Part 8

"Ah, nurse!" she cried joyously, "never, never have I loved my tower so well. Let us hasten home, and in the quiet of the evening I will tell thee that of which my heart is full."

The old dame was glad when she found her so ready to go home, and they hastened silently through the crowded streets. As the sun was setting behind the hills, and the shadows fell cool and long across the garden slopes, Hero sat at her nurse's feet, and told her of the story of Leander's love, and how that night would make them man and wife. When she had ended her tale, the old dame took her face between her hands and looked her in the eyes.

"Hero," she said, "this thing can never be. I have failed in my trust. I have listened to thy pleading, and let thee out into the world, and now through this man the curse of the gods will be fulfilled. Think no more of him. Let this day be to thee as though it had never been, and thou mayst yet escape thy doom."

But Hero sprang to her feet.

"What!" she cried; "thou wouldst take away the only joy of my life now, when I have just found it? Never! Curse or no curse, Leander shall be my wedded husband. Ah, nurse!" she added, falling on her knees once more, "methinks that over all the joys of life the gods hang a curse, and that it lies not with us poor mortals to choose between them. We must take both and live, or neither and be dead all our days on earth. Thou canst not hold me now; I have chosen my lot."

Nothing that the old dame could say availed to change her purpose, but with her heart full of joy she put on her brightest robes and sat by the lighted torch in her chamber, looking out across the sea, and waiting for the night. True to his word, Leander came as soon as darkness fell, and the old dame let him in by the turret door. Carefully she shaded her lamp with her hand so that the light fell full upon his face, that she might see what manner of man he was. He had dried himself as best he might with leaves and grass from the garden, but his hair hung in damp clusters about his head, and his tunic clung wet about him. Yet, in spite of all, he was full fair to look upon--a very god for strength and beauty. The old dame was pleased when she saw him, for he had braved danger and discomfort to win his bride, and he was a proper man withal, and worthy of so fair a maid as Hero. So she led him upstairs and gave him change of raiment, and when he was ready she took him to Hero's chamber. There before the shrine of Aphrodite they plighted their troth, with but one faithful soul to witness their vows, and the music of the wind and the waves for their marriage hymn. To the two lovers the night fled by on wings of lightning, and all too soon they had to say farewell; for ere day dawned Leander must have reached the further shore. But parting was sweet sorrow for those who so soon would meet again.

So for many a day their lives ran smoothly on. Each night Hero lighted her torch; each night Leander was guided by its light, and, true to his word, swam across the narrow sea that divided him from his wife. The colour came back to Hero's cheeks and the brightness to her eyes, and she pined no more to leave the tower and go out into the world. When the old dame saw how happy she was, she was glad that things had fallen out so, and prayed that for many a long year the gods would be pleased to bless their wedded love.

