So from the depths of the inmost earth Thetis summoned Briareos to the aid of Zeus, and presently his giant form was seen in the hall of Olympos; and the G.o.ds trembled as he sat down by the side of Zeus, exulting in the greatness of his strength. And Zeus spoke, and said, "Hearken to me, O lady Here, and Poseidon, and Athene. I know your counsels, and how ye purposed to bind me for my evil deeds; but fear not. Only do my bidding in time to come, and ye shall no more have cause to say that Zeus is a hard and cruel master."

DIONYSOS.

In the dark land beneath the earth, where wander the ghosts of men, lay Semele, the daughter of Kadmos, while her child Dionysos grew up full of strength and beauty on the flowery plain of Orchomenos. But the wrath of the lady Here still burned alike against the mother and the child. No pity felt she for the helpless maiden whom the fiery lightning of Zeus had slain; and so in the prison-house of Hades Semele mourned for the love which she had lost, waiting till her child should lead her forth to the banquet of the G.o.ds. But for him the wiles of Here boded long toil and grievous peril. On the land and on the sea strange things befel him; but from all dangers his own strong arm and the love of Zeus, his father, rescued him. Thus throughout the land men spake of his beauty and his strength, and said that he was worthy to be the child of the maiden who had dared to look on the majesty of Zeus. At length the days of his youth were ended, and a great yearning filled his heart to wander through the earth and behold the cities and the ways of men. So from Orchomenos Dionysos journeyed to the sea-sh.o.r.e, and he stood on a jutting rock to gaze on the tumbling waters. The glad music of the waves fell upon his ear and filled his soul with a wild joy. His dark locks streamed gloriously over his shoulders, and his purple robe rustled in the soft summer breeze. Before him on the blue waters the ships danced merrily in the sparkling sunlight, as they hastened from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e on the errands of war and peace. Presently a ship drew near to the beach. Her white sail was lowered hastily to the deck, and five of her crew leaped out and plunged through the sea-foam to the sh.o.r.e, near the rock on which stood Dionysos. "Come with us," they said, with rough voices, as they seized him in their brawny arms; "it is not every day that Tyrrhenian mariners fall in with youths like thee." With rude jests they dragged him into the ship, and there made ready to bind him. "A brave youth and fair he is," they said; "we shall not lack bidders when we put forth our goods for sale." So round his limbs they fastened stout withy bands, but they fell from off him as withered leaves fall from off trees in autumn, and a careless smile played on his face as he sat down and looked calmly on the robbers who stood before him. Then on a sudden the voice of the helmsman was heard, as he shouted, "Fools, what do ye? The wrath of Zeus is hurrying you to your doom. This youth is not of mortal race; and who can tell which of the undying G.o.ds has put on this beautiful form? Send him straightway from the ship in peace, if ye fear not a deadly storm as we cross the open sea." Loud laughed the crew, as their chief answered, jeeringly, "Look out for the breeze, wise helmsman, and draw up the sail to the wind. That is more thy task than to busy thyself with our doings. Fear not for the boy. The withy bands were but weak; it is no great marvel that he shook them off. He shall go with us, and before we reach Egypt or Cyprus or the land of the Hyperboreans, doubtless he will tell us his name and the name of his father and mother. Fear not, we have found a G.o.dsend."

So the sail was drawn up to the mast, and it swelled proudly before the breeze as the ship dashed through the crested waves. And still the sun shone brightly down on the water, and the soft white clouds floated lazily in the heavens, as the mighty Dionysos began to show signs and wonders before the robbers who had seized him. Over the deck ran a stream of purple wine, and a fragrance as of a heavenly banquet filled the air. Over mast and sailyard clambered the cl.u.s.tering vine, and dark ma.s.ses of grapes hung from the branches. The ivy twined in tangled ma.s.ses round the tackling, and bright garlands shone, like jeweled crowns, on every oar-pin. Then a great terror fell on all, as they cried to the old helmsman, "Quick, turn the ship to the sh.o.r.e; there is no hope for us here." But there followed a mightier wonder still. A loud roar broke upon the air, and a tawny lion stood before them, with a grim and grizzly bear by his side. Cowering like pitiful slaves, the Tyrrhenians crowded to the stern, and crouched round the good helmsman. Then the lion sprang and seized the chief, and the men leaped in their agony over the ship's side. But the power of Dionysos followed them still; and a change came over their bodies as they heard a voice, which said, "In the form of dolphins shall ye wander through the sea for many generations. No rest shall ye have by night or by day, while ye fly from the ravenous sharks that shall chase you through the seas."

But before the old helmsman again stood Dionysos, the young and fair, in all the glory of undying beauty. Again his dark locks flowed gently over his shoulders, and the purple robe rustled softly in the breeze.

"Fear not," he said, "good friend and true, because thou hast aided one who is sprung from the deathless race of the G.o.ds. I am Dionysos, the child of Zeus, the lord of the wine-cup and the revel. Thou hast stood by me in the hour of peril; wherefore my power shall shield thee from the violence of evil men and soothe thee in a green old age, till thine eyes close in the sleep of death and thou goest forth to dwell among brave heroes and good men in the asphodel meadows of Elysium."

