor.
"And I will never rest nor give up the fight, until
Helen is returned to Menelaus, and Paris has received
his due reward."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`AN UNWILLING HERO`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE XVIII.*

.. class:: center large bold

   AN UNWILLING HERO.

.. vspace:: 2

In the shade of the orchard trees, at the foot of
Mount Neritus, there was gathered, one afternoon, a
happy family party.  The chief figure in the group was
white-haired Laertes, in his gardener's garb, picking
some ripe fruit from the overloaded branches.  At his
right stood Anticleia, as queenly beautiful as when
her hero-husband had won her in the halls of old
Autolycus.  At his left was Penelope, her sweet face
beaming with smiles; while on the ground beside her
sat Odysseus, gently dandling in his arms the babe
Telemachus, and laughing at the budding wisdom of
the child.

"Some men wander the wide world over, seeking for
empty glory," said he, turning towards Penelope.  "But
I would rather have my pleasant home, and live amid
its never-failing delights, than share the honors even of
great Heracles."

At this moment, Phemius the bard was seen coming
in haste from the palace.  "What news, Phemius?"
asked Odysseus.  "Hast thou finished that new song
of thine?  And dost thou hasten thus to sing it to us
before some part of it shall go out of thy mind?"

"Nay, master," answered the bard, speaking in
anxious tones.  "I have come to tell you that there are
guests waiting in the hall.  Famous men they are,--even
Nestor, king of Pylos, and shrewd Palamedes of
Eubœa.  And they bring wonderful news,--news of
that which will, perchance, fill our land with sadness."

"Tell me what it is," said Odysseus.

Then the bard told the story of Paris and Helen, as
he had learned it briefly from Palamedes; and he
explained the errand of the hero-guests which they had
thoughtlessly imparted to him.  Odysseus looked at his
smiling babe, and at his fair wife, and his loved mother,
and his honored father; and his brow darkened as he
shook his head, and said, "Why should I risk so much,
and, joining in this war, leave all that is dear to me on
earth, simply for the sake of Menelaus and his
misguided Helen?"

Then, after a moment's thought, he added, "I will
not go.  Tell Nestor and Palamedes that I am mad, and
cannot go."

All at once a great change seemed to come over him.
He put the babe into its nurse's arms; and then with
long strides, and in the aimless manner of a maniac, he
made his way across the orchard, and along the footpath
by the beach to the white palace near the shore.
When his old friends, Nestor and Palamedes, saw
him, they hastened towards him, expecting to receive
his greeting; but with unmeaning words, and a vacant
stare, he passed by them without a word of recognition.
"He is mad," said the frightened servants, as they
fled before him.

"Yes, he is mad, and knows not where he is nor
what he does," said Phemius, hastily rejoining the
guests.  "When I went out to find him just now, he
was wandering among the fruit trees, picking the green
fruit, and roaring like a wild beast.  The gods have
taken his reason from him."

"How sad that so great a mind should be thus
clouded!" answered Nestor, with a sigh.  "And at
this time it is doubly sad for us and for all who love
him, for we had counted on great things from shrewd
Odysseus.  Surely some unfriendly god has done this
thing with intent to harm all Hellas."

"Do not judge hastily," whispered Palamedes.  "We
shall find out from whence this madness comes."

.. _`PALAMEDES TESTS THE MADNESS OF ODYSSEUS`:

.. figure:: images/img-222.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: PALAMEDES TESTS THE MADNESS OF ODYSSEUS.

   PALAMEDES TESTS THE MADNESS OF ODYSSEUS.

Soon Odysseus rushed from his chamber, looking
wildly about him, as if the very Furies were at his
heels.  He was dressed in his richest garments, and on
his shoulder he carried a bag of salt.  Without speaking
to any one, he made his way to the stables, where,
with his own hands, he harnessed a mule and a cow,
and yoked them side by side to a plough.  Then he
drove his strange team down to the beach, and began to
plough long, deep furrows in the sand.  By and by he
opened the bag of salt, and strewed the white grains
here and there, as though he were sowing seed.  This
strange work he continued until the daylight faded into
darkness, and all the people were fain to seek rest under
their home-roofs.  Then he drove his team back to the
stables, unyoked the beasts and fed them, and hurried
silently to his chamber.

The next morning, as soon as the dawn appeared, he
was seen ploughing the sandy beach as before.

"I will see whether there be any reason in his madness,"
said Palamedes to Nestor.

It chanced at that moment, that Eurycleia the nurse
was passing by with little Telemachus in her arms.
Without another word, Palamedes lifted the babe, and
laid it smiling in the last furrow that Odysseus had
made, so that on his next round the team would trample
upon it.  As Odysseus drew near, urging forward the
mule and the cow, with many cries and maniacal
gestures, he saw the helpless babe.  The sight of its
danger made him forget himself and his assumed
madness; he turned his team aside, and running forward
seized Telemachus, and, kissing his laughing lips,
handed him, with every show of gentleness, to the
good nurse.

"Ha, Odysseus!" cried Palamedes.  "Thou canst
not deceive us.  Thou art no more mad than I am.
Cease now that boyish play, and come and talk with us
as becometh a hero."

Then Odysseus, seeing that he had been fairly outwitted
by one as shrewd as himself, knew that further
pretence of madness would avail him nothing.  For a
single moment his brow was clouded with anger, and he
whispered hoarsely to Palamedes, "You shall have your
reward for this!"[1]  Then, leaving his plough and his
ill-matched team upon the beach, he took his two guests
kindly by the hand, and led them into his palace.  A
great feast was spread upon the tables, and the morning
was spent in eating and merry-making, and not a word
was said concerning the great business which had
brought the kings to Ithaca.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[1] See `Note 13`_ at the end of this volume.

.. vspace:: 2

Later in the day, however, Nestor told Odysseus the
story of the perfidy of Paris.  Then Palamedes followed
with a speech so clear, so forcible, that the hearts of all
who heard it were stirred to their very depths; and
Odysseus, rising from his seat, renewed the vow which
he had made when Menelaus won fair Helen for his
bride.  And from that time to the very end, there was
not a man among all the Hellenes, who threw himself
more earnestly into the work than did Odysseus.

For seven days Nestor and Palamedes tarried at
Ithaca, talking with Odysseus, and making plans for the
war against Troy.  On the eighth day, the three heroes
embarked for the mainland; and for months they
journeyed from country to country, and from city to city,
reminding the princes of their vows, and stirring all
Hellas into a flame.  Soon the watch-fires were kindled
on every mountain-top; and every warrior in the land
made haste to see that his arms were in order, and
every seaman to put his ship to rights.  And Ares, the
mighty god of battle, brandished his sword above the
sea; dread comets blazed red in mid-heaven; glittering
stars fell to the earth, or shot gleaming athwart the
sky.  Sounds of warlike preparation were heard, not
only in the dwellings of men, but even in the halls of
Zeus, upon the airy summit of Olympus.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`HEROES IN STRANGE GARB`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE XIX.*

.. class:: center large bold

   HEROES IN STRANGE GARB.

.. vspace:: 2

There dwelt at Mycenæ a wise soothsayer, named
Calchas,--a man versed in all the lore of earth and
sky, and holding some sort of communion with the
immortals.  He could lift the veil of the future, and see
what to other men lay hidden in the darkness; and
next to the Pythian oracle at Delphi, or the talking oak
of Dodona, he was held in high repute as knowing the
counsels of the gods.  When all the great chiefs sat one
day in Agamemnon's hall, and talked of their warriors
and their ships and their arms, and boasted of their
readiness to sail at once for Ilios, the old soothsayer
came and stood before them.  His white locks streamed
in flowing waves about his shoulders; his gray eyes
gleamed with a strange, wild light; he moved his long
arms to and fro above his head, and pointed with his
thin fingers first towards the sky, and then towards
the sea.

"Hearken ye to the seer," said Menelaus; "he has
had a vision, and perchance he can tell us how we shall
fare in this great business which we have undertaken."

Then Calchas spoke and said, "Verily I know not
any thing of this matter, save by the gift of soothsaying
which the far-darting Apollo has bestowed upon
me.  Yet when I inquired of him, this answer did he
give: 'Let the long-haired Hellenes make war upon
Troy.  They shall not prevail against that city unless
Achilles, the dear son of Thetis, lead them.'  Send
now for him, and enlist him in your cause; for otherwise
you shall fail, and the Trojans shall boast of your
ruin!"

Having said these words, the seer strode from the
hall, leaving the hero chiefs alone.  For a time they sat
in silence, each pondering the matter in his own mind.
Then Agamemnon spoke, and his words were full of
anger and unbelief.  "Never yet," said he, "did
Calchas prophesy any thing but ill.  He sees naught but
evil; and when we feel most sure of success, then it is
the joy of his heart to foretell failure.  Now, after the
gods have thus far favored us, and when all things are
in readiness for the gathering together of our forces,
this woful soothsayer comes to tell us that without
Achilles we shall fail.  For my part, I care little for his
words, and am willing to run all risks."

"Say not so," quickly answered Odysseus.  "The
old man speaks as Apollo gives him utterance; and no
man shall dare put his judgment in the scales against
the foreknowledge of the gods.  Let us seek Achilles
at once, and persuade him to join us in our league
against Ilios."

"But who shall find him?" asked Menelaus.  "Two
months ago, I was in Iolcos by the sea, whither I had
gone to see old Peleus.  I found that that aged king
dwelt no longer in the ancient city, but had removed
into his own country of Phthia, and there abode among
his Myrmidons.  Into Phthia, therefore, I went, hoping
to find Achilles also there.  But old Peleus wept when
I asked about his son.  'In truth, I know not where the
young man is,' he said, in answer to my questions.  'For
when the news was noised about, that the chiefs of Hellas
were planning war upon Troy, then silver-footed Thetis
carried her son into some distant, unknown land, and
hid him there.  For the Fates have declared the doom
of Achilles, that his days on earth shall be few but
glorious; and his mother feared, that, should he join in
the great war, he would meet an untimely death.  Thus,
then, it is that I am bereft already of my only son; for
I know not whether I shall ever again behold him.'  In
this manner Peleus, the lord of horses, bewailed the
absence of his son.  And though in every city I sought
news concerning the whereabouts of the young hero,
I could learn nothing whatever.  Even Patroclus, his
bosom friend and comrade, wept for him as for one
dead.  I do not believe that he can be found in
Hellas."

Then Nestor the wise arose and spoke.  "It does
not become us," he said, "to doubt or dispute the words
of Calchas the seer.  Therefore we must find Achilles,
and win him to our cause; or, laying aside all thought
of war, we must humbly surrender to Paris the noblest
treasure of our country, even beauteous Helen."

"Achilles can be found," said Odysseus.  "I myself
will seek him, and the moon shall not wane thrice ere I
shall have found him.  Let the best ship in Argos be
put in readiness at once; and let a crew of the most
skilful oarsmen be chosen, and a good store of food be
put into the hold.  I will embark to-morrow, and you
shall see me no more until I bring good news of
Thetis's godlike son."

So then Odysseus set sail on a long, uncertain voyage
to the islands of the sea, in search of the hidden
hero.  Vainly did he visit Cythera, the lofty isle where
Aphrodite first rose in all her beauty from the salt
sea-foam; he touched at Melos, rich in corn and wine;
he skirted Paros, known to all the world for its figs and
its spotless marble; he stopped for a month at sacred
Delos, the birthplace of Apollo; he explored
well-watered Ophiussa, where serpents curse the ground,
and grapes grow purple on the climbing vines; he
sought long time in Andros among the groves and in
the temple sacred to ruddy-faced Dionysus: yet in none
of these lands heard he any news of the godlike son of
Peleus.  Weary of their long and fruitless voyage, the
comrades of Odysseus murmured sorely, and besought
him to return to Mycenæ, and give up the search.  But
he turned a deaf ear to their pleadings, and sailed away
to Scyros, where old Lycomedes reigned.  For the
bright-eyed goddess Athené had whispered to him in
a dream, and told him that in the court of Lycomedes
he would find the hero for whom he sought.

