Persephone graciously heard Orpheus’ entreaty and said: “Go back whence you came. Eurydice shall silently follow. But have a care that you do not look at her until you have reached the upper world. If you gaze at her but an instant she will be lost to you forever.”
Orpheus turned back. He had not yet seen her. Would she follow him or not? A goddess surely would not deceive him. But he heard no step behind him. Singing, he went his way for a time, and when in the distance he saw the gleam of the upper world, he cried “Eurydice” in tender, eager tones. No answer was made. Overcome by grief and anxiety, he forgot the warning of the goddess. An irresistible desire to see her caused him to turn his head, and behold his wife was quietly and lightly following him. He stretched out his arms to her and in an instant the goddess’s warning was realized. Eurydice suddenly went back and was never again seen by him.
His soul was rent with anguish. He wandered despairingly with his lute in the Thracian forest, where he found among the rocks a swarm of Mænades, those creatures who foregather at the festivals of Bacchus and, excited with wine and wild debauches, go through the woods inciting everyone to attend the revels which are given in honor of that divinity. They made a loud clamor by clashing their cymbals together and blowing trumpets and horns and swung their wands, wound with vine leaves and ivy, called the thyrsus, crying, “Evoe, Evoe, Bacchus.”
These Mænades who found Orpheus lamenting for Eurydice, snatched his lute away and ordered him to entertain them. With horror he turned from them and rejected their importunities. That was too much for a horde of mad women. They stoned him, tore him to pieces, and threw his bleeding limbs into the forest.
Schœneus married in Arcadia and entreated the gods to send him a son. When his spouse bore him a daughter, he became so enraged that he took the child from her mother, carried her into the wilderness, and left her there. The child was nourished by a bear until she was found by some hunters, who took her away, brought her up, and named her Atalanta.
Atalanta grew in beauty and strength and became a vigorous huntress, surpassing all men and youths in daring, swiftness, and skill. Like Artemis, she chose to live unmarried and paid no attention to the youths who solicited her hand. When hard pressed she at last made this condition. He only should have her as wife who surpassed her in running; but those who were defeated should die.
Hard as the condition was, the beauty of the maiden attracted a crowd of suitors. Among them was Hippomenes, who came not to take part in the race, but to deride the youths who would risk their lives by such folly. But when the race began and he saw the beautiful huntress, he himself was smitten with love and hoped that none of the youths would win the prize, so that he might take Atalanta home as his wife. The race was finished. The maiden returned with the wreath of victory on her head, but the youths were taken away to suffer death.
Then Hippomenes stepped forward and said: “It was not much glory, O Atalanta, to surpass those. Now I wish to race with you. Should fortune favor me, it will be no shame for you to be beaten by one who is great grandson of Poseidon, god of the waters, and whose courage is not inferior to his skill. But should you win, your name will be honored in future days.”
Atalanta looked upon the bold youth, and as he was pleasing in her sight she was uncertain whether she wished his victory or his defeat. Then she said: “What divinity, O youth, seeks your destruction by giving you the desire to race with me? Those foolish ones, they tried and now must die. At least let me warn you to seek some other maiden. If you reject my advice, I bespeak for you the help of the gods that you may be the winner.”
While the beautiful huntress thus spoke, Hippomenes called to Venus, who suddenly stood by his side, unseen by Atalanta. She gave him three golden apples gathered in the gardens of the Hesperides, and told him how to use them. The trumpet sounded and both started swiftly over the course. What a sight it was to watch the beautiful creature whose feet scarcely touched the ground! “Look,” said one, “she could skim over the waving wheat without bending it, or fly over the sea without wetting the soles of her feet.” The encouraging shouts of his friends greeted the youth.
Hippomenes was overjoyed at the greetings, and Atalanta noticed it with pleasure. It seemed unendurable to her to be beaten, but it was even more painful to beat and thereby sacrifice Hippomenes’ life. For a long time they ran side by side. At last Hippomenes threw an apple to the ground. The maiden saw the rolling gold and stooped to pick it up. The delay threw her back in the race, but she soon caught up with the youth. He threw the second apple. Running out of her course she seized it and Hippomenes gained further advantage. He was nearing the goal when he heard the distant applause of his friends. The maiden put forth all her power and soon flew past Hippomenes with burning cheeks, so that his death seemed inevitable. Then he supplicated the goddess and threw the third apple, which rolled far out of the course. The maiden would have left it, but Aphrodite (Venus) induced her to get it. The goddess made the task so difficult that Hippomenes reached the goal first. The judges crowned him and Atalanta, as she had promised, gave him her hand.
