|
The Favourite of the Gods
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE FAVOURITE OF THE GODS
I
[1]
 |
ONG, long ago, in an Eastern land, there lived a King who
was the richest man in the world. The rivers in his
country ran over golden sands, and their banks sparkled
with gems instead of pebbles. The King's fields were
full of stones, but he did not mind that, for every
stone was a lump of silver, and the hillsides were
bursting with rich red copper, which was even better
than gold or silver for making shields and helmets and
suits of armour. All the wealth of the land was the
King's very own, and he hardly knew what to do with it
all, he had so much. Besides being so rich, Tantalus,
for that was his name, was so lucky in everything he
put his hand to, that people began to say he was the
special favourite of the gods, who had given him
everything the heart of man can desire. Now for a long
while, Tantalus deserved all his good fortune; he was
kind and just to his subjects, and famous far and near
for his boundless hospitality to strangers. High and
low, rich and poor,
[2] all travellers were welcome to his house, to stay as
long as they would, faring sumptuously every day, and
none departed without splendid presents. But his heart
grew uplifted with the pride of his power and glory,
till he would not be content, and longed to make
himself still more renowned and envied among men. No
king had a more stately dwelling than the palace in the
city, which his forefathers had builded, but Tantalus
began to despise it as unworthy of his majesty, and it
came into his mind that his people would pay him yet
greater honour and reverence if they were not permitted
to see his splendour every day. He resolved to build
himself a palace on a mountain-top, a golden house that
should dazzle the eyes of all beholders, and dwell
there aloof, like a god in his temple; then when he
came down to the city, the sight of him would be a nine
days' wonder, and the folk would begin to think of him
as greater and more glorious than a mortal man.
So the golden house was built, and shone like a star on
the rocky crest of the mountain. Far below in the city,
men looked up to that glittering speck among the
clouds, and said that their great King was neighbour
now to the gods above. When Tantalus saw the finished
work, his heart swelled with triumph and delight; he
walked through its marble courts, where fountains
[3] spouted from the jaws of golden dragons, through
colonnades of silver pillars, shaped like palm trees,
with broad fans of gold and clustering fruit of rubies,
and came to the banqueting-hall, which was like a vast
bower of roses, yellow, white, and pink, but the
twining branches were golden, and all the roseleaves
were pearls. The ceiling was enamel, the colour of the
sky on a summer night, and at dusk it glowed like the
sky with a thousand stars, which were lamps hollowed
out of gems. Tantalus had ordered a splendid feast to
be made ready, that he might sup for the first time in
this hall of roses. He watched the troops of slaves
spreading cushions of cloth of gold on ivory chairs and
couches, and setting forth food and wine on tables of
carved alabaster, in dishes of gold and flagons of
crystal or amethyst, and a sad thought came to him in
the height of his pleasure. One thing was lacking to
this feast, though it was more magnificent than ever
king had dreamed of. For what was a feast without
guests? What, after all, was the good of having a
golden palace, and a hall encrusted with pearls, when
he had no one but his own courtiers to sit at his table
and tell him how wonderful it all was? Some day, no
doubt, he might entertain some neighbour king, who
would go away quite humbled by the sight of these
glories, but he fetl [should be felt] that nothing
would ever entirely console him for
[4] the want of guests, whose praise was really worth
having, guests who were his equals, to share his feast
that first night. As he thought thus, he heard one of
his courtiers, who had all followed him through the
palace with cries of delighted wonder, say to the rest,
"Truly, our lord the King has built him a house that
has not its like on earth, and there can be nothing
more marvellous even in heaven. See, my friends, how
glorious is this chamber, where he will hold his royal
feast! Would you not think that gods, rather than men,
were the expected guests at such a banquet?"
These words seemed to Tantalus an answer to his
unspoken wish. The gods! Yes, they and only they were
guests worthy of him and his surpassing splendours.
With a proud gesture, he threw up his hands heavenward,
and cried aloud, "I, Tantalus the Kin, bid the gods,
one and all, come taste of my good cheer."
No sooner had he spoken than a clap of thunder shook
the palace, and the courtyard rang with the noise of
horse-hoofs and of chariot-wheels. The doors of the
banqueting hall flew open as if blown by a gust of
wind, and a great golden-brown eagle stalked through
them up the room, and perched upon the throne where
Tantalus was to sit. Next moment, a light streamed from
the doorway, brighter a thousand
[5] times than the radiance of the star-shaped lamps. So
dazzling it was, that the King and his train covered
their faces, and durst not look up. But then was heard
a sound of trailing robes and gentle laughter, and a
voice of unearthly sweetness said, "Fear not, Tantalus,
but look upon your guests and make the welcome, for
those you bade to your feast are come." With that, a
soft hand drew away the King's hand from before his
eyes, and he saw that she who spoke was Iris, the
messenger of the gods. For she had wings such as you
may see in pictures of the angels, only these were not
white, but shimmered with all the colours of the
rainbow, and Tantalus knew that the rainbow in the sky
is the reflection of those bright wings which carry
Iris over land and sea on the errands of the Immortals.
She now led the King to a seat at the highest table,
and, gathering courage to look about him, he saw that a
great company were already sitting at the banquet,
while his slaves and courtiers seemed to have lost
their fear, and were waiting duteously upon them. On
his own royal throne sat one who seemed another but a
far more majestic king, crowned and sceptred, and the
eagle perched beside him; and where the Queen of
Tantalus should have sat, was another Queen, with whom
no mortal princess could compare for stately beauty,
wearing, like
[6] a bride, a coronet of flowers and flowing veil
inwrought with golden lilies. She, alone of the guests,
seemed to look disdainfully at that glittering chamber,
and, while the rest feasted and made merry, she leaned
back in her ivory chair, stroking the sheeny neck of a
peacock that stood stiffly beside her with gorgeous
tail outspread. Tantalus knew that those two must be
Zeus and Hera, the King and Queen of the gods, and
pride mingled with awe in his heart, to see the
greatest of the Immortals seated as guests under his
roof. Zeus, that dread lord of the sky, whose mighty
arm could hurl thunderbolts in his wrath, had laid
aside the fulness of his glory, which was too bright
for mortal eyes to bear, and appeared in mild and
gracious majesty; he smiled gravely and kindly on his
host, and Tantalus took courage to watch the rest of
that heavenly company. Not far from Zeus sat a god who
looked like his brother, which indeed he was, but he
had a sterner face and a less kingly bearing, and wore
no crown upon his long black locks. Instead of a
sceptre, he held a trident of rock-crystal, and by this
it was easy to know him for Poseidon, who had power
over the sea, and all rivers and springs. Men feared
the anger of Poseidon scarcely less than that of Zeus,
because, though he had no thunderbolts, he could make
the earth rend and quake, or
[7] the sea run mountains high, with one blow of this
trident. But though he was fierce and terrible if
offended, none of the Immortals was more kindly to the
race of man, and none, it was said, was so faithful a
friend to those who had once pleased him. And this, as
you will hear presently, was a true saying.
