A Book of Myths
But who can escape the designs of the gods? From Olympus great Zeus
himself looked down and saw the air princess sighing away her youth.
And, full of pity and of love, he himself entered the brazen tower in
a golden shower, and Danae became the bride of Zeus and happily passed
with him the time of her imprisonment.
To her at length was born a son, a beautiful and kingly child, and
great was the wrath of her father when he had tidings of the birth.
Did the gods in the high heavens laugh at him? The laugh should yet be
on his side. Down to the seashore he hurried Danae and her newly-born
babe, the little Perseus, put them in a great chest, and set them
adrift to be a plaything for winds and waves and a prey for the cruel
and hungry sea.
"When in the cunningly-wrought chest the raging blast
and the stirred billow and terror fell upon her, with
tearful cheeks she cast her arm around Perseus and
spake, 'Alas, my child, what sorrow is mine! But thou
slumberest, in baby-wise sleeping in this woeful ark;
midst the darkness of the brazen rivet thou shinest and
in the swart gloom sent forth; thou heedest not the deep
foam of the passing wave above thy locks nor the voice
of the blast as thou liest in thy purple covering, a
sweet face. If terror had terrors for thee, and thou
wert giving ear to my gentle words--I bid thee sleep, my
babe, and may the sea sleep and our measureless woe; and
may change of fortune come forth, Father Zeus, from
thee. For that I make my prayer in boldness and beyond
right, forgive me.'"
Simonides of Keos.
For days and nights the mother and child were tossed on the billows,
but yet no harm came near them, and one morning the chest grounded on
the rocky beach of Seriphos, an island in the AEgean Sea. Here a
fisherman came on this strange flotsam and jetsam of the waves and
took the mother and child to Polydectes, the king, and the years that
followed were peaceful years for Danae and for Perseus. But as Perseus
grew up, growing each day more goodly to look upon, more fearless,
more ready to gaze with serene courage into the eyes of gods and of
men, an evil thing befell his mother. She was but a girl when he was
born, and as the years passed she grew ever more fair. And the crafty
eyes of old Polydectes, the king, ever watched her more eagerly,
always more hotly desired her for his wife. But Danae, the beloved of
Zeus himself, had no wish to wed the old king of the Cyclades, and
proudly she scorned his suit. Behind her, as she knew well, was the
stout arm of her son Perseus, and while Perseus was there, the king
could do her no harm. But Perseus, unwitting of the danger his mother
daily had to face, sailed the seas unfearingly, and felt that peace
and safety surrounded him on every side. At Samos one day, while his
ship was lading, Perseus lay down under the shade of a great tree, and
soon his eyelids grew heavy with sleep, and there came to him, like
butterflies that flit over the flowers in a sunlit garden, pleasant,
light-winged dreams. But yet another dream followed close on the merry
heels of those that went before. And before Perseus there stood one
whose grey eyes were as the fathomless sea on the dawn of a summer
day. Her long robes were blue as the hyacinths in spring, and the
spear that she held in her hand was of a polished brightness, as the
dart with which the gods smite the heart of a man, with joy
inexpressible, with sorrow that is scarcely to be borne. To Perseus
she spoke winged words.
"I am Pallas Athene," she said, "and to me the souls of men are known.
Those whose fat hearts are as those of the beasts that perish do I
know. They live at ease. No bitter sorrow is theirs, nor any fierce
joy that lifts their feet free from the cumbering clay. But dear to my
heart are the souls of those whose tears are tears of blood, whose joy
is as the joy of the Immortals. Pain is theirs, and sorrow.
Disappointment is theirs, and grief. Yet their love is as the love of
those who dwell on Olympus. Patient they are and long-suffering, and
ever they hope, ever do they trust. Ever they fight, fearless and
unashamed, and when the sum of their days on earth is accomplished,
wings, of whose existence they have never had knowledge, bear them
upwards, out of the mist and din and strife of life, to the life that
has no ending."
Then she laid her hand on the hand of Perseus. "Perseus," she said,
"art thou of those whose dull souls forever dwell in pleasant ease, or
wouldst thou be as one of the Immortals?"
And in his dream Perseus answered without hesitation:
"Rather let me die, a youth, living my life to the full, fighting
ever, suffering ever," he said, "than live at ease like a beast that
feeds on flowery pastures and knows no fiery gladness, no
heart-bleeding pain."
Then Pallas Athene, laughing for joy, because she loved so well a
hero's soul, showed him a picture that made even his brave heart sick
for dread, and told him a terrible story.
In the dim, cold, far west, she said, there lived three sisters. One
of them, Medusa, had been one of her priestesses, golden-haired and
most beautiful, but when Athene found that she was as wicked as she
was lovely, swiftly had she meted out a punishment. Every lock of her
golden hair had been changed into a venomous snake. Her eyes, that had
once been the cradles of love, were turned into love's stony tombs.
