Part 42

But when his messengers went yet again to plead with Ixion, and their words were all spoken in vain, Hesioneus resolved to deal craftily, and he sent his servants by night and stole the undying horses which bare his gleaming chariot. Then the heart of Ixion was humbled within him, for he said, "My people look for me daily throughout the wide earth. If they see not my face their souls will faint with fear; they will not care to sow their fields, and the golden harvests of Demeter will wave no more in the summer breeze." So there came messengers from Ixion, who said, "If thou wouldst have the wealth which thou seekest, come to the house of Ixion, and the gifts shall be thine, and thine eyes shall once more look upon thy child." In haste Hesioneus went forth from his home, like a dark and lonely cloud stealing across the broad heaven. All night long he sped upon his way, and, as the light of Eos flushed the eastern sky he saw afar off the form of a fair woman who beckoned to him with her long white arms. Then the heart of the old man revived, and he said, "It is Dia, my child. It is enough if I can but hear her voice and clasp her in mine arms and die." But his limbs trembled for joy, and he waited until presently his daughter came and stood beside him. On her face there rested a softer beauty than in former days, and the sound of her voice was more tender and loving, as she said, "My father, Zeus has made clear to me many dark things, for he has given me power to search out the secret treasures of the earth, and to learn from the wise beings who lurk in its hidden places the things that shall be hereafter. And now I see that thy life is well-nigh done, if thou seekest to look upon the treasures of Ixion, for no man may gaze upon them and live. Go back, then, to thy home if thou wouldst not die. I would that I might come with thee, but so it may not be. Each day I must welcome Ixion when his fiery horses come back from their long journey, and every morning I must harness them to his gleaming chariot before he speeds upon his way. Yet thou hast seen my face and thou knowest that I love thee now even as in the days of my childhood." But the old greed filled again the heart of Hesioneus, and he said, "The faith of Ixion is pledged. If he withhold still the treasures which he sware to give, he shall never more see the deathless horses. I will go myself into his treasure-house, and see whether in very truth he has the wealth of which he makes such proud boasting." Then Dia clasped her arms once again around her father, and she kissed his face, and said, sadly, "Farewell, then, my father; I go to my home, for even the eyes of Dia may not gaze on the secret treasures of Ixion." So Dia left him, and when the old man turned to look on her departing form it faded from his sight as the clouds melt away before the sun at noon-day. Yet, once again he toiled on his way, until before his glorious home he saw Ixion, radiant as Phoebus Apollo in his beauty; but there was anger in his kindling eye, for he was wroth for the theft of his undying horses. Then the voice of Ixion smote the ear of Hesioneus, harsh as the flapping of the wings of Erinys when she wanders through the air. "So thou wilt see my secret treasures. Take heed that thy sight be strong." But Hesioneus spake in haste, and said, "Thy faith is pledged, not only to let me see them, but to bestow them on me as my own, for therefore didst thou win Dia my child to be thy wife." Then Ixion opened the door of his treasure-house and thrust in Hesioneus, and the everlasting fire devoured him.

But far above, in the pure heaven, Zeus beheld the deed of Ixion, and the tidings were sent abroad to all the gods of Olympos, and to all the sons of men, that Ixion had slain Hesioneus by craft and guile. A horror of great blackness fell on the heaven above and the earth beneath for the sin of which Zeus alone can purge away the guilt. Once more Dia made ready her husband's chariot, and once more he sped on his fiery journey; but all men turned away their faces, and the trees bowed their scorched and withered heads to the ground. The flowers drooped sick on their stalks and died, the corn was kindled like dried stubble on the earth, and Ixion said within himself, "My sin is great; men will not look upon my face as in the old time, and the gods of Olympos will not cleanse my hands from the guilt of my treacherous deed." So he went straightway and fell down humbly before the throne of Zeus, and said, "O thou that dwellest in the pure æther far above the dark cloud, my hands are foul with blood, and thou alone canst cleanse them; therefore purge mine iniquity, lest all living things die throughout the wide earth."

Then the undying gods were summoned to the judgment seat of Zeus. By the side of the son of Kronos stood Hermes, ever bright and fair, the messenger who flies on his golden sandals more swiftly than a dream; but fairer and more glorious than all who stood near his throne was the lady Here, the queen of the blue heaven. On her brow rested the majesty of Zeus and the glory of a boundless love which sheds gladness on the teeming earth and the broad sea. And even as he stood before the judgment-seat, the eyes of Ixion rested with a strange yearning on her undying beauty, and he scarce heard the words which cleansed him from blood-guiltiness.