The day of their marriage was the day of ruin for both, for they wholly forgot the goddess and neither made thank-offerings nor remembered her kind assistance. Aphrodite therefore decreed a severe penalty. The angry goddess changed them into a pair of lions and harnessed them to her golden chariot.
Tantalus, a rich and powerful king, was deemed worthy by Zeus to visit the gold-gleaming mansions of the gods on high Olympus and to partake of nectar and ambrosia at their tables. Zeus and the other immortals even deigned to appear under Tantalus’ roof, to sit at his table, and converse in his own speech. Such an honor was too great for a mortal to bear. Inflated with pride, he made himself hated by gods and men. He not only made sport of the names of the immortals and uttered falsehoods, but he would reveal their decrees to mortals and steal nectar and ambrosia for his friends. He at last grew so audacious that he was warned and threatened by the gods. Finally his penalty overtook him. Upon one occasion when the gods were visiting him and partaking of a banquet, he decided to test just how far they were omniscient. He killed his son Pelops, prepared his flesh as a test, and set the disgusting food before them. All recognized the unnatural deed of the father except Ceres, whose heart was full of sorrow over the loss of her daughter.[14]So it happened that she partook of the food, and ate of the shoulder of Pelops. Zeus collected the parts of the body, substituted an ivory shoulder, recalled Pelops’ soul from Tartarus, restored him to life, and then plunged Tantalus into Hades to suffer endless torment.
When Tantalus regained consciousness, he found himself standing up to his chin in water. Overcome with burning thirst, he bent his head to drink. But the more he bent his head the lower the water receded, and at last sunk into the ground, leaving nothing at his feet but dry, black dust. As he raised his head the water raised, only to disappear whenever he tried to drink. Over his head hung branches loaded with fruit. Between the green leaves were pomegranates, balsamic pears, olives, figs, and spicy apples, but whenever the victim raised his hands to pluck them, a wind drove the branches away from him. His torment was endless. A restless longing never to be satisfied was the punishment inflicted upon him by the revengeful divinity.
Salmoneus was a brother of Tantalus, whom Zeus punished so severely for his audacity. A similar fate overtook him also, for he had a spite against the gods and strove to be equal to them. He snatched the offerings intended for Zeus from his altars and commanded that they should be offered to himself. He imitated Zeus’ thunderbolts with lighted torches, which he threw down upon the people, and represented thunder by the clashing of iron vessels. In fact he imitated the ruler of the universe in every way.
When he had reached the summit of his insolence his ruin overtook him. Zeus struck him with one of his bolts and hurled him down to Tartarus.
Sisyphus was in the same dreadful place. In the upper world he had been guilty of thefts both among men and the gods. In the very hour of his death he perpetrated an evil deed. He seized and bound Thanatos, the god of death, with brazen bands, and for a long time no one died on earth. The gods of the underworld sent to Zeus this message: “Behold Thanatos, who went to the upper world to bring Sisyphus here, has not returned. For several days no shade has entered our dark kingdom.” Thereupon Zeus sent for the powerful war god, Ares,[15]and ordered him to find the god of death. He soon found and released him from his fetters, and Sisyphus was taken to the underworld by Thanatos. Even then he continued his deceitful deeds. He said to his wife: “Do not bury my body and make the customary death offering to the gods of the underworld.” Then he appeared before Hades and Persephone and said: “My wife has not buried my body and has neglected to make the death offering. Let me go to her and remind the faithless one of her duty. Then I surely will return.”
His wish was granted and he returned to the upper world. As he did not come back, word was again sent to Zeus, who despatched the swift-flying Hermes to take the deceiver back. When Sisyphus saw the divine messenger, his courage gave way, for he knew that no mortal could outdo him in cunning. Hermes took him back to the dark kingdom, where a fearful penalty awaited him. He had to roll a huge block of marble up a high mountain which no sooner reached the top than it went thundering down. He had to begin his task over again with sweat of toil and anguish dropping from his brow to the earth.
Ixion, who had offered violence to the goddess Hera,[16]suffered another penalty. He was tied to a wheel which never ceased revolving. Phlegyas,[17]who burned the temple of Apollo, was also there. He was continually threatened by a rock hanging over his head, which exposed him to constant apprehension and unspeakable torture.