Close to Poseidon, and leaning lovingly against his
broad shoulder, Tantalus saw a bright-haired youth, at
whose feet lay a bow and quiver, and a golden lyre. It
was the archer Apollo, who is the sweet singer of
heaven, and near him sat nine fair sisters crowned with
violets, who are called the Muses. As the feats went
on, another youth, whose smiling eyes sparkled with
mischief, slipped from his place and stood behind
Apollo, and stealthily picked up the golden lyre. But
Apollo turned, and took it from him laughing, and said,
"Ah, thieving Hermes! Did you not give me this to make
amends for the kine you stole from me in the Arcadian
pastures, when you were yet a little roguish boy, and
now would you steal it too? Nay, let me keep it, my
brother, and you shall hear me sing with the Nine, in
honour of our kind host.["] Then Tantalus looked
eagerly at the merry face of Hermes, for there were
many greater gods, but none more beloved than he, the
god of homely shepherds and of wayfarers. He wore the
cap and sandals of a traveller, but his
[8] cap was the cap of darkness, that made the wearer
invisible when he pleased, and his sandals were the
shoes of swiftness, that carried him dryshod over the
surface of the sea. The King knew that all unlooked-for
good luck, and all treasure trove, is the gift of
Hermes, and he it is who charms asleep the eyes of whom
he will, with the waving of the wand he carries.
And now Apollo sang to the golden lyre, and the Nine
Muses sang with him. They sang in praise of Tantalus,
the generous, the hospitable, the bounteous friend of
the needy and the stranger, and how his name was
glorious in many lands. They told how the gods looked
down with favour on the good deeds that he had done,
and how, in days to come, that favour should not cease
from his house, but bring yet greater glory upon his
children's children. That golden palace, they declared,
should vanish from the earth, and be no more
remembered, but generations yet unborn should marvel
while mighty bards told in song the wondrous story of
the race of Tantalus.
Now Apollo and those violet-crowned goddesses sang so
enchantingly that not only the mortals but the heavenly
guests who heard them sat as if spell-bound. Even the
eagle, which had made Tantalus uneasy from time to time
by fixing a fierce gaze upon him, and snapping its
terrible
[9] hooked beak was lulled asleep by the gracious harmony,
and sat with bluish eyelids closed, motionless but for
the rise and fall of its feathers, like ripples on
brown water, as its glossy back heaved in slumber.
When the song ceases, Tantalus started as though
wakened from a dream, and looked round him, almost
fearing that he had only seen the forms of the
Immortals in a vision. But it was all real, and no
vision; there they were still sitting, those wondrous
guests, with the same calm smile on their beautiful
statue-like faces. At that moment Zeus, who had not yet
spoken to the King, leaned forward and said in deep,
grave tones, "Right, royally have you feasted us, O
Tantalus, and we thank you for your good cheer. But
since I know well that you are the most generous of
hosts, I wonder that you should let one thing be
wanting at your banquet."
"What thing is that, O King of gods and men?" asked
Tantalus humbly (yet he was secretly angry that even
Zeus should find fault with him); "I am a mere mortal,"
he added, "but the best a mortal can give I, surely,
have set before you."
"Nay, my friend," Zeus answered, "the one thing you
have not offered us is —your best. Your
costly fair, your gold and gems and ivory,
[10] are these your greatest treasures? Think again, if you
have not something still more precious."
Then turning to Hera, who was smiling very scornfully,
he said, "Our generous host, my Queen, is not the man
to deny his guests the choicest of his possessions; he
has but forgotten for a moment what it is."
Just then, a curtain of Tyrian crimson that hung behind
the throne was drawn quickly aside, and a little child
ran laughing into the hall. It was the King's only son,
the darling of his heart. Frightened slaves had told
the Queen, his mother, that the gods were come down out
of heaven to the King's feast, and she had not dared to
behold them. but the child wanted so much to see what
the gods were like, that he slipped away from her side,
and now he stood gazing on them without the least fear,
for indeed he was too young and too happy to be afraid
of anything. His father saw the little lad look up into
the face of Zeus with such innocent wonder that the god
smiled, and laid his hand tenderly on the curly head.
"How say you now, Tantalus?" he said: "Will you not own
that you have kept back one treasure, worth more than
the wealth of your kingdom?"
But Tantalus bent his head and could not answer, for a
sudden fear froze his heart. In
[11] those days, no host would let his guests depart without
some gift, and a generous man would offer them the
choice of the treasures in his house. Was it possible
that the gods would choose the gift of his only son,
and was that why Zeus had reproached him for not
setting the best he had before the eyes of his guests?
Alas, he saw plainly that the immortals took more
delight in the child's beauty than in all the wonders
of the golden palace. The haughty Hera stooped to kiss
his forehead, and the other goddesses called him tot
hem one by one and said, "Did you ever see such a
lovely child?" just as if they were mortal ladies. One
of them, who had great grey eyes, and was called
Athena, lifted him to her shoulder, to look at the
golden helmet she wore, and laughed because he said he
wanted one like it, and a shield and spear like hers.
Then the fairest of them all, whose name was Aphrodite,
took the little boy upon her lap, and whispered
coaxingly that she would give him better playthings
than shields or spears if he would come and live with
her, in her garden of roses that bloomed all the year
round. But Poseidon, that stern-faced god, who sat
beside her, shook back his dark hair and said, "O Queen
of Love, have you not a boy of your own to play with?
Come with me, little prince, for I will love you with a
truer love than this fair goddess,
[12] and you shall have a gift that will please you better
than her roses, when you come to be a man."
The child looked into Poseidon's eyes, which were deep
blue like the sea, and felt that he liked this friendly
god the best of all; he climbed upon his knee, and
rested his little head on the sea-god's shoulder, and,
being already drowsy, fell sound asleep. Meanwhile,
Tantalus had made up his mind what to do, for dearly
though he loved his son, his pride was stronger than
his love. It should never be said that he, Tantalus the
King, sent another king, the King of the Sky, who had
done him so great an honour, away from his feast
empty-handed. Proudly he raised his head, at last, and
met the searching glance of Zeus. "Great Lord of the
Immortals," he said, "if indeed there is aught in this
poor house of mine to please you, and these my other
guests, I offer it with a willing heart. If indeed I
failed to adorn this feast with my fairest jewel, it
was with no grudging thought, for behold, ever-living
gods, that jewel is yonder, and it is yours if you so
choose." So saying, he pointed to the sleeping child.
Now Zeus knew that pride and vainglory alone made
Tantalus so ready to give up his son, but he would not
judge him hardly, because he was a mortal man, and good
and evil were mingled in his heart
[13] like flowers and weeds in a garden. Therefore the god
thanked the King in gracious words, even as a man might
thank his friend. "Royal Tantalus," he said, "this land
of Lydia may boast henceforth that her king is the most
generous, as well as the richest, in the world. Know,
now, that when I said you had not offered us your best,
I spoke to prove you, and to show my Queen, and these
my children and kinsfolk, how nobly you can play the
host. Now, my friend, we bid you farewell, but we will
not take your son with us; it is enough that you have
freely offered him to the gods, and in recompense for
that, a year shall not pass before both he and you
shall sit at our table, even as we have sat this night
at yours."