Then at the bidding of Dionysos, the north wind came and wafted the ship to the land of Egypt, where Proteus was King. And so began the long wanderings of the son of Semele, through the regions of the Ethiopians and the Indians, towards the rising of the sun.

Whithersoever he went, the women of the land gathered round him with wild cries and songs, and he showed them of his secret things, punishing grievously all who set at naught the laws which he ordained.

So, at his word, Lykurgos, the Edonian chieftain, was slain by his people, and none dared any more to speak against Dionysos, until he came back to the city where Semele, his mother, had been smitten by the lightnings of Zeus.

PENTHEUS.

For many years Dionysos wandered far away from the land of his birth; and wherever he went he taught the people of the country to worship him as a G.o.d, and showed them strange rites. Far away he roamed, to the regions where the Ganges rolls his mighty stream into the Indian Sea, and where the Nile brings every year rich gifts from the southern mountains. And in all the lands to which he came he made the women gather round him and honor him with wild cries and screams and marvelous customs such as they had never known before. As he went onwards the face of the land was changed. The women grouped themselves in companies far away from the sight of men, and, high up on the barren hills or down in the narrow valleys, with wild movements and fierce shoutings, paid honor to Dionysos, the lord of the wine-cup and the feast. At length, through the Thracian highlands and the soft plains of Thessaly, Dionysos came back to Thebes, where he had been born amid the roar of the thunder and the blaze of the fiery lightning. Kadmos, the King, who had built the city, was now old and weak, and he had made Pentheus, the child of his daughter Agave, King in his stead. So Pentheus sought to rule the people well, as his father Kadmos had done, and to train them in the old laws, that they might be quiet in the days of peace, and orderly and brave in war.

[Ill.u.s.tration: VULCAN (_or Hephaistos_).]

Thus it came to pa.s.s that when Dionysos came near to Thebes, and commanded all the people to receive the new rites, which he sought to teach them, it grieved Pentheus at the heart; and when he saw how the women seemed smitten with madness, and that they wandered away in groups to desert places, where they lurked for many days and nights, far from the sight of men, he mourned for the evils which his kinsman, Dionysos, was bringing upon the land. So King Pentheus made a law that none should follow these new customs, and that the women should stay quietly doing their own work in their homes. But when they heard this, they were all full of fury, for Dionysos had deceived them by his treacherous words, and even Kadmos himself, in his weakness and old age, had been led astray by them. In crowds they thronged around the house of Pentheus, raising loud shouts in honor of Dionysos, and besought him to follow the new way, but he would not hearken to them.

Thus it was for many days; and when all the city was shaken by the madness of the new worship, Pentheus thought that he would see with his own eyes the strange rites by which the women, in their lurking-places, did honor to Dionysos. So he went secretly to some hidden dells, whither he knew that the women had gone; but Dionysos saw him and laid his hands upon him, and straightway the mind of King Pentheus himself was darkened, and the madness of the worshipers was upon him, also. Then in his folly he climbed a tall pine-tree, to see what the women did in their revelry; but on a sudden one of them saw him, and they shrieked wildly and rooted up the tree in their fury.

With one accord they seized Pentheus and tore him in pieces; and his own mother, Agave, was among the first to lay hands on her son. So Dionysos, the wine G.o.d, triumphed; and this was the way in which the new worship was set up in the h.e.l.lenic land.

ASKLEPIOS.

On the sh.o.r.es of the Lake Boibeis, the golden-haired Apollo saw and loved Koronis, the beautiful daughter of Phlegyas. Many a time they wandered beneath the branching elms while the dew-drops glistened like jewels on the leaves, or sat beneath the ivy bowers as the light of evening faded from the sky and the blue veil of mist fell upon the sleeping hills. But at length the day came when Apollo must journey to the western land, and as he held Koronis in his arms, his voice fell softly and sadly on her ear. "I go," he said, "to a land that is very far off, but surely I will return. More precious to me than aught else on the wide earth is thy love, Koronis. Let not its flower fade, but keep it fresh and pure as now, till I come to thee again. The dancing Horai trip quickly by, Koronis, and when they bring the day on which I may clasp thee in mine arms once more, it may be that I shall find thee watching proudly over the child of our love."

He was gone, and for Koronis it seemed as though the sun had ceased to shine in the heaven. For many a day she cared not to wander by the winding sh.o.r.e in the light of early morning, or to rest in the myrtle bowers as the flush of evening faded from the sky. Her thoughts went back to the days that were pa.s.sed, when Apollo, the golden-haired, made her glad with the music of his voice. But at length a stranger came to the Boibean land, and dwelt in the house of Phlegyas, and the spell of his glorious beauty fell upon Koronis, and dimmed the love which she had borne for Apollo, who was far away. Again for her the sun shone brightly in the heaven, and the birds filled the air with a joyous music, but the tale went swiftly through the land, and Apollo heard the evil tidings as he journeyed back with his sister, Artemis, to the house of Phlegyas. A look of sorrow that may not be told pa.s.sed over his fair face; but Artemis stretched forth her hand towards the flashing sun and swore that the maiden should rue her fickleness.