So Ixion tarried in the house of Zeus, far above in the pure æther, where only the light clouds weave a fairy net-work at the rising and setting of the sun. Day by day his glance rested more warm and loving on the countenance of the lady Here, and Zeus saw that her heart, too, was kindled by a strange love, so that a fierce wrath was stirred within him.

Presently he called Hermes, the messenger, and said, "Bring up from among the children of Nephele one who shall wear the semblance of the lady Here, and place her in the path of Ixion when he wanders forth on the morrow." So Hermes sped away on his errand, and on that day Ixion spake secretly with Here, and tempted her to fly from the house of Zeus. "Come with me," he said; "the winds of heaven can not vie in speed with my deathless horses, and the palace of Zeus is but as the house of the dead by the side of my glorious home." Then the heart of Ixion bounded with a mighty delight, as he heard the words of Here. "To-morrow I will meet thee in the land of the children of Nephele." So on the morrow when the light clouds had spread their fairy net-work over the heaven, Ixion stole away from the house of Zeus to meet the lady Here. As he went, the fairy web faded from the sky, and it seemed to him that the lady Here stood before him in all her beauty. "Here, great queen of the unstained heaven," he said, "come with me, for I am worthy of thy love, and I quail not for all the majesty of Zeus." But even as he stretched forth his arms, the bright form vanished away. The crashing thunder rolled through the sky, and he heard the voice of Zeus saying, "I cleansed thee from thy guilt, I sheltered thee in my home, and thou hast dealt with me treacherously, as thou didst before with Hesioneus. Thou hast sought the love of Here, but the maiden which stood before thee was but a child of Nephele, whom Hermes brought hither to cheat thee with the semblance of the wife of Zeus. Wherefore hear thy doom. No more shall thy deathless horses speed with thy glistening chariot over the earth, but high in the heaven a blazing wheel shall bear thee through the rolling years, and the doom shall be on thee for ever and ever."

So was Ixion bound on the fiery wheel, and the sons of men see the flashing spokes day by day as it whirls in the high heaven.

TANTALOS.

Beneath the mighty rocks of Sipylos stood the palace of Tantalos, the Phrygian King, gleaming with the blaze of gold and jewels. Its burnished roofs glistened from afar like the rays which dance on ruffled waters. Its marble columns flashed with hues rich as the hues of purple clouds which gather round the sun as he sinks down in the sky. And far and wide was known the name of the mighty chieftain, who was wiser than all the sons of mortal men; for his wife, Euryanassa, they said, came of the race of the undying gods, and to Tantalos Zeus had given the power of Helios, that he might know his secret counsels and see into the hidden things of earth and air and sea. Many a time, so the people said, he held converse with Zeus himself in his home, on the high Olympos, and day by day his wealth increased, his flocks and herds multiplied exceedingly, and in his fields the golden corn waved like a sunlit sea.

But, as the years rolled round, there were dark sayings spread abroad, that the wisdom of Tantalos was turned to craft, and that his wealth and power were used for evil ends. Men said that he had sinned like Prometheus, the Titan, and had stolen from the banquet-hall of Zeus the food and drink of the gods, and given them to mortal men. And tales yet more strange were told, how that Panderos brought to him the hound which Rhea placed in the cave of Dikte to guard the child, Zeus, and how, when Hermes bade him yield up the dog, Tantalos laughed him to scorn, and said, "Dost thou ask me for the hound which guarded Zeus in the days of his childhood? It were as well to ask me for the unseen breeze which sounds through the groves of Sipylos."

Then, last of all, men spake in whispers of a sin yet more fearful, which Tantalos had sinned, and the tale was told that Zeus and all the gods came down from Olympos to feast in his banquet-hall, and how, when the red wine sparkled in the golden goblets, Tantalos placed savory meat before Zeus, and bade him eat of a costly food, and, when the feast was ended, told him that in the dish had lain the limbs of the child Pelops, whose sunny smile had gladdened the hearts of mortal men. Then came the day of vengeance, for Zeus bade Hermes bring back Pelops again from the kingdom of Hades to the land of living men, and on Tantalos was passed a doom which should torment him for ever and ever. In the shadowy region where wander the ghosts of men, Tantalos, they said, lay prisoned in a beautiful garden, gazing on bright flowers and glistening fruits and laughing waters, but for all that his tongue was parched, and his limbs were faint with hunger. No drop of water might cool his lips, no luscious fruit might soothe his agony. If he bowed his head to drink, the water fled away; if he stretched forth his hand to pluck the golden apples, they would vanish like mists before the face of the rising sun, and in place of ripe fruits glistening among green leaves, a mighty rock beetled above his head, as though it must fall and grind him to powder. Wherefore men say, when the cup of pleasure is dashed from the lips of those who would drink of it, that on them has fallen the doom of the Phrygian Tantalos.