Then once more came a great flash of light, and a peal
of thunder, and when the dazzled mortals could see
clearly again, the gods had vanished. The King looked
hastily towards the couch where Poseidon had said,
half-fearing that he might have carried off the child,
after all. But there lay his little son, curled up
among the embroidered cushions, and smiling in his
sleep. One small hand held a rosebud Aphrodite had
given him from her bosom, and in the other lay a
strange blossom, white as the sea-foam. Poseidon also
had a garden, and this was one of the flowers that grew
there, under the waves.
II
[14]
 |
YEAR had almost passed since the wonderful night when
the gods feasted in the house of Tantalus. The story of
that banquet was carried far and wide, and strangers
came from many lands to see with their own eyes the
king who had entertained Zeus himself, and hear from
his own lips how the Immortals had looked, and what
they had said to him. Tantalus was never tired of
boasting about it all, and if he was proud before, you
may fancy that now he was ten times prouder and more
vainglorious. As he repeated the marvellous tale to
guests at his feasts, surrounded by so much splendour,
and seated on the throne where, as he told them, the
King of the gods had sat in all his majesty, he began
to feel that he himself was a sort of Zeus upon earth,
and to imitate all he could remember of the god's
appearance and behaviour. "Thus spoke Zeus," he would
say, holding out his own sceptre, and doing his best to
copy the voice of the heavenly King, when he told the
story. And at last, as it seemed to him that he acted
the part of a god exceedingly well, he did it not only
when he described the visit of the Immortals, but every
day and all day long. But he forgot how gracious and
how gentle those Immortals had shown themselves,
[15] and only tried to copy their calm, grand looks and
gestures. So, while he still gave splendid feasts to
all who came, and sent them away with costly gifts, he
now received his guests coldly and haughtily, as if
they were hardly worthy to come into his presence.
Travellers, when they got home again, talked even more
about the King's pride and his boastful speeches, than
about his golden house and his marvellous riches. As
for his own subjects, they never saw him now, except
driving through the city in a glittering chariot drawn
by four white horses, while troops of slaves ran before
him, scattering gold among the crowd, and crying, "Make
way there for the Great King! Bow down before him, all
ye people, and do him reverence, for he is the Friend
of the Gods, and his glory is more than mortal."
Tantalus no longer sat in the judgment-seat of the
kings of Lydia, to do justice among his people, and if
any man were bold enough to go up tot he golden palace,
either the guards would drive him away, saying that the
King did not choose to be troubled by common folk, or
they would push him roughly into the presence-chamber,
where Tantalus sat enthroned, stiff and silent, like an
idol, in gorgeous array. And the stern, cold face of
the King would so terrify the poor man that he would
not dare to plead for the boon he came seeking.
[16] So the year went by, but before it ended, rumours came
to Tantalus that the tales of the travellers about his
famous banquet were disbelieved by many who heard them.
People were saying everywhere that he had not really
feasted the gods at all; he had merely built a most
wonderful palace, and then, because his guests were
always telling him that his house and his banquets were
fit for the gods, his head was turned with those
flatteries, till he suffered a strange delusion, and
thought he had given a feast to Zeus himself. Some of
the travellers now asked him to show them some token of
the Immortal's visit, which he was unable to do, and
this made him very angry. How he wished that he had
thought of asking Zeus to leave some sign of his
presence which no one could doubt! It was no use, of
course, to point to his courtiers and his slaves, and
say, "All these saw the gods as plainly as I did," for
every one knew what to expect of slaves and courtiers.
If the King, their master, chose to say he had seen the
gods, they would not dare to contradict him; nay, if he
said he saw them with two heads apiece, or no heads at
all, they would swear they saw the same. These thoughts
were very unpleasant to Tantalus, and so occupied his
mind that he forgot the time was at hand when he, in
turn, was to feast with Zeus. Indeed,
[17] although at first he had boasted freely about going as
a guest to the heavenly halls, he had never felt quite
sure that he would ever get there, and as time went on,
he came to think of his seeing the gods face to face as
a wonderful thing that could never happen again. If
only he could convince these impudent travellers that
it ever had happened! Now it befell, on the very
day twelvemonth from the coming of the gods, that
ambassadors arrived, with gifts from the king of a far
country, who desired to know the truth of the report he
had heard, that the King of Lydia had given a feast to
the Immortals. Tantalus received them hospitably, and
when evening came, they sat with him at the banquet,
and he told them the whole story. Perhaps some doubts
about that story had been whispered to them on their
journey, for as the King told the tale, he noted with
displeasure that the newcomers looked one at another,
smiling slily. "Strangers," he cried haughtily, "do you
dare to mock me? Or do you doubt that my tale is true?"
"Great King," answered the eldest ambassador, "we are
simple men, and we fear that you are pleased to make
sport of us, asking us to take your royal dreams for
truth. But if this be not so, we are sure that Zeus
left with you some token of his presence at your feast,
to be a witness to all men of the honour done you. We
[18] humbly desire to see that token, that we may carry word
of it to our master, who will then believe the wondrous
report he has heard."
Tantalus was nearly beside himself with rage at this
request, which he felt quite certain had been suggested
to the ambassadors by some of those evil-minded persons
who had asked him the same thing before, and gone away
scoffing. But it came into his mind that he would only
make matters worse if he sent these grave ambassadors
away with an angry answer. They would spread the story
still farther, of his having no proof at all to show,
and very soon, unless he could somehow put a stop to
what people said about him, he, Tantalus, would become
the laughing-stock of the world. Then quickly he
resolved to gain a little time by hiding his rage and
speaking pleasant words.
"I see," he said, "that the King, your master, has wise
and prudent servants. You are very right to desire some
proof of so great a marvel, and you shall have it. But
it is already late, and you are wearied with your
journey. Go now to rest, and to-morrow I will show you
what you wish."
The ambassadors bowed deeply, and were led to the
splendid chambers prepared for them. Tantalus remained
sitting in the jewelled hall, thinking very hard what
he was to do.
