A Book of Myths
line, the white-maned horses of Poseidon, king of the seas, began to
rear their heads, and as night fell, a black curtain, blotting out
every landmark, and all home-like things, the East Wind rushed across
the AEgean Sea, smiting the sea-horses into madness, seizing the sails
with cruel grasp and casting them in tatters before it, snapping the
mast as though it were but a dry reed by the river. Before so mighty a
tempest no oars could be of any avail, and for a little time only the
winds and waves gambolled like a half-sated wolf-pack over their
helpless prey. With hungry roar the great weight of black water stove
in the deck and swept the sailors out of the ship to choke them in its
icy depths; and ever it would lift the wounded thing high up on its
foaming white crests, as though to toss it to the dark sky, and ever
again would suck it down into the blackness, while the shrieking winds
drove it onward with howling taunts and mocking laughter. While life
stayed in him, Ceyx thought only of Halcyone. He had no fear, only
the fear of the grief his death must bring to her who loved him as he
loved her, his peerless queen, his Halcyone. His prayers to the gods
were prayers for her. For himself he asked one thing only--that the
waves might bear his body to her sight, so that her gentle hands might
lay him in his tomb. With shout of triumph that they had slain a king,
winds and waves seized him even as he prayed, and the Day Star that
was hidden behind the black pall of the sky knew that his son, a brave
king and a faithful lover, had gone down to the Shades.
When Dawn, the rosy-fingered, had come to Thessaly, Halcyone,
white-faced and tired-eyed, anxiously watched the sea, that still was
tossing in half-savage mood. Eagerly she gazed at the place where last
the white sail had been seen. Was it not possible that Ceyx, having
weathered the gale, might for the present have foregone his voyage to
Ionia, and was returning to her to bring peace to her heart? But the
sea-beach was strewn with wrack and the winds still blew bits of
tattered surf along the shore, and for her there was only the heavy
labour of waiting, of waiting and of watching for the ship that never
came. The incense from her altars blew out, in heavy sweetness, to
meet the bitter-sweet tang of the seaweed that was carried in by the
tide, for Halcyone prayed on, fearful, yet hoping that her prayers
might still keep safe her man--her king--her lover. She busied herself
in laying out the garments he would wear on his return, and in
choosing the clothes in which she might be fairest in his eyes. This
robe, as blue as the sky in spring--silver-bordered, as the sea in
kind mood is bordered with a feathery silver fringe. She could recall
just how Ceyx looked when first he saw her wear it. She could hear his
very tones as he told her that of all queens she was the peeress, of
all women the most beautiful, of all wives the most dear. Almost she
forgot the horrors of the night, so certain did it seem that his dear
voice must soon again tell her the words that have been love's litany
since ever time began.
In the ears of Juno those petitions for him whose dead body was even
then being tossed hither and thither by the restless waves, his
murderers, came at last to be more than even she could bear. She gave
command to her handmaiden Iris to go to the palace of Somnus, god of
Sleep and brother of Death, and to bid him send to Halcyone a vision,
in the form of Ceyx, to tell her that all her weary waiting was in
vain.
In a valley among the black Cimmerian mountains the death-god Somnus
had his abode. In her rainbow-hued robes, Iris darted through the sky
at her mistress's bidding, tingeing, as she sped through them, the
clouds that she passed. It was a silent valley that she reached at
last. Here the sun never came, nor was there ever any sound to break
the silence. From the ground the noiseless grey clouds, whose work it
is to hide the sun and moon, rose softly and rolled away up to the
mountain tops and down to the lowest valleys, to work the will of the
gods. All around the cave lurked the long dark shadows that bring fear
to the heart of children, and that, at nightfall, hasten the steps of
the timid wayfarer. No noise was there, but from far down the valley
there came a murmur so faint and so infinitely soothing that it was
less a sound than of a lullaby remembered in dreams. For past the
valley of Sleep flow the waters of Lethe, the river of Forgetfulness.
Close up to the door of the cave where dwelt the twin brothers, Sleep
and Death, blood-red poppies grew, and at the door itself stood
shadowy forms, their fingers on their lips, enjoining silence on all
those who would enter in, amaranth-crowned, and softly waving sheaves
of poppies that bring dreams from which there is no awakening. There
was there no gate with hinges to creak or bars to clang, and into the
stilly darkness Iris walked unhindered. From outer cave to inner cave
she went, and each cave she left behind was less dark than the one
that she entered. In the innermost room of all, on an ebony couch
draped with sable curtains, the god of sleep lay drowsing. His
garments were black, strewn with golden stars. A wreath of half-opened
poppies crowned his sleepy head, and he leaned on the strong shoulder
of Morpheus, his favourite son. All round his bed hovered pleasant
dreams, gently stooping over him to whisper their messages, like a
field of wheat swayed by the breeze, or willows that bow their silver
heads and murmur to each other the secrets that no one ever knows.
Brushing the idle dreams aside, as a ray of sunshine brushes away the
grey wisps of mist that hang to the hillside, Iris walked up to the
couch where Somnus lay. The light from her rainbow-hued robe lit up
the darkness of the cave, yet Somnus lazily only half-opened his
eyes, moved his head so that it rested more easily, and in a sleepy
voice asked of her what might be her errand. "Somnus," she said,
"gentlest of gods, tranquilliser of minds and soother of careworn
hearts, Juno sends you her commands that you despatch a dream to
Halcyone in the city of Trachine, representing her lost husband and
all the events of the wreck."