[Illustration: ANCIENT SCULPTURING ON TANTALOS.]

THE TOILS OF HERAKLES.

By the doom of his father Zeus, Herakles served in Argos the false and cruel Eurystheus. For so it was that Zeus spake of the birth of Herakles to Here, the Queen, and said, "This day shall a child be born of the race of Perseus, who shall be the mightiest of the sons of men." Even so he spake, because Ate had deceived him by her evil counsel. And Here asked whether this should be so in very deed, and Zeus bowed his head, and the word went forth which could not be recalled. Then Here went to the mighty Eileithyiai, and by their aid she brought it about that Eurystheus was born before Herakles the son of Zeus.

[Illustration: URANIA (_Muse of Astronomy_).]

So the lot was fixed that all his life long Herakles should toil at the will of a weak and crafty master. Brave in heart and stout of body, so that no man might be matched with him for strength or beauty, yet was he to have no profit of all his labor till he should come to the land of the undying gods. But it grieved Zeus that the craft of Here, the Queen, had brought grievous wrong on his child, and he cast forth Ate from the halls of Olympos, that she might no more dwell among the gods. Then he spake the word that Herakles should dwell with the gods in Olympos, as soon as the days of his toil on earth should be ended.

Thus the child grew in the house of Amphitryon, full of beauty and might, so that men marveled at his great strength; for as he lay one day sleeping, there came two serpents into the chamber, and twisted their long coils round the cradle, and peered upon him with their cold glassy eyes, till the sound of their hissing woke him from his slumber. But Herakles trembled not for fear, but he stretched forth his arms and placed his hands on the serpents' necks, and tightened his grasp more and more till they fell dead on the ground. Then all knew by this sign that Herakles must do great things and suffer many sorrows, but that in the end he should win the victory. So the child waxed great and strong, and none could be matched with him for strength of arm and swiftness of foot and in taming of horses and in wrestling. The best men in Argos were his teachers, and the wise centaur Cheiron was his friend, and taught him ever to help the weak and take their part against any who oppressed them. So, for all his great strength, none were more gentle than Herakles, none more full of pity for those who were bowed down by pain and labor.

But it was a sore grief to Herakles that all his life long he must toil for Eurystheus, while others were full of joy and pleasure and feasted at tables laden with good things. And so it came to pass that one day, as he thought of these things, he sat down by the wayside, where two paths met, in a lonely valley far away from the dwellings of men. Suddenly, as he lifted up his eyes, he saw two women coming towards him, each from a different road. They were both fair to look upon; but the one had a soft and gentle face, and she was clad in a seemly robe of pure white. The other looked boldly at Herakles, and her face was more ruddy, and her eyes shone with a hot and restless glare. From her shoulders streamed the long folds of her soft embroidered robe, which scantily hid the beauty of her form beneath. With a quick and eager step she hastened to Herakles, that she might be the first to speak. And she said, "I know, O man of much toil and sorrow, that thy heart is sad within thee, and that thou knowest not which way thou shalt turn. Come then with me, and I will lead thee on a soft and pleasant road, where no storms shall vex thee and no sorrows shall trouble thee. Thou shalt never hear of wars and battles, and sickness and pain shall not come nigh to thee; but all day long shalt thou feast at rich banquets and listen to the songs of minstrels. Thou shalt not want for sparkling wine, and soft robes, and pleasant couches; thou shalt not lack the delights of love, for the bright eyes of maidens shall look gently upon thee, and their songs shall lull thee to sleep in the soft evening hour, when the stars come out in the sky." And Herakles said, "Thou promisest to me pleasant things, lady, and I am sorely pressed down by a hard master. What is thy name?" "My friends," said she, "call me the happy and joyous one; and they who look not upon me with love have given me an evil name, but they speak falsely."