To- [19] morrow he meant to put the ambassadors off again with
some further excuse, and to persuade them to stay with
him some days longer; but how could he find them a
proof, however long they stayed? "I would be alone," he
said to the slaves who waited his commands, and they
all withdrew. It was very quiet now in the great empty
room. The king thought and thought, till nearly
midnight, but could find no way out of his difficulty.
any one else would have called upon the gods to help
him, but Tantalus was so used to thinking himself
all-powerful that this never entered his head. At last,
quite tired out with puzzling over the question, he
leaned back on his throne and fell asleep. How long he
slept he never knew; it seemed only a few minutes had
passed when he was awaked by sounds of music, talking,
and laughter. He sat up and rubbed his eyes in
astonishment. There, all round him, sat the gods, just
as he had seen them a year ago that very night! For one
moment, he thought they had come back to show
themselves to those unbelieving ambassadors and cover
them with shame, but then he saw that he was no longer
sitting in his own palace-hall. The place he had awoke
in seemed like a vast temple, with walls and ceiling of
some wonderful stone that shone like pure gold, and yet
was transparent like glass. All round this hall were
rows of tall
[20] pillars, and every pillar was a single block of ruby,
sapphire, or emerald, glowing with its own coloured
fire. There were no windows, and no lamps either in the
room, which was flooded with what Tantalus would have
thought was sunshine, only he supposed it was still
night. Then he knew that this was no earthly palace,
but the dwelling of Zeus, and suddenly he remembered
the promise of the god. This was the night he was to
feast with the Immortals—and here he was! He
wondered if the little Pelops had been carried to the
sky-palace too, and soon saw the child nodding and
smiling at him from the couch where he sat, as he had
done before, between Poseidon and the Queen of Love.
All the Immortals now welcomed Tantalus with friendly
looks and words of greeting, and one who seemed the
youngest of the goddesses presented him with a shining
cup, into which she poured wine the colour of dark
mountain honey. "Fill all our cups to the brim, Hebe,
my daughter," said Zeus to the beautiful cup-bearer,
"and drink, every one of you, to this friend of ours,
who played the host to us so well."
"To our host, King Tantalus," cried the golden-haired
Apollo, and the rest, as they drank, repeated, "To King
Tantalus," and then all together cried, "Hail, mortal!
Hail, guest of Zeus! Hail, friend of the gods!"
[21] Now Tantalus no sooner tasted the drink of the gods,
which men call nectar, than he was filled with such
mirth and gladness as he had never known, nor any
mortal can know, save those few who are permitted to
share the banquet of Zeus. For nectar is brewed with
honey from celestial flowers and with the juice of
apples that grow in the Enchanted Isles of the Sunset,
and they who drink it have perpetual youth and joy.
So the King forgot in a moment the troubles he had left
behind on earth, and gave himself up to the delights of
the heavenly feast. He thought he could look for ever
at this glorious house of Zeus, compared to which his
golden palace seemed but a mere hovel. Here topaz and
emerald, and all stones known on earth as precious,
because they are found only in small pieces, were to be
seen in blocks as big as the masses of marble on his
own hillsides. Therefore the gods wore no jewels, such
as earthly kings are adorned with, and as for silver
and gold, though their houses and furniture seemed to
be made of those metals, they were not the same silver
and gold that there is in this world of ours, but so
much purer and finer that the light shone through them.
So the hall where the Immortals were feasting looked
like a temple build out of moonbeams and sunbeams, and
rainbows, and its sapphire pavement like a piece of
sky, which is just what it was.
[22] The tables in this hall were covered with every sort of
delicious fruit that grows in all the countries of the
world, for in the garden of Zeus they are all ripe the
whole year round. there were peaches and grapes,
oranges and pomegranates and strawberries, and many
more sorts that Tantalus had never seen before. The
King noticed that none of the Immortals took any of
these fruits from the baskets of myrtle-twigs in which
they were piled, and that clouds of butterflies were
hovering over the tables, Now the plates of his
neighbours seemed always full, but his remained empty,
and as no one offered him anything he began to think
the gods were strangely neglecting their guest.
"You do not understand our customs, friend Tantalus,"
said the merry voice of Hermes in his ear. "We offer
you nothing, because you have only to wish, and your
plate will be as full as mine." The King looked at a
superb bunch of grapes which he saw in front of him,
but just as he wished for it, it disappeared. At the
same instant a very large purple butterfly settled on
his plate; he put out his hand to touch it, and it was
gone, but in its place there lay the bunch of grapes.
Then he wished for an orange, and the same thing
happened, only this time the butterfly's wings were
golden-red.
"I do not understand those butterflies," he said to
Hermes
[23] "They are your wishes," said the young god, "and if you
look, you will see the wishes of my companions bringing
them whatever they may fancy in the same way."
"This is a strange magic," said the Kin, who now felt
quite at ease with the friendly Hermes. "But now I see
a number of golden bees flying about the tables, which
I think must be wishes too, for wherever one alights,
it vanishes and a round cake the colour of honey
appears in its place. Tell me, Hermes, if these fruits
and those small cakes are all your food, for though
nothing can be more delicious than your fruit, I should
not care, for my part, to live on figs and grapes and
honey-break."
Hermes, at these words, could not answer for laughing,
but Athena, that grey-eyed goddess who sat on the
King's other side, turned her grave face to him, and
said, "You know no what you say, O Tantalus! That
honey-bread, as you call it, is the bread of
immortality, which in the speech of men is called
ambrosia, and those who eat of it live for ever. Rich
and great you may be, King of Lydia, but wise you are
not, or you would know better than to ask if we
Immortals have such food as pleases your gross mortal
appetite. An ox roasted whole, perhaps, is what you
hoped for at my father's table?"
Tantalus knew that Athena was the wisest of
[24] all the gods, except her father Zeus, and he was
ashamed that she had overheard his thoughtless words.
"Lady and Queen," he answered, "forgive what I have
spoken in my ignorance. How could I know that the bread
was the divine ambrosia, of which men tell but know not
what it is like?"
"Come, sister," then said Hermes, still laughing, "do
not be offended with our guest. Remember we do not all
despise the food of mortals, and Zeus himself has eaten
porridge in a peasant's hut. Yes, Tantalus, once I
travelled on earth with Zeus, in the disguise of
wandering pedlars, that we might see who would show
kindness to the poor and homeless. And when we had been
turned away from many a rich man's door, we found
shelter with two poor old cottagers, who gladly shared
their humble supper with us out of charity. Those
worthy souls, Philemon and his wife Baucis, were
terrified when we showed ourselves in our true shape
next morning, but they soon had their reward, for Zeus
promised to grant whatever they should ask."
"Then I suppose they asked to be made King and Queen of
that country," said Tantalus, "though I cannot say I
ever heard of a King Philemon or a Queen Baucis."
"No," replied Hermes, "the only thing they wanted was
never to be parted, or to leave the
[25] cottage where they had been so happy together. Zeus
promised that they never should, and when they had
ended their lives in peace at the same moment, they
were changed into two oak trees, which are still
flourishing where their cottage stood."
Tantalus thought to himself, "What a stupid old couple!
If I had been in their place, I should have asked Zeus
for something very different." But aloud he only said,
"That is a very pretty story," not wishing to risk
another reproof from the severe Athena.
She, however, seemed ready to make him amends for
speaking so sternly, and, breaking a cake of ambrosia
in her snowy hands, she gave him half of it, with a
gracious look. "You also, King," she said, "have earned
a reward for your hospitality, and this is it. Unlike
Philemon and Baucis, you already have everything that a
man can wish for on earth, therefore Zeus wills to give
you the one gift you have not, the gift of
immortality."