Amphion, who married a godlike maiden named Niobe, ruled over Thebes. She became the mother of seven stately sons and seven blooming daughters.
She would have been esteemed the most blessed of mothers if she could have borne her happiness with moderation. Her husband Amphion was well-nigh equal to the divine singer Orpheus in song and lute playing, while in possessions and power she surpassed most princesses of her time. But more than all else she prided herself upon her children.
The prophetess Manto went through the streets and ordered the Theban women to the altars of Latona. “Arise, you women,” she cried; “twine your tresses with fresh laurel and bring fragrant incense for the mother of Apollo and Diane.”
The women immediately assembled at the altar of the goddess and supplicatingly scattered incense in the sacred flames. Hardly had they begun the offering song when Niobe appeared, proudly advancing. She wore a gold-embroidered cloak and on her brow gleamed a diadem. Standing before the altar, she raised her head proudly and said: “Foolish ones, would you honor Latona and refuse incense at my altar? Was not my father, Tantalus, a guest at the tables of the gods? Atlas, who carries the world’s axle on his shoulders, is my ancestor. Zeus is another. My power extends even in far-off Phrygia. The stones with which Cadmus built this city and its castle dance to the music of my husband’s lute. Wherever you look in my palace you find inexhaustible treasures. But it is my richest fortune to be the mother of seven stately sons and as many blooming daughters. And yet you offer to Latona, who has borne but two, Apollo and Artemis (Diane)! Do you not know, foolish ones, how she was persecuted by Juno when the hour of her delivery approached? She could find refuge neither in heaven nor on earth, so contemptuously was she regarded! At last the island of Delos pitied the fugitive and said to her: ‘Thou wanderest about restless, like myself, and so I have compassion for thee and offer thee refuge.’ She remained at Delos and bore the Twins who are so highly esteemed by mortals—Apollo and Diane. But am not I with my fourteen children more blest than she with two? She is almost childless, but I am rich in children. So take the laurels from your brows and leave the altar of the goddess who is far less fortunate than I.”
The Theban women reluctantly acceded to her request. Holding their wreaths in their hands, they stole away, but did not forget to supplicate their goddess in light murmurs.
Latona was angry at the insult which Niobe offered her. She called her children, Apollo and Artemis, and said to them: “Behold, my children, how that woman has dishonored me and how the Theban women have forsaken my altar!”
While the goddess was requesting them to avenge her shameful treatment, Apollo interposed and said: “Say no more, divine mother, your wrongs shall be speedily righted.” Artemis said the same. Thereupon they betook themselves to the castle built by Cadmus. Nearby they found the fields covered with the tracks of horses which Niobe’s sons were driving about. Suddenly Ismenos, the eldest, cried out in agony. Behold, his heart was pierced with a silver arrow shot by Apollo from a cloud with his unerring bow. The youth paled at the sight and his gold-mounted bridle dropped from his hands. He raised his head again and fell, dying, from his horse.
When Sipylus saw this, terror seized him and he sought to escape. But his fate overtook him. The arrow was shot at him with such skill that it pierced his throat. Plunging forward, his blood ran down his steed’s white neck and a moment after he fell lifeless to the earth.
Two sons skilled in the ring stood breast to breast and the same fatal arrow pierced both. Alphenor, seeing them fall, threw himself upon them with loud lamentation. His death came quickly, for his body was also pierced by an arrow. His moans had hardly ceased when Damasichthos fell wounded in the knee. While trying to stanch the wound, a second arrow pierced him and he sank dead to the earth. The youngest of the sons, Ilioneus, alone remained. The beautiful boy fell upon his knees and thus implored: “All ye gods, spare me!” Apollo was touched, but it was too late, for the fatal arrow was already on its way and reached its mark—the heart of the supplicating one.
A cry of anguish ran through the city. When the king learned what had happened, despair seized him and he ran his sword through his body. Niobe also heard of the horror, but could not believe it. She hurried to the field and found the bleeding bodies. How everything had changed for her who but a short time before had been so boastful! Her face was pitiful to look upon. Even her enemies felt compassion.
She threw herself down, now upon this body, now upon that, and covered them with kisses and tears. Her hair hung down and the blood of her sons stained it and her garments. She raised her arms and wildly cried: “Revengeful Latona, now satisfy your delight in my sufferings. My sons’ death is my death. Triumph, dreadful one, for thou hast overcome me. But no, for I am still richer than thou.”
