Part 39

It had all passed so quickly that Niobe scarcely knew whether it was not a dream. She could not believe that her children were really gone--all her sons and all her daughters, whom she had just now seen so happy and strong around her. But there they lay, still and cold, upon the ground. Their eyes were closed as if they were asleep, and their faces had still a happy smile, which made them look more beautiful than ever. And Niobe went to them all one by one, and touched their cold hands, and kissed their pale cheeks; and then she knew that the arrows of Phoebus Apollo had killed them. Then she sat down on a stone which was close to them, and the tears flowed from her eyes, and they streamed down her face, as she sat there as still as her children who lay dead before her. She never raised her head to look at the blue sky--she never moved hand or foot, but she sat weeping on the cold rock until she became as cold as the rock itself. And still her tears flowed on, and still her body grew colder and colder, until her heart beat no more, and the lady Niobe was dead. But there she still seemed to sit and weep, for her great grief had turned her into a stone; and all the people, whenever they came near that place, said, "See, there sits the lady Niobe, who was turned into stone, when Phoebus Apollo killed all her children because she boasted that no one was so beautiful as they were." And long after, when the stone was grown old and covered with moss, the people still thought they could see the form of the lady Niobe; for the stone, which did not look much like the form of a woman when they came near to it, seemed at a distance just as though Niobe still sat there, weeping for her beautiful children whom Phoebus Apollo slew.

DAPHNE.

In the vale of Tempe, where the stream of Peneios flows beneath the heights of Olympos towards the sea, the beautiful Daphne passed the days of her happy childhood. Fresh as the earliest morning, she climbed the crags to greet the first rays of the rising sun; and when he had driven his fiery horses over the sky, she watched his chariot sink behind the western mountains. Over hill and dale she roamed, free and light as the breeze of spring. Other maidens round her spoke each of her love, but Daphne cared not to listen to the voice of man, though many a one sought her to be his wife.

One day as she stood on the slopes of Ossa in the glow of early morning, she saw before her a glorious form. The light of the new-risen sun fell on his face with a golden splendor, and she knew that it was Phoebus Apollo. Hastily he ran towards her, and said, "I have found thee, Child of the Morning. Others thou hast cast aside, but from me thou canst not escape. I have sought thee long, and now will I make thee mine." But the heart of Daphne was bold and strong; and her cheek flushed and her eye sparkled with anger, as she said, "I know neither love nor bondage. I live free among the streams and hills; and to none will I yield my freedom." Then the face of Apollo grew dark with anger, and he drew near to seize the maiden; but swift as the wind she fled away. Over hill and dale, over crag and river, the feet of Daphne fell lightly as falling leaves in autumn; but nearer yet came Phoebus Apollo, till at last the strength of the maiden began to fail. Then she stretched out her hands, and cried for help to the lady Demeter; but she came not to her aid. Her head was dizzy, and her limbs trembled in utter feebleness as she drew near the broad river which gladdens the plains of Thessaly, till she almost felt the breath of Phoebus, and her robe was almost in his grasp. Then, with a wild cry, she said, "Father Peneios, receive thy child," and she rushed into the stream, whose waters closed gently over her.

She was gone; Apollo mourned for his madness in chasing thus the free maiden. And he said, "I have punished myself by my folly; the light of the morning is taken out of the day. I must go on alone till my journey shall draw towards its end." Then he spake the word, and a laurel came up on the bank where Daphne had plunged into the stream; and the green bush with its thick clustering leaves keeps her name forever.

KYRENE.

Among the valleys and hills of Thessaly, Kyrene, the fair-armed daughter of Hypseus, wandered free as the deer upon the mountain side. Of all the maidens of the land, there was none to vie her in beauty; neither was there any that could be matched with her for strength of arm and speed of foot. She touched not the loom or the spindle; she cared not for banquets with those who revel under houses. Her feasts were spread on the green grass, beneath the branching tree; and with her spear and dagger she went fearless among the beasts of the field, or sought them out in their dens.