In a narrow inlet, hidden by trees and tall reeds, the
ship was moored, while shrewd Odysseus went alone
and unheralded to the palace of the king.  He had laid
aside his warrior's gear, and was now attired in the
guise of a wandering peddler, and loaded with a heavy
pack of precious wares.  And lo! as he neared the
high-built halls of Lycomedes, he came to a spacious garden
just outside of the courtyard, and hard by the lofty gate.
A green hedge ran round it on four sides, while within
grew many tall trees laden with fruits and blossoms,--pear
trees, pomegranates, apple trees, and olives.  So
well cared for were these trees, that they yielded fruit
in every season of the year, nor ever failed, even in
winter time.  Beyond these, all manner of garden beds
were planted, where flowers bloomed in never-ending
freshness,--the dewy lotus, the crocus flower, the pale
hyacinth, violets, asphodels, and fair lilies.  And in
their midst, two springs of never-failing water gushed:
one of them watered the garden and the fields beyond;
the other ran close by the threshold of the palace, and
bubbled up in the market-square, where all the people
came to fill their vessels.[1]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[1] See `Note 14`_ at the end of this volume.

.. vspace:: 2

As Odysseus stood and gazed in rapt delight upon
this scene of beauty, a party of happy maidens came
through the courtyard, and stopped in the garden to
pluck the fruits and flowers.  Then on the open lawn,
they fell to playing ball; and one among them sang a
lightsome song as they tossed the missile to and fro, or
danced with happy feet upon the smooth-mown sward.
When they saw Odysseus standing in the path, they
stopped their game, and stood silent in their places,
scarce knowing whether to advance and greet the
stranger kindly, or in girlish timidness to flee into the
palace.  The hero opened then his peddler's pack, and
held up to their delighted gaze a golden necklace set
with amber beads.  No further thought of flight had
the maidens now.  With eager yet hesitating feet, they
came crowding around him, anxious to see what other
thing of beauty he had brought with him.  One by
one, he showed them all his treasures,--ear-rings,
bracelets of finest workmanship, clasps, buckles,
headbands, and golden hair-pins.  These they took in their
hands, and, passing them from one to another, eagerly
debated the price.  One only of the company, taller and
nobler than the others, stood aloof, and seemed to care
nothing for the rich and handsome ornaments.  Odysseus
noticed this, but shrewdly kept his counsels to himself.

"A merchant like myself," said he, "must needs
have goods for all,--for the young as well as for the
old, for the grave as well as for the gay, for the hero as
well as for the lady.  It is his duty no less than his
delight to please."

With these words he laid before the maidens a
sword with hilt most deftly carved, a dagger with long
keen blade, and a helmet thickly inlaid with precious
gems.  The one who had not cared to look at the
trinkets now started quickly as if a trumpet had blown;
she took up the sword, and handled it like a warrior long
used to weapons; she tested the edge of the dagger,
and sounded the strength of the helmet.  Odysseus had
learned all that he wished to know.  He thought no
more of the ornaments,--the bracelets, the clasps, and
the hair-pins,--but gave them to the maidens for any
price that they chose to offer.  When all were pleased
and satisfied, he turned to that one still toying with the
sword, and said sharply,--

"Achilles!"

Had an earthquake shaken the isle of Scyros at that
moment, Achilles would not have been more startled.
For the tall, fair body, clad in a maiden's robes, was
none other than that long-sought hero.

"Achilles," again said Odysseus, "I know thee, and
it is useless to struggle longer against thy destiny.  Put
off that unbecoming garb, and come with me.  Thy
countrymen need thee to aid them in waging bitter war
against Troy."

Then he told to the listening hero the story of the
great wrong which Paris had done,--the unbearable
insult which he had put upon the folk of Hellas.  No
man ever used words more persuasive.  When he had
ended, Achilles took him by the hand, and said,
"Odysseus, truly do I know the destiny which is mine,
and it behooves no man to struggle long against the
doom which has been allotted to him.  For the gods
ordain that man should live in pain, while they
themselves are sorrowless.  You have heard it said, how on
the threshold of Zeus there stand two caskets full of
gifts to men.  One casket holds the evil, and one the
good; and to whomsoever is dealt a mingled lot, upon
him misfortunes sometimes fall, and sometimes blessings.
So it is with me and with my father's house.
For upon Peleus were bestowed rich gifts, even from
his birth, and he excelled all other men in good fortune
and in wealth; and he was king over the Myrmidons;
and to him was given a sea-nymph for a wife, even
Thetis, my goddess-mother.  Yet, with all the good,
sorrow has come upon him in his old age; for in his
halls there are no kingly sons to gladden his heart and
hold up his hands.[2]  I am his only son, and of me it has
been written that I am doomed to an untimely death;
and it was for this that silver-footed Thetis brought me
hither across the sea, and, clothing me in maidenly
attire, left me to serve in Lycomedes' pleasant halls.
But I tire of life like this.  I would rather die
to-morrow, a hero in some grand struggle, than live a
hundred years among these soft delights.  I will sail
with you at once for Phthia, where my father sits,
already bereaved, in his spacious halls.  There I will
summon my Myrmidons, and my best-loved friend
Patroclus; and then with eager hearts we will hasten to
join our countrymen in war against the Trojan power."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[2] See `Note 15`_ at the end of this volume.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



Thus, then, did Odysseus perform his quest, and thus
the last and greatest ally was won to the Hellenic
cause.  And yet the war was long delayed.  Many
times did the moon wax and wane; and seed-time and
harvest, and fruit-gathering, and the storms of winter,
came again and again in their turn,--and still the
heroes were unready to join their forces and enter upon
the mighty struggle.

At length, however, after nearly ten years had passed,
all the princes and warriors of Hellas gathered their
ships and men together at Aulis, and along the shores
of the Euripus.  A thousand dark-hulled vessels were
moored in the strait; and a hundred thousand brave
men were on board, ready to follow their leaders
whithersoever they should order.

Chief of all that host was mighty Agamemnon, king
of men, bearing the sceptre of Mycenæ, which
Hephaestus, long before, had wrought most wondrously.
He was clad in flashing armor, and his mind was filled
with overweening pride when he thought how high he
stood among the warriors, and that his men were the
goodliest and bravest of all that host.

Next to him was Menelaus, silent and discreet, by no
means skilled above his fellows, and yet, by reason of
his noble heart, beloved and honored by all the Greeks;
and it was to avenge his wrongs that this mighty array
of men and ships had been gathered together.

Odysseus came next, shrewd in counsels, and no
longer an unwilling hero; but, earnest and active, he
moved among the men and ships, inspiring all with zeal
and courage.  He wore upon his shoulders a thick
purple mantle, clasped with a golden brooch of curious
workmanship, which Penelope had given to him as a
parting gift.  Around his waist was a shining tunic,
soft and smooth, and bright as the sunshine.  With
him, wherever he went, was his herald and armor-bearer,
Eurybates,--a hunchbacked, brown-skinned,
curly-haired man, whom Odysseus held in high esteem
because of his rare good sense.

There, also, was young Achilles, tall and handsome,
and swift of foot.  His long hair fell about his shoulders
like a shower of gold, and his gray eyes gleamed like
those of the mountain eagle.  By the shore lay his trim
ships--fifty in all--with thousands of gallant
Myrmidons on board.  And ever at his side was his bosom
friend and comrade, Patroclus, the son of Menoitios.
He it was to whom old Peleus had said when they were
about embarking for Aulis, "Thou art older than my
child Achilles, but he is nobler born and mightier far
in warlike deeds.  But thou art wise and prudent;
therefore, do thou speak gentle words of warning to
him, and show him what is best to do: he will hearken
to thy words spoken for his good."

There also was Ajax, the valiant son of Telamon,
huge in body and slow in speech, but, next to Achilles,
the bravest of all the host.  And the other Ajax, clad
in his linen corslet, and master of forty ships from
Locris, moved also among the mightiest of the heroes.
There, too, was Nestor, the aged king of Pylos, rich
in wisdom and experience, and skilled in persuasive
speech.  With him was his son Antilochus, the quondam
suitor of fair Helen, a warrior worthy of such a
sire.

And there was Idomeneus, the stalwart chief who
ruled the hundred cities of Crete, and was the sworn
friend of Menelaus.  And there was Philoctetes, the
cunning archer, carrying the great bow which had been
given him for his last sad act of friendship to his
master, Heracles.  And there was Diomede, of the
loud war-cry, wearing the skin of a great fiery lion
round his shoulders, and marshalling the warriors who
had come with him from Argos, and Tiryns of the
mighty walls.  And there, too, among so many others
of far greater worth, was Nireus of Syma, his well-oiled
locks as neatly curled, and his linen as spotlessly white,
as when in youth he had sued for Helen's hand in the
court of old Tyndareus.

Now when the day had come for the fleet to sail, the
chiefs stood upon the shore, and offered solemn
sacrifices to Poseidon, and prayed the gods to prosper them
in their undertaking and bring them safe again to their
loved homes in Hellas.  While they were burning the
choicest bits of fat and flesh, behold, a strange thing
happened!  From a crevice in the rocks a shining serpent,
with glittering cold eyes and forked tongue, came
creeping silently into the sunlight.  The heroes gazed
upon it with wonder in their faces, for they knew that
it was sent as a sign to them.  Not far away stood a
plane-tree, green with foliage, in which a bird had built
her nest; and in the nest were nine tiny fledglings,
tenderly cared for by the mother bird.  Straight to this
tree the serpent crept; it twined around the trunk, and
stealthily climbed to the nest; it seized the helpless
little ones in its fangs and devoured them; then it
darted upon the distressed mother bird, and destroyed
her most pitilessly.  But now a gleam of lightning
flashed across the sky, and a peal of thunder shook the
earth and sea.  When the astonished chiefs looked up
again, behold, the serpent had been turned into stone.

"Call Calchas the seer, and let him tell us what this
portends!" they cried.

Then Calchas, his long hair streaming in the wind,
his wild eyes rolling in awe, his gaunt arms waving to
and fro above his head, came and looked upon the
wonder.

"Ye men of Hellas!" he cried, "I will tell you what
this portends.  As there were nine birds in the nest, ye
shall war nine years against Troy, and shall not prevail;
but, even as the serpent destroyed the mother bird, so
in the tenth year shall the city and its god-built walls
fall into your hands."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`BECALMED AT AULIS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE XX.*

.. class:: center large bold

   BECALMED AT AULIS.

.. vspace:: 2

A pleasant wind from the west sprang up, and
drove the great fleet out into the sea.  Not a single
one of the thousand ships was lost or left behind;
and after a quick and happy voyage, they came in
sight of a fruitful land and a great city with high
towers and pleasant dwellings.

"The gods have favored us, even beyond what we
asked!" cried the Hellenes.

Achilles and his Myrmidons landed first, and without
waiting for the other ships to come up, they rushed
across the plain, and began an assault upon the town.
Like a swarm of locusts lighting down upon a field
of grain, and consuming every thing before them, so
came the destroying Hellenes.  The gates were broken
down; the astonished people fled in dismay, and sought
safety among the hills and in the forest on the other
side of the town.  Not until many houses had been
burned, and many people slain, did Odysseus and
Menelaus, whose ships had been delayed, reach the
place.