Hardly had these words escaped her lips before the dismal twang of the bow was heard anew. Horror seized upon the people and the seven daughters who were rushing to the spot. Niobe did not quail. Misfortune had stupefied her. One of the daughters, while seeking to draw the arrow from the heart of Ilioneus, was pierced and fell upon his body. Another, while consoling her mother, fell dead. Thus one after the other was killed until only the youngest was left. She fled to the lap of her mother, who covered her with her cloak. “Only this one is left to me, Implacable One, only this one,” exclaimed Niobe in despair. The death cry was heard, and she held in her arms a bleeding body.
The mother sat amidst her murdered children, rigid with sorrow. Her face was like white marble. Her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. The blood stood still in her veins. Her whole body turned to stone. A storm swept past with a frightful roar. Lo, tears of stone fell from her eyes. Suddenly the hurricane carried her upon its wings and left her among the rocky crags of Sipylus.[18]
A marble block is there to-day and every morning the cold marble weeps.
Bellerophon, grandson of Sisyphus, received from the gods both beauty and manliness, but the heavenly gifts wrought his ruin. Hardly had Queen Antia looked upon him before she forgot her duty to the king and tried to win him for a husband. When Bellerophon learned her purpose, he turned from her with abhorrence. Thereupon she determined to destroy him, and said to her husband: “Kill that profligate who has tried to make me faithless to thee.”
The king’s heart was filled with anger when he learned this, and yet he was reluctant to kill the youth himself. So he wrote a letter and sent Bellerophon with it to his father-in-law, the prince of the rich country of Lycia, who extended hospitalities to him and gave a feast in his honor, which lasted several days. Bellerophon then took the letter, whose contents he did not understand, and gave it to the prince. He was amazed when he read that Bellerophon must die, and disliked to deprive so handsome a youth of his life.
Finally he ordered him to fight with the dreadful Chimæra, a monster having the fore part that of a lion, the middle that of a goat, and the hind part that of a dragon, which continually emitted fire from its jaws. The gods, compassionating the innocent one, sent Pegasus, the winged horse, to him, so that he could raise himself in the air. But he could not catch the horse. Wearied with his exertions, he slept by the edge of a spring. Athene appeared to him there, gave him a golden bridle, and said: “Make an offering to Poseidon, the sea god, and he will aid thee.” When the youth awoke he was holding the bridle in his hand. He at once made the offering and erected an altar to Athene. Then he started to catch the horse, which came to him of its own accord. He placed the golden bridle on it and in his brazen armor vaulted upon the back of the divine steed. It extended its wings at once and took him to the lair of the Chimæra.
Now the battle began. His steed sinking towards the earth, Bellerophon hurled a lance at the animal which penetrated deep into its back. Roaring with rage and pain, the monster reared its dragon body and emitted flames. But its exertions were useless, for Pegasus flew still farther upwards with the youth. It writhed upon the ground and sought to pull out the bronze spear with its jaws. Then it crawled over the fields, streaking them with blood. Bellerophon followed it, when suddenly it coiled itself up as if dead. But it did not deceive him. From on high he shot down a deadly arrow which pierced through its mane into its neck. It sprang up again, but could not reach the youth. Hardly had it sunk down to the ground before another arrow was driven through its eyes. Fearful was its roar. Men and beasts fled far away in terror, but Bellerophon was not afraid. Unerringly he shot the third arrow, which struck the monster between the vertebræ and pierced the marrow. Spouting fire and blood, it died.
When Bellerophon returned from his battle, still harder tasks awaited him. He had first to encounter the famous Solymi and then the bold Amazons. With the aid of the gods he was victorious, but on his homeward way new danger awaited him. The king sent out a troop of his most valiant men against him and they approached the unsuspecting Bellerophon from an ambush. But it was of no avail, for after a short battle he overcame them. When he appeared before the prince, the latter said: “Surely thou art innocent and a favorite of the gods, else thou couldst not have escaped all these dangers.” He loved him from that moment and gave him his daughter to wife.
Rich in possessions and honors, Bellerophon lived in Lycia. But his good fortune did not last long. He attempted to fly to heaven with Pegasus to participate in the assemblies of the gods. His efforts were useless and he lost their favor. Pegasus was frightened and threw his rider to the earth, who fell into a field called Aleius because he wandered in it blind the rest of his life. Joyless were his days and at last he died, his heart broken by sorrow. But Pegasus was placed among the stars.