Her rosy cheeks were now of Death's own livid hue. Her smile, which
drew the hearts of lovers from their bosoms, had become a hideous
thing. A grinning mask looked on the world, and to the world her
gaping mouth and protruding tongue meant a horror before which the
world stood terrified, dumb. There are some sadnesses too terrible for
human hearts to bear, so it came to pass that in the dark cavern in
which she dwelt, and in the shadowy woods around it, all living things
that had met the awful gaze of her hopeless eyes were turned into
stone. Then Pallas Athene showed Perseus, mirrored in a brazen shield,
the face of one of the tragic things of the world. And as Perseus
looked, his soul grew chill within him. But when Athene, in low voice,
asked him:
"Perseus, wilt even end the sorrow of this piteous sinful one?" he
answered, "Even that will I do--the gods helping me."
And Pallas Athene, smiling again in glad content, left him to dream,
and Perseus awoke, in sudden fear, and found that in truth he had but
dreamed, yet held his dream as a holy thing in the secret
treasure-house of his heart.
Back to Seriphos he sailed, and found that his mother walked in fear
of Polydectes the king. She told her son--a strong man now, though
young in years--the story of his cruel persecution. Perseus saw red
blood, and gladly would he have driven his keen blade far home in the
heart of Polydectes. But his vengeance was to be a great vengeance,
and the vengeance was delayed.
The king gave a feast, and on that day every one in the land brought
offerings of their best and most costly to do him honour. Perseus
alone came empty-handed, and as he stood in the king's court as though
he were a beggar, the other youths mocked at him of whom they had ever
been jealous.
"Thou sayest that thy father is one of the gods!" they said. "Where is
thy godlike gift, O Perseus!"
And Polydectes, glad to humble the lad who was keeper of his mother's
honour, echoed their foolish taunt.
"Where is the gift of the gods that the noble son of the gods has
brought me?" he asked, and his fat cheeks and loose mouth quivered
with ugly merriment.
Then Perseus, his head thrown back, gazed in the bold eyes of
Polydectes.
Son of Zeus he was indeed, as he looked with royal scorn at those whom
he despised.
"A godlike gift thou shalt have, in truth, O king," he said, and his
voice rang out as a trumpet-call before the battle. "The gift of the
gods shall be thine. The gods helping me, thou shalt have the head of
Medusa."
A laugh, half-born, died in the throats of Polydectes and of those who
listened, and Perseus strode out of the palace, a glow in his heart,
for he knew that Pallas Athene had lit the fire that burned in him
now, and that though he should shed the last drop of his life's blood
to win what he sought, right would triumph, and wrong must be worsted.
Still quivering with anger, Perseus went down to the blue sea that
gently whispered its secrets to the shore on which he stood.
"If Pallas Athene would but come," he thought--"if only my dreams
might come true."
For, like many a boy before and since, Perseus had dreamed of gallant,
fearless deeds. Like many a boy before and since, he had been the hero
of a great adventure.
So he prayed, "Come to me! I pray you, Pallas Athene, come! and let me
dream true."
His prayer was answered.
Into the sky there came a little silver cloud that grew and grew, and
ever it grew nearer, and then, as in his dream, Pallas Athene came to
him and smiled on him as the sun smiles on the water in spring. Nor
was she alone. Beside her stood Hermes of the winged shoes, and
Perseus knelt before the two in worship. Then, very gently, Pallas
Athene gave him counsel, and more than counsel she gave.
In his hand she placed a polished shield, than which no mirror shone
more brightly.
"Do not look at Medusa herself; look only on her image here
reflected--then strike home hard and swiftly. And when her head is
severed, wrap it in the goatskin on which the shield hangs. So wilt
thou return in safety and in honour."
"But how, then, shall I cross the wet grey fields of this watery
way?" asked Perseus. "Would that I were a white-winged bird that skims
across the waves."
And, with the smile of a loving comrade, Hermes laid his hand on the
shoulder of Perseus.
"My winged shoes shall be thine," he said, "and the white-winged
sea-birds shalt thou leave far, far behind."
"Yet another gift is thine," said Athene. "Gird on, as gift from the
gods, this sword that is immortal."
For a moment Perseus lingered. "May I not bid farewell to my mother?"
he asked. "May I not offer burnt-offerings to thee and to Hermes, and
to my father Zeus himself?"
But Athene said Nay, at his mother's weeping his heart might relent,
and the offering that the Olympians desired was the head of Medusa.
Then, like a fearless young golden eagle, Perseus spread out his arms,
and the winged shoes carried him across the seas to the cold northern
lands whither Athene had directed him.
Each day his shoes took him a seven days' journey, and ever the air
through which he passed grew more chill, till at length he reached the
land of everlasting snow, where the black ice never knows the
conquering warmth of spring, and where the white surf of the moaning
waves freezes solid even as it touches the shore.
It was a dark grim place to which he came, and in a gloomy cavern by
the sea lived the Graeae, the three grey sisters that Athene had told
him he must seek. Old and grey and horrible they were, with but one
tooth amongst them, and but one eye. From hand to hand they passed
the eye, and muttered and shivered in the blackness and the cold.
Boldly Perseus spoke to them and asked them to guide him to the place
where Medusa and her sisters the Gorgons dwelt.
"No others know where they dwell," he said. "Tell me, I pray thee, the
way that I may find them."
But the Grey Women were kin to the Gorgons, and hated all the children
of men, and ugly was their evil mirth as they mocked at Perseus and
refused to tell him where Medusa might be found.
But Perseus grew wily in his desire not to fail, and as the eye passed
from one withered, clutching hand to another, he held out his own