CHAPTER XII.

THE HEFT-KHĀN, OR SEVEN LABORS OF RUSTEM.

A LION SLAIN BY RAKUSH—ESCAPE FROM THE DESERT—THE DRAGON SLAIN—THE ENCHANTRESS—CAPTURE OF AULĀD—VICTORY OVER DEMONS—SEVENTH LABOR, THE WHITE DEMON SLAIN—THE MARRIAGE OF RUSTEM—SOHRĀB.

With only his faithful horse for company, the young chieftain set out upon his perilous attempt to rescue the infatuated monarch from the foe in whose hands he was so justly suffering. The generous steed pushed rapidly forward, making two days journey in one, and after a time they entered a gloomy forest, which was filled with herds of gor.[253] Oppressed with hunger, Rustem saw not the dangers of the chase, and at last captured one of the animals, which was quickly slain.

A fire was built, and a portion of the meat was roasted upon the point of his spear, while Rakush grazed near his master. His hunger appeased, the young warrior lay down upon the wild herbage with his faithful sword under his head, and fell asleep. The odor of the gor’s flesh had attracted another enemy, and a pair of fiery eyeballs moved stealthily around the dying fire. The watchful horse scented the foe and stepped a little closer to his unconscious master. Here he waited for the attack, and soon a huge lion bounded from the underbrush, and would have struck the sleeping man, but he was received with a terrific and well-aimed kick that sent the astonished assailant back into the bushes from whence he came, and before he had time to recover from his amazement the furious horse was upon him, and was still stamping, in his rage, the now lifeless carcass when Rustem awoke.

“Ah Rakush,[254] why so thoughtless grown, To fight a lion thus alone? For had it been thy fate to bleed, And not thy foe, Oh gallant steed! How could thy master have conveyed His helm, and battle-ax, and blade?”

Then Rustem again composed himself to sleep, and rested until the morning light tinted the distant mountain peaks with rose and amber, then rising, he saddled his faithful horse, and pursued his perilous journey.

ESCAPE FROM THE DESERT.

The morning hours passed quickly to both man and horse, but when the noontide sun poured its heat upon the heads of the travelers it found them in a desert, where the burning sand seemed to possess the elements of fire. Horse and rider were tortured with the most maddening thirst. At last, unable to endure it longer, Rustem alighted and vainly wandered around in search of relief until his eye fell upon a desolate sheep, which he followed, and came to a fountain of water. He afterward killed a gor, and lighting a fire he again roasted the savory flesh and satisfied his hunger. By this time the shades of night were coming on, and he gladly sought for a resting place in the desert, while Rakush fed upon the stunted herbage around him. Before lying down, however, he gave his horse a parting injunction:

“Beware, my steed, of future strife, Again thou must not risk thy life; But should an enemy appear, Ring loud thy warning in my ear.”

THE DRAGON SLAIN.

The bright constellations in the tropical sky pointed to the hour of midnight, when the horse was again startled. A colossal dragon-serpent eighty yards in length moved slowly toward them. It was the terror of the desert, and neither elephant, lion, nor demon dared to venture near its lair. Rakush stepped nearer to his unconscious master and neighed loudly, but the noise so startled the dragon that when Rustem awoke and looked around he could see nothing, and lying down he went to sleep again. The darkness became thicker and more impenetrable, but in its midst the watchful horse again saw the gleaming of the snaky eyes, and again he roused his master, who rose up in alarm but tried in vain to penetrate the darkness around him. Then annoyed by these apparently needless alarms, he spoke sharply to Rakush:

“Why thus again disturb my rest, When sleep had softly soothed my breast? I told thee if thou chanced to see Another dangerous enemy To sound the alarm; but not to keep Depriving me of needful sleep.”

Rustem again went to sleep, while the tireless watcher stood undaunted by his side, even though grieved and wounded by unjust reproaches. The dragon appeared, and the faithful horse tore up the earth with his feet in trying to arouse his master. Rustem again awoke, and sprang angrily to his feet, but in that moment he caught a gleam of the snaky eyes of the foe, then quickly he drew his sword and closed in strife with the huge monster. Dreadful was the shock, and perilous to Rustem; but when Rakush saw that the contest was doubtful, with his keen teeth he furiously bit and tore away the dragon’s scaly hide, when quick as thought the champion severed the ghastly head, and deluged all the plain with horrid blood.

THE ENCHANTRESS.