"Men of Hellas!" they cried, hastening into the
midst of the carnage.  "What is this you are doing?
This is not Troy.  It is the peaceful city of Teuthrania
in Mysia.  Cease your slaughter, and return at once
to your vessels, lest the wrath of the gods fall upon
you."

The word was carried from mouth to mouth; and
the hasty heroes, crestfallen and ashamed, stopped
their bloody work, and turned their faces back towards
the shore where their ships lay beached.  None too
soon did they retreat; for the king of Mysia, one
Telephus a son of Heracles, having quickly called his
warriors together, fell upon their rear, and slew great
numbers of them, following them even to the sloping
beach.  As the last ship was pushing out, an arrow
from the bow of King Telephus struck Patroclus,
wounding him sorely.  Then Achilles, poising his long
spear, threw it with deadly aim among the Mysians;
it struck King Telephus, and laid him senseless though
not slain upon the sandy plain.

No sooner had the fleet set sail again upon the sea,
than Poseidon stirred up the waves in anger, and
loosed the winds upon them.  Great was the terror,
and great indeed was the destruction.  Some of the
ships were sunk in mid-sea, and some were driven
upon the rocks and wrecked.  But the greater number
of them, after days and weeks of buffeting with the
waves, made their way back to Aulis.

When the heroes stood again on the shores of the
Euripus, they began to think that doubtless there was
some truth in the omen of the snake and the birds;
and the most hopeful among them ceased to dream
of taking Troy in a day.  While waiting for stragglers
to come in, and for the shattered vessels to be repaired,
they found enough to do to keep the time from dragging
heavily; and when not engaged in some kind of
labor they amused themselves with various games,
and great sport had they with quoits and javelins,
with bows and arrows, and in wrestling and running.
And now and then they went out into the woods of
Eubœa, and hunted the wild deer which roamed there
in abundance.

One day it chanced that Agamemnon, while hunting,
started a fine stag, and gave it a long chase among the
hills and through the wooded dells, until it sought
safety in a grove sacred to Artemis the huntress queen.
The proud king knew that this was a holy place where
beasts and birds might rest secure from harm; yet
he cared naught for what Artemis had ordained, and
with his swift arrows he slew the panting deer.  Then
was the huntress queen moved with anger, and she
declared that the ships of the Hellenes should not sail
from Aulis until the king had atoned for his crime.
And a great calm rested upon the sea, and not a
breath of air stirred the sails at the mast-heads of the
ships.  Day after day and week after week went by,
and not a speck of cloud was seen in the sky above,
and not a ripple on the glassy face of the deep.  All
the ships had been put in order, new vessels had been
built, the warriors had burnished their armor and
overhauled their arms a thousand times; and yet no breeze
arose to waft them across the sea.  And they began
to murmur, and to talk bitterly against Agamemnon
and the chiefs.

In the mean while, a small vessel driven by rowers
came up the Euripus, and stopped among the ships at
Aulis.  On board of it was King Telephus of Mysia,
sorely suffering from the wound which Achilles had
given him on the Teuthranian beach.  He had come to
seek the hero who had wounded him, for an oracle had
told him that he only could heal the grievous hurt.
Achilles carried the sufferer to his tent, and skilfully
dressed the wound, and bound it up with healing herbs;
for in his boyhood he had learned from wise old Cheiron
how to treat such ailments, and now that knowledge
was of great use to him.  And soon the king was
whole and strong again; and he vowed that he would
not leave Achilles, but would stay with the Hellenes,
and pilot them across the sea to Troy.  Yet the wrath
of Artemis continued, and not the slightest breeze
arose to cool the air, or fill the waiting sails of the
ships.

At last Agamemnon sent for Calchas the soothsayer,
and asked him in secret how the anger of the huntress
queen might be assuaged.  And the soothsayer with
tears and lamentations answered that in no wise could
it be done save by the sacrifice to Artemis of his
maiden daughter Iphigenia.  Then the king cried
aloud in his grief, and declared that though Troy might
stand forever, he would not do that thing; and he bade
a herald go through the camp, and among the ships,
and bid every man depart as he chose to his own
country.  But before the herald had gone from his tent,
behold his brother Menelaus, the wronged husband of
fair Helen, stood before him with downcast eyes and
saddest of hearts.

"After ten years of labor and hope," said he to
Agamemnon, "wouldst thou give up this enterprise,
and lose all?"

Then Odysseus came also into the tent, and added
his persuasions to those of Menelaus.  And the king
hearkened to him, for no man was more crafty in
counsel; and the three recalled the herald, and formed a
plan whereby they might please Artemis by doing as
she desired.  And Agamemnon, in his weakness, wrote
a letter to Clytemnestra his queen, telling her to bring
the maiden Iphigenia to Aulis, there to be wedded to
King Achilles.  "*Fail not in this*," added he, "*for the
godlike hero will not sail with us unless my daughter be
given to him in marriage*."  And when he had written
the letter, he sealed it, and sent it by a swift
messenger to Clytemnestra at Mycenæ.

.. _`ODYSSEUS AND MENELAUS PERSUADING AGAMEMNON TO SACRIFICE IPHIGENIA`:

.. figure:: images/img-242.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: ODYSSEUS AND MENELAUS PERSUADING AGAMEMNON TO SACRIFICE IPHIGENIA.

   ODYSSEUS AND MENELAUS PERSUADING AGAMEMNON TO SACRIFICE IPHIGENIA.

Nevertheless the king's heart was full of sorrow, and
when he was alone he planned how he might yet save
his daughter.  Night came, but he could not sleep; he
walked the floor of his tent; he wept and lamented like
one bereft of reason.  At length he sat down, and
wrote another letter: "*Daughter of Leda, send not thy
child to Aulis, for I will give her in marriage at another
time*."  Then he called another messenger, an old and
trusted servant of the household, and put this letter
into his hands.

"Take this with all haste to my queen, who, perchance,
is even now on her way to Aulis.  Stop not by
any cool spring in the groves, and let not thine eyes
close for sleep.  And see that the chariot bearing the
queen and Iphigenia pass thee not unnoticed."

The messenger took the letter, and hasted away.
But hardly had he passed the line of the tents when
Menelaus saw him, and took the letter from him.  And
when he had read it, he went before his brother, and
reproached him with bitter words.

"Before you were chosen captain of the host," said
he, "you were kind and gentle, and the friend of every
man.  There was nothing that you would not do to aid
your fellows.  Now you are puffed up with pride and
vain conceit, and care nothing even for those who are
your equals in power.  Yet, for all, you are not rid of
your well-known cowardice; and when you saw that your
leadership was likely to be taken away from you unless
you obeyed the commands of Artemis, you agreed to
do this thing.  Now you are trying to break your word,
sending secretly to your wife, and bidding her not to
bring her daughter to Aulis."

Then Agamemnon answered, "Why should I
destroy my daughter in order to win back thy wife?  Let
the suitors who swore an oath to King Tyndareus go
with thee.  In what way am I bound to serve thee?"

"Do as you will," said Menelaus, going away in wrath.

Soon after this, there came a herald to the king,
saying, "Behold, your daughter Iphigenia has come as
you directed, and with her mother and her little brother
Orestes she rests by the spring close to the outer line
of tents.  And the warriors have gathered around them,
and are praising her loveliness, and asking many
questions; and some say, 'The king is sick to see his
daughter whom he loves so deeply, and he has made up
some excuse to bring her to the camp.'  But I know
why you have brought her here; for I have been told
about the wedding, and the noble groom who is to
lead her in marriage; and we will rejoice and be glad,
because this is a happy day for the maiden."

Then the king was sorely distressed, and knew not
what to do.  "Sad, sad indeed," said he, "is the
wedding to which the maiden cometh.  For the name
of the bridegroom is Death."

At the same time Menelaus came back, sorrowful
and repentant.  "You were right, my brother," said
he.  "What, indeed, has Iphigenia to do with Helen,
and why should the maiden die for me?  Send the
Hellenes to their homes, and let not this great wrong
be done."

"But how can I do that now?" asked Agamemnon.
"The warriors, urged on by Odysseus and Calchas,
will force me to do the deed.  Or, if I flee to Mycenæ,
they will follow me, and slay me, and destroy my city.
Oh, woe am I, that such a day should ever dawn upon
my sight!"

Even while they spoke together, the queen's chariot
drove up to the tent door, and the queen and Iphigenia
and the little Orestes alighted quickly, and merrily
greeted the king.

"It is well that you have sent for me, my father,"
said Iphigenia, caressing him.

"It may be well, and yet it may not," said Agamemnon.
"I am exceeding glad to see thee alive and happy."

"If you are glad, why then do you weep?"

"I am sad because thou wilt be so long time away
from me."

"Are you going on a very long voyage, father?"

"A long voyage and a sad one, my child.  And thou,
also, hast a journey to make."

"Must I make it alone, or will my mother go with me?"

"Thou must make it alone.  Neither father nor
mother nor any friend can go with thee, my child."

"But when shall it be?  I pray that you will hasten
this matter with Troy, and return home ere then."

"It may be so.  But I must offer a sacrifice to the
gods, before we sail from Aulis."

"That is well.  And may I be present?"

"Yes, and thou shalt be very close to the altar."

"Shall I lead in the dances, father?"

Then the king could say no more, for reason of the
great sorrow within him; and he kissed the maiden,
and sent her into the tent.  A little while afterward,
the queen came and spoke to him, and asked him about
the man to whom their daughter was to be wedded;
and Agamemnon, still dissembling, told her that the
hero's name was Achilles, and that he was the son of
old Peleus and the sea-nymph Thetis.

"And when and where is the marriage to be?"
asked the queen.

"On the first lucky day in the present moon, and
here in our camp at Aulis," answered Agamemnon.

"Shall I stay here with thee until then?"

"Nay, thou must go back to Mycenæ without delay."

"But may I not come again?  If I am not here, who
will hold up the torch for the bride?"

"I will attend to all such matters," answered Agamemnon.

But Clytemnestra was not well pleased, neither
could the king persuade her at all that she should
return to Mycenæ.  While yet they were talking,
Achilles himself came to the tent door, and said aloud
to the servant who kept it, "Tell thy master that
Achilles, the son of Peleus, would be pleased to see
him."

When Clytemnestra overheard these words, she
hastened to the door, and offered the hero her hand.
But he was ashamed and drew back, for it was deemed
an unseemly thing for men to speak thus with women.
Then Clytemnestra said, "Why, indeed, should you,
who are about to marry my daughter, be ashamed to
give me your hand?"

Achilles was struck with wonder, and asked her
what she meant; and when she had explained the
matter, he said,--

"Truly I have never been a suitor for thy daughter,
neither has Agamemnon or Menelaus spoken a word
to me regarding her."

And now the queen was astonished in her turn, and
cried out with shame that she had been so cruelly
deceived.  Then the keeper of the door, who was the
same that had been sent with the letter, came forward
and told the truth regarding the whole matter.  And
Clytemnestra cried to Achilles, "O son of the
silver-footed Thetis!  Help me and help my daughter
Iphigenia, in this time of sorest need!  For we have no
friend in all this host, and none in whom we can
confide but thee."

Achilles answered, "Long time ago I was a pupil
of old Cheiron the most righteous of men, and from
him I learned to be honest and true.  If Agamemnon
rule according to right, then I will obey him; but not
otherwise.  And now since thy daughter was brought
to this place under pretence of giving her to me as
my bride, I will see that she shall not be slain, neither
shall any one dare take her from me."

