The weird of the wanderer Being the papyrus records of some incidents in one of the previous lives of Mr. Nicholas Crabbe
night-born Tisiphone, a scratcher of earth-walking men after they are
dead. But this is the dungeon where Pirithoos lay to be scratched by me
during a hundred years.”
Now there is nothing more terrible than such an impudent female as
this. Wherefore, having prepared a wile, not to enrage her, but to
delude her, by seeming to be overcome by piety and terror, then, I let
my mouth gape like a fool’s while I repeated after her: “A hundred
years!”
But she began to be garrulous. But I watched for an opportunity
of entangling her in her talk. And thus she chattered: “Yea, here
indeed lay Pirithoos, son of Ixion, during a hundred years. For King
Hades would not give him to sweet Death, so black was his crime.
But, every night, we sisters three tormented his body as though he
were dead, using fiery tortures and nail-tearings, until the decree
came that his shade should repose in peace, being purged. But thou,
also, O much-enduring Odysseys, will lie here, chained, purging thy
presumptuous prepotence: but, not till after thy death, may we deal
with thee according to thy doom, whatever that may be.”
And, having thus enlightened me, the very excessive Fury suddenly left
me, with extempore shrieks and a flapping of her skinny wings.
Thereafter, I forget how some days passed: for a prisoner may not
reckon the flight of Time in the region of Tartaros, excepting by
marking the ebb and flow of the fiery tides of Pyriphthlegethon.
Moreover, I was occupied in my mind, reviewing all my store of magic
wisdom and contriving many wiles.
And, by chance, one day, I became aware that I was hearing a song; and
the sound of it seemed to come from very far away, sweetly, like the
voice of a cicada drunk on dewdrops,[45] which, in the woods, sitting
on a tree, sends forth a delicate lily-like voice.
Now, in the house of shady Hades (most righteous of gods), this is
the condition of mortals when they are dead. For their nerves have no
longer flesh and bones: but the strong force of burning fire subdues
them, when first the mind leaves the white bones; and the soul,
gibbering like a dream, flits and flutters away. Wherefore, the souls
of the dead cannot sing, nor do they attempt it, being occupied in
shrieking with agony and fear. For which cause, I was vastly amazed to
hear so very sweet a song, so grave, so quiet in tone; and, having
summoned all my strength, despite the weighty manacles which trammelled
me, I leaped up to the high barred window which looked out into the
gloom. But I saw little more than that my dungeon was a pit in a rocky
height: for it happened to be the hour of slack tide, when the flames
of Pyriphthlegethon die down for a while.
And the wonderful song came more clearly from below, thrilling the
darkness of black night.
But, when, anon, the voice was silent, I wedged myself (as best I
could) into the narrow alcove of the window, waiting for the ebb of
the tide, when I might see more plainly in the light of the increscent
flames.
And, when the flickering gleam of the fires leaped up, I saw that my
pit was a cell in a watch-tower perched high above the walls of the
house of blameless Hades. But there was a great gulph fixed below, and
bleak meadows beyond, swept by mists and winds of hell.
And, while I gazed, the lily-like voice began again to sing,
maidenlike, very solemn, and of entrancing sweetness. But I, listening,
heard it; and the heart in my dear breast thrilled strangely: for it
seemed as though Memory (that divine one of goddesses) was opening yet
once more certain chambers in my mind, unknown, or unremembered; and
I was aware of treasures stored therein, whose very existence I had
forgotten. But the simple song went sadly on, as though the singer sat
in patience waiting, singing only just to pass the time, but always
with hope, very faint indeed but never-failing, ever-enduring, in the
depth of her maiden breast. And thus she sang:
_Once, a flower, in a garden where gold sunlight
flamed on all with its fervent splendour, flourish’d
stainless aye, from the tender seed’s upspringing
to the snow of its yet-unfolded blossom.
When, at length, on its stem so straight and slender,
fragrant, delicate, fresh, this blossom budded,
men from near and a host from far came, each one
longing only to pluck and wear the full flower.
Came a stripling of noble mien and stately,
strong and clean as a sword. His bright eyes saw her,
shyly paused to admire, and pass’d in silence:
but she, pure as a priestess, ne’er forgot him.
Came a hero in triumph, wearing garlands
woven close with the glory of full-blown roses;
and he stole from her place the snow-white blossom--
rescued soon by the two who were her wardens,
Came a noisily-shouting dotard, jealous
for the bud, which he knew not how to cherish:
him, the lord of the garden fair permitted;
and he carried away the prize unfolded.
Came one mad with the scents of gaudy posies,
One who revell’d in robbing other gardens:
he, the delicate blossom, ravish’d: but she
never open’d for him her snow-white petals.
Last of all, then, the gods in grace restored her
to the peace of the sunlit garden’s splendour;
and the youth who, afore, had seen and loved her,
would have taken her: but dire Fate o’ertook him.