One day she was roaming along the winding banks of Peneios, when a lion sprang from a thicket across her path. Neither spear nor dagger was in her hand, but the heart of Kyrene knew no fear, and she grappled with him until the beast sank wearied at her feet. She had conquered, but not unseen, for Phoebus Apollo had watched the maiden as she battled with the angry lion; and straightway he called the wise centaur Cheiron, who had taught him in the days of his youth. "Come forth," he said, "from thy dark cave, and teach me once again, for I have a question to ask thee. Look at yonder maiden, and the beast which lies beaten at her feet; and tell me (for thou art wise) whence she comes, and what name she bears. Who is she, that thus she wanders in these lonely valleys without fear and without hurt? Tell me if she may be wooed and won." Then Cheiron looked steadfastly at the face of Phoebus, and a smile passed over his countenance as he answered, "There are hidden keys to unlock the prison-house of love; but why askest thou me of the maiden's name and race--thou who knowest the end of all things, and all the paths along which the sons of men are journeying? Thou hast counted the leaves which burst forth in the spring-time, and the grains of sand which the wind tosses on the river bank, or by the sea shore. But if I must needs match thee in suitable wisdom, then listen to my words. The maiden is wooed and won already; and thou art going to bear her as thy bride over the dark sea, and place her in golden halls on the far-off Libyan land. There she shall have a home rich in every fruit that may grow up from the earth; and there shall thy son Aristaios be born, on whose lips the bright Horai shall shed nectar and ambrosia, so that he may not come under the doom of mortal men."

Then Phoebus Apollo smiled as he answered, "Of a truth, Cheiron, thou deservest thy fame, for there are none to match with thee for wisdom; and now I go with Kyrene to the land which shall be called by her name, and where, in time to come, her children shall build great and mighty cities, and their name shall be spread abroad throughout all the earth for strength and wisdom."

So the maiden Kyrene came to the Libyan land, and there Aristaios, her child, was born. And Hermes carried the babe to the bright Horai, who granted him an endless life; and he dwelt in the broad Libyan plains, tending his flocks, and bringing forth rich harvests from the earth. For him the bees wrought their sweetest honey; for him the sheep gave their softest wool; for him the cornfields waved with their fullest grain. No blight touched the grapes which his hand had tended; no sickness vexed the herds which fed in his pastures. And they who dwelt in the land said, "Strife and war bring no such gifts as these to the sons of men; therefore let us live in peace."

HERMES.

Early in the morning, long ago, in a cave of the great Kyllenian hill, lay the new-born Hermes, the son of Zeus and Maia. The cradle-clothes were scarcely stirred by his soft breathing, while he slept as peacefully as the children of mortal mothers. But the sun had not driven his fiery chariot half over the heaven, when the babe arose from his sacred cradle and stepped forth from the dark cavern. Before the threshold a tortoise fed lazily on the grass; and when the child saw it he laughed merrily. "Ah! this is luck, indeed," he said; "whence hast thou come, pretty creature, with thy bright speckled shell? Thou art mine now, and I must take thee into my cave. It is better to be under shelter than out of doors; and though there may be some use in thee while thou livest, it will comfort thee to think that thou wilt sing sweetly when thou art dead." So the child Hermes took up his treasure in both arms, and carried it into the cavern. There he took an iron probe, and pierced out the life of the tortoise; and quick as thought, he drilled holes in its shell, and fixed in them reed-canes. Then across the shell he fastened a piece of ox-hide, and with seven sheep-gut cords he finished the making of his lyre. Presently he struck it with the bow, and a wave of sweet music swelled out upon the air. Like the merry songs of youths and maidens, as they sport in village feasts, rose the song of the child Hermes; and his eyes laughed slyly as he sang of the loves of Zeus and Maia, and how he himself was born of the mighty race of the gods. Still he sang on, telling of all that he saw around him in the home of the nymph, his mother, but all the while, as he sang, his mind was pondering on other things; and when the song was ended, he went forth from the cave, like a thief in the night, on his wily errand.

The sun was hastening down the slope of heaven, with his chariot and horses to the slow-rolling stream of Ocean, as Hermes came to the shadowy hills of Pieria, where the cattle of the gods fed in their large pastures. There he took fifty from the herd, and made ready to drive them to the Kyllenian hill. But before him lay vast plains of sand; and, therefore, lest the track of the cattle should tell the tale of his thieving, he drove the beasts round about by crooked paths, until it seemed as though they had gone to the place from whence he had stolen them. He had taken good care that his own footsteps should not betray him, for with branches of tamarisk and myrtle, well twisted with their leaves, he hastily made sandals, and sped away from Pieria. One man alone saw him, a very old man, who was working in his vineyard on the sunny plain of Onchestos. To him Hermes went quickly, and said, "Old man, thou wilt have plenty of wine when these roots come all into bearing trim. Meanwhile keep a wise head on thy crumpled shoulders, and take heed not to remember more than may be convenient."

