Gods and Heroes

She therefore pretended a great admiration for Theseus, and got the king to hold a great festival in his honor. It was arranged that Ægeus, during the feast, should send him a golden cup filled with wine, in which Medea secretly steeped one of her deadliest poisons.

All went as she had planned. Ægeus sent the poisoned goblet by one of the cup-bearers to Theseus, who stood up to drink the health of the king and queen. But —

“Hold!” suddenly cried Ægeus, starting; “what sword is that at your side?”

Theseus put down the cup to answer: —

“It is the sword with which I fought my way to Athens. I wear it to-day as my sword of honor.”

“But how comes it at your side?”

Then Theseus told the story of how it had been left by his unknown father under a stone at Trœzene, and how his mother’s name was Æthra. Scarcely had he finished when Ægeus, leaving his throne, fell upon his neck, exclaiming: —

“I was that father! You are my first-born son, and the heir to my crown!”

The Athenians, who already looked upon Theseus as their national hero, greeted their prince and future king with shouts of joy; and when the first excitement was over, Medea was seen no more. Enraged at the failure of her plot, and fearing discovery and vengeance, she vanished from Athens: some said they had seen her borne by dragons through the air. And this is the last of her.

Freed from her evil influence, the old love of Ægeus for Æthra revived, and he could not make enough of his and Æthra’s son. But Theseus did not become idle, and became in all ways the champion and protector of his father’s people. It was he who caught alive the famous wild bull of Marathon, which had ravaged the country for years, and sacrificed it to Minerva. He never spared himself, and he never failed.

At last, however, drew nigh that evil hour of Athens – that day in every year when the seven youths and seven maidens had to be sent to King Minos of Crete to be devoured by the Minotaur. The rule was to choose the victims by lot: so that none felt safe who had sons and daughters young enough to suit the taste of the monster. The seven girls were first chosen. But when it came to drawing lots for the youths, Theseus said: —

“You need draw only six this year. I will myself be the seventh. It may be that I shall find a way to deliver Athens from this tribute; if not, it is for a prince who cannot save his people to perish with them.”

Ægeus was in despair. But no entreaties could turn Theseus from his desperate resolve: neither the prayers of his own father, nor those of all the fathers and mothers in Athens, who would have drawn the seventh lot rather than he who was the pride and hope of the city should go to certain destruction. The ship which bore the yearly victims to Crete always carried black sails in token of public mourning. Theseus, in order to leave a little hope behind him, promised that, if he came back alive, he would hoist a white sail while returning, so that his safety might be seen from afar. Then, in solemn procession, amid the weeping of the crowd, the youths and maidens embarked in the black-sailed ship, Theseus leading them with the calmness of the only true courage – that which can, in cold blood, face danger for the sake of duty. None would have thought the worse of him had he stayed behind: and if he perished it would be as a mere victim, and without glory. Nor was it as if he were encouraged by any oracles, or helped by gifts from the gods. He is the first hero who was both a mere man and who never had any help but his own manfulness. And for all these reasons I think that his voyage to Crete is the finest story I have yet told.

When the ship reached Crete, the fourteen victims were conducted to the Labyrinth, there to be imprisoned until they should be given to the Minotaur. As they passed before Minos and his Court, the king’s youngest daughter, Ariadne, was filled with pity and love for Theseus, and set her thoughts to work how she might save him from his doom. But how in the world was such a thing to be done? None without the clue could either enter or escape from the maze: and even were that possible, it was not likely that the Minotaur would let himself be balked of his prey.

But she watched and waited: she hovered round the Labyrinth night after night, examining every door: until at last she was rewarded by finding, just within one of them, a little silken skein hidden away in a dark corner. The next night, having procured a torch and a sword, she bravely entered the door where the skein was, and, by winding up the silk, followed the clue. Through one twisting passage after another she wandered on and on, up and down long flights of steps, sometimes through great halls confused with columns, and sometimes through tunnels in which it was scarcely possible to stand. There seemed no end to the way. At last, however, the end of the silken thread told her that she had reached the inmost hall: and there her torch showed a sight that froze her with fear.

