beak of a crow, that outlives nine generations of men. These with many other things
"without a name" she boiled together for her purposed work, stirring them up with a dry
olive branch; and behold! the branch when taken out instantly became green, and
before long was covered with leaves and a plentiful growth of young olives; and as the
liquor boiled and bubbled, and sometimes ran over, the grass wherever the sprinklings
fell shot forth with a verdure like that of spring.
Seeing that all was ready, Medea cut the throat of the old man and let out all his
blood, and poured into his mouth and into his wound the juices of her caldron. As soon
as he had completely imbibed them, his hair and beard laid by their whiteness and
assumed the blackness of youth; his paleness and emaciation were gone; his veins
were full of blood, his limbs of vigor and robustness. Aeson is amazed at himself, and
remembers that such as he now is, he was in his youthful days, forty years before.
Medea used her arts here for a good purpose, but not so in another instance
where she made them the instruments of revenge. Pelias, our readers will recollect, was
the usurping uncle of Jason, and had kept him out of his kingdom. Yet he must have
had some good qualities, for his daughters loved him, and when they saw what Medea
had done for Aeson, they wished her to do the same for their father. Medea pretended
to consent, and prepared her caldron as before. At her request an old sheep was
brought and plunged into the caldron. Very soon a bleating was heard in the kettle, and
when the cover was removed, a lamb jumped forth and ran frisking away into the
meadow. The daughters of Pelias saw the experiment with delight, and appointed a time
for their father to undergo the same operation. But Medea prepared her caldron for him
in a very different way. She put in only water and a few simple herbs. In the night she
with the sisters entered the bed chamber of the old king, while he and his guards slept
soundly under the influence of a spell cast upon them by Medea. The daughters stood
by the bedside with their weapons drawn, but hesitated to strike till Medea chid their
irresolution. Then, turning away their faces, and giving random blows, they smote him
with their weapons. He starting from this his sleep cried out, "My daughters, what are
you doing? Will you kill your father?" Their hearts failed them and the weapons fell from
their hands, but Medea struck him a fatal blow, and prevented his saying more.
Then they placed him in the caldron, and Medea hastened to depart in her
serpent-drawn chariot before they discovered her treachery, or their vengeance would
have been terrible. She escaped, however, but had little enjoyment of the fruits of her
crime. Jason, for whom she had done so much, wishing to marry Creusa, princess of
Corinth, put away Medea. She, enraged at his ingratitude, called on the gods for
vengeance, sent a poisoned robe as a gift to the bride, and then killing her own children,
and setting fire to the palace, mounted her serpent-drawn chariot and fled to Athens,
where she married King Aegeus, the father of Theseus, and we shall meet her again
when we come to the adventures of that hero.
The incantations of Medea will remind the reader of those of the witches in
Macbeth. The following lines are those which seem most strikingly to recall the ancient
model: -
"Round about the caldron go;
In the poisoned entrails throw.
* * * * * * * * * ** * * * * *
Fillet of a fenny snake
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog.
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and howlet's wing:
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Maw of ravening salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digged in the dark," &c.
Macbeth, Act IV. Scene I.
And again: -
Macbeth. - What is't you do?
Witches. - A deed without a name.
There is another story of Medea almost too revolting for record even of a
sorceress, a class of persons to whom both ancient and modern poets have been
accustomed to attribute every degree of atrocity. In her flight from Colchis she had
taken her young brother Absyrtus with her. Finding the pursuing vessels of Aeetes
gaining upon the Argonauts, she caused the lad to be killed and his limbs to be strewn
over the sea. Aeetes on reaching the place found these sorrowful traces of his
murdered son; but while he tarried to collect the scattered fragments and bestow upon
the man honorable interment, the Argonauts escaped.
In the poems of Campbell will be found a translation of one of the choruses of the
tragedy of Medea, where the poet Euripides has taken advantage of the occasion to pay
a glowing tribute to Athens, his native city. It begins thus: -
"O haggard queen! to Athens dost thou guide
Thy glowing chariot, steeped in kindred gore;
Or seek to hide thy damned parricide
Where Peace and Justice dwell for evermore?"