Her message delivered, Iris hastened away, for it seemed to her that
already her eyelids grew heavy, and that there were creeping upon her
limbs, throwing silver dust in her eyes, lulling into peaceful slumber
her mind, those sprites born of the blood-red poppies that bring to
weary mortals rest and sweet forgetfulness.
Only rousing himself sufficiently to give his orders, Somnus entrusted
to Morpheus the task imposed upon him by Juno, and then, with a yawn,
turned over on his downy pillow, and gave himself up to exquisite
slumber.
When he had winged his way to Trachine, Morpheus took upon himself the
form of Ceyx and sought the room where Halcyone slept. She had watched
the far horizon many hours that day. For many an hour had she vainly
burned incense to the gods. Tired in heart and soul, in body and in
mind, she laid herself down on her couch at last, hoping for the gift
of sleep. Not long had she slept, in the dead-still sleep that
weariness and a stricken heart bring with them, when Morpheus came and
stood by her side. He was only a dream, yet his face was the face of
Ceyx. Not the radiant, beautiful son of the Day Star was the Ceyx who
stood by her now and gazed on her with piteous, pitying dead eyes.
His clothing dripped sea-water; in his hair was tangled the weed of
the sea, uprooted by the storm. Pale, pale was his face, and his white
hands gripped the stones and sand that had failed him in his dying
agony.
Halcyone whimpered in her sleep as she looked on him, and Morpheus
stooped over her and spoke the words that he had been told to say.
"I am thy husband, Ceyx, Halcyone. No more do prayers and the
blue-curling smoke of incense avail me. Dead am I, slain by the storm
and the waves. On my dead, white face the skies look down and the
restless sea tosses my chill body that still seeks thee, seeking a
haven in thy dear arms, seeking rest on thy warm, loving heart."
With a cry Halcyone started up, but Morpheus had fled, and there were
no wet footprints nor drops of sea-water on the floor, marking, as she
had hoped, the way that her lord had taken. Not again did Sleep visit
her that night.
A grey, cold morning dawned and found her on the seashore. As ever,
her eyes sought the far horizon, but no white sail, a messenger of
hope, was there to greet her. Yet surely she saw something--a black
speck, like a ship driven on by the long oars of mariners who knew
well the path to home through the watery ways. From far away in the
grey it hasted towards her, and then there came to Halcyone the
knowledge that no ship was this thing, but a lifeless body, swept
onwards by the hurrying waves. Nearer and nearer it came, until at
length she could recognise the form of this flotsam and jetsam of the
sea. With heart that broke as she uttered the words, she stretched
out her arms and cried aloud: "O Ceyx! my Beloved! is it thus that
thou returnest to me?"
To break the fierce assaults of sea and of storm there had been built
out from the shore a mole, and on to this barrier leapt the distraught
Halcyone. She ran along it, and when the dead, white body of the man
she loved was still out of reach, she prayed her last prayer--a
wordless prayer of anguish to the gods.
"Only let me get near him," she breathed. "Grant only that I nestle
close against his dear breast. Let me show him that, living or dead, I
am his, and he mine forever."
And to Halcyone a great miracle was then vouchsafed, for from out of
her snowy shoulders grew snow-white pinions, and with them she skimmed
over the waves until she reached the rigid body of Ceyx, drifting, a
helpless burden for the conquering waves, in with the swift-flowing
tide. As she flew, she uttered cries of love and of longing, but only
strange raucous cries came from the throat that had once only made
music. And when she reached the body of Ceyx and would fain have
kissed his marble lips, Halcyone found that no longer were her own
lips like the petals of a fair red rose warmed by the sun. For the
gods had heard her prayer, and her horny beak seemed to the watchers
on the shore to be fiercely tearing at the face of him who had been
king of Thessaly.
Yet the gods were not merciless--or, perhaps, the love of Halcyone was
an all-conquering love. For as the soul of Halcyone had passed into
the body of a white-winged sea-bird, so also passed the soul of her
husband the king. And for evermore Halcyone and her mate, known as the
Halcyon birds, defied the storm and tempest, and proudly breasted,
side by side, the angriest waves of the raging seas.
To them, too, did the gods grant a boon: that, for seven days before
the shortest day of the year, and for seven days after it, there
should reign over the sea a great calm in which Halcyone, in her
floating nest, should hatch her young. And to those days of calm and
sunshine, the name of the Halcyon Days was given.
And still, as a storm approaches, the white-winged birds come flying
inland with shrill cries of warning to the mariners whose ships they
pass in their flight.
"Ceyx!" they cry. "Remember Ceyx!"
And hastily the fishermen fill their sails, and the smacks drive
homeward to the haven where the blue smoke curls upwards from the
chimneys of their homesteads, and where the red poppies are nodding
sleepily amongst the yellow corn.
* * * * *
_Note._--The kingfisher is commonly known as the real
"Halcyon" bird. Of it Socrates says: "The bird is not
great, but it has received great honour from the gods