The victims had been delivered over to the Minotaur. Crowded together in a corner of the hall were six youths and seven girls: stamping and tossing his horned head was the horrible monster, furious with hunger and the sight of human food. Between the Minotaur and his despairing prey stood Theseus, facing the monster, so that he, by being the first victim, might prolong the lives of the others. He had no hope: he could not even struggle, for his hands were bound behind him with cords.

The sight of his courage gave back Ariadne hers. She darted forward, and cut his bonds with her sword. “Fly!” she cried: “follow me – I have the clue!” But as soon as Theseus felt the touch of the steel, he seized the sword from her hand, and, instead of flying, set upon the Minotaur with such fury that the monster bellowed with rage, amazement, and pain.

It was the hardest fight Theseus had ever fought: the wild bull of Marathon had been nothing to the Minotaur, who fought with a bull’s strength and a man’s skill and cunning. But the champion of Athens prevailed at last: and the monster fell dead with a groan which echoed through the Labyrinth like the bellowing of thunder.

“It will wake the whole city!” cried Ariadne: “follow me!” Theseus and his companions, scarce knowing that they were saved, followed Ariadne, who wound up the clue as she ran. When they reached the entrance-gate, the alarm of their escape had been given. Making straight for the shore, they found their black-sailed ship, sped on board, and, thanks to a kindly wind, were out at sea before they could be pursued.

The wind carried them to the island of Naxos: and here they remained – Theseus, Ariadne, and the rest – till the breeze should blow towards Athens. Such a breeze came in time; and then Theseus set sail for home with his thirteen companions, leaving Ariadne behind, to her great sorrow. Nor can anything make me believe that he meant this for a real parting, or that she thought so. One can think of many reasons why she should remain in Naxos for a while: it is quite certain that her powerful father Minos, who had already conquered the Athenians, and shown, by a cruel vengeance, how he hated them, would have attacked them again with all his fleets and armies if he had heard that they were giving shelter to a daughter who had betrayed him. So, leaving Ariadne safe in Naxos, Theseus returned to Athens as the savior of his city and the slayer of the Minotaur.

Meanwhile his father, Ægeus, had been every day and all day long looking out to sea from the farthest point of the shore for the return from Crete of the ship of mourning. He had but little hope, but nobody can help having a little: nor did he quite despair until one morning he saw on the horizon a vessel which he felt sure was the one he was watching for in such agony of mind. Nearer and nearer it came – alas! its sails were still as black as when it was outward bound. Theseus had forgotten to hoist the white sail which was to be the sign of safety.

So Ægeus, giving up his son for lost, threw himself into the sea and perished, just when Theseus was within sight of home. And that sea is called the Ægean, or the Sea of Ægeus, to this day. And thus Theseus, to the joy of the people, but with sorrow in his own heart, found himself king.

And the best of kings he made. The strength of his rule was only equaled by its gentleness. He made wise laws; he took care that all men received justice; he honored the gods; he obtained the respect and friendship of foreign nations; he taught the Athenians to be free, and to govern themselves, so that when he died they remained as great a people as while he was alive.

He sent for his mother, Æthra, and kept her in all love and honor. I wish I could tell you that he sent for Ariadne also. But he never had any other wife: and she was lost to him. There is a strange, mysterious story of how, when she was left sorrowing in Naxos, the god Bacchus (of whom you read in the First Story of Midas) – the god of the bounty of Nature and of the joy that men and women find in her – comforted Ariadne, and made her his bride, and raised her above the earth, giving her a crown of seven stars, which is still to be seen in the sky, and is called “Ariadne’s Crown.”

And there is a yet stranger story of how Theseus, after he was king, had the very wildest of all adventures – nothing less than an attempt to rescue from Hades the goddess Proserpine, and other imprisoned souls. But what happened to him there, and how he escaped the punishment of his daring, belongs to another story. It is as the hero and champion of Athens that he is remembered: and as such we will leave him.

THE HERO OF HEROES

PART I. – THE ORACLE

PERSEUS and Andromeda had two sons, Alcæus, King of Thebes, and Electryon, King of Argos and Mycenæ. Alcæus had a son named Amphitryon, and Electryon had a daughter named Alcmena. These two cousins – Amphitryon and Alcmena – married; and Jupiter resolved that they should have a son who should be the greatest and most famous of men.

