Favorite Greek Myths (Yesterday's Classics) (14 page)

Every tree in this grove was inhabited by a hamadryad, or wood-nymph, whose life was bound up in that of the tree in which she lived. If the trees died, the hamadryads would die too. Such groves were never cut. At noon, all these nymphs used to dance around the great oak, and sometimes Pan, with his little horns and goats' feet, came and danced with them.

Close by, a king of that country was building a new palace. When the walls were finished, he wanted timbers for the roof. One day he came into the grove of Ceres, bringing with him twenty woodmen, each of whom carried an axe or a saw.

The king told the woodmen to begin at once and cut down every tree in the grove; but the men, knowing that the grove was sacred to Ceres, and that the trees in it had been allowed to grow undisturbed for more than a thousand years, hesitated about carrying out such an order.

Then the king, in a fine temper, caught up an axe, and with a ringing stroke sent its blade into the trunk of the beautiful oak. A shriek followed the stroke of the axe. It was the voice of the hamadryad; but the king said that it was only the singing of the axe, and he would not stop.

Just then the old priestess came out from the temple, and told the king very gently that it would not be wise to anger Ceres; and she reminded him that the goddess had power over everything that grows out of the earth.

At this the king's strokes only flew the faster, and he spoke in a very insolent manner to the kind old priestess. "Stand off," said he, "the axe may hit you. The next time you see your trees they will be in my palace roof."

Without another word, the priestess walked quietly away; but a strange expression came into her face, which suddenly bore a close resemblance to that of Ceres, herself.

Soon, the great oak fell, with a crash. There was a moan from the dying hamadryad, and an answering wail from the other nymphs of the grove. The woodmen were frightened, and would gladly have spared the other trees; but the king insisted that every one should be cut.

The king's palace was soon completed, and it was a most magnificent structure. All went so well that the king began to think Ceres had forgotten his destruction of her sacred grove, or had not the power to punish him for it.

But the punishment came soon enough. At the command of Ceres, Famine now came to Thessaly. Famine, a servant of Ceres, was a frightful old creature, who, wherever she went, pulled up every green and growing thing, and then sowed hunger broadcast. On the approach of Famine, the beautiful fountains in the grove of Ceres, which had fed nearly all the rivers in the kingdom, began to dry up, and the rivers they had fed became nothing more than little brooks. The rain ceased to fall, and all crops failed. The peasants became discouraged, and, one by one, they took their goods and their flocks and herds, and went away to other lands.

One night, in spite of guarded gates and bolted doors, Famine walked into the king's own palace, and then the king himself learned what it was to be hungry. He laid the blame on his servants, and treated them so badly that they left him, one after another. At last there was left in the whole kingdom only the king and his one daughter, Metra, who was faithful to her father through all his troubles.

Ceres still withheld the rain, and scarcely any living thing could grow. Where the fields had been green, and where flocks of sheep and great herds of cattle had once fed, there was now only bare sand. Travellers still passed along the highway in front of the king's palace, on their way to and from a rich city on the coast. The only way that the king and Metra could obtain food now was to sit by the highway and beg of these strangers.

Finally, tortured by hunger, the king one day sold his daughter as a slave to a passing merchant. By this means he obtained sufficient food to supply his wants for some time; but even this store of food, so dearly bought, could not last, and there came a time when the poor king was worse off than ever. His kingdom had become a desert; his last friend was gone. How gladly he would have given his magnificent palace and the empty honor of being king of a forsaken country, if he could have seen the great oak growing again, and his kingdom fertile and flourishing as it had once been. But it was now too late. Even Ceres could not make the trees of her sacred grove grow again, nor bring back the wood-nymphs who had inhabited them.

J
UNO,
sitting on her golden throne on Mount Olympus, could look down and see all that happened on the earth. She watched over the fortunes of good women among mortals, and was the special protectress of brides. Her two special birds—the peacock and the cuckoo—might often be seen near her. On the steps of her throne slept her messenger, Iris, always half-awake, and ready to dart down like a bird, to the earth, to the underworld, or to any other place where Juno might send her.

Iris was the granddaughter of Old Ocean. Her sisters were the Dark Clouds; her bridge was the rainbow, which joined heaven to earth. She had golden wings, and her draperies were as many-colored as her bridge, which was made of the most beautiful flower-tints ever seen.

One of Juno's most faithful worshippers was Halcyone, the wife of King Ceyx of Thessaly. It happened that King Ceyx was obliged to take a distant journey, far away over the seas. One night during his absence a very heavy storm came up, and the winds blew a gale.

Halcyone, being the daughter of the wind-god, Æolus, knew well what her brothers, the Winds, could do, and passed the night in great terror. The next day she walked back and forth all day on the shore, longing for tidings of her husband's ship, yet fearing to know what might have happened. She was almost beside herself, and did not know what to do. At last, toward night, she carried wreaths to Juno's temple, and implored help from the goddess.