Tantalus took the piece of ambrosia, and wondered to
feel how light it was. He tasted it, and it was like
nothing he had ever tasted before, and it melted in his
mouth like snow. Never had food seemed to him so
delicious, yet he could not tell if it was sweet, or
sour, or salt, because these are the names of earthly
flavours, and the
[26] flavour of ambrosia is different from any of them. Now
he saw that Poseidon and Aphrodite gave the child
Pelops fruit to eat and nectar to drink, but they did
not give him ambrosia, and he wished that Pelops also
should eat this bread of immortality.
"Will not the gods give ambrosia to my son," he asked
Athena, rather timidly, "that he too may live for
ever?"
But the wise goddess shook her head. "We may not give
it to a child," she said, "and I will tell you the
reason. When we have once given a gift, we have no
power to take it back again. So it would be cruel to
give the gift of immortality to any one who was not old
enough to choose whether he will live for ever, or die,
like other men, when his time comes."
"Surely," said the King, "there is no one who would not
choose to live for ever."
"Ah, Tantalus," said Athena, and a strange look of pity
came into her grey eyes, "you think so now, because you
have never known pain or sorrow. But how would it be if
your life were full of misery instead of happiness?
Think what it would mean to you then, to know you could
not die. Beware, moreover, that you presume not
to give our gift to others, for that were deadly sin."
These words, which he was to remember when too late,
gave the King a vague feeling of dread,
[27] as if some unknown evil was about to befall him, and he
was glad that Hebe at this moment filled his cup with
nectar, and Apollo took his lyre and sang a joyous
song.
When this was ended, Zeus called him to his side, and
said: "Now, Tantalus, I, who was your guest, have given
you feast for feast, and since you gave me your best, I
have granted you the highest reward a mortal can have.
Henceforth you need not fear death, and so long as you
deserve to be the friend of the gods, you shall drink
with us the sacred nectar which continually renews our
youth and gladness."
"And yet, O King of us all," said Hera, with her
scornful smile, "I think that this our guest desires a
certain gift so much that he would prefer it to nectar
and ambrosia."
"Let him name it, Lady of my heart," answered Zeus,
"for we will not have him depart with any desire
unsatisfied."
"I can name it," Hera said, tossing her queenly head.
"It is Fame, and were I a mortal, I would seek it
through the world, as all those heroes do who are my
favourites among men."
"That I can well believe," replied Zeus gravely, "but
now let our friend speak for himself. How say you,
Tantalus? Have you not fame enough already, being known
for the richest and most hospitable king in all the
world?"
[28] Now the words of Hera had reminded Tantalus that his
fame among men was in danger from the evil-speaking of
the people who would not believe he had feasted the
gods.
"Great Zeus," he said, "I cannot thank you enough for
the wonderful reward you have given me this night. But
since you bid me, I will dare to confess that there is
one thing wanting to make me entirely happy."
Then he told how the great honour the gods had done him
by coming to his banquet was not believed by any one,
and how that very night the ambassadors from a far
country had asked for a proof of the story. And he
prayed Zeus to grant him some token, which these men
might see and believe. He heard the god answer, "When
you awake, O Tantalus, you shall find such a token
beside you," and then a rosy mist began to float before
his eyes. He could just see that Hermes stood beside
him, slowly waving his want, then his eyes closed, and
he knew no more.
III
 |
HEN King Tantalus awoke, he found himself once more in his
own banqueting-hall, which was now bright with the
morning sunshine. His first thought was, "I have only
dreamed a dream,"
[29] and he felt bitterly disappointed, for what could he
now say to the ambassadors, and where was the token he
had hoped to show them? But he saw on the table beside
him a golden cup and platter, which he thought the
slaves must have set there while he slept, and being
hungry and thirsty, he ate and drank the bread and the
wine that were in them; and at the first taste, he knew
that the bread was ambrosia, and the wine, nectar.
"Then it was no dream, after all," he said to himself,
"for this is the token Zeus promised. Yet, what am I to
do with it, for Athena warned me that I must not give
the god's gift to any one else, and if I tell those men
that these are ambrosia and nectar, they will not
believe unless they taste for themselves." So thinking,
he lifted the cup to drink again of that delicious
wine, and behold, the cup was full to the brim, as it
was before! Then he looked at the platter, and saw that
the cake, from which he had broken a piece, was whole
again. Once more he drank, and broke another piece from
the cake, and immediately the cup was full again, and
the cake lay whole in the platter. Then he rejoiced
greatly, for he knew that this wonder would assuredly
overcome all the doubts of the ambassadors, and of all
others who should see him eat and drink before them out
of a cup and platter that never grew empty.
But now he heard sounds of weeping and
[30] wailing from the inner chambers of the palace, where
the Queen and her children lived, and he clapped his
hands loudly to summon his slaves. "What is this
weeping I hear?" he asked them, when they entered, and
they told him, "It is the Queen and her women, O King,
weeping because at dawn they saw that the little prince
was gone from his bed-chamber, and we have searched the
palace from end to end, but he is nowhere to be found."
This they said trembling, for they feared the King
would fall into a rage, and order them to be put to
death if they did not instantly find the child, and
they were astonished when he answered, without grief or
anger, "It is well. Search no more, for I know what is
become of my son." Then he went to the Queen's chamber,
and she cried to him, with tears, "Alas, my lord, what
can have befallen our child? I saw him sleeping safe
and sound before I went to rest, and as I slept, I
dreamed that a tall, kingly stranger, with long black
locks, stood at my bedside, holding the boy in his
arms, and they smiled on me, and were gone. At that I
woke, fearing I knew not what, and ran to the next
chamber, and woe is me, the child's bed was empty."
"Lady wife," said Tantalus, "I know where Pelops is,
and, trust me, no evil can befall him there. The
stranger you saw in your dream was the great Poseidon,
who loves the boy, and has
[31] taken him to the heavenly halls. Did I not tell you how
I offered our son to the gods when they feasted with
me, and how they promised that he and I should be their
guests? They have fulfilled that promise, and now I
have seen the palace of Zeus, I as well content that
Pelops should abide there for a time. Doubt not that he
will be restored to us ere long, for I must tell you
that the Immortals have made me their chosen friend and
boon companion, and loaded me with such proofs of
favour that I am certain they will refuse me nothing I
desire."
Now the Queen was a meek and gentle lady, who held her
lord for the most wonderful of men, and thought it not
strange that even the gods were glad to have him for a
friend, but she loved her little son so dearly that she
was only half comforted to hear where he was, since she
was never happy when he was out of her sight.
But the King did not stay to cheer her, or to tell her
more; he was in haste to prepare for his triumph, when
the unbelieving ambassadors should see the token they
had asked for. He ordered that all should be made ready
for the mid-day banquet, and the tables spread as usual
with the choicest faire, but that all the dishes and
vessels set on his own table should be empty; then,
when he took his seat upon the throne, he placed among
them the cup of nectar and the platter of ambrosia,
[32] and bade the slaves call the ambassadors to the feast.