[Illustration: PLUTO AND HIS WIFE.]

Onwards, over dark hills, and through sounding dells, and across flowery plains, hastened the child Hermes, driving his flock before him. The night waxed and waned, and the moon had climbed to her watchtower in the heaven, when, in the flush of early morning, Hermes reached the banks of the great Alpheian stream. Then he turned his herd to feed on the grassy plain, while he gathered logs of wood, and, rubbing two sticks together, kindled the first flame that burned upon the earth where dwell the sons of men. The smoke went up to the heaven, and the flame crackled fiercely beneath it, as Hermes brought forth two of the herd, and, tumbling them on their back, pierced out the life of both. Their hides he placed on the hard rock; their flesh he cut up into twelve portions; and so Hermes hath the right of ordering all sacrifices which the children of men offer to the undying gods. But he ate not of the flesh or fat, although hunger sorely pressed him; and he burnt the bones in the fire, and tossed his tamarisk sandals into the swift stream of Alpheios. Then he quenched the fire, and with all his might trampled down the ashes, until the pale moon rose up again in the sky. So he sped on his way to Kyllene. Neither god nor man saw him as he went, nor did the dogs bark. Early in the morning he reached his mother's cave, and darted through the keyhole of the door, softly as a summer breeze. Without a sound his little feet paced the stony floor, till he reached his cradle and lay down, playing like a babe among the clothes with his left hand, while the right held the tortoise-lyre hidden underneath them.

But, wily as he was, he could not cheat his mother. To his cradle she came, and said, "Whither hast thou wandered in the dark night? Crafty rogue, mischief will be thy ruin. The son of Leto will soon be here, and bear thee away bound in chains not easily shaken off. Out of my sight, little wretch, born to worry the blessed gods and plague the race of men!" "Mother," said Hermes, gently, "why talk thus to me, as though I were like mortal babes, a poor cowering thing, to cry for a little scolding? I know thy interest and mine: why should we stay here in this wretched cave, with never a gift nor a feast to cheer our hearts? I shall not stay. It is pleasanter to banquet with the gods than to dwell in a cavern in draughts of whistling wind. I shall try my luck against Apollo, for I mean to be his peer; and if he will not suffer me, and if Zeus, my father, take not up my cause, I will see what I can do for myself, by going to the shrine of Pytho and stealing thence the tripods and caldrons, the iron vessels and glittering robes. If I may not have honor in Olympos, I can at least be the prince of thieves."

Meanwhile, as they talked together, Eos rose up from the deep ocean stream, and her tender light flushed across the sky, while Apollo hastened to Onchestos and the holy grove of Poseidon. There the old man was at work in his vineyard, and to him Phoebus went quickly, and said, "Friend hedger, I am come from Pieria looking for my cows. Fifty of them have been driven away, and the bull has been left behind with the four dogs who guarded them. Tell me, old man, hast thou seen any one with these cows, on the road?" But the old man said that it would be a hard matter to tell of all that he might chance to see. "Many travelers journey on this road, some with evil thoughts, some with good; I can not well remember all. This only I know, that yesterday, from the rising of the sun to its setting, I was digging in my vineyard, and I think, but I am not sure, that I saw a child with a herd of cattle. A babe he was, and he held a staff in his hand, and, as he went, he wandered strangely from the path on either side."