But Juno was in one of her jealous moods; and she was especially jealous that such favor should be shown to Alcmena. Having considered how she should spoil his plan, she came to Jupiter in seeming good-humor, and said: —

“I have a question to ask you. Of two first cousins, which shall rule the other, and which shall serve – the elder or the younger?”

“Why, of course, the elder must rule the younger,” answered Jupiter.

“You swear that – by the Styx?” asked Juno.

“By the Styx,” Jupiter answered, wondering what she could mean by what seemed so trifling a question, and then thinking no more of the matter. But Juno knew what she meant very well. Alcmena had a brother, Sthenelus, who had married the Princess Nicippe of Phrygia. And Juno said to herself, “They also may have a son as well as Alcmena. Then the two boys would be first cousins; and Jupiter has sworn that the first-born shall rule the other. So if Nicippe has a son first, Alcmena’s son will have to serve him and obey him: and then, O Jupiter, there will be a greater man than Alcmena’s son; for he who rules must be greater than he who obeys.”

Now it is Juno herself who settles when children shall come into the world. It was easy, therefore, for her to manage so that Nicippe’s son should be born two whole months before Alcmena’s. Jupiter was enraged when, too late, he found what a trick had been played upon him; but he had sworn by the Styx – the oath which could not be broken. Thus it became the will of heaven that the son of Alcmena should be the servant of the son of Nicippe.

The son of Nicippe was named Eurystheus: the son of Alcmena was named Hercules.

About the childhood of Eurystheus there was nothing remarkable. But when Hercules and his twin-brother, Iphicles, were only eight months old, the whole palace of Amphitryon was alarmed by the screams of Iphicles, which brought Alcmena and the whole household running into the room where the two children had been left alone. They saw a strange sight indeed. Poor Iphicles was found half dead with fright in a corner; and no wonder, for Hercules was being attacked by two huge serpents which were trying to crush him to death in their coils. But so far from being frightened, Hercules had got one of his baby hands round the neck of each serpent right and left; and so he quietly throttled them till they lay dead upon the floor. And this at only eight months old!

His strength grew with him till it became a marvel like that of Samson among the children of Israel, and in bulk and stature also he towered over all other men. Like many who are large and strong, he was grave and somewhat silent, using, when he spoke, but few words, not easily moved either to action or to anger, but, when once roused, then roused indeed. One seems to think of him as of some great lion. As for training, he had the best that could be given him. Castor taught him how to use the sword; Pollux, how to use his fists; Eurytus, the finest archer in the world, taught him to shoot; Autolycus, to ride and drive. Nor were accomplishments forgotten; for Linus, the brother and pupil of Orpheus, taught him to play the lyre, and Eumolpus to sing. Finally, he was sent to finish his education under Chiron, the Centaur, who had taught Jason, and indeed nearly all the heroes of that age.

At eighteen he was already famous for his strength, his accomplishments, and his promise of a great career. But he was far from perfect in other ways. One finds nothing of the knightliness of his great-grandfather Perseus, or of Theseus, in this strong young giant full of pride and passion, feeling himself already greater than the best of his fellow-creatures, and looking upon the world as if it were made for him alone. He would allow of no opposition to his least desire; he did not desire glory so much as power. Good-tempered as he mostly was, it was not safe to provoke him, as Linus, his music-master, found, who had his own lyre broken upon his head for presuming to correct his pupil a little too sharply.

Hercules now began to think of adventures worthy of his strength, and presently, as if to give him one, a lion came forth from the forests of Mount Cithæron, and ravaged the lands of Thespius, a neighboring king. To hunt and kill it unaided was child’s-play to Hercules. And other services he did to the country, of small account in his own eyes but great in those of others; so that Creon, who was then King of Thebes, gave him his daughter in marriage, and made him his viceroy.

But Nicippe’s son, Eurystheus, now king of Argos and Mycenæ, remembered that he had a right to his younger cousin’s services by the oath of Jupiter. So Eurystheus sent a message to Hercules, commanding him to come forthwith to Mycenæ, and become the king’s servant there.