Then the other spake, and said, "O Herakles, I, too, know whence thou art, and the doom which is laid upon thee, and how thou hast lived and toiled even from the days of thy childhood; and therefore I think that thou wilt give me thy love, and if thou dost, then men shall speak of thy good deeds in time to come, and my name shall be yet more exalted. But I have no fair words wherewith to cheat thee. Nothing good is ever reached without labor; nothing great is ever won without toil. If thou seek for fruit from the earth thou must tend and till it; if thou wouldst have the favor of the undying gods thou must come before them with prayers and offerings; if thou longest for the love of men thou must do them good." Then the other brake in upon her words, and said, "Thou seest, Herakles, that Arete seeks to lead thee on a long and weary path, but my broad and easy road leads thee quickly to happiness." Then Arete answered her (and her eye flashed with anger), "O wretched one, what good thing hast thou to give, and what pleasure canst thou feel, who knowest not what it is to toil? Thy lusts are pampered, thy taste is dull. Thou quaffest the rich wine before thou art thirsty, and fillest thyself with dainties before thou art hungry. Though thou art numbered amongst the undying ones the gods have cast thee forth out of heaven, and good men scorn thee. The sweetest of all sounds, when a man's heart praises him, thou hast never heard; the sweetest of all sights, when a man looks on his good deeds, thou has never seen. They who bow down to thee are weak and feeble in youth, and wretched and loathsome in old age. But I dwell with the gods in heaven and with good men on earth; and without me nothing good and pure may be thought and done. More than all others am I honored by the gods, more than all others am I cherished by the men who love me. In peace and in war, in health and in sickness, I am the aid of all who seek me; and my help never fails. My children know the purest of all pleasures, when the hour of rest comes after the toil of day. In youth they are strong, and their limbs are quick with health; in old age they look back upon a happy life; and when they lie down to the sleep of death their name is cherished among men for their brave and good deeds. Love me, therefore, Herakles, and obey my words, and thou shalt dwell with me, when thy toil is ended, in the home of the undying gods."

Then Herakles bowed down his head and sware to follow her counsels; and when the two maidens passed away from his sight he went forth with a good courage to his labor and suffering. In many a land he sojourned and toiled to do the will of the false Eurystheus. Good deeds he did for the sons of men; but he had no profit of all his labor, save the love of the gentle Iole. Far away in Oechalia, where the sun rises from the eastern sea, he saw the maiden in the halls of Eurytos, and sought to win her love. But the word which Zeus spake to Here, the Queen, gave him no rest; and Eurystheus sent him forth to other lands, and he saw the maiden no more.

But Herakles toiled on with a good heart, and soon the glory of his great deeds were spread abroad throughout all the earth. Minstrels sang how he slew the monsters and savage beasts who vexed the sons of men, how he smote the Hydra in the land of Lernai, and the wild boar, which haunted the groves of Erymanthos, and the Harpies, who lurked in the swamps of Stymphalos. They told how he wandered far away to the land of the setting sun, when Eurystheus bade him pluck the golden apples from the garden of the Hesperides--how, over hill and dale, across marsh and river, through thicket and forest, he came to the western sea, and crossed to the African land, where Atlas lifts up his white head to the high heaven--how he smote the dragon which guarded the brazen gates, and brought the apples to King Eurystheus. They sang of his weary journey, when he roamed through the land of the Ethiopians and came to the wild and desolate heights of Caucasus--how he saw a giant form high on the naked rock, and the vulture which gnawed the Titan's heart with its beak. They told how he slew the bird, and smote off the cruel chains, and set Prometheus free. They sang how Eurystheus laid on him a fruitless task, and sent him down to the dark land of King Hades to bring up the monster, Kerberos; how, upon the shore of the gloomy Acheron, he found the mighty hound who guards the home of Hades and Persephone; how he seized him in his strong right hand and bore him to King Eurystheus. They sang of the days when he toiled in the land of Queen Omphale, beneath the Libyan sun; how he destroyed the walls of Ilion when Laomedon was King, and how he went to Kalydon and wooed and won Deianeira, the daughter of the chieftain, Oineus.

Long time he abode in Kalydon, and the people of the land loved him for his kindly deeds. But one day his spear smote the boy, Eunomos, and his father was not angry, because he knew that Herakles sought not to slay him. Yet Herakles would go forth from the land, for his heart was grieved for the death of the child. So he journeyed to the banks of the Evenos, where he smote the centaur, Nessos, because he sought to lay hands on Deianeira. Swiftly the poison from the barb of the spear ran through the centaur's veins; but Nessos knew how to avenge himself on Herakles, and with a faint voice he besought Deianeira to fill a shell with his blood, so that, if ever she lost the love of Herakles, she might win it again by spreading it on a robe for him to wear.