Still she blooms in a garden, where the winter
frost and cold cannot quench the golden sunlight
in her heart, nor the storms defile her whiteness;
waiting, till, on his breast, she bursts in full flower._[46]
And the strange sweet dancing rhythm made my pulses bound; and my
breath came quickly in accord. For it was like a sudden-blazing
thunderbolt illuminating the recesses of my mind; and I remembered the
object of my quest, to wit, Golden Helen, who, when I was not much
more than a boy, had watched me faring girded high through the ford
of Eyrotas near windy Lakedaimon--Golden Helen, whom her star-crowned
brothers (Kastor the tamer of horses and Polydeykes the pugilist) had
rescued from the blameless hero Theseys carrying her away when she
was a tender girl,--Golden Helen, whom King Tyndareys had given in
so-called marriage to loud-shouting impotent old sandy-haired Menelaos,
blameless, and blubber-lipped,--Golden Helen, whom woman-mad Paris had
reft from her farcical husband,--Golden Helen, who had come again to me
in the land of Khem, long ages since, pure as snow or fire, and always
mine alone,--Golden Helen, whom black Fate had reft from me, when I
died that time by the sacred river of Egypt, being wounded to death by
blameless Kirke’s son and mine, unknowing Telegonos.[47]
But now, indeed, I knew of a truth that Golden Helen was that very
Treasure of Hades which I had come to win: for, by favour of Queen
Persephone, she was safe in the netherworld, and only there, for in
the netherworld there are no men capable of worrying a lady, but
merely shades of men, who are quite negligible; and, there, she (being
immortal) could live faithful to me and not altogether without certain
amenities. Wherefore, with a great shout, I called her by name.
And she made answer, half-amazed and half-afraid, saying: “Who calleth
me with the voice of one long dead?”
To whom I replied: “I am Odysseys, grandson of Hermes, victor over all
sorts of people; and I am come here for thee, O high-born long-robed
Helen whom I love.”
Thus I spoke. But the golden goddess, filled with joy, said: “O
Odysseys, I have waited long. But now where art thou?”
To whom I answered, saying: “I am imprisoned by shady Hades in a pit in
one of his towers. But canst thou see me at any window, O Golden Helen,
for I can not see thee.”
She said: “I see thee not, O much-enduring Odysseys. But thou shalt
soon escape and come to me: for, though it is not safe for me to go
alone among the gods (married and unmarried) of lofty Olympos to plead
for thee, and, though shady Hades doth regard me with disfavour, yet my
twin-brothers (who are dead to-day in the netherworld where I can speak
firmly to them) will be all alive to-morrow in the neighbourhood of
the immortals, such being their destiny. And they shall demand graces
from my lordly sire Zeys Pantokrator.”
Thus she spoke; and, incontinent, sped away about my business. But I,
being refilled with hopeful ideas, felt my great strength increasing
every moment. Wherefore, with loud laughter, I came down from the
hollow window, beginning to break my bonds. Now, had I been on earth or
sea, I should have used certain magic recipes known to me, whereby the
bitter iron would have crumpled up in sheer bewilderment: but I wished
it to be said of me that I had won the Treasure of Hades with my naked
strength as far as possible, if (indeed) it should be permitted to me
by the gods inhabiting olympian palaces. Wherefore, I set my sinews to
work: for youth was hotter than ever in my veins and my life was raging
within me. And, having tasted the name of the golden goddess desired
of all men, I made that my only spell; and then indeed I burst great
fetters with my little fingers. And, with the same spell (and lusty
loin-heavings), I tore at the staple inset in a flag-stone, dragging
it from its socket. And, with the same spell (and a mighty swelling of
my hardened body), I wrenched asunder the last hoop of iron; and stood
free among my splendidly-shattered shackles.
Thus having delivered myself from bonds, I waited as patiently as
might be. But none came near me; and, indeed, the mind in my noble
breast would have bidden me to attempt the slaughter of anyone, even
a blameless titan, who should have approached me, not openly coming as
a friend. And my patience was tried during all that day, and the day
after: nor did any voice of song cheer me.
But, on the third day, I heard someone buffetting the bars of my
window; and a friendly voice uttered my great name. And, when I
answered, a young and very godly face, crowned on the brow with a star,
looked in upon me through the grating. And the half-immortal hero said:
“Our sister, fair Helen, hath sent us to thee, O Odysseys, sacker of
cities; and here am I, Polydeykes: but brother Kastor keeps watch
below, for Father Zeys wishes to see what we can do unaided. Wherefore,
we two are come to rescue thee: but Queen Persephone hath promised help
hereafter, for Helen’s sake whom she considers injured.”
Thus he spoke: and indeed it was Polydeykes the pugilist, son of Zeys
the Swan, who was taking my part. But, first, he tore at the bars of
the window: but when, indeed, he found them firmly fixed, then he
laughed, warning me away; and, with a boxer’s blow straight from the
shoulder, he drove the massive irons inward, so that they stretched
out, becoming thin as threads with sheer amazement, until they snapped
in twain in every direction and ceased from being bars. But I instantly
leaped to the window, crouching on the sill, till star-crowned Kastor
ascended. And, having squeezed myself through the narrow aperture, the
Great Twins bore me up, supporting me on both sides, till we touched
the solid earth once more.
In this manner, I escaped from my dungeon in the house of Shady Hades.
FOOTNOTES:
[45] One cannot help pointing out that the same poetic imagery as
that used here by Mr. C. seems to have been adopted subsequently by
Meleagros of Gadara. A. H.
[46] I have managed (not without complacency) to render this exquisite
(and perfectly pagan) ditty both literally and in its original
hendecasyllabic or ithyphallic measure--a somewhat difficult task, and
(perhaps) an audacious, in the light of Lord Tennyson’s deplorable
attempt “all composed in a metre of Catullus.” A. H.
[47] I fancy that I do not err in affirming that this particular