Meantime Leander thought that no one knew of the nightly voyage save Hero and the old dame her nurse, yet, for all his secrecy, there was one who each night watched for him with a longing as great as Hero's own. In the depths of the blue Ægean the daughters of Nereus dwell--the fair nymphs of the ocean. All the day long they play beneath the waters, and dance hand in hand along the yellow sands and the shell-strewn hollows of the sea. But at night, when the eyes of men are darkened, they come up above the water and, cradled in the bosom of the waves, swing gently to and fro in the soft summer air; and the white gleam of their arms is the glint of ripples in the moonlight. But when the wild storm-wind shrieks over the sea and the skies are dark and lowering, they forget their fears, and are filled with madness. Then they chase each other across the black waters with wild locks flying in the wind, and woe to those who are out upon the high seas when the Nereids dance in the storm, for their dance is the dance of Death. The fire of the lightning runs hot in their veins as they fly on the wings of the whirlwind, and wherever they go the waves hiss white and angry behind them. On the crests of the billows they rise and fall, and with the voice of the storm-wind they shriek aloud, and call upon all things to join in their dance; and they leap on the decks of the travailing ships, and man, woman, and child they clasp in their cruel white arms, crying, "Come, dance with us over the sea." With a force that none can withstand they bear them away, and whirl them round in the dance of Death, till they hang limp and lifeless in their arms. Then they toss them aside, nothing caring, to be washed ashore in the wan morning light, or to sink to a nameless grave in the depths of the ocean. Wherever they have passed wreck and ruin lie behind; but they rush on, till the storm dies away, and they sink down exhausted to their home in the sea. Sometimes in the calm green waters below they find the bodies of those they have drowned in their frenzy, but they know them not; for all that they did when the spirit of the storm was upon them they forget, and it passes from their minds as a dream dies at break of day. So when they see the bodies lying still and lifeless, they call to them to come and play with them in the water, and when they get no answer, they creep closer, and find that their eyes are closed. Then they know that, however long they call, they will never get an answer, for they have learnt that those whose eyes are closed have neither life nor voice, but are as the rocks and stones. But the Nereids know not sleep nor death, and when they look upon one lying dead they think he has always been so; and they do not grieve nor weep for him, for the gods did not make them for grief, but to be the bringers of beauty wherever they go, and to turn all foul things fair. So they gather the shells and the bright seaweeds, and cover the body where it lies, and it sleeps in beauty and peace in the hollows of the sea.

One of these same Nereids it was who saw Leander as he swam across the Hellespont each night, and she loved him for his beauty, and longed to have him as her playfellow. So she swam near to him on the crest of the dancing waves, and called to him softly,

"O child of the green earth, come, come with me, and play with me and my sisters in the depths of the blue Ægean."

But he saw her not, nor listened to her pleading, for his eyes were darkened. To him the gleam of her arms was the moonshine on the water, and the sound of her voice like the west wind on the waves.

So she followed him in vain across the channel, and when he went up into the tower she sat below upon a rock, and watched for him to appear at the window; and she saw Hero sitting by the torch waiting for her lover, and heard her cry of joy as she ran to greet him when he came. Then again she called to them softly,

"O children of the green earth, come and play with me. I will crown your heads with white sea-pearls, and you shall sit on coral thrones beneath the waves, and be king and queen over all the nymphs of the sea."

But as they stood hand in hand at the window, they saw her not, and heard only the murmur of the ripples on the beach. So she sat calling in vain all the night long. Before the grey morning dawned Leander came down, and when he reached the shore he turned and called,

"Farewell, Hero!"

And Hero, leaning from her window, answered,

"Leander, farewell!"

So the sea-nymph learnt to know their names, and every night she would sit sadly calling them, and they heard her not.

But one night all the winds of heaven were loosed, and they rushed with a wild shriek over the face of the waters, and lashed them to a fury of white-maned waves. With a deafening crash the thunder echoed through the hills, and the pale forked lightning lit the sky from east to west. With white cheeks and a heart full of fear, Hero knelt before the shrine in her chamber, and prayed the gods to have mercy on the sailors out at sea, and, above all, to grant that Leander had not set out ere the storm began.

Meanwhile Leander on the other side had seen the storm approaching, and he knew full well that when the seas ran high no man could swim the channel and reach the other shore alive. So he sat by his window and longed for the storm to be spent and the day to dawn; for the night without Hero was to him but misery. Across the stream he could see the torch burning fitfully in the gale.

"The gods grant she think me not faithless," he said, "for not going to her this night."

As he sat and watched, the storm grew wilder and more terrible. In the swirling, seething waters the Nereid danced with the madness of the tempest in her heart, up and down over the crested waves, with the storm wind whistling through her hair. In the gleam of the lightning-flash she held out her arms to the shore and called,

"Come and dance with me. Leander, O Leander, come!"

As she called, the east wind rushed with a wild shriek across the water, and blew out the beacon light in Hero's chamber. Leander at his window saw the pale light disappear and return no more. A blinding flash of lightning rent the sky, and the rattle of the thunder sounded as though the mountains of the earth were falling. Then the spirit of the storm came upon him too, and he heard the voice of the sea-nymph calling with a wild, unearthly shriek,

"Leander, O Leander, come!"