On the following day, while Agamemnon sat
grief-stricken in his tent, the maiden came before him
carrying the babe Orestes in her arms; and she cast
herself upon her knees at his feet, and caressing his
hands, she thus besought him: "Would, dear father,
that I had the voice of Orpheus, to whom even
the rocks did listen! then I would persuade thee.
O father!  I am thy child.  I was the first to call
thee 'Father,' and the first to whom thou saidst 'My
child.'"

The father turned his face away, and wept; he could
not speak for sadness.  Then the maiden went on:
"O, father, hear me! thou to whom my voice was
once so sweet that thou wouldst waken me to hear
my prattle amid the songs of birds when it was
meaningless as theirs.  And when I was older grown, then
thou wouldst say to me, 'Some day, my birdling, thou
shalt have a nest of thy own, a home of which
thou shalt be the mistress.'  And I did answer, 'Yes,
dear father, and when thou art old I will care for
thee, and pay thee with all my heart for the kindness
thou dost show me.'  But now thou hast forgotten it
all, and art ready to slay my young life."

A deep groan burst from the lips of the mighty
king, but he spoke not a word.  Then after a
death-like silence broken only by the deep breathings of
father and child, Iphigenia spoke again: "My father,
can there be any prayer more pure and more persuasive
than that of a maiden for her father's welfare? and
when the cruel knife shall strike me down, thou
wilt have one daughter less to pray for thee."  A
shudder shook the frame of Agamemnon, but he
answered not a word.

At that moment Achilles entered.  He had come
in haste from the tents beside the shore, and he
spoke in hurried, anxious accents.

"Behold," said he, "a great tumult has arisen in
the camp; for Calchas has given out among the men
that you refuse to do what Artemis has bidden, and
that hence these delays and troubles have arisen.
And the rude soldiers are crying out against you, and
declaring that the maiden must die.  When I would
have stayed their anger, they took up stones to stone
me,--my own Myrmidons among the rest.  And now
they are making ready to move upon your tent, threatening
to sacrifice you also with your daughter.  But
I will fight for you to the utmost, and the maiden
shall not die."

As he was speaking, Calchas entered, and, grasping
the wrist of the pleading maiden, lifted her to her
feet.  She looked up, and saw his stony face and
hard cold eyes; and turning again to Agamemnon, she
said, "O father, the ships shall sail, for I will die for
thee."

Then Achilles said to her, "Fair maiden, thou art
by far the noblest and most lovely of thy sex.  Fain
would I save thee from this fate, even though every
man in Hellas be against me.  Fly with me quickly to
my long-oared galley, and I will carry thee safely away
from this accursed place."

"Not so," answered Iphigenia: "I will give up my
life for my father and this land of the Hellenes, and
no man shall suffer for me."

And the pitiless priest led her through the throng
of rude soldiers, to the grove of Artemis, wherein an
altar had been built.  But Achilles and Agamemnon
covered their faces with their mantles, and staid
inside the tent.  Then Talthybius the herald stood up,
and bade the warriors keep silence; and Calchas put a
garland of sweet-smelling flowers about the victim's
head.

"Let no man touch me," said the maiden, "for I
offer my neck to the sword with right good will, that
so my father may live and prosper."

In silence and great awe, the warriors stood around,
while Calchas drew a sharp knife from its scabbard.
But, lo! as he struck, the maiden was not there; and
in her stead, a noble deer lay dying on the altar.  Then
the old soothsayer cried out in triumphant tones, "See
now, ye men of Hellas, how the gods have provided for
you a sacrifice, and saved the innocent daughter of the
king!"  And all the people shouted with joy; and in
that self-same hour, a strong breeze came down the
Euripus, and filled the idle sails of the waiting ships.

"To Troy! to Troy!" cried the Hellenes; and every
man hastened aboard his vessel.

How it was that fair Iphigenia escaped the knife;
by whom she was saved, or whither she went,--no one
knew.  Some say that Artemis carried her away to the
land of the Taurians, where she had a temple and an
altar; and that, long years afterward, her brother
Orestes found her there, and bore her back to her
girlhood's home, even to Mycenæ.  But whether this be
true or not, I know that there have been maidens as
noble, as loving, as innocent as she, who have given up
their lives in order to make this world a purer and
happier place in which to live; and these are not dead,
but live in the grateful memories of those whom they
loved and saved.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE LONG SIEGE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   *ADVENTURE XXI*.

.. class:: center large bold

   THE LONG SIEGE.

.. vspace:: 2

The great fleet sailed once more across the sea,
piloted now by Telephus, the king of Mysia; and the
ships of Achilles and those of Philoctetes of Melibœa
led all the rest.  When they had put a little more than
half the distance behind them, they came to the isle
of Chryse, where were a fair temple and altars built in
honor of Athené.  Here many of the heroes landed;
and while some were busied in refilling the water-casks
from the springs of fresh water near the shore,
others went up to the temple and offered gifts and
heartfelt thanks to Pallas Athené.  But as Philoctetes, the
cunning archer, stood near one of the altars, a water-snake
came out of the rocks and bit him on the foot.
Terrible, indeed, was the wound, and great were the
hero's sufferings; day and night he groaned and cried
aloud by reason of the bitter pain; and there was no
physician that could heal him of the grievous hurt.
In a few days, a noisome stench began to issue from
the wound, and the hero's complainings waxed so loud
and piteous that the warriors stopped their ears, so
that they might not hear them.  Then the chiefs took
counsel as to what it were best to do with him; and,
although some advised that he be cast into the sea,
it was thought best to follow a milder course, and leave
him alone on the isle of Lemnos.  Hence, while the
hero slept, Odysseus and his men carried him on shore;
and they laid his great bow, even the bow of Heracles,
by his side upon the sand, and put a cask of water and
a basket of food within easy reach of his hand.  Then
they sailed away, and left him alone in his great
distress and sorrow.

At length the shores of Ilios were reached, and the
high towers of Troy were seen.  Then the sails of the
vessels were furled and laid away in the roomy holds,
the masts were lowered with speed, and the oarsmen
seated themselves upon the benches and rowed the
ships forward until they stood in one line, stretching
more than a league along the shore.  But as they drew
nearer the sea-beach, the heroes saw all the plain
before them covered with armed men and horses and
chariots drawn up to hinder their landing.  And they
paused, uncertain what to do; for Calchas the soothsayer
had declared that he who should first step foot
upon the shores of Ilios should meet a sudden death.

"Who among all the heroes will dare be the first
to die for Hellas?" was the anxious question heard
on every vessel.  Not a man was there who was not
willing and ready to be the second one to step on
shore; but who would be the first?  The Trojan host
now began to shoot their arrows toward the ships,
and to taunt the Hellenes with cowardice.  Yet even
Achilles and Ajax Telamon, the mightiest of the
heroes, fell back and would not take the fearful risk
of beginning the fight.  Then Protesilaus, who had led
forty black ships from Phylace and the shore of
Antrona, seeing that some one must die for the cause,
leaped boldly out of the ship upon the shelving beach.
At once a hundred arrows whistled through the air, and
glanced from his sevenfold shield of ox-hide; and a
heavy spear, thrown by Hector, the mightiest of the
Trojans, pierced his fair armor, and laid him bleeding
and dead upon the sand.  Quickly the warriors leaped
ashore; face to face and hand to hand they fought with
the Trojan host; and, led by Achilles and by Diomede
of the loud war-cry, they drove their foes across the
plain and even through the city gates.

But Protesilaus lay dead upon the beach; and few of
the heroes remembered that to him they owed their
victory.  And when his newly-wedded wife, fair Laodamia,
heard in far Phylace that he had fallen first in the
fight, she dight herself in mourning and went to pray
at the shrine of mighty Zeus.  And the prayer which
she offered was that she might see her husband once
again, and holding his hand, might talk with him if it
were only for the space of three hours.  Then Hermes
led the war-loving hero back to the upper world; and
he sat in his bridal chamber, and spoke sweet words of
comfort to Laodamia.  But when the short hours were
past, and the messenger came to lead Protesilaus back
to the land of shades, his wife prayed that she might
return with him.  And men say that this prayer, also,
was heard, and that arm in arm the two went forth
together to their shadowy home in Hades.

Time would fail me to tell you how the Greeks
encamped upon the plain of Troy, and how for more than
nine long years they laid siege to that great city.
Neither can I speak of the ruinous wrath of Achilles
which brought so much woe upon the Hellenes; for of
that you will read in the oldest and grandest poem that
the world has ever known,--the Iliad of Homer.  And
there, also, you will read of the death of Patroclus;
and of the vengeance which Achilles wrought, even
by the slaying of godlike Hector; and of the mighty
deeds of Diomede and of Ajax and of Agamemnon on
the plains of Troy; and of the shrewd counsels and
crafty schemes of Odysseus, who, though in strength
surpassing other men, learned to trust rather to his
skill in words than to his mastery of arms.

The time at length drew near when that which had
been spoken concerning the doom of Achilles was to
be fulfilled.  For, when he saw that he, more than all
the Hellenes, was held in dread by the Trojans, his
heart was puffed up with unseemly pride, and he boasted
of his deeds, and spoke of himself as greater even than
Phœbus Apollo.  Then the archer-god was greatly
angered, and no longer covered him with his great shield
of protection, but left him to his doom.  Hence, on a
day, when he stood before the Scæan gate, and taunted
the Trojans on the walls, a mighty spear smote him, and
pierced his heart.  Some say that the weapon was
thrown by Paris, the perfidious one who had caused
this bloody war; and others say that far-darting Apollo
in his wrath launched the fatal bolt.  The body of
Achilles incased in his glorious armor lay all day long
in the dust, while Hellenes and Trojans fought around
it, and neither could gain the mastery, or carry away the
ghastly prize.  At length a great storm burst upon the
combatants: the thunder rolled, the lightning flashed,
the rain and hail fell in blinding torrents; and the
Trojans withdrew behind their walls.  Then the Hellenes
lifted the body of Achilles, and carried it to their
ships; and, stripping it of his matchless armor, they
laid it on a couch, and standing around it, they
bewailed his untimely death.  And his mother,
silver-footed Thetis, came across the waves with all the
sea-nymphs in her train; and, while she wept over the
body of her child, the nymphs arrayed it in shining
robes which they themselves had woven in their coral
caves.  Then, after many days and nights of bitter
lamentation, the Hellenes built a great funeral pile upon
the beach; and they laid the hero thereon, and set fire
to it, and the flames leaped high over the sea, and
Achilles was no more.  Then Thetis took the hero's
glorious armor, and set it up as a prize to that one who
should excel in feats of strength and skill in a grand
trial to be made beside the ships.  Only two of all the
host stood up for the trial,--Ajax Telamon and Odysseus;
for no other man dared contend with either of
these.  Mighty indeed was the contest; but in the
end Odysseus prevailed, and the matchless armor was
awarded him.  Then, when Ajax knew that he had
been beaten in the suit,--and beaten not more by
honest strength and skill than by crafty guile,--he fell
prone upon the earth, and his great mind lost its
balance.  And when he arose to his feet, he knew no
longer his friends and comrades, nor did he remember
any thing.  But like a roaring wild beast, he rushed
from the tents into the fields and pasture lands; and,
seeing a flock of sheep browsing among the herbage,
he fell upon them with his sword, and slaughtered great
numbers of them, fancying that they were foemen
seeking his life.  Nor did any man dare say any thing to
him, or try in any way to check him, or turn him aside
from his mad freaks.  When he grew tired, at length,
of slaughtering the helpless beasts, he went down into
a green dell, and fell upon his own sword.  A great
stream of blood gushed from the wound, and dyed the
earth, and from it sprang a purple flower bearing upon
its edges both the initials of his name and a sign of
woe, the letters [Greek: ai].