Hercules, as may well be supposed, haughtily refused to obey this insolent order. Why should he, the ruler of Thebes, already the most famous man in all Greece, as well as the strongest, make a sort of slave of himself to a kinsman whom he scorned? For Eurystheus was just a commonplace person, with even less than common courage, who only wanted to feed his own vanity by having in his service such a man as Hercules to do whatever he bade. “Hercules may be master of Greece; but I am master of Hercules,” was the sort of boast that ran in his mind.

I have said it was not strange that Hercules flatly refused to go to Mycenæ at his cousin’s bidding. But it was more than strange that, from this moment, he began to fall into so strange a state of mind that any one would think he was being haunted by the Furies, until he, the pride of Thebes and the hope of Greece, became a dangerous madman, whom none dared approach for fear of being slain. And all the time his strength still increased; so that it seemed as if he had come into the world to be a terror and a curse to mankind.

Many dreadful things he did in his madness. And when at length the frenzy passed from him, he was left in a more dreadful condition still. He was in an agony of remorse for all the violence he had done, and believed himself to be accursed and an outcast from his fellow-men. Melancholy and despairing, he fled from Thebes, and wandered out alone among the forests and the mountains. And thus he lived like a savage, hiding himself away from the sight of men.

The time came when he thought he could bear life no longer. He felt as if he were hunted by demons, and with the scourges of Hades. In his last despair he wandered to Delphi, in whose temple Apollo’s oracle, or living voice, was heard; and implored the gods to tell him what he should do.

And the voice of Apollo answered him and said: —

“O Hercules! those things were not sins which you did in your madness. Your madness is not sin, but the punishment for your real sin – the sin of pride, and self-love, and defiance of the will of Heaven. In rebelling against Eurystheus, you have rebelled against the gods, who decreed even before your birth that he should rule and you should serve. Is it not so, always? are not oftentimes the good made subject to the wicked, the wise to the foolish, the strong and valiant to the weak and craven? This is the oracle – the gods give each man his own different place and work: to you they have appointed service – therefore Obey. Seek not to know why this should be, nor question the justice of the gods. Know your duty, and do it with your might; and so you will be great enough; for no man can do more than serve the gods with such strength as they have given him.”

For long Hercules stood before the altar, doing battle with his pride. Then, at last, he took the road to Mycenæ. And as he went, each step became quicker, his heart grew lighter, the shadow left his soul, and his peace of mind returned.

PART II. – HIS FIRST LABOR: THE LION

HERCULES, being arrived at Mycenæ, submitted himself to Eurystheus, who, to tell the truth, was a little alarmed at the sight of his cousin, and suspicious of what such sudden submission might mean. And he was all the more bewildered when he saw the humility with which his kinsman approached him. Hercules could not do anything by halves; and in Eurystheus he saw, not a mere insignificant, timid, mean-minded man, but only the master whom the gods had appointed to him.

“And now,” asked Hercules, in his impatience to prove his obedience, “what do you order me to do?”

One would think that Eurystheus would have acted generously. So far from that, however, he thought to himself, “I had better send him on the most dangerous adventure I can think of. If he succeeds, it will be the more glory for me to have such a man under my power; and besides, it will prove whether this submission is real or sham. And if he perishes – well, I shall be safe from danger at his hands.” So he said: —

“You have proved yourself a good lion-hunter. Bring me the carcass of the Nemean lion.”

Now the lion of the forest of Nemea was far more terrible than the lion of Mount Cithæron. However, Hercules set out at once for the forest, glad that his first service was one of honor.

Eurystheus was quite relieved when he was gone; and, sending for skilled workmen, bade them make for him a large brazen pot, big enough to hold him comfortably, and with an opening just large enough for him to get in and out by. For he thought to himself, “If Hercules ever gets angry or rebellious, I can creep into my brazen pot, and be safe there.”