And he thought it was the voice of Hero calling him in deadly peril. Perchance the thunderbolt had struck her tower, and it had crashed in ruins about her and borne her with its falling stones into the rushing stream below. In a mad frenzy, scarce knowing what he did, he plunged into the seething waters and struggled in the waves with the strength of despair. With a wild cry of joy the sea-nymph caught him in her arms. "At last, at last, thou hast heard my call," she said.

Up and down through the hissing waves she bore him, now plunging down, deep, deep, into the calm green water below, now rushing round and round in a whirlpool, now leaping from the crest of one white wave into the boiling foam of the next, till he lay limp and breathless in her arms. She heeded not, but bore him on, ever on, across the water till they came beneath Hero's tower. Then, rising on the crest of the waves that beat against the wall, she called,

"Come, join with us in the storm-dance! Come, Hero, Hero!"

In the breath of the east wind the stinging foam beat against the window like one knocking in wild alarm, and the echo of the sea-nymph's cry reached the maiden as she knelt before the shrine. Filled with terror, she rushed to the window and looked down on the seething water. A brilliant flash of lightning blazed across the sky, and for a moment all was light as day. On the bosom of a breaking wave she saw Leander with his arms tossed helpless about him, and his head thrown back pale and lifeless, and above him stood the sea-nymph in a robe of flashing foam. With a cry of despair Hero leaped to the sill and plunged into the roaring waves, and with her arms about Leander, she, too, was tossed along in the dance of Death, till the storm died away and the nymph bore them down side by side to the floor of the blue Ægean. There, true to her word, she set them on thrones of coral, and twined white sea-pearls in their hair, and in time the winding seaweeds and clinging ocean flowers wove a shroud of beauty about them; and their bodies slept side by side in the fair ocean depths. So did it come to pass that the curse of the gods was fulfilled.

But whether it was truly a curse or a blessing, who shall say? For they lived and loved with a love that has become famous among men, and side by side they died. And does not the poet tell us of the islands of the blest, where the souls of the brave and true abide for ever; where the breeze blows always bright and fresh, and the golden fruits are glowing, and the crimson-flowered meadows before the city are full of the shade of trees of frankincense? In that far land there is no death nor parting, no sorrow and no tears, but those who have been true on earth dwell ever side by side. If the poet is right, Hero and Leander are there together, where no storm can reach them and no sea can part them ever again.

The Sacrifice of Alcestis

I

Once upon a time when Pelias, the crafty king, ruled in Iolchos by the sea, his nephew Jason came and tried to win back from him the land that was his by right. But Pelias put him off with cunning words, and sent him forth to Colchis in search of the Golden Fleece, thinking that so he need never look upon his face again. Jason, therefore, who was brave and stout of heart, and feared not man nor beast, sent a proclamation through the land, bidding all who loved adventure to join him in the good ship _Argo_, and sail with him for the Golden Fleece. From the length and breadth of Hellas the heroes and sons of the Immortals flocked. Among them came Admetus of Pheræ, in the first bloom of his manhood, and sailing with the Argonauts, he braved all the terrors of that fearful voyage, and sat at his oar like a man in the midst of deadly peril.

After many a long day the remnant of the heroes who had sailed away from Iolchos returned with the Golden Fleece; and standing before proud Pelias, they laid it at his feet. In the great hall of the palace he received them sitting on his throne: on his right hand sat Philomache his wife, and all about him stood his daughters, Peisidice and Asteropæa, Hippothoe, and Evadne, and Alcestis--maidens whose beauty would gladden any father's heart. But fairest of the fair, as the moon among stars, was Alcestis. When Admetus looked upon her face, his heart was filled with love for her, and he swore a great oath that he would live and die unwed, or else have Alcestis to wife.