When Rustem again resumed the saddle, his way lay through a land of enchantment. The feathered palm trees along his way whispered to the listening gods, and the softly breathing pīpal boughs told to the south wind the story of their lives. Citrons and rose-apples lay in rich profusion upon the ground, and the broad bananas flaunted their silken flags around the ripening fruit. A crystal stream flowed along between verdant banks of luxurious foliage, and the bulbuls chanted in the depths of the wood. And lo, in this beautiful wilderness was a daintily spread table awaiting the hungry traveler, where the richest tropical fruits lay beside a roast of venison, and the cups were filled with purple wine, while the sweet voice of an invisible singer was borne upon his ear. As he alighted and approached the table, the voice of the singer came nearer, and soon there stood revealed upon the other side of the tempting table, a woman of peerless beauty.

Her complexion was like shell-tinted ivory, and her dark, love-lighted eyes were curtained with long, sweeping lashes. Her cheeks were tinted with rose color, like the pearly tints of morning, and her beautiful figure was scarcely concealed by the misty Oriental robes that she wore. Rustem gazed upon her rich beauty in a dazed and helpless way, while she came nearer, and nearer—singing as she came, and holding out her little hands to him. At last she stood almost within his arms, and turning her beautiful face up towards his, she chanted a low love song, pleading with the warrior for a place in his heart. A moment—one perilous moment— he wavered, and nearly became her victim, but his conscience and his manliness came to his rescue. “Away,” he cried, “thou beautiful sorceress,” and as he drew his sword the figure vanished, and the low, mocking laugh of a fiend was heard in the distance. Gone the dainty table with its tempting viands and poisoned wine—gone the beautiful enchantress—and the brave warrior was again the victor.

CAPTURE OF AULĀD.

Then, proceeding on his way, he approached a region destitute of light, a void of utter darkness. Neither moon nor star shone through the gloom; no choice of path remained. Therefore throwing loose the rein, he gave Rakush liberty to travel on unguided. At length the darkness was dispersed, the earth became a scene of light, and the soil was covered with waving grain. There Rustem paused, and dismounting from his steed, he laid himself down and slept, with his shield beneath his head and his sword before him.

While he slept his faithful horse grazed upon the growing corn, and the keeper of the grounds came and saw, and, hastening away, told his master, Aulād, that a black demon and his horse were destroying the growing grain. Then Aulād hastily gathered his troops to take the warrior prisoner, but their leader was killed by Rustem, and great numbers of his men were scattered lifeless over the plain. Aulād himself was taken prisoner, for the warrior needed a guide, and thus he spoke to his captive:

“If thou wilt speak the truth, and faithfully point out to me the caves of the White Demon and his warrior chiefs, where Kai-kaus is prisoned, thy reward shall be the kingdom of Mazinderān, for I myself will place thee on that throne. But if thou play’st me false, thy worthless blood shall answer for the foul deception.”

“Stay! Be not wroth,” Aulād at once replied. “Thy wish shall be fulfilled, and thou shalt know where Kai-kaus is prisoned, and also where the White Demon reigns. Between two dark and lofty mountains, in two hundred caves, immeasurably deep, his people dwell. Twelve hundred demons keep the watch by night upon the mountain’s brow, and like a reed the hills tremble whenever the White Demon moves. But dangerous is the way. A stormy desert lies full before thee, which the nimble deer has never passed. Then a broad stream two farsangs wide obstructs thy path, whose banks are covered with a host of warrior demons guarding the passage to Mazinderān. Canst thou o’ercome such fearful obstacles as these?” The champion simply said, “Show me but the way.”

Aulād proceeded, Rustem following fast, mounted upon Rakush. Neither night nor day they rested—on they went until they reached the fatal field where Kai-kaus was overcome. At the midnight hour a piercing clamor echoed through the woodland, and blazing fires were seen, while numerous lamps gleamed brightly on every side. Rustem inquired what this might be. “It is Mazinderān,” Aulād rejoined, “and the White Demon’s chiefs are gathered there.” Then Rustem bound to a tree his obedient guide—to keep him safe—and, to recruit his strength, laid down awhile and soundly slept. When morning dawned he rose, and mounting Rakush put his helmet on. The tiger skin[255] defended his broad chest, and sallying forth he sought the Demon chief, Arzaṉg, and summoned him to battle with such a call that stream and mountain shook. Arzaṉg sprang up on hearing a human voice, and from his tent hastily issued. The champion met him, and tearing off the gory head, he cast it far into the ranks of the shuddering demons, who fell back and fled, lest they should likewise feel that dreadful punishment.

VICTORY OVER DEMONS.