Then Odysseus bewailed his comrade's unhappy
death.  "Would that I had never prevailed, and won
that prize!" he cried.  "So goodly a head hath the
earth closed over for the sake of these arms, even
that of Ajax, who in beauty and in feats of war was of
a mould far above all other men, save only peerless
Achilles.  What a tower of strength wert thou!  Long
indeed shall it be ere Hellas shall see another like
thee!"[1]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[1] See `Note 16`_ at the end of this volume.

.. vspace:: 2

After this the Hellenes began to despair; for many
of their noblest heroes had perished.  Who now should
lead them on to victory?  Surely not Patroclus, nor
Achilles, nor Ajax.  Bitter murmurings were heard
among the ships, and the men declared that ere another
moon should pass, they would embark and sail back to
their loved homes, nor ask the leave of Agamemnon.

At the foot of Mount Ida there stood a temple of
Apollo, built by the Trojans while yet sweet Peace was
smiling on the land.  To that temple Helenus the wise
soothsayer, one of Priam's sons, was wont to go,
stealing out from the city in the darkness of midnight, and
returning ere the gray dawn of morning appeared.  He
went there that he might learn from Apollo the secrets
of the future, and he fondly hoped that his going was
unknown to the foes of Troy.  But shrewd Odysseus
found him out; and one night, with a band of men, he
lay in wait for the prophet-prince, and took him captive.

"This is a rich treasure that we have taken," said
Odysseus, "and it shall repay us for all our losses."

Helenus was straightway taken to the camp.  Around
him gathered the heroes,--Agamemnon, Nestor, Menelaus,
and all the rest,--demanding that he should
uncover the secrets of the future.

"When and how shall the Hellenes overcome your
city of Troy?" said Odysseus.  "Tell us this, and tell
us truly, or death in its fearfullest form shall come
upon thee swiftly."

Then the trembling seer revealed to his enemies that
which he had learned at Apollo's shrine.  He told
them that within the present year the Hellenes would
certainly prevail if only they did three things,
without which Troy could never be taken.  First, the
Palladion, the monster image of Athené, must be removed
from the temple in the city, and set up in the camp
by the seashore.  Second, young Pyrrhus the son of
Achilles must be brought from his island-home of Scyros
to take the place of his father at the head of the
Myrmidon host.  And third, Philoctetes, who had been
so deeply wronged by the chiefs, and left to perish on
the desert shores of Lemnos, must be found and brought
to Troy, and healed of his grievous wound.

"These are great tasks and heavy," said Odysseus.
"Nevertheless I will undertake to see them performed."

Then he ordered a swift ship to be made ready; and
with old Phoinix as companion, and a score of trusted
fighting-men, he went on board, and sailed at once for
Scyros the quondam home of great Achilles.  Ten days
afterward he returned, bringing with him the lad
Pyrrhus, so like his glorious father in face and figure
that the Myrmidons hailed him at once as their chief
and king.

"Thus have I done one of the three tasks," said
Odysseus.  "I shall perform the other two, mayhap as
easily, and then the high walls of Troy shall fall before us."

Three days later the swift ship of Odysseus again
put to sea; and young Pyrrhus was the hero's comrade.
It was but a short voyage to Lemnos; and, when they
reached that island, they moored their vessel in the
sheltering cove close by the spot where, nine years
before, the suffering Philoctetes had been left.
Odysseus concealed himself, and sent the young prince on
shore with some of the warriors who had come with
them; for he rightly guessed that Philoctetes had not
forgotten the wrong which he had suffered at his hands.

Pyrrhus found the hero living alone in a wretched
cave with no friend but the mighty bow of Heracles,
and suffering still great torments from the horrid wound
in his foot.  Yet the prince could not prevail upon
him to sail to Troy; for he said that he would rather
endure the distress, the hunger, and the loneliness
which were his in Lemnos, than meet again those false
friends who had left him there to die.  Then Odysseus
came forth from his hiding-place, with a company
of men, to seize the hero and carry him by force on
board the vessel.  But this the young prince would not
permit; and Philoctetes, when he saw them, fled into
the innermost parts of his cave, and would not come
forth.  When Odysseus found that neither threats nor
entreaties would prevail upon the hero, he went back to
his ship, and made ready to return to Troy.  Then it
was that a vision appeared to Philoctetes,--a vision of
mighty Heracles clothed in bright raiment, and a great
glory shining in his face.

"Go thou to the land of Ilios," said the vision.
"There thou shalt first be healed of thy grievous
sickness; and afterwards thou shalt do great deeds, and
shalt aid in taking the city; and the first prize of valor
shall be awarded to thee among all the heroes.  For it
is the will of the immortals that Troy shall be taken,
and that my bow shall mightily aid in its overthrow."

Then Philoctetes went forth from his hiding-place,
and was taken on board the vessel.  And as the sails
were spread, and the breezes wafted them towards the
Trojan shore, he bade a tearful farewell to Lemnos,
where he had spent so many years of loneliness and
sorrow:--

"Farewell to thee, O home that didst befriend me
when others failed!  Farewell, ye nymphs that haunt
the meadows and the shore, or dwell beside the gushing
mountain springs.  Farewell, O cave that oft hast been
my shelter from the winter's frosty winds and the
sweltering rays of the summer's sun.  I leave you
now; and thou, O sea-girt Lemnos, I may never more
behold!  And grant, ye gods, that favoring winds may
blow, and carry me safely wheresoe'er the Fates would
have me go!"

As soon as the heroes reached the Trojan shore, and
the ship was drawn to its place high on the beach,
Philoctetes was carried to the tents, and given in
charge of Machaon, Asclepius' noble son.  And as he
lay upon a cot in the tent of the kind physician, a
sweet odor, like that of blossoming orchards and the
bloom of clover, filled the air around him, and he slept;
and men said that the spirit of Asclepius had fanned
him into slumber.  Then Machaon, with matchless skill,
cut out the poisoned flesh from his foot, and cleansed
it, and bound it up with soft linen.  And when the
hero awoke, the pain had left him; and the wound
from which he had suffered such untold torments
began at once to heal.

It chanced one day as Philoctetes was sitting outside
of his tent, that a party of Trojans led by Paris made a
sally from the city gates, and came scouring across the
plain, intent on doing mischief to the Hellenes.  As the
daring warriors drew near the tents, Philoctetes fitted
an arrow to the great bow of Heracles, and took aim
at their fair-faced leader.  The deadly dart pierced the
shoulder of Paris, and he fell headlong from his chariot;
and there he would have met his death, had not his
comrades quickly rallied, and carried him, faint with
pain, back to the city and his father's halls.  Terrible
were the tortures which the hero suffered, for the
arrow was one of those which Heracles had poisoned
by dipping in the blood of the hydra.  The venom sped
through his burning veins; his strength failed him;
the torments of a thousand deaths seemed to be upon
him.  Then he forgot fair Helen, for whose sake was
all this war and bloodshed; and he bethought him of
gentle Œnone, whom, in the innocent days of youth,
he had wooed and won in the pleasant dales of Ida.
And he cried aloud, "Bring to me Œnone, her whom I
have so grievously wronged!  She alone can heal me
of my hurt!"

Then swift messengers were sent to the woody
slopes of Ida, to find, if it might be, the long-deserted,
long-forgotten wife.  "Come quickly and save thy
erring but repentant husband,"--such was the
message,--"behold, he suffers from a grievous wound!  But
thou art skilled in the healing art above all who dwell
in Ilios; and he prays that, forgiving all wrong, thou
wilt hasten to help him."

When Œnone heard the message, she remembered
the cruel wrongs which she had endured so long at the
hands of faithless Paris; and without a word in answer,
she turned away and went about her daily tasks in her
humble cottage home.  Then the messengers returned
to Troy, and told the prince that Œnone would not
come to help him.  And Paris, with a groan of pain
and a sigh of despair, turned his face to the wall, and
died.

Then Œnone, too late, repented that she had turned
a deaf ear to her husband's last request.  And in haste
she clad herself in her wedding robes, and came to
the sad halls of the prince, not knowing that death had
taken him.  Fair and beautiful as in the days of her
youth, she stood before his lifeless form.  She took his
cold hands in her warm palm, and said, "I have come,
O Paris!  Waken, and speak to me!  Dost thou not
remember me,--Œnone, whom thou didst woo in the
flowery dells of Ida?  I am still the same, and never
have I wronged thee.  Speak to me, O Paris!"  Then
she knelt beside him, and saw the gaping wound which
the arrow of Philoctetes had made; and she knew
that life had fled, and that the hero never more would
waken or speak to her.  And the gentle heart of Œnone
was broken with the anguish which came upon her;
and when the men of Troy laid Paris upon the funeral
pile, and the smoke and flame arose towards heaven,
the fair, perfidious prince was not alone, for Œnone
shared his blazing couch.

While Troy was in mourning for the unhappy death
of Paris, Odysseus and Diomede were planning the
means by which to obtain the sacred image of Athené--the
Palladion of Troy.  In the guise of a ragged
beggar, Odysseus found his way into the city, and to
the door of the temple where the great image stood.

"Ah, Odysseus!  I know thee despite thy rags!"
was whispered into his ear, as a fair hand offered him a
pittance.  He looked up, and saw the peerless Helen
before him, as beautiful as when, a score of years
before, the princes of Hellas had sued for her hand at
the court of old Tyndareus.

"Be not afraid," she said, "I will not betray you."

And then she told him how unhappy she had been
in Troy, and how she longed to return to her countrymen
and to her much-wronged husband Menelaus.  And
she promised to aid him in whatever way she could, to
carry off the treasured Palladion, and to open the
way for the overthrow of Troy.  Odysseus, shrewdest
of men, talked not long with the princess, but soon
returned to the camp.  Three nights later, he and
Diomede made their way by stealth into the city, and
carried away the priceless Palladion.

And now the three tasks which Helenus had spoken
of, had been performed.  What more remained ere the
doomed city should be overthrown?  The chiefs must
needs again consult with shrewd Odysseus; and the
plan which he proposed was carried out.  A wooden
horse, of wondrous size, was made; and in it the
doughtiest heroes of the host, with young Pyrrhus as their
leader, hid themselves.  Then the rest of the Hellenes
embarked, with all their goods, aboard their ships, and
sailed away beyond the wooded shores of Tenedos.
But the monster horse, with its hidden load of heroes,
stood alone upon the beach.

When the Trojans, looking from their high towers,
beheld their enemies depart, they were filled with joy;
and, opening wide their gates, they poured out of the
city, and crowded across the plain, anxious to see
the wonderful horse,--the only relic which their foes
had left upon their shores.  While they were gazing
upon it, and hazarding many a guess at its purpose and
use, a prisoner was brought before the chiefs.  It was
Sinon, a young Hellene, who had been found lurking
among the rocks by the shore.  Trembling with
pretended fear, he told the Trojans a sad, false story, of
wrongs which he said he had suffered at the hands
of Odysseus.

"But what meaneth this monster image of a horse?
Tell us that," said the Trojan chiefs.

Then Sinon told them how the Hellenes had suffered
great punishment at the hands of Athené, because they
had stolen the sacred Palladion of Troy, and how it was
on this account that they had at last given up the siege
of Troy, and had sailed away for their homes in distant
Hellas.  And he told them, too, of the words of Calchas
the soothsayer; that they should leave on the shores
of Ilios an image which should serve the same
purpose to those who honored it, as the sacred Palladion
had served within the walls of Troy; and that if
the Trojans should revere this figure, and set it up
within their walls, it would prove a tower of strength
to them, insuring eternal greatness to Troy, and utter
destruction to Hellas.