Hercules was not long in finding the lion – the largest, strongest, and fiercest ever seen in the world. He let fly an arrow, but it scarcely pricked the beast’s tough hide; then another, and another; but the lion minded them no more than if they had been shot by a child from a toy bow. At last one, however, pricked him sharply enough to enrage him, and he came on with a rush and a roar. All Hercules had time to do was to pull up a young oak-tree by the roots, for a weapon to meet the charge. The next moment the lion sprang. But Hercules stood his ground, and so belabored the lion with his club that he fairly beat it back into its den, into which he followed it. Then was there a fearful wrestle between Hercules and the lion. But Hercules prevailed, by getting his arms round the lion and crushing its breath out of its body.

Throwing the corpse over his shoulders, and holding it by bringing the fore-legs round his neck, he returned to Mycenæ. Thus equipped, he himself looked like some monstrous lion; and so terrified was Eurystheus at the news that he crept into his brass pot, and in this manner received Hercules, to whom he talked through a speaking-tube in the side.

“Go and kill the Hydra!” he called out.

So Hercules set out on his second labor: and Eurystheus crept out of his pot again.

PART III. – HIS SECOND LABOR: THE HYDRA

NOW the Hydra was more formidable than the lion – nobody in his senses would dream of attacking it with the least hope of succeeding. It was a huge water-snake which lived in Lake Lerna, whence it used to issue to seek for human food. It had a hundred heads, and from each of its hundred mouths darted a forked tongue of flame, dripping with deadly poison.

I said that nobody in his senses would attack the Hydra. But I was not quite right. There was just one sense which would lead a man to attack any evil, even without hope – of course I mean the sense of Duty. And it was in that sense that Hercules set forth for Lake Lerna. But he did not go to work without ample forethought, and taking all the precautions he could think of. He remembered the thickness and toughness of the Nemean lion’s skin; so he had it made into a sort of cloak, which served him for armor better than brass or steel. He also made the young oak-tree into a regular club, which thenceforth became his favorite weapon. And instead of going alone, he took with him his friend and kinsman Iolas, to act as his squire. You may always know Hercules in pictures and statues by his knotted club and his lion-skin.

It was easy enough to find the Hydra – only too easy. It had its nest in a foul stagnant swamp, the air of which its breath turned to poison. Giving Iolas his other arms to hold, Hercules attacked the Hydra with his club alone, trusting to his lion-skin to receive the strokes of the creature’s fangs. With a tremendous blow he crushed one of the Hydra’s hundred heads, leaving ninety-nine more to destroy if he could hold out so long. That was bad enough to think of – but, to his dismay, out of the crushed head sprang two new living heads: and out of each of these, when he beat them to pieces, sprang forth two more. And so it was with every head the Hydra had: so that, in truth, the more Hercules destroyed it, the stronger it grew – its hundred heads were rapidly becoming a thousand; and the thousand would become ten thousand; and so on, forever.

Just as Hercules realized the hopelessness of the labor, and was finding it work enough to ward off the innumerable fangs, a wretched crab crawled out of the ooze and seized him by the foot, so that he almost fainted with the sudden pain. It was too cruel, in the midst of such a battle as that, to feel himself at the mercy of the miserable vermin of the slime.

However, he crushed the crab under his heel, and, ceasing to multiply his enemies by killing them, contented himself with defense, while he thought what could possibly be done.

“No doubt those first hundred heads must all have come from some one head,” thought he. “They could not grow like that without a root; so that if I could only destroy the root they would cease to grow. This is my mistake: I am fighting only with what I see, instead of going to the root of things, and attacking the evil there.”

So he called out to Iolas to heat a piece of iron red-hot; and when this was ready, to stand by, and to scorch with it the place of every head which the club shattered. The plan answered wonderfully. Hercules crushed head after head; Iolas applied the red-hot iron; and so root after root was burned up and perished. And at last they came to the root of all the heads; and when this was reached and burned, the monster sputtered and died, just when Hercules felt that he, strong as he was, could scarce have struck another blow.

Hercules cut open the Hydra, and dipped his arrows in its gall, so that they should give deadly wounds. Wearily he returned to Mycenæ, hoping for a little rest. But Eurystheus had hidden himself in his brazen pot again, whence he cried out: —

“Be off at once; and catch the stag of Œnoe alive!”