When Pelias had welcomed back the Argonauts, he bid the henchmen spread the tables in the hall, and soon the king with his son Acastus and all the menfolk were seated with the heroes round the well-filled board. Against a pillar leant a minstrel, who sang of great deeds and heroes, and how the good ship _Argo_ had braved the terrors of the seas; while the daughters of Pelias bore round the sweet dark wine in flagons, and filled up the golden goblets. To Alcestis it fell to fill up the cup of Admetus, and as he held it out towards her their eyes met, and she blushed beneath his gaze, and tried to hide her confusion in the folds of her veil. She was vexed with herself for the blush and vexed with him for having called it forth. Yet withal her heart beat fast, and the beating of it was not altogether born of wrath; for Admetus was a proper man in the prime of life, who had sailed the high seas and seen danger face to face, and a brave man's admiration is ever dear to a woman's heart. So it came to pass that when Admetus drew from his breast a lock of the Golden Fleece, which Jason had given him for a memorial, and held it forth to her, she refused it not, but took it and hid it in the folds of her gown, and when Admetus was gone away she would draw it forth and sigh as she looked at it.

When Admetus saw that she did not altogether disdain him, he was glad at heart, and plucked up all his courage, and went and stood before the king her father, and boldly asked her hand in marriage. As he spoke the king's brow darkened, for he loved not Jason nor any of his crew. He had sent them forth, as he thought, to their death, and now they were come home to wrest the kingdom from him and give it to the lawful heir. So he cast about in his mind for some excuse; for Admetus was nobly born, and heir to a great kingdom, and he could not say him nay without good reason. In his trouble he bethought him of an ancient oracle which a soothsayer had spoken when Alcestis lay a babe upon her mother's breast. Till now he had put aside all thought of it, and had looked upon the seer as a mad prophet whose words were of no account. But now that they would serve him in his need, he pretended that he had always laid them up in his heart, and intended to abide by them.

"Young man," he said, "they who would woo my child Alcestis must woo and win her as the gods have ordered. When she lay in her mother's arms, there came a prophet and stood over her and spake, saying, 'Child of evil fortune! whosoever thou weddest, woe to thy wedded life, sobeit thy lord come not to bear thee away in a chariot drawn by a lion and a boar.' Thus spake the prophet of the gods, and his words shall surely come to pass. Think not, then, that I will give my daughter up to misery, or that thou hast but to look on her beauty and long for her, to have her for thine own. Nay; hence, away, and bethink thee how thou canst so beguile a lion's heart that he shall walk tamely in the yoke beside his lawful prey. Then, and then only, when thou comest driving this strange pair shalt thou have Alcestis for thy wife."

Admetus was sad at heart when he heard the king's words, and he set out sorrowfully home for the halls of Pheres, his father; for he thought that this thing was beyond the power of mortal man to do, and that all his life long he must live in loneliness of soul, without Alcestis to wife.

When they heard of their son's return, Pheres and Periclymene, his wife, came forth to greet him, and fell upon his neck and embraced him with tears of joy. A great feast was prepared, and the altars of the gods sent up to heaven the savoury smoke of sacrifice, and all the people rejoiced together at the return of the hero their land had sent forth.

After all the feasting and merrymaking was ended, Pheres drew his son aside to his chamber and said,

"My son, whilst thou hast been away in strange lands the hand of Time hath dealt heavily with me. My knees are weak beneath me, my hair is white with age, and all my strength is gone. Year by year it groweth harder for me to ride forth among my people, and the folk on the far boundary know my face no more, and I cannot say whether all is well with them. Time is it for me to give my crown and sceptre to a younger man, and thou hast shown thyself worthy to rule. Take now the kingdom from my hand, that thy mother and I may pass our last years in peace together. A mighty kingdom have I builded up for thee, and worthy of mighty kings. See to it, then, that thou take to wife some princess of a royal house and rear up a son to rule the land when thou art dead."

And Admetus answered,

"The kingdom will I take from thee right gladly, my father, and rule it well and wisely so long as the gods shall give me strength. But as to taking a wife in my halls, that I can never do."