Juno knew all that had happened during the storm—how the king's ship had been broken to pieces upon the rocks, and how poor King Ceyx was already floating with the seaweed.

But the gods could do wonderful things. At a word from Juno, Iris set her beautiful rainbow bridge in the sky, while her sisters, the Dark Clouds, gathered together behind it. She came swiftly down the bridge to the earth, then flew toward the cave of Somnus, the god of sleep and dreams. She flew low over great fields of scarlet poppies—the poppies that bring sleep—and heard the trickling water of the river Lethe, which had its source within the cave of Somnus. Soon she reached the dark, cool, silent cave, and there lay Somnus, sleeping very soundly, on a great bed heaped high with black feathers. Around the god were dreams of every kind—good dreams and bad ones, beautiful and ugly, true and false. As Iris entered, her coming lighted up the darkness, and the wonderful colors of her garments were reflected to the farthest recess of the cave. She roused Somnus and delivered Juno's message.

That night Somnus sent a dream to Halcyone,— a dream of a wreck at a place some distance down the coast. Early the next morning, Halcyone ran to the place of which she had dreamed. She saw floating beams, and something bright among them—something which shone like the king's crown. Having a sudden longing to go to this spot, she started forward, and immediately felt herself raised on wings and carried out over the tossing waves, for Juno had changed her into a bird with plumage of Iris's own colors. With a loud cry, Halcyone flew to her Ceyx. Just as she lit on the floating beams, the bright crown became a crest of feathers, and the dead king a living bird with plumage like Halcyone's own.

So, after all, Ceyx and Halcyone were not separated. The air was as fresh and the sunshine as bright as ever. They could still be happy as kingfishers. After this, every year, the two birds built a nest which floated on the sea. During the fourteen days that Halcyone sat brooding, there was never a breath of wind stirring, but the sea was as smooth as glass, for Æolus watched over the waters. From that time, days of fine weather and calm seas, in midwinter, have been called "halcyon days."

A
MONG
all the heroes about whom the old Greek harpers used to sing, was one who was better loved by the Greek people than any of the rest. This was Hercules. He was loved by the Greeks better than any of their other heroes, because he was stronger and braver than any of the others.

Hercules performed his first brave deed when he was a mere baby, less than a year old. It happened in this way. One day Alcmene, the mother of Hercules, after bathing her twin babies, Hercules and Iphicles, fed them and put them into the hollow bronze shield which served for their cradle, and then sang them a lullaby, and rocked them to sleep. That night, when all the house was still, two huge snakes, whose bite was deadly, crawled in under the great doors, and came slowly across the floor to the place where the two babies were sleeping. The snakes lifted their heads above the shield, and with their wicked little eyes looked down at the children, but waited for some movement from them before striking. Just then both babies woke. Hercules sat up in the shield, and quick as a flash, caught both snakes by the neck, and began to squeeze their throats with all his might. Iphicles screamed, and then began to cry, while the snakes writhed and twisted and beat the floor with their tails.

VISION OF A KNIGHT, OR DUTY AND PLEASURE

Alcmene, hearing the noise, woke the children's father, Amphitryon. He hastily took his sword from the peg at the head of his bed, and calling on his slaves to bring torches, entered the room where the children were, not knowing what enemy he might see.

There sat little Hercules, holding two great snakes by their necks, and crowing with pleasure, as if he had found a new plaything. When his father came to the side of the shield, Hercules laid the two snakes at his feet, quite dead. You may believe Amphitryon was astonished.

The next morning Alcmene asked a wise old man, called Tiresias, what it meant that a baby, only ten months old, had been able to kill two great snakes. Tiresias answered that Hercules, when he grew up, should be stronger than any wild beast, or than any other man who had ever lived, and that he should perform twelve wonderful labors, and afterward should live on Mount Olympus, with the gods.

A
S
Hercules grew up, he was carefully trained in all the things that Greek boys were accustomed to learn. He was taught his letters, how to play on the lyre, and how to shoot with the bow and arrow. He was taught by his father how to drive, standing in his chariot, as the Greeks drove in their races. He also learned how to box, to wrestle, to throw the discus, and to fight with the lance and shield. During the day he was always at his father's side, and at night his bed, which was covered with a lion's skin, stood near that of his father.

When he was almost grown, he went to live, for a time, among the herdsmen on the mountains. He lay down one day in a lonely spot in one of the mountain valleys, to sleep through the noonday heat. In his sleep he had a strange dream. It seemed to him in his dream that the path he was following suddenly divided into two well-marked roads, and he could not tell which he ought to take. One looked very smooth and easy to follow, and seemed to lead, a little farther down the mountain, to a pleasant city, the roofs of which he could already see. The other was a rough mountain road, which looked very hard to climb. This one led up, up, up, for a long distance, growing rougher and rougher as it ascended the mountain, till it was lost to sight in the clouds.