Chapter XVIII: Meleager And Atalanta
One of the heroes of the Argonautic expedition was Meleager, son of Oeneus
and Althea, king and queen of Calydon. Althea, when her son was born, beheld the
three Destinies, who, as they spun their fatal thread, foretold that the life of the child
should last no longer than a brand then burning upon the hearth. Althea seized and
quenched the brand, and carefully preserved it for years, while Meleager grew to
boyhood, youth, and manhood. It chanced, then, that Oeneus, as he offered sacrifices
to the gods, omitted to pay due honors to Diana; and she, indignant at the neglect,
sent a wild boar of enormous size to lay waste the fields of Calydon. Its eyes shone
with blood and fire, its bristles stood like threatening spears, its tusks were like those of
Indian elephants. The growing corn was trampled, the vines and olive trees laid
waste, the flocks and herds were driven in wild confusion by the slaughtering foe. All
common aid seemed vain; but Meleager called on the heroes of Greece to join in a
bold hunt for the ravenous monster. Theseus and his friend Pirithous, Jason, Peleus
afterwards the father of Achilles, Telamon the father of Ajax, Nestor, then a youth, but
who in his age bore arms with Achilles and Ajax in the Trojan war, - these and many
more joined in the enterprise. With them came Atalanta, the daughter of Iasius, king of
Arcadia. A buckle of polished gold confined her vest, an ivory quiver hung on her left
shoulder, and her left hand bore the bow. Her face blent feminine beauty with the best
graces of martial youth. Meleager saw and loved.
But now already they were near the monster's lair. They stretched strong nets
from tree to tree; they uncoupled their dogs, they tried to find the footprints of their
quarry in the grass. From the wood was a descent to marshy ground. Here the boar,
as he lay among the reeds, heard the shouts of his pursuers, and rushed forth against
them. One and another is thrown down and slain. Jason throws his spear, with a
prayer to Diana for success; and the favoring goddess allows the weapon to touch, but
not to wound, removing the steel point of the spear even in its flight. Nestor, ass
ailed,
seeks and finds safety in the branches of a tree. Telamon rushes on, but stumbling at
a projecting root, falls prone. But an arrow from Atalanta at length for the first time
tastes the monster's blood. It is a slight wound, but Meleager sees and joyfully
proclaims it. Anceus, excited to envy by the praise given to a female, loudly proclaims
his own valor, and defies alike the boar and the goddess who had sent it; but as he
rushes on, the infuriated beast lays him low with a mortal wound. Theseus throws his
lance, but it is turned aside by a projecting bough. The dart of Jason misses its object,
and kills instead one of their own dogs. But Meleager, after one unsuccessful stroke,
drives his spear into the monster's side, then rushes on and despatches him with
repeated blows.
Then rose a shout from those around; they congratulated the conqueror,
crowding to touch his hand. He, placing his foot upon the head of the slain boar,
turned to Atalanta and bestowed on her the head and the rough hide which were the
trophies of his success. But at this, envy excited the rest to strife. Plexippus and
Toxeus, the brothers of Meleager's mother, beyond the rest opposed the gift, and
snatched from the maiden the trophy she had received. Meleager, kindling with rage
at the wrong done to himself, and still more at the insult offered to her whom he loved,
forgot the claims of kindred, and plunged his sword into the offenders' hearts.
As Althea bore gifts of thankfulness to the temples for the victory of her son, the
bodies of her murdered brothers met her sight. She shrieks,and beats her breast, and
hastens to change the garments of rejoicing for those of mourning. But when the
author of the deed is known, grief gives way to the stern desire of vengeance on her
son. The fatal brand, which once she rescued from the flames, the brand which the
Destinies had linked with Meleager's life, she brings forth, and commands a fire to be
prepared. Then four times she essays to place the brand upon the pile; four times
draws back, shuddering at the thought of bringing destruction on her son. The feelings
of the mother and the sister contend within her. Now she is pale at the thought of the
purposed deed, now flushed again with anger at the act of her son. As a vessel,
driven in one direction by the wind, and in the opposite by the tide, the mind of Althea
hangs suspended in uncertainty. But now the sister prevails above the mother, and
she begins as she holds the fatal wood: "Turn, ye Furies, goddesses of punishment!
turn to behold the sacrifice I bring! Crime must atone for crime. Shall Oeneus rejoice
in his victor son, while the house of Thestius is desolate? But, alas! to what deed am I
borne along? Brothers, forgive a mother's weakness! my hand fails me. He deserves
death, but not that I should destroy him. But shall he then live, and triumph, and reign
over Calydon, while you, my brothers, wander unavenged among the shades? No!
thou hast lived by my gift; die, now, for thine own crime. Return the life which twice I
gave thee, first at thy birth, again when I snatched this brand from the flames. O that
thou hadst then died! Alas! evil is the conquest; but, brothers, ye have conquered."
And, turning away her face, she threw the fatal wood upon the burning pile.
It gave, or seemed to give, a deadly groan. Meleager, absent and unknowing of
the cause, felt a sudden pang. He burns, and only by courageous pride conquers the
pain which destroys him. He mourns only that he perishes by a bloodless and
unhonored death. With his last breath he calls upon his aged father, his brother, and
his fond sisters, upon his beloved Atalanta, and upon his mother, the unknown cause
of his fate. The flames increase, and with them the pain of the hero. Now both
subside; now both are quenched. The brand is ashes, and the life of Meleager is
breathed forth to the wandering winds.