The principal chieftain of the White Demon having met this fearful death at the hands of the Persian warrior, he released Aulād from his bonds, and commanded the guide to show him the way to the place where Kai-kaus was confined. Entering Mazinderān by night, the guide led the way to Kai-kaus and his fellow captives, the blind and helpless warriors. Great rejoicing heralded his arrival, for the prisoners looked to Rustem for a deliverance from their sorrows. The blind king told the Persian hero where to find the stronghold of the demons, away in the caverns of the Seven Mountains, where, within a deep and horrible recess, lived the White Demon.

“Conquer him, destroy that fell magician, and restore to sight thy suffering king and all his warrior train. The wise in cures declare that the warm blood from the White Demon’s heart dropped in the eye cures all blindness. It is then my hope that thou wilt slay the fiend, and save us from the misery of darkness without end.”

Rustem therefore hurried on toward the enchanted heights of the Heft- khān, or Seven Mountains. He found every cave guarded by companies of demons, and, consulting with his guide, he determined to make the attack at noonday, when the demons were overpowered by the heat, and were accustomed to sleep. He therefore waited the auspicious hour, and binding Aulād again to a tree, he drew his sword and rushed into the horde of demons, slaying first the few sentinels who were awake, and then rapidly destroying the slumbering fiends. When one awoke he received his death blow so suddenly that he had no time to give the alarm. The mountain ravines received the slaughtered demons, and the few that escaped fled screaming into the deepest caves, and left the Persian victorious upon his chosen field.

SEVENTH LABOR—THE WHITE DEMON SLAIN.

In this preliminary carnage Rustem had discovered the stronghold of the White Demon, and he determined to give battle to this king of fiends. Advancing to the cavern, he looked down, down into its gloomy recesses— dismal as hell itself—but not one of the sorcerers could be seen. Awhile he stood and waited, holding his faithful falchion in his grasp, until there slowly came in sight a mountain form, with flaming eyes, and covered over with long white hair. The colossal shape filled the mouth of the huge cavern as forth he came, bearing a great stone in one mammoth hand. His fiery breath came quickly, and his eyes flashed with ire, as he haughtily asked:

“Art thou so tired of life that reckless thus Thou dost invade the precincts of demons? Tell me thy name, that I may not destroy A nameless thing.”

The warrior then replied, “My name is Rustem, sent by Zāl, my father, who was descended from Sām Suwār, to be revenged on thee; the king of Persia being now a prisoner at Mazinderān.”

When the demon heard the name of Suwār he cringed with fear. Then springing forward he hurled the huge stone against his adversary who fell back, and thus avoided the fearful blow.

The demon frowned more darkly, and Rustem wielding high his sword, severed one dreadful limb. Then they grappled in a death struggle, and the mountain trembled beneath the shock. The flesh of both was torn, and the streaming blood crimsoned the earth. As the fearful strife went on, Rustem said in his heart, “If I survive this dreadful day I am surely immortal,” and the White Demon muttered to himself, “I now despair of life—sweet life—nevermore shall I be welcomed at Mazinderān.”

And still they struggled on, while sweat and blood were mingled at every strain of muscle, until Rustem, gathering all his power for one last effort, raised up the gasping demon in his arms and threw him over the face of the cliff into a yawning chasm below. The monster fell, and the life-blood oozed from the crushed and mangled form. Then rushing down the steep incline, beside the mountain, he tore out the heart of the conquered demon, and releasing his fettered guide he hastened away to restore the sight of the king and his helpless warriors.

“The Champion brought the demon’s heart And squeezed the blood from every part, Which, dropped upon the injured sight, Made all things visible and bright.”

The restored monarch immediately returned to his throne, and the return march of his warriors was a triumphal one; but Rustem stayed until he conquered the whole demon host, and placed Aulād upon the throne of Mazinderān, according to the promise he had made. Then he returned to receive the highest honors the Persian king could lavish upon him.

THE MARRIAGE OF RUSTEM.

Weary at last of the luxuries and honors pertaining to the court, Rustem set out upon a hunting expedition. Mounted upon his splendid steed he soon passed the confines of the Persian domain and reached the beautiful wilds of Tūrān; here the herds of onager roamed at will from the sullen grandeur of the uplands to the fairer vales below them. He urged the gallant Rakush on through wood and glen, while the swift-footed gor dashed through the thickets or sported over the plain; his quivering darts were often sent through the glossy skin of the dangerous game, and when he wearied of the sport the hunter sought the shade of a thicket, and far above his head the palm trees waved their plumes, while doves and sunbirds fluttered through their swinging crowns. A little stream near by, flashed in the sunbeams and rippled away midst the flowers. The gallant horse was allowed to graze while the master slept, and tempted by the rich herbage he wandered away from the sleeper. A band of Tartar horsemen saw his perfect form and marked his splendid chest and well- poised head. Slowly they approached and quickly flung a noose over the noble head, then coming near to make the capture sure the animal charged upon his foes, and two of them bit the dust beneath his steel-clad hoofs.