Acrisius was king in Argos. It was once foretold that he would be killed by the son of his daughter, Danaë. Thereupon he shut up his daughter and her son, Perseus by name, in a chest and threw it into a raging flood. The gods pitied the innocent ones and directed it to the island of Seriphus.
The kings of the island, Dictys and Polydectes, were one day drawing a net from the sea. Great was their astonishment when they found a chest in the net and heard sorrowful moanings in its interior. They opened it and the noble Danaë stepped out with her beautiful son. Dictys took them home with him and cared for them as if they had been his own brother and sister.
When Perseus reached his young manhood, he surpassed everyone in skill and dexterity in martial sports. Polydectes conceived evil designs against the innocent Danaë, and as he feared Perseus he decided to send him out of the country. He soon found the opportunity. He gave a banquet to the leading men of the island, at which he announced that he was going to take a wife. He also required each one of them to procure a beautiful horse for a wedding gift. In his youthful presumptuousness Perseus said: “Whatever you wish I promise to do. Even should you request the head of the Gorgon, I would procure it for you.”
The king replied: “Bring me the Gorgon’s head, but know this: If you do not keep your word, your mother Danaë shall make compensation.”
Troubled in mind, Perseus went to the seashore and confided his fears to the waves. Hermes, the divine messenger, at once appeared and promised his assistance. He conducted him to the house of Night in the extreme limits of the earth, where there is neither the golden light of the sun nor the mild lustre of the moon. The daughters of Phorcus, the monster, who were gray at birth, dwelt in that fearful darkness. They had but one eye and one tooth, common to them all. The fearless Perseus snatched from them both eye and tooth. They raised a frightful clamor and implored the youth to restore them. “It shall be done,” said Perseus, “if you will show me the way to the nymphs.” They did so, and he returned them.
From the nymphs he received the cloak of Pluto, the winged shoes of Mercury, and the shield of Minerva. He donned the cloak which rendered him invisible, and fastened the winged shoes to his feet. Hermes gave him a sword. Then he rose in the air with his winged feet and in a trice reached Oceanus. There dwelt the sisters, the terrible Gorgons, whose heads were covered with snakes. The chill of death struck those who looked upon them, their breath left them, and they turned to stone. The monsters slept with their faces turned downwards.
As Perseus courageously approached with his drawn sword, Hermes and Athene suddenly stood at his side, instructing him how to begin so as to keep his word. “Advance so you do not see the faces,” said they, “lest they turn you to stone. Draw your sword only against the middle one of the Gorgons, the Medusa, for she alone is mortal. When you have recognized her, raise this gleaming shield in which her face will be mirrored.”
After these words, the immortals left the youth. Approaching nearer, he saw the figure of the Gorgon on his shield. He raised his sword and struck off her head. He then seized it by the snaky hair, fastened it to his shield, and hurried away. The two living Gorgons awoke and swept the air with their wings, but could not catch the youth, as the cloak of Pluto hid him from their sight.
On his way back, Perseus came to Ethiopia. The people there were in great trouble, for a dreadful calamity had happened to them. The water of the sea was in flood and had brought with it a monster which devoured men and animals. The oracle was consulted and gave this answer: “Only when Andromeda, the king’s daughter, is given to the sea monster for food will the flood abate.” Although the noble maiden was greatly beloved, there was a universal demand to offer her up and save the country. Andromeda was thereupon taken to a rock and securely bound to it.
Flying through the air, Perseus saw the maiden. He immediately descended and ascertained her fate. Then he hastened to the king and asked him if he would give his daughter to him for wife if he freed the country from the monster. The king promised that he would.
Perseus betook himself to the shore and awaited the appearance of the monster. It soon emerged from the water and made for the rocks to devour the maiden. Perseus attacked and killed it after a hard fight. The waves of the sea at once receded and the country was freed from the pest. The king gave the victor his daughter for wife and a great festival was held in his honor.
After some time had elapsed, Perseus bethought himself of the promise he had made King Polydectes to bring him the Gorgon’s head, and therefore made his way with his wife to the island of Seriphus, where Polydectes ruled in common with his brother.