Need I tell you how this artful story deceived the
Trojans, and how with shouts of triumph they dragged
the great image into the city?  Need I tell you how,
in the darkness of the night, the fleet returned from
Tenedos, and the mighty host again landed upon the
Trojan shore; or how the heroes, concealed within
the wooden horse, came out of their hiding-place, and
opened the gates to their friends outside; or how the
Hellenes fell upon the astonished Trojans, awakened
so suddenly from a false dream of peace; or how, with
sword and torch, they slew and burned, and meted out
the doom of the fated city?  It was thus that the
princes of Hellas performed the oath which they had
sworn, years and years before, in the halls of King
Tyndareus; and it was thus that the wrongs of
Menelaus were avenged, fair Helen was given back to her
husband, and the honor of Hellas was freed from
blemish.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE AFTER WORD`:

.. class:: center large bold

   THE AFTER WORD.

.. vspace:: 2

And now, if you would learn more concerning the
great heroes of the Golden Age, you must read the
noble poems in which the story of their deeds is told.
In the Iliad of Homer, truly the grandest of all
poems written by men, you will read of what befell
the Greeks before the walls of Troy,--of the daring
of Diomede; of the wisdom of Nestor; of the shrewdness
of Odysseus; of the foolish pride of Agamemnon;
of the nobility of Hector; of the grief of old
King Priam; of the courage of Achilles.  In the
Æneid of Virgil, you will read of the last day of the
long siege, and the fatal folly of the Trojans; of crafty
Sinon; of the sad end of Laocoon, who dared suspect
the object of the wooden horse; of the destruction
of the mighty city; and of the wanderings of Æneas
and the remnant of the Trojans until they had founded
a new city on the far Lavinian shore.  In the tragedies
of Æschylus, you will read of the return of the heroes
to Greece; of the sad death of Agamemnon in his
own great banquet-hall; of the wicked career of
Clytemnestra; of the terrible vengeance of Orestes; of
what befell Iphigenia in Tauris, and how she returned
to her native land.  And in the Odyssey of Homer,
second only to the Iliad in grandeur, you will read of
the strange adventures of Odysseus; how he, storm-tossed
and wind-driven, strove for ten weary years to
return to Ithaca; how, after the fall of Troy,--

"He overcame the people of Ciconia; how he passed
thence to the rich fields of the race who feed upon the
lotus; what the Cyclops did, and how upon the Cyclops
he avenged the death of his brave comrades, whom the
wretch had piteously slaughtered and devoured; and
how he came to Æolus, and found a friendly welcome,
and was sent by him upon his voyage; yet 'twas not
his fate to reach his native land; a tempest caught his
fleet, and far across the fishy deep bore him away,
lamenting bitterly.  And how he landed at Telepylus,
among the Læstrigonians, who destroyed his ships
and warlike comrades, he alone in his black ship
escaping." ...

You will read, too, of how he was driven to land
upon the coast where Circe the sorceress dwelt, and
how he shrewdly dealt with her deceit and many
arts:--

"And how he went to Hades' dismal realm in his good
galley, to consult the soul of him of Thebes, Tiresias,
and beheld all his lost comrades and his mother,--her
who brought him forth, and trained him when a child;
and how he heard the Sirens afterward, and how he
came upon the wandering rocks, the terrible Charybdis,
and the crags of Scylla,--which no man had ever
passed in safety; how his comrades slew for food the
oxen of the Sun; how mighty Zeus, the Thunderer,
with a bolt of fire from heaven smote his swift bark;
and how, his gallant crew all perished, he alone escaped
with life.  And how he reached Ogygia's isle, and met
the nymph Calypso, who long time detained and fed
him in her vaulted grot, and promised that he ne'er
should die, nor know decay of age, through all the days
to come; yet moved she not the purpose of his heart.
And how he next through many hardships came to the
Phæacians, and they welcomed him and honored him
as if he were a god, and to his native country in a
bark sent him with ample gifts of brass and gold and
raiment."

How he made himself known to old Eumæus the
swineherd, and to his son Telemachus, and how his
old nurse, Eurycleia, knew him by the scar which he
had received when a boy from the wild boar on Mount
Parnassus.  How he found his palace full of rude
suitors seeking the hand of faithful Penelope; and
how, with the great bow of Eurytus, he slew them all,
and spared not one.

   |        ... "Never shall the fame
   |  Of his great valor perish; and the gods
   |  Themselves shall frame, for those who dwell on earth,
   |  Sweet strains in praise of sage Penelope."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`NOTES`:

.. class:: center large bold

   NOTES.

.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 1`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 1.--ODYSSEUS AND HIS NURSE.  *Page* 12.

.. vspace:: 1

In the Odyssey, Book I., lines 425-444, a similar incident is
related concerning Telemachus and Eurycleia.  Many of the
illustrations of life and manners given in this volume have been taken,
with slight changes, from Homer.  It has not been thought necessary
to make distinct mention of such passages.  The student of
Homer will readily recognize them.

.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 2`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 2.--APOLLO AND THE PYTHON.  *Page* 43.

.. vspace:: 1

Readers of the "Story of Siegfried" cannot fail to notice the
resemblance of the legends relating to that hero, to some of
the myths of Apollo.  Siegfried, like Apollo, was the bright being
whose presence dispelled the mists and the gloom of darkness.
He dwelt for a time in a mysterious but blessed region far to the
north.  He was beneficent and kind to his friends, terrible to his
foes.  Apollo's favorite weapons were his silver bow and silent
arrows; Siegfried's main dependence was in his sun-bright armor
and his wonderful sword Balmung.  Apollo slew the Python, and
left it lying to enrich the earth; Siegfried slew Fafnir the dragon,
and seized its treasures for his own.--See *The Story of Siegfried*.


.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 3`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 3.--SISYPHUS.  *Page* 50.

.. vspace:: 1

"Yea, and I beheld Sisyphus in strong torment, grasping a
monstrous stone with both his hands.  He was pressing thereat
with hands and feet, and trying to roll the stone upward toward the
brow of the hill.  But oft as he was about to hurl it over the top,
the weight would drive him back: so once again to the plain rolled
the stone, the shameless thing.  And he once more kept heaving
and straining; and the sweat the while was pouring down his
limbs, and the dust rose upwards from his head."--*Homer's
Odyssey*, XI. 595.


.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 4`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 4.--A SON OF HERMES.  *Page* 50.

.. vspace:: 1

Autolycus was said to have been a son of Hermes, doubtless on
account of his shrewdness and his reputation for thievery.  Hermes
is sometimes spoken of as the god of thieves.


.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 5`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 5.--THE CHOICE OF HERACLES.  *Page* 61.

.. vspace:: 1

This moral lesson is, of course, of much later date than that of
our story.  It is the invention of the Greek sophist Prodicus, who
was a contemporary of Socrates.


.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 6`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 6.--MELEAGER.  *Page* 68.

.. vspace:: 1

Readers of the "Story of Roland" will readily recognize several
points of resemblance between the legend of Meleager's childhood
and the story of Ogier the Dane.  It is, indeed, probable that very
much of the latter is simply a medieval adaptation of the
former.--See also the account of the three Norns in
*The Story of Siegfried*.


.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 7`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 7.--THE DEATH OF ASCLEPIUS.  *Page* 91.

.. vspace:: 1

The story of Balder, as related in the Norse mythology, has
many points of resemblance to that of Asclepius.  Balder, although
a being of a higher grade than Asclepius, was the friend and
benefactor of mankind.  He was slain through the jealousy of the evil
one: his death was bewailed by all living beings, birds, beasts,
trees, and plants.--See *The Story of Siegfried*.


.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 8`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 8.--PARIS AND ŒNONE.  *Page* 109.

.. vspace:: 1

A very beautiful version of this story is to be found in Tennyson's
poem entitled "Œnone."  It will well repay reading.


.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 9`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 9.--THE SWINEHERD'S STORY.  *Page* 119.

.. vspace:: 1

This story was afterwards related to Odysseus under very
different circumstances.  The curious reader is referred to the
Odyssey, Book XV., 390-485.


.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 10`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 10.--PRAYERS.  *Page* 129.

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |  "The gods themselves are placable, though far
   |  Above us all in honor and in power
   |  And virtue.  We propitiate them with vows,
   |  Incense, libations, and burnt-offerings,
   |  And prayers for those who have offended.  Prayers
   |  Are daughters of almighty Jupiter,--
   |  Lame, wrinkled, and squint-eyed,--that painfully
   |  Follow Misfortune's steps; but strong of limb
   |  And swift of foot Misfortune is, and, far
   |  Outstripping all, comes first to every land,
   |  And there wreaks evil on mankind, which Prayers
   |  Do afterwards redress.  Whoe'er receives
   |  Jove's daughters reverently when they approach,
   |  Him willingly they aid, and to his suit
   |  They listen.  Whosoever puts them by
   |  With obstinate denial, they appeal
   |  To Jove, the son of Saturn, and entreat
   |  That he will cause Misfortune to attend
   |  The offender's way in life, that he in turn
   |  May suffer evil, and be punished thus."
   |        *The Iliad* (BRYANT'S Translation), IX. 618-636.

A sacrifice to Poseidon similar to that described here is spoken
of in the Odyssey, III. 30-60.


.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 11`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 11.--THE LABORS OF HERACLES.  *Page* 140.

.. vspace:: 1

It seems to have been one of the unexplainable decrees of fate
that Heracles should serve Eurystheus twelve years, and that at
his bidding he should perform the most difficult undertakings.
The account of the twelve labors of Heracles, undertaken by
command of his master, belongs to a later age than that of Homer,
The twelve labors were as follows:--

   |  1. The fight with the Nemean lion.
   |  2. The fight with the Lernæan hydra.
   |  3. Capture of the Arcadian stag.
   |  4. Destruction of the Erymanthian boar.
   |  5. Cleansing the stables of Augeas.
   |  6. Putting to flight the Harpies, or Stymphalian birds.
   |  7. Capture of the Cretan bull.
   |  8. Capture of the mares of Thracian Diomede.
   |  9. Seizure of the girdle of the queen of the Amazons.
   |  10. Capture of the oxen of Geryones.
   |  11. Fetching the golden apples of the Hesperides.
   |  12. Bringing Cerberus from the lower world.


.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 12`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 12.  *Page* 151.

.. vspace:: 1

The description of the palace of Tyndareus given here has
many points of resemblance to the description of the palace of
Alcinous.--See *Odyssey*, VII. 85.


.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 13`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 13.  THE VENGEANCE OF ODYSSEUS.  *Page* 224.

.. vspace:: 1

Palamedes, according to the ancient story, went to Troy with
the heroes, where he distinguished himself by his wisdom and
courage.  But Odysseus, who could never forgive him, caused a
captive Phrygian to write to Palamedes a letter in the name of
Priam, and bribed a servant of Palamedes to conceal the letter
under his master's bed.  He then accused Palamedes of treachery.
Upon searching the tent, the letter was found, and Palamedes was
stoned to death.  When Palamedes was led to death, he exclaimed,
"Truth, I lament thee, for thou hast died even before me!"  There
are other stories as to the manner of the death of Palamedes.  Some
say that Odysseus and Diomede induced him to descend into a
well, where they pretended they had discovered a treasure; and
when he was below, they cast stones upon him, and killed him.
Others state that he was drowned by them while fishing; and others
that he was killed by Paris with an arrow.--See *Smith's Classical
Dictionary*.