And this was to Tantalus the proudest and happiest
moment of his life, for his guests were even more
astonished than he had hoped when he showed them the
food and drink of the gods, and poured nectar from the
celestial cup into the flagons and goblets on his table
till all were filled, and heaped all the dishes with
fragments of the cake of ambrosia, which grew no
smaller, however often he broke it. They cried out that
now indeed they could doubt no longer, and the King
their master should hear, when they came home, that the
gods had not only visited Tantalus of Lydia, but had
bestowed on him the most marvellous gifts ever given to
mortal man. On the morrow they departed for their own
land, and spread the news upon their way, that
Tantalus, after all, told a true tale, and could show
the proof of it, for he had a never-failing portion of
the bread and wine of the Immortals.
After this, King Tantalus for some time thought himself
the happiest of men, being no longer troubled by the
doubts or questions of travellers, who were now welcome
to him again because he enjoyed displaying his
wonderful cup and platter, to satisfy them. He did not
forget Athena's warning, and was careful to keep the
nectar and ambrosia for himself alone, telling all his
guests that he was forbidden to share those
[33] gifts with any one. Meanwhile, the child Pelops was
seen no more, and strange stories of his disappearance
began to be whispered abroad, but they did not come to
the King's ears, for none dared repeat them to him. It
was even said that Tantalus, who boasted how he had
offered his son to the gods, and now declared the boy
was dwelling with them above, had really slain him in
secret for a sacrifice, to please the Immortals, and
win from them that reward of nectar and ambrosia. But
this story came from among the lowest of the folk, who
knew not that such a deed, if Tantalus had ever so much
as dreamed of doing it, would have made him utterly
hateful in the sight of the gods.
Now while the King was happy, the Queen, his wife,
pined day by day for the loss of Pelops; she had one
other child, a daughter named Niobe, but Pelops was far
dearer to her because of his loving ways, and now her
only comfort was that she dreamed of him every night,
and always say him radiant with joy. The Princess
Niobe, who was some years older than her brother, was a
haughty damsel and cold-hearted, and the gentle Queen
had long feared her daughter's pride would bring
unhappiness upon her. But Tantalus thought the maiden
could not be too proud, being the daughter of such a
king as he, and loved her all the better for showing a
spirit so like his own.
[34] The time now came for her to be wedding to the king of
a neighbouring land, and the golden palace was thronged
by countless multitudes from far and near, who were
bidden to the marriage rejoicings. Guests of every
degree were feasted by thousands for a whole month
before the wedding, for the King had sent heralds and
messengers a three months' journey—east, west,
south, and north—proclaiming everywhere that all
were welcome to this great festival. Then, on the
marriage day, having poured forth in abundance the
treasures of his kingdom on all who came, and filled
their eyes with the sight of such royal splendour as
the world never saw before or since, Tantalus held the
crowning feast of all in his hall of roses; and in the
fulness of his glory, his fat, the fate his proud heart
brought upon him, was sealed at last. In that hour he
felt it was no longer enough for him to be the greatest
king in the world, and the acknowledged friend and
favourite of the gods; no, he would be something
greater still: he, though a man, would wield the power
and receive the honours of a god, for he would bestow
on the men around him the greatest gifts that Zeus
himself could give them. He would make them immortal,
and he too would know what it was to be adored, to have
temples and altars raised to his name by grateful
worshippers, because he had delivered them from the
fear
[35] of death. And so he would not merely live for ever, but
through all eternity he would enjoy unheard of fame and
glory as the giver of everlasting life to such as
pleased him. These thoughts no sooner flashed through
his brain, than he commanded jars and baskets of gold
to be brought to his table, and began to fill them with
the nectar and ambrosia which stood before him, saying
with a loud voice: "Set this food and wine of the gods
before the bridegroom and the bride, and before each of
the guests, that they may eat and drink thereof, and
live for ever, by the grace of Tantalus." At these
words all the guests raised a great shout of joy, and
bowed down before his throne, praising and blessing him
for that boon. But even as the slaves poured out the
nectar the light of the noonday was blotted out by so
thick a darkness that no man in the hall could see his
hand before his face. A sudden wind blew deathly cold
through the blackness, and after the wind came a hollow
groaning sound from deep within the earth. Stricken
dumb with terror, all the banqueters sat motionless in
the pitchy gloom for moments that seemed hours, till
that sound came again, louder and deeper, and they felt
the solid ground rock under their feet and heard a
crash as of falling pillars. Then, with one cry of
despair, all at once they started up, and rushed
towards the doorway, groping
[36] blindly to find it, and struggling forward through the
dense, invisible throng around them. None of that
multitude could ever tell how he reached the courtyard,
and fled still onward through the darkness, not knowing
whither, till he found himself at last on the mountain
slopes outside the palace; but there, when the darkened
sun shone out again, stood one vast crowd of men,
women, children, animals, trembling but unhurt. Every
living thing the palace held escaped from the
earthquake save only the King himself, who was nowhere
to be seen. As the darkness lifted, all eyes were
turned anxiously towards the Golden House. Great rents
were seen in its shining walls, and of its hundred
towers there were but ten left standing; no fountains
played now in the marble courts, and beyond the
shattered pillars of its porch the banqueting hall
seemed a mount of glittering ruins. The Princess Niobe
entreated her newly-wedded lord to go back and seek for
her father, and he would have done so, but at that
moment the earth shook with a yet louder roar, the
crags around tottered, and all that remained of the
palace sank before their eyes into the mountain. At
that sight the whole multitude fled down the hillsides
to the city in the plain, not daring once to look
behind. For many days clouds hung low on the sides of
the mountain, while all the folk in the city wept and
[37] prayed and fasted, and many took flight into the
country, fearing lest the hill itself should fall and
overwhelm them. And when the clouds cleared away, the
rocky peak where the Golden House had stood was seen to
be cleft in twain; and some who were bold enough at
last to climb thither brought back word that between
those two jagged summits lay a deep ravine, covered
with great splintered stones and overhung by towering
precipices. No sign of life, nor trace of the palace
could they see, and it was now plain to all that
Tantalus had perished.
The king who had wedding Niobe then took her away to
his own land, and would have taken her mother also, but
the Queen would not leave the old palace in the city,
where she had lived more happily than in the Golden
House, before her husband gave way to that sinful pride
which proved his bane. She bade farewell to her
daughter with many tears, and that night, as she
entered her chamber, she said: "I am indeed left
desolate. Cruel are the gods, for they have destroyed
Tantalus, my lord; and how do I know what evil they
have wrought to my darling son, whom they have kept
from me so long? All else I would bear if only I might
see my child again."