Then he told him of his love for Alcestis, and how he could never hope to win her. But his father laughed and shook his head.

"'Tis the way of hot-headed youth to think that in all the wide world one woman alone hath a fair face and bright eyes. Time and the beauty of another woman shall heal thy malady, never fear."

"Time and another woman may drive me to my death," he answered hotly, "but never will I wed with any maid save Alcestis alone, whom I love."

And he strode in anger from the room. But Pheres laughed the louder.

"Verily, young blood is the same the whole world through," said he.

So Admetus became King of Pheræ, and ruled in his father's stead; and from the shores of the sea below Pelion to the land of the Molossians, the mountain-folk of the Far West, his name was held in honour among his people; for the land had peace in his day, and the valleys stood thick with corn, and by the fair-flowing waters of Boebe the shepherd played his pipes, and his flocks wandered browsing about the green meadows. No stranger was ever turned away from the palace doors, but, however poor and ragged he might be, he was welcomed right gladly, and feasted in the halls and sped upon his way with kindly words. So it came to pass that through the length and breadth of Hellas, when men spoke of good cheer and hospitality, they always raised the cup in honour of Admetus, the kindliest of hosts to rich and poor alike.

II

One day as Admetus sat at meat in the great hall with his parents and all the household, a thing befell which changed the course of his whole life. Inside the fire burnt brightly on the hearth, and the torches on the walls sent a cheerful gleam through the shadowy vastness. But outside the wind howled about the corners of the palace like Furies in their wrath, and anon it sunk down to a sob and a wail, while the lashing of the rain against the walls was as the whip of a furious driver urging on his steeds. And lo! from out the darkness of the storm there came a man, who stood in the doorway of the great hall and looked round about upon the company. Many a long mile must he have come that day in the teeth of the gale, for from head to foot he was splashed with mud, and the water ran from his ragged cloak in streamlets, making a pool upon the floor. In his hand he carried a staff; from a strap about his body hung a strange instrument such as no man in the hall had ever seen before; and he held his head up proudly and looked fearlessly about him, so that for all his sorry raiment he seemed no common beggar, but a young king in all his pride. A hush fell upon the people as they gazed, for his eyes shone strangely bright, and in the darkness of the shadowy doorway his stature seemed greater than that of mortal man. When he had looked his fill and saw where Admetus sat, he strode across the hall with great swinging strides, and came and stood before him. As he walked the people looked silently after him, for a great ship running before the wind was not more fair than he.

"O king," he said, and his voice rang clear and mellow through the hall, "a suppliant I stand before thee, and my hand is red with blood. Say, wilt thou receive me in thy halls, or wilt thou turn me forth into the storm and darkness?"

And Admetus marvelled at his words.

"Who art thou, stranger, to make this bold request? When a man's hand is stained with blood, 'tis to the altars of the gods that he should fly for cleansing, and not bring pollution to the palaces of kings."

"My name it behoveth thee not to know now, nor the deed I have done. Let it suffice thee when I say that not yet have the altars of that god been built who hath the power to cleanse me from blood-guiltiness. Nay, myself I must work out mine own cleansing, and for the waxing and the waning of twelve moons it is decreed that I must serve a mortal man. Wilt thou take me for thine herdsman--yea or nay?"

At this Admetus marvelled the more, and looked hard in the face of the stranger, but his eyes fell beneath the other's fearless gaze as those of a dog beneath his master's; and he answered him never a word, for he felt that the thought of his heart lay writ beneath that piercing look as clear as writing on a tablet. So he signed to his attendants, and they led the stranger forth and bathed him in warm water, and anointing him, clad him in fresh sweet linen and a tunic of silk. When all was accomplished, they led him back to the hall; and if the people had marvelled before at his beauty, their wonder was increased twofold as they gazed at him now.

When he had taken his fill of meat and wine, the stranger turned to Admetus and said,