.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 14`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 14.--THE GARDEN OF LYCOMEDES.  *Page* 230.

.. vspace:: 1

The curious reader may find in the description of the garden
of Alcinous (Odyssey, VII. 85, *et seq.*) some resemblance to the
description here given of the garden of Lycomedes.


.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 15`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 15.--THE CASKETS OF ZEUS.  *Page* 233.

.. vspace:: 1

..

   |        "Beside Jove's threshold stand
   |  Two casks of gifts for man.  One cask contains
   |  The evil, one the good; and he to whom
   |  The Thunderer gives them mingled sometimes falls
   |  Into misfortune, and is sometimes crowned
   |  With blessings.  But the man to whom he gives
   |  The evil only stands a mark exposed
   |  To wring, and, chased by grim calamity,
   |  Wanders the teeming earth, alike unloved
   |  By gods and men."--*The Iliad*, XXIV. 663-672,


.. vspace:: 2

.. _`Note 16`:

.. class:: center

   NOTE 16.--DEATH OF AJAX.  *Page* 258.

.. vspace:: 1

"The soul of Ajax, son of Telawon, alone stood apart, being
still angry for the victory wherein I prevailed against him, in the
suit by the ships concerning the arms of Achilles that his lady
mother had set for a prize; and the sons of the Trojans made
award and Pallas Athené.  Would that I had never prevailed and
won such a prize!"--*Odyssey*, XI. 544-548.

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`GENERAL MAP OF GREECE`:

.. figure:: images/img-278.jpg
   :figclass: white-space-pre-line
   :align: center
   :alt: Map--HELLAS, THE SHORES OF THE ÆGEAN AND ILIOS.

   Map--HELLAS, THE SHORES OF THE ÆGEAN AND ILIOS.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`INDEX TO PROPER NAMES`:

.. class:: center large bold

   INDEX TO PROPER NAMES.

.. vspace:: 2

[*The figures in parentheses indicate the page or pages on which the name
receives fullest mention.*]

.. vspace:: 2

Acarnānĭa (3, 72), the most western province of Hellas.

.. vspace:: 1

Acastus (92), son of Pelias, king of Iolcos; he was slain by Peleus.

.. vspace:: 1

Achaia (5), the northern coast of Peloponnesus.

.. vspace:: 1

Achilles (91, 109, 225-236, 246, 255), son of Peleus and the sea-nymph
Thetis.  The chief hero among the Hellenes.

.. vspace:: 1

Actæon (87), a celebrated huntsman.  He was changed by Artemis into
a stag, and torn to pieces by his own dogs.

.. vspace:: 1

Admetus (90, 166), king of Pherze in Thessaly.

.. vspace:: 1

Æson (80), son of Cretheus, and father of Jason.  He was excluded from
the kingship of Iolcos by his half-brother Pelias.

.. vspace:: 1

Ætolia (5), a country north of the Corinthian Gulf (Bay of Crissa), and
east of Acarnania.

.. vspace:: 1

Agamemnon (150, 233, 238, 251), king of Mycenæ, and commander-in-chief
of the Hellenic forces in the war against Troy.

.. vspace:: 1

Ajax Telamon, sometimes called the greater Ajax (150, 234, 257), son
of Telamon, king of Salamis.  He was a nephew of Peleus, and
hence a cousin of Achilles.

.. vspace:: 1

Ajax Oileus, sometimes called the lesser Ajax (151, 234), son of Oileus,
king of the Locrians.

.. vspace:: 1

Alcestis (166), daughter of Pelias, and wife of Admetus.

.. vspace:: 1

Alpheus (132), a river which flows through Arcadia and Elis.

.. vspace:: 1

Althea (65), the mother of Meleager.

.. vspace:: 1

Amphithea (53), grandmother of Odysseus.

.. vspace:: 1

Amphitryon (55), the stepfather of Heracles.

.. vspace:: 1

Anticleia (2, 219), daughter of Autolycus, and mother of Odysseus.

.. vspace:: 1

Antilochus (131, 151), son of Nestor.

.. vspace:: 1

Aphareus (125, 187), founder of the town of Arene in Messene, and
father of Idas and Lynceus.

.. vspace:: 1

Aphrodīte (99-110, 160), goddess of love and beauty.

.. vspace:: 1

Apollo (37-46, 189, 208), son of Zeus and Leto.  He was the god of
prophecy and of music and song, the punisher of evil, and the helper
of men.

.. vspace:: 1

Arcadia (5, 132), a country in the middle of the Peloponnesus.

.. vspace:: 1

Ares (223), the god of war.  *Mars*.

.. vspace:: 1

Arethusa (133), a sea-nymph.

.. vspace:: 1

Argo (2, 89), the ship upon which Jason and his companions sailed to
Colchis.

.. vspace:: 1

Argolis, see Argos.

.. vspace:: 1

Argonauts (2, 67), "the sailors of the Argo."

.. vspace:: 1

Argos (2, 5), a name frequently applied by Homer to the whole of the
Peloponnesus.  A district north of Laconia, often called Argolis.

.. vspace:: 1

Argus (196), a monster having a hundred eyes, appointed by Here to be
the guardian of Io.

.. vspace:: 1

Artĕmis (134, 239), daughter of Zeus and Leto, and the twin-sister of
Apollo.  She was the goddess of the chase, and the protectress
of the young and helpless.  *Diana*.

.. vspace:: 1

Asclepius (87-90), son of Apollo, and god of the healing art.
*Æsculapius*.

.. vspace:: 1

Atalanta (68, 162), daughter of Iasus and Clymene; the fleet-footed wife
of Milanion.

.. vspace:: 1

Athēné (10, 14,99-105) goddess of wisdom, and "queen of the air;"
often called Pallas Athené.  *Minerva*.

.. vspace:: 1

Atropos (66, 98), one of the Fates.

.. vspace:: 1

Aulis (233, 239-251), a harbor in Bœotia, on the Euripus.

.. vspace:: 1

Autolycus (48), the grandfather of Odysseus.

.. vspace:: 1

Balios and Xanthos (97), the horses of Peleus.

.. vspace:: 1

Bœotia, a district north of the Corinthian Gulf, bounded on the east by
the Euripus, and on the west by Phocis.

.. vspace:: 1

Bosphōrus (197), the "ox ford," the strait connecting the Sea of
Marmora with the Black (Euxine) Sea.

.. vspace:: 1

Cadmus (217), a Phœnician who settled in Hellas, and founded the city
of Thebes.  He is said to have brought the alphabet from Phœnicia.

.. vspace:: 1

Calchas (225, 241-252), the wisest soothsayer among the Hellenes.  He
died of grief because the soothsayer Mopsus predicted things which
he had not foreseen.

.. vspace:: 1

Calўdōn (66-76), an ancient town and district of Ætolia, on the Evenus
River.

.. vspace:: 1

Castor (56, 68, 146, 185), twin-brother of Polydeuces.

.. vspace:: 1

Centaurs (84-86), an ancient race inhabiting Mount Pelion and the
neighboring districts of Thessaly.

.. vspace:: 1

Cephallenia (183), a large island near Ithaca.

.. vspace:: 1

Charybdis (155), a dreadful whirlpool on the side of a narrow strait
opposite Scylla.

.. vspace:: 1

Cheiron (58, 78, 170), a Centaur, "the wisest of men," and the teacher
of the heroes.

.. vspace:: 1

Chryse (252), an island in the Ægæan Sea; also a city on the coast of
Asia Minor, south of Troy.

.. vspace:: 1

Circe (270), daughter of Helios, a sorceress who lived in the island of
Ææa.

.. vspace:: 1

Cleopatra (67-76), wife of Meleager.

.. vspace:: 1

Clotho (66, 98), one of the Fates.

.. vspace:: 1

Clytemnestra (152, 242-252), daughter of Tyndareus and Leda, and
sister of Castor and Polydeuces and Helen.  She was married to
Agamemnon, and became the mother of Iphigenia and Orestes.

.. vspace:: 1

Colchis (2, 87-89), a country of Asia, at the eastern extremity of the
Black Sea.

.. vspace:: 1

Copāis (40), a lake in Bœotia.

.. vspace:: 1

Corinth (5, 49, no), a city on the isthmus between the Corinthian Gulf
and the Ægæan Sea.

.. vspace:: 1

Corycia (51), a nymph who lived on Mount Parnassus.

.. vspace:: 1

Crissa (5, 29), the ancient name of the Gulf of Corinth; also, the name
of a town in Phocis.

.. vspace:: 1

Cronus (11,182), the youngest of the Titans, and the father of Zeus.
*Saturn*.

.. vspace:: 1

Cythēra (165), an island off the south-western point of Laconia.

.. vspace:: 1

Deianeira (142, 171-181), wife of Heracles.

.. vspace:: 1

Delos (38), the smallest of the Cyclades islands in the Ægæan Sea.

.. vspace:: 1

Delphi (5, 30-45), a town on the southern slope of Mount Parnassus.

.. vspace:: 1

Deucălion (200), son of Prometheus, and father of Hellen.

.. vspace:: 1

Diomēde (151, 235), son of Tydeus, and king of Argos.

.. vspace:: 1

Dodona (171, 225), an ancient oracle of Hellas, situated in Epirus in a
grove of oaks and beeches.

.. vspace:: 1

Echion (61, 76), son of Autolycus.

.. vspace:: 1

Elis (125), a country on the western coast of the Peloponnesus, south of
Achala.

.. vspace:: 1

Epaphos (16, 198), son of Zeus and Io.

.. vspace:: 1

Eris (98), the goddess of discord.

.. vspace:: 1

Erymanthus (139), a mountain in Arcadia.

.. vspace:: 1

Eubœa, the largest island of the Ægæan Sea, separated from Bœotia by
the Euripus.

.. vspace:: 1

Eumæus (114-119), the swineherd of Ithaca.

.. vspace:: 1

Euripus (233), the narrow strait between Eubœa and Bœotia.

.. vspace:: 1

Eurycleia (12), the nurse of Odysseus and of Telemachus.

.. vspace:: 1

Eurystheus (138), the master of Heracles, king of Argolis.

.. vspace:: 1

Eurytion (71, 92), king of Phthia.

.. vspace:: 1

Eurytion (85), a Centaur.

.. vspace:: 1

Eurytus (55, 136-144), king of Œchalia.

.. vspace:: 1

Evēnus (176), a river in Ætolia.

.. vspace:: 1

Ganўmēdes (208), the most beautiful of mortals, son of Tros.

.. vspace:: 1

Glaucus (25), a fisherman who became immortal by eating of the divine
herb which Cronus had sown.

.. vspace:: 1

Gorgons (27), three daughters of Phorcys and Ceto.

.. vspace:: 1

Gray Sisters (26), daughters of Phorcys.

.. vspace:: 1

Hades (89, 170), the god of the lower regions.  *Pluto*.

.. vspace:: 1

Hēbē (98), the goddess of youth.

.. vspace:: 1

Hector (101, 255), son of Priam; the chief hero of the Trojans.

.. vspace:: 1

Helen (145-162, 216, 267), daughter of Tyndareus and Leda of
Lacedæmon, represented in mythology as the daughter of Zeus and Leda.
"The most beautiful woman in the world."

.. vspace:: 1

Hĕlĕnus (258), son of Priam, soothsayer of the Trojans.

.. vspace:: 1

Hēlios (5, 15-19), the god of the sun.  *Sol*.

.. vspace:: 1

Hellas, the name which the Greeks applied to their country.  *Greece*.

.. vspace:: 1

Hellen (203), son of Deucalion and Pyrrha, and ancestor of all the
Hellenes.