How astonished Polydectes was when he saw the hero returning whose death he had wished! Perseus held the head of Medusa before the king. The sight of it turned him to stone instantly. When Polydectes had thus been punished, Perseus gave the Medusa’s head to Athene, who fastened it in the middle of her breastplate. The shield, cloak, and shoes he gave to Hermes, who returned them to the nymphs.
Perseus now went back to Argos, his homeland. When Acrisius heard he was approaching the castle, he fled to the Pelasgians. Perseus followed him and found him there. He implored him to return with him to Argos and promised that he would do him no harm. This reassured Acrisius and he agreed to follow him.
On the day fixed for their departure a contest was arranged by the Pelasgians in which Perseus took part. He engaged in disk throwing and Perseus struck his grandfather upon the foot with the disk, which led to his illness and death. Thus the prophecy was fulfilled.
Perseus lived long and happily with his wife Andromeda, who bore him six sons and two daughters.
Agenor, hearing of the extraordinary abduction of Europa,[19]called his son Cadmus to him and ordered him to bring back the maiden or never again enter his house. Cadmus wandered over the earth for a long time, but could nowhere find his sister. As he did not dare to venture home without her, he consulted the oracle and asked where she might dwell.
The oracle replied: “In a lonely field you will find a young steer which has never worn a yoke. Follow it, and where it lies down in the soft grass to rest, there build a city. It shall be called Thebes, and the country round about, Bœotia.”
Cadmus left the cave in which he had heard the voice of the deity and soon found the steer which had never worn a yoke. He followed it with his companions, humbly supplicating Apollo. The steer led him afar, but at last stopped, turned its head towards him and his companions, and loudly lowed. Then it laid down in the soft grass.
Cadmus knelt down, kissed the soil, and greeted the surrounding fields, mountains, and forests. Then turning to his companions he said: “Arise, and bring water that we may make an offering to Zeus, the all-powerful.”
There was a forest nearby which had never been touched by the axe. In the centre of this forest they found a cavern, grown round about with bushes, from which an abundance of water gushed. This cavern was the lair of a dragon. The body of the monster was swollen with poison. Fire darted from its eyes, its crest gleamed golden, its tongue was thrice cloven, and there were triple rows of teeth in its jaws.
As the men, suspecting no danger, made their way through the forest, they heard the plashing of water. Joyously they hastened towards it and came to the cavern. But hardly had they dipped their buckets into the water before the dragon awoke from its sleep. It raised itself and beheld the victims who had approached it so unsuspectingly. Suddenly the men heard a frightful hissing, and as they looked around they saw the dragon’s bluish head emerging from the cavern. They dropped their buckets. Their faces grew deadly pale and their limbs trembled. In the meantime the dragon coiled its scaly body and arched itself over the men so that they could not fly. Not one of them escaped. The monster tore some with its teeth, killed some by strangling them in its coils, and the rest were killed by the poisonous breath from its throat.
It was already midday, and as the men had not returned, Cadmus decided to search for them. He threw around him the shaggy lion’s skin which served for a cloak and donned his glittering helmet. He took two spears with him. He had not gone far before he saw the dragon and under it his dead companions, whose wounds the horrible monster was licking.
“I will have revenge or die like you,” he cried. He seized a huge rock and hurled it at the dragon with such force that it might have shattered a tower, but it did not harm the monster. The rock glanced from its scaly hide and fell heavily to the ground. Deep into its back he hurled a spear, the point of which penetrated its entrails. The monster reared, bent its neck, and seized the spear with its teeth. It jerked it one side and the other powerfully and at last tore it out. But it had only taken out the handle. The iron remained sticking in the entrails. In its fury its eyes flashed fire terribly, its veins and throat swelled, and white foam flew from its poisonous jaws. Next it coiled itself, with a terrible rattling of its scales, and hurled itself at Cadmus with the swiftness of lightning. Cadmus sprang to one side and plunged his second spear into the dragon’s neck. The spear glanced, the dragon turned its neck, seized it, and broke it to pieces. Cadmus thereupon drew his sword and drove it into its neck with such force that it not only ran it through, but also penetrated an oak, thus holding the dragon fastened to the tree. It coiled itself around the trunk and lashed it with its tail until it shook. Cadmus sprang back, for the air was poisonous near the monster. Blood and foam streamed from its neck and at last it died.
As Cadmus advanced to look at the monster, Athene suddenly appeared at his side and said: “Cadmus, make a circle in the ground with your sword and furrow it and sow in the furrows the teeth of the dead dragon.”