But scarcely had she said this when she gave a cry of
joy, for she saw Pelops lying asleep upon
[38] her bed. He awoke and sprang into her arms, and told
her how glad he was to be with her again, although he
had spent such a happy day with Poseidon, and pelted
him with roses in Aphrodite's garden, which was even
lovelier than she had said. "Last night," he said,
"after Poseidon carried me to the house of Zeus, I saw
my father there at the feast; but to-day, when I was
tired of play, I asked where he was, and Poseidon said
he was gone back to earth, and I must go back too. Then
he kissed me, and I fell asleep, so I think he must
have brought me home without my knowing." Then his
mother knew that the months which had gone by since the
child was carried off by the god had passed in heaven
as one day, and she kept silence, fearing to tell him
the strange and terrible end of the King, his father.
And for a while all knowledge of what had befallen was
kept from the little prince in spite of his asking
continually where the King was, and why they were not
living in the Golden House. But at last Zeus showed
himself to the Queen in a dream by night, and bade her
tell Pelops all the story of his father's pride and how
he had despised the warning not to give any one else
the gift with which the gods had trusted him. "Had
Tantalus obeyed us," said the heavenly vision, "we
should have kept his son among us till he was old
enough to receive that same gift himself;
[39] but now it is part of the King's punishment to know
that the child has lost immortality through his
father's sin."
IV
As
Pelops grew up to manhood, all said of him that he was
grave and thoughtful beyond his years, and in truth the
story his mother had told him was ever in his mind, nor
could he take pleasure in the pastimes of his comrades
for thinking of his lost father. No one in the city
would willingly set foot now upon the mountain, for the
people believed that the place where the Golden House
had stood was accursed ground, and neither hunter nor
shepherd ever visited those hillsides, once so often
climbed by the guests of Tantalus. But Pelops had often
said to the Queen, "My father, who had eaten the bread
of immortality, cannot be dead, and when I become a
man, I will go up the mountain and look for him in that
valley among the cliffs, for something tells me he is
there." And though his mother besought him not to
venture to that fearful place in the vain hope of
finding one whom the gods had assuredly hidden from
them for ever, the young prince held steadfastly to
that purpose. At last, on a day that he went hunting,
[40] the chase brought him and his companions to the foot of
the mountain, and all the rest turned back, but he
called to them that he would not lose the hart they
followed for an idle fear, and went on alone. It was
noon when he left them, but the sun was already low in
the west when he stood among the rocks on the mountain
top and gazed with a beating heart into the crag-walled
hollow between the peaks. What was it he saw, or
thought he saw yonder, at the far end of the ravine? A
great fragment of rock, loosened from the face of the
precipice, seemed toppling forward as though it must
fall in another instant, and close under it sat a dim,
kingly figure, with upturned face, holding both arms
above his head to ward off the coming blow. Pelops ran
forward, shouting to him to rise and fly, or the rock
would crush him to death, and calling him "Father," for
he knew it must be Tantalus, though he could not
clearly see his face across the valley. But the figure
did not stir, and suddenly the trembling mass above him
was still. Then, hurrying nearer, Pelops could see that
it was indeed Tantalus who sat there, robed and crowned
as of old, and that a golden table stood beside him,
with a shining cup and platter upon it. The King's form
was so worn and wasted that he was more like a shadow
than a living man, and his son's heart grew chill with
fear as
[41] looked into his eyes, for they seemed not to see him,
nor did Tantalus give the least sign that he heard his
eager, pleading words. In sorrowful bewilderment,
Pelops saw him snatch up the cup, which was brimful of
honey-coloured wine, and put it to his lips; no sooner
did it touch them than the cup was empty, and he set it
down with a despairing sigh. Then he broke a morsel
from the cake that was on the platter, and would have
eaten it, but it vanished in his hand. The young prince
could not bear the sight; he sprang towards his father
that he might take him in his arms and bring him away
from the dreadful spot, where he had so long suffered
these strange torments. But instantly a thick white
mist from the heights above rolled down like a curtain
between him and the King, and a voice came from behind
the clouds, "Depart hence, O Pelops, for you cannot
deliver this prisoner of the gods. As Tantalus has
sown, so must he also reap, till the time is
fulfilled."
Slowly and sadly Pelops went out of the glen; he turned
at the entrance and looked back, and once more the King
was sitting with upturned face, raising his arms
towards the overhanging rock that trembled as before.
Pelops told no one what he had seen; but in after
years, when people began to forget their fear of that
mountain, it chanced more than once
[42] that herdsmen on the hill went into the glen of rocks
and were affrighted by the same sight. So the spot was
held in dread for many ages, and men told that it was
haunted by the spectre of Tantalus, a king, whom the
gods had doomed for his pride to a threefold
punishment—endless thirst, endless hunger, and
endless terror of a rock that seemed ever falling, but
never fell. And because Tantalus was for ever tormented
by the vanishing of nectar and ambrosia when they
touched his lips, people say to this day that man is
tantalised, when they mean that he sees something he
longs for very near him, and cannot get it.
Now the land of Lydia became hateful to Pelops, after
he learned the fate of his father, and he resolved to
make his home in some other country, where the sight of
that lonely mountain top, whence he could not deliver
the prisoner of the gods, would grieve his eyes no
more. At this time, travellers from beyond the sea
brought tales of strange doings at a city called Pisa,
which lay in the far land of Greece. The King of Pisa,
they said, had an only child, a maiden of surpassing
beauty, and many princes sought her in marriage, but
all her suitors had perished miserably—for this
reason. King Oenomaus, her father, had promised the
maiden to whoever could outstrip him in chariot-race,
but if he, the King, could overtake the other chariot,
the
[43] suitor must die by his spear. Thirteen princes, one
after another, had already dared the perilous race, and
always, although Oenomaus gave them a start of six
furlongs, he overtook them with his peerless horses,
and struck them dead with a well-aimed spear-throw.
Pelops no sooner heard all this, than he said to
himself, "That is the adventure for me," and he took
farewell of the Queen his mother, saying that he
desired to seek his fortune across the sea, where men
would not know him for the son of the hapless Tantalus.
The Queen was willing he should go, for she had seen
that he was restless and unhappy; but she said, "Take
companions with you, and slaves of our household, and
let a ship be loaded with treasure, and good store of
all things needful, that you may appear as befits a
king's son, in the land whither you sail."
"Not so, my mother," answered Pelops; "I am bound on a
certain quest I hear spoken of, and neither treasure
nor following will serve me to win it. I go alone, but
when I come to the seashore, I am in hopes to find a
friend there, who will give me what help I need."
So Pelops journeyed alone for three days and three
nights, and came to the sea one morning very early,
before the sun was up. There, standing on the solitary
shore, in the faint light of dawn, he called aloud the
name of Poseidon.
[44] Immediately the calm deep was troubled, a long
foam-crested billow came rolling shoreward, and broke
at his feet in clouds of spray, and out of that wave
the tall Poseidon rose up before him. "Earth-shaking
God," said Pelops, "if you have not forgotten the joy
we had once together in Aphrodite's garden, now grant
to me a boon, for the sake of those pleasant hours."
"Ask what you will," answered Poseidon, "for I am no
forgetful friend."