Then Phoebus stayed not to hear more, for now he knew of a surety that the new-born son of Zeus had done him the mischief. Wrapped in a purple mist, he hastened to beautiful Pylos, and came on the track of the cattle. "O Zeus!" he cried, "this is indeed a marvel. I see the footprints of cattle, but they are marked as though the cattle were going to the asphodel meadow, not away from it. Of man or woman, of wolf, bear, or lion, I spy not a single trace. Only here and there I behold the footprints of some strange monster, who has left his mark at random on either side of the road." So on he sped to the woody heights of Kyllene, and stood on the doorstep of Maia's cave. Straightway the child Hermes nestled under the cradle-clothes in fear, like a new-born babe asleep. But, seeing through all his craft, Phoebus looked steadily through all the cave and opened three secret places full of the food and drink of the gods, and full also of gold and silver and raiment; but not a cow was in any of them. At last he fixed his eyes sternly on the child, and said, "Wily babe, where are my cows? If thou wilt not tell me, there will be strife between us; and then I will hurl thee down to the gloomy Tartaros, to the land of darkness, whence neither thy father nor thy mother can bring thee back, and where thy kingdom shall be only over the ghosts of men." "Ah!" said Hermes, "these are dreadful words, indeed; but why dost thou chide me thus, or come here to look for cows? I have not seen or heard of them, nor has any one told me of them. I can not tell where they are, or get the reward, if any were promised, for discovering them. This is no work of mine; what do I care for but for sleeping and sucking, and playing with my cradle-clothes, and being washed in warm water? My friend, it will be much better that no one should hear of such a silly quarrel. The undying gods would laugh at the very thought of a little babe leaving its cradle to run after cows. I was born but yesterday. My feet are soft, and the ground is hard. But if it be any comfort to thee, I will swear by my father's head (and that is a very great oath) that I have not done this deed, nor seen any one else steal your cows, and that I do not know what cows are."

As he spoke he looked stealthily from one side to the other, while his eyes winked slyly, and he made a long soft whistling sound, as if the words of Phoebus had amused him mightily. "Well, friend," said Apollo, with a smile, "thou wilt break into many a house, I see, and thy followers after thee; and thy fancy for beef will set many a herdsman grieving. But come down from the cradle, or this sleep will be thy last. Only this honor can I promise thee, to be called the prince of thieves forever." So without more ado Phoebus caught up the babe in his arms; but Hermes gave so mighty a sneeze that he quickly let him fall, and Phoebus said to him, gravely, "This is the sign that I shall find my cows; show me, then, the way." In great fear Hermes started up and pulled the cradle-clothes over his ears, as he said, "Cruel god, what dost thou seek to do with me? Why worry me thus about cows? I would there were not a cow in all the earth. I stole them not, nor have I seen any one steal the cows, whatever things cows may be. I know nothing but their name. But come; Zeus must decide the quarrel between us."

Thus each with his own purpose spake to the other, and their minds grew all the darker, for Phoebus sought only to know where his cows might be, while Hermes strove only to cheat him. So they went quickly and sulkily on, the babe first, and Phoebus following after him, till they came to the heights of Olympos and the home of the mighty Zeus. There Zeus sat on the throne of judgment, and all the undying gods stood around him. Before them in the midst stood Phoebus and the child Hermes, and Zeus said, "Thou hast brought a fine booty after thy hunt to-day, Phoebus--a child of a day old. A fine matter is this to put before the gods."

"My father," said Apollo, quickly, "I have a tale to tell which will show that I am not the only plunderer. After a weary search I found this babe in the cave of Kyllene; and a thief he is such as I have never seen whether among gods or men. Yester eve he stole my cattle from the meadow, and drove them straight towards Pylos to the shore of the sounding sea. The tracks left were such that gods and men might well marvel at them. The footprints of the cows on the sand were as though they were going to my meadows, and not away from them; his own footmarks beggar all words, as if he had gone neither on his feet nor on his hands, and as if the oak tops had suddenly taken to walking. So was it on the sandy soil; and after this was passed, there remained no marks at all. But an old man saw him driving them on the road to Pylos. There he shut up the cattle at his leisure, and, going to his mother's cave, lay down in his cradle like a spark in a mass of cinders, which an eagle could scarcely spy out. When I taxed him with the theft he boldly denied it, and told me that he had not seen the cows or heard naught of them, and could not get the reward if one were offered for restoring them."

So the words of Phoebus were ended, and the child Hermes made obeisance to Zeus, the lord of all the gods, and said, "Father Zeus, I shall tell thee the truth, for I am a very truthful being, and I know not how to tell a lie. This morning, when the sun was but newly risen, Phoebus came to my mother's cave, looking for cows. He brought no witnesses; but urged me by force to confess; he threatened to hurl me into the abyss of Tartaros. Yet he has all the strength of early manhood, while I, as he knows, was born but yesterday, and am not in the least like a cattle-reiver. Believe me (by thy love for me, thy child) that I have not brought these cows home, or passed beyond my mother's threshold. This is strict truth. Nay, by Helios and the other gods, I swear that I love thee and have respect for Phoebus. Thou knowest that I am guiltless, and, if thou wilt, I will also swear it. But, spite of all his strength, I will avenge myself some day on Phoebus for his unkindness; and then help thou the weaker."