Athene disappeared and Cadmus set about the work. He furrowed the soil with his strong arms, took the dragon’s teeth, scattered them in the furrows, and covered them with earth. Lo, instantly the clods stirred, spear points pierced upwards, followed by glittering helmets, bearded heads, and at last the bodies of armed men. The human crop increased until at last a troop of warriors stood before him. Cadmus sprang to his weapons, but one of the warriors said: “Do not arm yourself, Cadmus, but avoid the contest.”
Thereupon the warriors began to attack each other and a mighty struggle ensued. Only five of them survived. Their weapons were thrown to the ground and they made peace with each other. The five followed the brave Cadmus and helped him to build the city upon the spot designated by the oracle. He named it Thebes, as Apollo had ordered.[20]
Dionysus (Bacchus) was the son of Zeus and Semele, daughter of Cadmus of Thebes. By the orders of Zeus the child was intrusted to Hermes, to be taken to Nysa, a majestic island with clear flowing streams and ever green meadows. The fruit-bearing trees are covered with vine clusters and the ocean breezes temper the sun’s heat. In the midst of this island is a beautiful valley. The tops of the trees are so closely interwoven that neither a sun ray nor a drop of rain can penetrate them. There is a cavern there, whose rocky arches gleam with variegated colors. Upon either side are lofty trees, some in continual blossom, others loaded with spicy fruit. Brilliantly plumaged birds nest in the trees and their songs are wonderfully melodious. Flowers grow beneath the trees, filling the air with perennial perfume. There are also resting places for the nymphs there; not made by men, but fashioned by nature. One never sees a withered flower there, nor a dry leaf, nor a trace of decay.
Hermes took the child there to be brought up by the nymphs. The boy, named Dionysus (Bacchus), grew rapidly and travelled over various countries to teach men vine growing. He went to Egypt and Syria and received from Rhea, mother of Zeus, his India coat, variegated deerskin, and thyrsus. He next passed through the golden vales of Lydia, the sunny plains of Phrygia and Persia, and the rough country of Media. He visited Arabia the blest and nearly all Asia paid him reverence. He rode in a gold-gleaming chariot, drawn by leopards. A multitude of cupids, nymphs, fauns, and satyrs followed him. The old and continually drunken Silenus also belonged to his retinue, which accompanied its pæans with the clash of cymbals and the music of Phrygian flutes.
Once it happened that Silenus fell asleep in a wood and was left behind. Some Lydian peasants found the old man and carried him upon a litter of branches to their king, Midas, at whose palace Bacchus later arrived. Finding that Silenus had been hospitably entertained, Bacchus assured Midas that any wish of his should be granted. Midas requested that whatever he touched might turn to gold. The request was granted, but Midas soon found that his wish would prove fatal, for not only water and wine, but fruit and all kinds of food, turned to gold when he touched them. Repenting his folly, he implored Bacchus to recall the gift. Taking pity upon him, Bacchus ordered him to bathe in the river Pactolus, having done which, he was soon relieved. From that time the sands of that river became gold.
Dionysus next came to the country of Edoni, free passage through which had been promised him by Lycurgus, its prince. When he encamped in the woods with his train he was suddenly attacked by the treacherous prince. He placed himself under the protection of the sea goddess, Thetis, but he and his retinue were taken prisoners and fettered. The punishment of this misdeed came quickly. Lycurgus was seized by an incurable madness, and thinking his own son was a vine he cut off his hands and feet with an axe. But when he saw the bleeding body lying upon the earth he realized what he had done and released Bacchus. But retribution was not yet complete. The earth bore nothing for his people a whole year long. The Edonians in despair consulted the oracle, which announced that full compensation could be rendered only by the death of the king. He was seized and taken to the mountain of Pangaeus where he was torn to pieces by wild horses.
Bacchus next went to Thebes, the city of his birth. The palace was in ashes and his mother had perished in it, struck down by Zeus’ thunderbolts. The gray Cadmus was still living, but no longer ruled the city. Pentheus was its prince and to him came the blind seer Tiresias announcing the approach of Bacchus. He was enraged at the words of the seer and rebuked the Thebans when he saw them arraying themselves to meet him. “Is it possible,” he exclaimed, “that you have forgotten your origin? Your fathers were heroes and you would bow before a boy who smears his tresses with balsams, wears a wreath of vine leaves in place of a helmet, and a purple cloak in place of armor?”