Althea, when the deed was done, laid violent hands upon herself. The sisters of
Meleager mourned their brother with uncontrollable grief; till Diana, pitying the sorrows
of the house that once had aroused her anger, turned them into birds.
Atalanta.
The innocent cause of so much sorrow was a maiden whose face you might truly
say was boyish for a girl, yet too girlish for a boy. Her fortune had been told, and it
was to this effect: "Atalanta, do not marry; marriage will be your ruin." Terrified by this
oracle, she fled the society of men, and devoted herself to the sports of the chase. To
all suitors (for she had many) she imposed a condition which was generally effectual in
relieving her of their persecutions, - I will be the prize of him who shall conquer me in
the race; but death must be the penalty of all who try and fail." In spite of this hard
condition some would try. Hippomenes was to be judge of he race. "Can it be possible
that any will be so rash as to risk so much for a wife?" said he. But when he saw her
lay aside her robe for the race, he changed his mind, and said, "Pardon me, youths, I
knew not the prize you were competing for." As he surveyed them he wished them all
to be beaten, and swelled with envy of any one that seemed at all likely to win. While
such were his thoughts, the virgin darted forward. As she ran she looked more
beautiful than ever. The breezes seemed to give wings to her feet; her hair flew over
her shoulders, and the gay fringe of her garment fluttered behind her. A ruddy hue
tinged the whiteness of her skin, such as a crimson curtain casts on a marble wall. All
her competitors were distanced, and were put to death without mercy. Hippomenes,
not daunted by this result, fixing his eyes on the virgin, said, "Why boast of beating
those laggards? I offer myself for the contest." Atalanta looked at him with a pitying
countenance, and hardly knew whether she would rather conquer him or not. "What
god can tempt one so young and handsome to throw himself away? I pity him, not for
his beauty, (yet he is beautiful,) but for his youth. I wish he would give up the race, or
if he will be so mad, I hope he may outrun me." While she hesitates, revolving these
thoughts, the spectators grow impatient for the race, and her father prompts her to
prepare. Then Hippomenes addressed a prayer to Venus: "Help me, Venus, for you
have led me on." Venus heard, and was propitious.
In the garden of her temple, in her own island of Cyprus, is a tree with yellow
leaves and yellow branches, and golden fruit. Hence she gathered three golden
apples, and, unseen by any one else, gave them to Hippomenes, and told him how to
use them. The signal is given; each starts from the goal, and skims over the sand. So
light their tread, you would almost have thought they might run over the river surface or
over the waving grain without sinking. The cries of the spectators cheered
Hippomenes - "Now, now do your best! haste, haste!, you again on her! relax not!
one more effort!" It was doubtful whether the youth or the maiden heard these cries
with the greater pleasure. But his breath began to fail him, his throat was dry, the goal
yet far off. At that moment he threw down one of the golden apples. The virgin was all
amazement. She stopped to pick it up. Hippomenes shot ahead. Shouts burst forth
from all sides. She redoubled her efforts,
and soon overtook him. Again he threw an
apple. She stopped again, but again came up with him. The goal was near; one
chance only remained. "Now, goddess," said he, "prosper your gift!" and threw the last
apple off at one side. She looked at it, and hesitated; Venus impelled her to turn aside
for it. She did so, and was vanquished. The youth carried off his prize.
But the lovers were so full of their own happiness that they forgot to pay due
honor to Venus; and the goddess was provoked at their ingratitude. She caused them
to give offence to Cybele. That powerful goddess was not to be insulted with impunity.
She took from them their human form and turned them into animals of characters
resembling their own: of the huntress- heroine, triumphing in the blood of her lovers,
she made a lioness, and of her lord and master a lion, and yoked them to her car,
where they are still to be seen in all representations, in statuary or painting, of the
goddess Cybele.
Cybele is the Latin name of the goddess called by the Greeks Rhea and Ops.
She was the wife of Cronos and mother of Zeus. In works of art, she exhibits the
matronly air which distinguishes Juno and Ceres. Sometimes she is veiled, and
seated on a throne with lions at her side, at other times riding in a chariot drawn by
lions. She wears a mural crown, that is, a crown whose rim is carved in the form of
towers and battlements. Her priests were called Corybantes.
Byron in describing the city of Venice, which is built on a low island in the Adriatic
Sea, borrows an illustration from Cybele: -
"She looks a sea-Cybele fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers.
Childe Harold, IV.
In Moore's Rhymes on the Road, the poet, speaking of Alpine scenery, alludes to
the story of Atalanta and Hippomenes, thus: -
Age of Fable or Beauties of Mythology Page 18