Soon, on the sh.o.r.e of the Lake Boibeis, Koronis lay smitten by the spear which may never miss its mark, and her child, Asklepios, lay a helpless babe by her side. Then the voice of Apollo was heard saying, "Slay not the child with the mother, he is born to do great things, but bear him to the wise centaur, Cheiron, and bid him train the boy in all his wisdom, and teach him to do brave deeds, that men may praise his name in the generations that shall be hereafter."

So in the deep glens of Pelion the child, Asklepios, grew up to manhood under the teaching of Cheiron, the wise and good. In all the land there was none that might vie with him in strength of body; but the people marveled yet more at his wisdom, which pa.s.sed the wisdom of the sons of men, for he had learned the power of every herb and leaf to stay the pangs of sickness and bring back health to the wasted form. Day by day the fame of his doings was spread abroad more widely through the land, so that all who were sick hastened to Asklepios and besought his help. But soon there went forth a rumor that the strength of death had been conquered by him, and that Athene, the mighty daughter of Zeus, had taught Asklepios how to bring back the dead from the dark kingdom of Hades. Then, as the number of those whom he brought from the gloomy Stygian land increased more and more, Hades went in hot anger to Olympos, and spoke bitter words against the son of Koronis, so that the heart of Zeus was stirred with a great fear lest the children of men should be delivered from death and defy the power of the G.o.ds. Then Zeus bowed his head, and the lightnings flashed from heaven, and Asklepios was smitten down by the scathing thunderbolt.

Mighty and terrible was the grief that stirred the soul of the golden-haired Apollo when his son was slain. The sun shone dimly from the heaven; the birds were silent in the darkened groves; the trees bowed down their heads in sorrow, and the hearts of all the sons of men fainted within them, because the healer of their pains and sickness lived no more upon the earth. But the wrath of Apollo was mightier than his grief, and he smote the giant Cyclopes, who shaped the fiery lightnings far down in the depths of the burning mountain.

Then the anger of Zeus was kindled against his own child, the golden-haired Apollo, and he spake the word that he should be banished from the home of the G.o.ds to the dark Stygian land. But the lady Leto fell at his knees and besought him for her child, and the doom was given that a whole year long he should serve as a bondsman in the house of Admetos, who ruled in Pherai.

IXION.

Fair as the blushing clouds which float in early morning across the blue heaven, the beautiful Dia gladdened the hearts of all who dwelt in the house of her father Hesioneus. There was no guile in her soft clear eye, for the light of Eos was not more pure than the light of the maiden's countenance. There was no craft in her smile, for on her rested the love and the wisdom of Athene. Many a chieftain sought to win her for his bride; but her heart beat with love only for Ixion the beautiful and mighty, who came to the halls of Hesioneus with horses which can not grow old or die. The golden hair flashed a glory from his head dazzling as the rays which stream from Helios when he drives his chariot up the heights of heaven, and his flowing robe glistened as he moved like the vesture which the sun-G.o.d gave to the wise maiden Medeia, who dwelt in Kolchis.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MINERVA, OR PALLAS ATHENE. (_Found in Pompeii._)]

Long time Ixion abode in the house of Hesioneus, for Hesioneus was loth to part with his child. But at the last Ixion sware to give for her a ransom precious as the golden fruits which Helios wins from the teeming earth. So the word was spoken, and Dia the fair became the wife of the son of Amythaon, and the undying horses bare her away in his gleaming chariot. Many a day and month and year the fiery steeds of Helios sped on their burning path, and sank down hot and wearied in the western sea; but no gifts came from Ixion, and Hesioneus waited in vain for the wealth which had tempted him to barter away his child.

Messenger after messenger went and came, and always the tidings were that Ixion had better things to do than to waste his wealth on the mean and greedy. "Tell him," he said, "that every day I journey across the wide earth, gladdening the hearts of the children of men, and that his child has now a more glorious home than that of the mighty G.o.ds who dwell on the high Olympos. What would he have more?" Then day by day Hesioneus held converse with himself, and his people heard the words which came sadly from his lips. "What would I more?" he said; "I would have the love of my child. I let her depart, when not the wealth of Phbus himself could recompense me for her loss. I bartered her for gifts, and Ixion withholds the wealth which he sware to give. Yet were all the riches of his treasure-house lying now before me, one loving glance from the eyes of Dia would be more than worth them all."

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 Phbus 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds 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 aether 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 G.o.ds 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 aether, 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, Euryana.s.sa, they said, came of the race of the undying G.o.ds, 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 t.i.tan, and had stolen from the banquet-hall of Zeus the food and drink of the G.o.ds, 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 G.o.ds 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 pa.s.sed 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 G.o.ds. 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 G.o.ds. Then he spake the word that Herakles should dwell with the G.o.ds 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 gla.s.sy 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 pa.s.s 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 G.o.ds 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 l.u.s.ts 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds, 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 G.o.ds."

Then Herakles bowed down his head and sware to follow her counsels; and when the two maidens pa.s.sed 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 chalia, 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.