Thereupon he despatched his servants with orders to seize Bacchus and bind him. His friends were alarmed when they heard this order. Their entreaties were useless; he only adhered more firmly to his purpose. It was not long before the servants returned, bringing Bacchus in fetters. Pentheus said to his people jubilantly: “Now, you know what fools you were,” and ordered Bacchus to be imprisoned. Then he sent his servants to arrest the whole train, when something wonderful occurred. The earth shook, flames played about the columns of the palace, and Bacchus rose in majesty from his prison. The king was terrified and tried to escape. But he could not avoid his punishment. He was suddenly seized with a longing to witness the revels of Bacchus’ followers. Bacchus ordered that he should appear to them as a wild animal. With fearful cries the Bacchantes rushed upon him and killed him.
From Thebes Bacchus went to Argos, and from thence he decided to cross over to Naxos, and made his arrangements with some sea robbers. Not knowing him, they decided to sell him as a slave and pass by Naxos. Suddenly they beheld a stream of wine flowing over the deck and filling the whole vessel with its perfume. Red clusters of grapes hung from the sails. Wreaths of flowers and fruits extended up the mast to the pennant. The crew were overcome with astonishment. “A divinity directs the ship,” cried the most sensible of them; “let us sail to Naxos.” But it was too late. Bacchus suddenly stood on the deck in the form of a lion, seized the leader of the pirates, and tore him to pieces. When the others saw his fate, they sprang into the sea and were changed to dolphins. Thus Bacchus punished their misdeeds. After founding many temples he took his mother Semele to Olympus.
Actæon was the son of the hunt-loving deity, Aristæus, and Autonoë, daughter of Cadmus. When he had passed the childhood age he was taken to the woody mountain of Pelion by the wise centaur, Chiron, and trained as a robust hunter. It was his greatest pleasure to hunt in the valleys and mountains. One day he hunted with some jovial companions in the forests of Mount Cithæron until midday, when it grew so hot that he rested in the cool shade of the trees. While reposing, he called his companions to him and said: “We have game enough. Our steel and traps are drenched with blood. Let us end hunting for to-day. When the sun rises in the morning we will resume the joyous sport.” Thus he spoke and dismissed his willing companions. Then he went with his hounds deeper into the forest to find a cool, shadowy spot where he could sleep through the heat of the noon and rest his wearied limbs.
He reached a valley full of fir trees and lofty cypresses, called Gargaphia, which was sacred to Artemis. Deep in a corner of the valley he found a leafy grotto. The rocky arch seemed to be the product of human skill, but was the work of nature. A stream murmured gently along, whose clear water, bordered by green turf, broadened out into a wide pool. This was the spot where the goddess, tired with the chase, bathed her sacred limbs. She was in the grotto, attended by her nymphs, one of whom took her hunting spear and bow. Another relieved the goddess of her cloak, and two of them unloosed her sandals. The beautiful Crocale, cleverest of them all, fastened her tresses together in a knot. Then her attendants filled urns with water and poured it over the goddess.
While the goddess was thus enjoying her bath, Actæon approached through the bushes by an untrodden way. Evil destiny led him to the sacred haunt of Artemis’ grotto. Unsuspecting any harm, he entered, delighted to have found such a cool resting place. When the nymphs beheld a man, they cried aloud and crowded about their mistress to conceal her with their bodies; but being a head taller, the goddess towered above them all. Her glowing face wore a wrathful look, and her eyes were sternly fixed upon the intruder, who stood motionless, surprised, and dazzled by the wondrous sight.
It would have been better for the unfortunate Actæon had he fled at once, for the goddess suddenly bent her head, dipped up water with her hand, sprinkled it over the face and hair of the youth, and said in a threatening tone: “What thou hast seen, now tell to men, if thou canst.” Hardly had the last word been uttered when unspeakable distress seized him. Swiftly he dashed off, and in his running was amazed by his speed. The unfortunate one did not notice that antlers sprang from his head, that his neck was longer, that his ears were pointed, his arms changed to legs, and his hands to hoofs. His limbs were covered with a dappled skin. He was no longer a man, but had been changed by the wrathful goddess to a stag. As he fled, he saw his image mirrored in the water. “Woe is me,” he would have cried, but his voice was mute and no word escaped from his groaning breast. He could only utter a sigh of despair. Tears poured from his eyes, but not upon human cheeks. Only his heart, his old recollection, remained.