Then Pelops told his desire to race with the King of
Pisa for the prize of his daughter's hand, and his fear
that he would nowhere be able to find such fleet horses
as the King's. "For I hear," he said, "that this King
Oenomaus has a wonderful breed of horses from the far
North, and some say he had them in a gift from Ares,
the Lord of War, whom he honours above all other gods.
Now therefore, O Poseidon, send me quickly over the sea
by your divine power, and give me two coursers swifter
than any earthly steeds, to win me the victory."
Poseidon turned, and struck the water with his trident;
then he said, "Look seaward, Pelops," and the youth
behold two white crests tossing far out at sea, like
the crests of waves plunging toward the land. But as
they neared the shore, he saw they were the flying
manes of two white horses, which drew a golden chariot
without a
[45] driver, and flew like the wind over the grey waters,
till they halted at his side. At Poseidon's bidding, he
mounted the chariot and took the reins, and forthwith
those immortal horses bore him so swiftly out to sea,
that the shore was already dim in the distance before
he could look back to speak his thanks to the god. Soon
the speed of his going and the rushing sound of the
waves lulled him into drowsiness, nor did he fully
awake till the golden car stood still, and he found
himself on land once more. The first wayfarer he met
told him that this was the country of King Oenomaus,
and before sunset he came to Pisa, a little city built
upon a hill.
King Oenomaus was glad at the coming of this handsome
stranger, who proclaimed himself a suitor for the hand
of the Princess, for he made sure of overtaking and
slaying him as he had done the rest. "There is another
wooer come to try his fortune," he told his daughter,
"a king's son, by the look of him, with goodly white
horses, and a chariot gay with gold. To-morrow you
shall ride in it, and see him fall at your side, like
the others. That will be good sport, and those white
horses will be the best of all my spoil from the fools
who have raced with me." Next morning, the King brought
his guest on foot to a broad and level valley near the
city, and the slaves followed them, leading their
chariots.
[46] Pelops saw that a tall maiden, wearing the veil of a
bride, stood in his own car and held the reins. When
they came to the place appointed, Oenomaus said, "It is
my custom to set Hippodameia, my daughter, in the car
of him who races here to win her, that he may carry off
the prize, if he can. Drive forward now, king's son,
for I wait till you have gone six furlongs, but woe
betide you if your horses are overtaken by those mares
of mine, that came from the stalls of Ares, the
War-god."
"Let me first see the face of this maiden," said
Pelops, "since I have good hope to make her my bride
this day."
"Throw back your veil, girl," said the King, and he
laughed a cruel laugh; "let your suitor look on you
while he may."
The Princess lifted her veil, and looked Pelops
straight in the eyes; now her fierce father had reared
her like a young warrior, till she could rein in the
wildest horses, and see blood shed without flinching,
nor had she ever known pity, but had taken delight in
the deaths of those thirteen strangers who came seeking
to carry her away as a bride. Yet as she looked at this
beautiful youth, she wished, on a sudden, that she
might not see him slain like those others, and at the
strangeness of so wishing, she blushed and drew down
her veil. Then Pelops looked
[47] well to the harness of the white horses, and took his
stand beside her, and drove them onward along the
valley. They had not passed far beyond the stone that
marked six furlongs from the starting-place when they
heard the King's chariot thundering behind them, but
his wondrous mares were no match for the steeds of
Poseidon, and soon Oenomaus saw that the race was lost.
With a cry of rage, he leaned forward and hurled the
spear at Pelops; so mightily he threw that the
spear-point struck the side of the golden car, and
would have pierced it, had it not been of heavenly
metal. But in the doing of the treacherous deed, the
King ended his life of wickedness; as he cast the spear
with his full force, he over-balanced himself, and fell
headlong from the chariot and broke his neck.
Thus, by Poseidon's help, Pelops gained a bride and a
kingdom, for he reigned at Pisa in the stead of
Oenomaus. He build the god an altar in the valley of
the chariot-race, and held a yearly feast there in his
honour, with sacrifices and rejoicings, on the day of
the victory. Also he ordained a race of chariots to be
run at the festival, for prizes of golden vessels and
costly armour, and in the after time the princes of all
lands contended in that race, so glorious was the fame
of it. But never came such horses thither as the white
steed of Poseidon, which were seen
[48] no more from the day when Pelops died in a good old
age, but vanished out of their stalls that same hour.
Now as for the Princess Hippodameia, she mourned but
little for her father, whom she had rather feared than
loved, and lived in all happiness with her wedded lord,
forgetting the wild and warlike life of her youth. The
sons who were born to her became mighty warriors, who
won lands and cities by the sword, and their children
fulfilled the promise of the gods to Tantalus
concerning the glory that should come upon his house.
For these were they who led a host out of all Greece to
that siege of Troy town, which the poets of ancient
ages made into the finest story in the world.
Here ends this tale; yet let it be told what befell
when Pelops had sent for the Queen his mother to dwell
with him at Pisa, who, because he would not return to
the land of Lydia, had given to Niobe the kingdom of
their father. There the daughter of Tantalus reigned
and prospered many years, but, even as he had done, she
provoked the wrath of the Immortals, through exceeding
pride. For she had seven sons and seven daughters,
incomparably beautiful, and she boasted that she had
borne fairer children than any of the goddesses. This
boast was heard in heaven by the divine mother of
Apollo, who
[49] appeared to Niobe in the guise of an old woman, and
bade her take back her words, lest the Archer-god and
Artemis, his sister, should avenge the slight offered
to their mother Leto. "Away, prating hag," answered the
Queen, "or I will have you scourged from my doors for
this insolence. Shall Leto, who has but the two
children, be named equal to Niobe, the mother of twice
seven?"
Forthwith the old woman vanished, and a cry was heard
from the garden where the children were at play. "The
arrows! The arrows! O mother, save us!" The Queen flew
to the place, only to see her young sons and daughters
fall one by one at her feet, pierced to the heart by
the arrows of invisible archers. None escaped those
shafts save the youngest of all, a little maid, whom
Niobe shielded in her arms, and she, who lived to be a
woman, was ever after pale as marble from the terror of
that hour.
NIOBE SHIELDING HER DAUGHTER.
|
Now there was a saying in those days that mortals whom
the gods loved, died young, being delivered from all
the toils of life, and the miseries of feeble age;
moreover, it was counted a happy fate to die by the
swift painless arrows that Apollo and Artemis shot from
their silver bows. Let no one think, then, that Queen
Niobe's innocent children were punished for their
mother's pride; she, not they, suffered, and even
[50] to her the Immortals were not unmerciful. Day and night
she wept by the children's tomb, refusing to be
comforted, till at last the gods in pity turned her to
a rock, in the semblance of a woman, and her tears to a
spring of water that trickles for ever down its face,
and there it is unto this day.
![[Illustration]](http://www.gatewaytotheclassics.com/thumbnails/selous_insects.jpg) |
Hundreds of additional titles available for
online reading when you join Gateway to the Classics
|
![[Illustration]](http://www.gatewaytotheclassics.com/thumbnails/stevenson_treasure.jpg) |
|
|