.. vspace:: 1

Hephæstus (90, 160, 193), the god of fire.  *Vulcan*.

.. vspace:: 1

Hērē (99-105), the wife of Zeus.  *Juno*.

.. vspace:: 1

Heracles (55, 87-90, 138-144, 169-181, 211-214), the most celebrated of
all the old heroes.  *Hercules*.

.. vspace:: 1

Hermes (100-104, 196), the herald of the gods, son of Zeus and Maia.
*Mercury*.

.. vspace:: 1

Hēsĭŏne (210-213), the sister of Priam

.. vspace:: 1

Hesperia (19), "the western land."

.. vspace:: 1

Hesperides (5, 27, 139), guardians of the golden apples which Earth
gave to Here on her marriage day--said by some to be the
daugters of Phorcys and Ceto.

.. vspace:: 1

Hippódàmeia (84, 167) wife of Peirithous.

.. vspace:: 1

Hyllus (176), son of Heracles.

.. vspace:: 1

Hyperboreans (6, 39), a people living in the far North.

.. vspace:: 1

Iasus (163), an Arcadian, father of Atalanta.

.. vspace:: 1

Icarius (155, 162), brother of Tyndareus, and father of Penelope.

.. vspace:: 1

Ida (102-109, 208), a mountain-range of Mysia in Asia Minor, east of Troy.

.. vspace:: 1

Idas (67, 185), "the boaster," son of Aphareus, and father of Cleopatra.

.. vspace:: 1

Idŏmĕneus (151, 215, 235), king of Crete.

.. vspace:: 1

Ilios (206-214, 253), a name applied to the district in which Troy was
situated.  *Ilium*.

.. vspace:: 1

Ilus (208), son of Dardanus.

.. vspace:: 1

Inachus (196), the first king of Argos.

.. vspace:: 1

Io (196-199), daughter of Inachus, and mother of Epaphos from whom
was descended Heracles.

.. vspace:: 1

Iolcos (77-110), an ancient town of Thessaly at the head of the
Pegasæan Gulf.

.. vspace:: 1

Iŏle (138-144, 173-181), daughter of Eurytus of Œchalia, beloved by
Heracles.

.. vspace:: 1

Iphigenīa (242-252), daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra.

.. vspace:: 1

Iphitus (136-153, 172), son of Eurytus, one of the Argonauts.

.. vspace:: 1

Ithaca (1, 113), a small island in the Ionian Sea, the birthplace of
Odysseus.

.. vspace:: 1

Jason (2, 68, 87), leader of the Argonauts.

.. vspace:: 1

Lacedæmon (5, 145-169, 189-204), a district of Laconia in which was
situated Sparta.  The name is also applied to the town of Sparta.

.. vspace:: 1

Lachĕsis (66), one of the Fates.

.. vspace:: 1

Laconia (5, 145), a country in the south-east of Peloponnesus.

.. vspace:: 1

Laertes (2, 182), king of Ithaca, father of Odysseus.

.. vspace:: 1

Laodamĭa (254), daughter of Acastus, and wife of Protesilaus.

.. vspace:: 1

Laŏmĕdon (208-314), king of Troy, father of Priam.

.. vspace:: 1

Lăpiths (84), a people inhabiting the country adjoining Mount Pelion
in Thessaly.

.. vspace:: 1

Leda (146), wife of Tyndareus of Lacedæmon.

.. vspace:: 1

Lemnos (253, 260), an island in the Ægæan Sea.

.. vspace:: 1

Lichas (174-179), the herald of Heracles.

.. vspace:: 1

Linus (56), a musician, brother of Orpheus.

.. vspace:: 1

Lycomēdes (228), king of Scyros.

.. vspace:: 1

Lydia (173), a district of Asia Minor.

.. vspace:: 1

Lynceus (185), son of Aphareus, brother of Idas.

.. vspace:: 1

Machāon (151, 262), son of Asclepius, the surgeon of the Greeks in the
Trojan war.

.. vspace:: 1

Medēa (89), daughter of Æetes, king of Colchis, celebrated for her
skill in magic.

.. vspace:: 1

Medusa (27), one of the Gorgons.

.. vspace:: 1

Meleāger (66-76), son of Oineus and Althea, husband of Cleopatra.

.. vspace:: 1

Menelāus (150, 234), brother of Agamemnon, and husband of Helen.

.. vspace:: 1

Messēne (120), a country in the south-western part of the Peloponnesus.

.. vspace:: 1

Milanion (163), the husband of Atalanta.

.. vspace:: 1

Mycēnæ (150), an ancient town in Argolis.

.. vspace:: 1

Mysia (239), a country in Asia Minor.

.. vspace:: 1

Nedon (131), a river of Messene.

.. vspace:: 1

Nēleus (125, 173), son of Poseidon and Tyro, brother of Pelias, and
father of Nestor.

.. vspace:: 1

Nessus (176), a Centaur, ferryman at the River Evenus.

.. vspace:: 1

Nestor (125, 235), king of Pylos, son of Neleus.

.. vspace:: 1

Nireus (151, 160, 235), one of the heroes of the Trojan war.

.. vspace:: 1

Ocĕănus (194), god of the Ocean.

.. vspace:: 1

Odysseus, the hero of this story, son of Laertes, husband of Penelope.
*Ulysses*.

.. vspace:: 1

Œchalia (138, 174), a town supposed to be somewhere in Eubœa.

.. vspace:: 1

Œnone (103, 263), daughter of the river-god Cebren, and wife of Paris.

.. vspace:: 1

Œta (171, 180), a rugged pile of mountains in the south of Thessaly.

.. vspace:: 1

Oineus (65), king of Pleuron and Calydon.

.. vspace:: 1

Olympus (5, 79), a mountain in Thessaly, on the summit of which Zeus
held his court.

.. vspace:: 1

Omphalé (173), a queen of Lydia.

.. vspace:: 1

Orestes (244), son of Agamemnon.

.. vspace:: 1

Orpheus (248), the greatest of the old musicians.

.. vspace:: 1

Orsilochus (129, 134), son of Alpheus, king of Messene.

.. vspace:: 1

Ortygia (134), an island near the coast of Sicily.

.. vspace:: 1

Palamēdes (166, 217-224), son of Nauplius, king of Eubœa.

.. vspace:: 1

Pallas Athené, see Athené.

.. vspace:: 1

Paris (101-110, 204-216), son of Priam of Troy.

.. vspace:: 1

Parnassus (5, 30-36, 201), a mountain, or group of mountains, a few
miles north of the Corinthian Gulf.

.. vspace:: 1

Patrŏclus (227, 234), the friend of Achilles.

.. vspace:: 1

Peirĭthŏus (84, 167), king of the Lapiths, son of Ixion and Dia.

.. vspace:: 1

Pēleus (71, 91-100, 227), son of Æcus and Endeis the daughter of
Cheiron.

.. vspace:: 1

Pĕlĭas (80, 125), son of Poseidon and Tyro, and brother of Neleus.  He
made himself king of Iolcos, by excluding his half-brother Æson
from the throne.

.. vspace:: 1

Pēlĭon (79-110), a lofty mountain in Thessaly not far from Iolcos.

.. vspace:: 1

Peloponnesus, all that part of Hellas south of the Corinthian Gulf
(Bay of Crissa).

.. vspace:: 1

Pĕnĕlŏpē (152, 162-168),
daughter of Icarius, cousin of Helen, and wife
of Odysseus.

.. vspace:: 1

Perseus (27), one of the older heroes, son of Zeus and Danaë.

.. vspace:: 1

Phăĕethon (15-19), son of Helios and Clymene.

.. vspace:: 1

Phēmius (3, 14), a celebrated minstrel.

.. vspace:: 1

Pherae, or Pharæ (130-144), an ancient town in Messene on the river
Nedon.  Also (90), a town in Thessaly of which Admetus was
king.

.. vspace:: 1

Philoctētes (159, 180, 252, 260-263), a friend of Heracles, and the most
celebrated archer in the Trojan war.

.. vspace:: 1

Phorcys (20-27), "the old man of the sea."

.. vspace:: 1

Phthia (92), a district in the south-east of Thessaly.

.. vspace:: 1

.. vspace:: 1

Polydeuces (146, 185), brother of Castor and Helen.  *Pollux*.

.. vspace:: 1

Poseidon (22-27, 208), the god of the sea.  *Neptune*.

.. vspace:: 1

Priam (101, 207-214), the last king of Troy, son of Laomedon, and father
of Hector and Paris.

.. vspace:: 1

Promētheus (191-203), a Titan, son of Iapetus, the friend of man.

.. vspace:: 1

Protesilāus (254), a hero from Phylace in Thessaly.

.. vspace:: 1

Proteus (23), the prophetic shepherd of the sea.

.. vspace:: 1

Pylos (125-131), a town on the south-west coast of Messene.

.. vspace:: 1

Pyrrha (201), the wife of Deucalion.

.. vspace:: 1

Pyrrhus (259-262), the son of Achilles, also called Neoptolemus.

.. vspace:: 1

Pythia (34), a name applied to the priestess of Apollo at Delphi.

.. vspace:: 1

Rhadamanthus (6, 56), son of Zeus and Europa, and judge and ruler in
the Islands of the Blest.

.. vspace:: 1

Scandia (164), a harbor in Cythera.

.. vspace:: 1

Scylla (155), a monster with six heads, which guarded one side of a
narrow strait.

.. vspace:: 1

Scyros (228, 259), a small island east of Eubœa.

.. vspace:: 1

Sinon (265), a grandson of Autolycus, and cousin of Odysseus.

.. vspace:: 1

Sisyphus (49), son of Ælus.  He is said to have built the town of Ephyra,
afterward Corinth.

.. vspace:: 1

Sparta, see Lacedæmon.

.. vspace:: 1

Stymphālus (139), a town in the north-east of Arcadia.

.. vspace:: 1

Syma (151), a small island off the south-western coast of Caria in Asia
Minor.

.. vspace:: 1

Syria, or Syra (115), one of the Cyclades islands.

.. vspace:: 1

Talthybius (250), the herald of Agamemnon.

.. vspace:: 1

Tāygĕtes (149, 185), a lofty range of mountains between Laconia and
Messene.

.. vspace:: 1

Tĕlămŏn (214), son of Æacus and Endeis, and brother of Peleus, king
of Salamis.  He was the father of Ajax by Peribœa, his second wife;
after the death of Peribœa, he married Hesione, the sister of Priam.

.. vspace:: 1

Tĕlĕmăchus (219), the son of Odysseus and Penelope.

.. vspace:: 1

Telephus (239, 241, 252), son of Heracles and Auge, and king of Mysia.

.. vspace:: 1

Theseus (147), the great hero of Attica, and king of Athens

.. vspace:: 1

Thessaly, the largest division of Hellas.

.. vspace:: 1

Thetis (95), a sea-nymph, wife of Peleus, and mother of Achilles.

.. vspace:: 1

Tilphussa (40), a nymph dwelling at Lake Copais.

.. vspace:: 1

Tiryns (143), a city in Argolis, not far from Mycenæ.

.. vspace:: 1

Trāchis (143, 171), a town of Thessaly.

.. vspace:: 1

Trophonius (41), one of the architects of the temple at Delphi.

.. vspace:: 1

Tyndărĕus (146-169, 184-188), king of Lacedæmon.

.. vspace:: 1

Zacynthus (183), an island west of Messene.

.. vspace:: 1

Zeus (182, 191), son of Cronus, "the ruler of gods and men."  *Jupiter*.



.. vspace:: 6

.. pgfooter::