The others had grown more cautious, and another noose was thrown. Then another horseman ventured near, only to be torn in pieces by the quick feet of the horse. Another was thrown, and this time no approach was made, but with long lines on either side the victim was led between the Tartar chiefs until they reached their own encampment.

Rustem awoke and called his steed, but no answering neigh rang out the glad reply. Long he searched, but searched in vain. He knew that Rakush had not willingly strayed away, and indignantly he traced his steps to Samenegān, the capital of Tūrān, for the broad track of his horse led that way.

As he approached the shining turrets of the city he met the king with all his court, anxious to do honor to the distinguished guest. But Rustem haughtily refused the proffered friendship until his horse should be restored.

“Ive traced his footsteps to your royal town. Here must he be, protected by your crown. But if retained—if not from fetters freed, My vengeance shall o’ertake the felon deed.” “My honored guest,” the wondering king replied, “Shall Rustem’s wants or wishes be denied? If still within the limits of my reign, The well-known courser shall be thine again. For Rakush never can remain concealed No more than Rustem on the battle-field.”

Then again he urged his royal hospitality upon the Persian hero, as he sent out men to look for the horse. Pacified with the royal promise of restoration, Rustem accepted the hospitality of the king. Soon

“The ready herald by the king’s command, Convened the chiefs and warriors of the land, And soon the banquet social glee restored, And china wine cups glittered on the board; And cheerful song, and music’s matchless power, And sparkling wine beguiled the festive hour.”

When the royal banquet was over a magnificent couch was prepared for the great chieftain, and in the perfumed bed the weary traveler slept soundly. One watch of the night had already passed when Rustem was awakened by a light in his room, and there before his astonished eyes stood the peerless daughter of the Tartar king in all her wondrous beauty. She stood with frightened look, the rich color flushing her olive cheeks, her dark eyes beaming beneath the splendid lashes, and her mouth, flower-soft and sensitive, seemed moulded for an expectant kiss. Her black ringlets were snares[256] for a warrior’s heart. Her graceful hands were perfectly formed and stained with henna upon the dainty palms. But she was fully robed, and she, the daughter of the king, had not come alone into the room of this stranger guest—her faithful maid stood beside her, and bore the taper from which a soft radiance filled all the room.

The astonished warrior asked what stranger this, and why she had broken upon his rest. “What is thy name?” he said. “Fair vision, speak!” Then from the mouth of rose and pearl there fell the accents of sweetest music:

“No curious eye has yet these features seen, My voice unheard beyond the sacred screen. But often have I listened with amaze To thy great deeds, enamoured of thy praise. How oft from every tongue Ive heard the strain, And thought of thee, and sighed, and sighed in vain. The ravenous eagle hovering o’er his prey, Starts at thy gleaming sword and flies away! Thou art the slayer of the demon brood And the fierce monsters of the echoing wood. Enchanted with the stories of thy fame, My fluttering heart responded to thy name. Oh, claim my hand, and grant my soul’s desire, Ask me in marriage of my royal sire!”

Not a word was lost upon Rustem, whose heart beat out a glad response to her plea, and before another day had passed his suit had been duly presented to the king.

“Oerjoyed the king the honoring suit approves, Oerjoyed to bless the doting child he loves, And happier still in showering smiles around, To be allied to warrior so renowned.”

The nuptials were not long delayed, and the marriage bower were crowned with roses and decked with white lilies, while the royal abode was flooded with music and light. It seemed to Rustem that all the world, like some vast tidal wave, had rolled away and left him on a golden shore—alone with his beloved.

SOHRĀB.

Not long could the Persian warrior remain with his Tartar bride, for his king claimed his allegiance, and summoned him to lead important campaigns. Before their son was born he was called away, but he left a radiant bracelet set with rare and peculiar gems as a heritage for his child, and mounted upon his faithful Rakush he was borne away to the field of conflict.

The wife Tamīneh was later blessed with a wondrous boy—the image of his noble sire. But when the father’s fond inquiry came, the coward-heart of the mother betrayed her into falsehood. Fearing that the boy might be taken away and educated at the Persian court, and thus alienated from his Tartar blood, she sent her husband word that it was a daughter that had been born unto them, and the fact was carefully hidden from the father that he had a son. So little were daughters prized in the East, that he never asked to see the child, and the boy came to manhood with very little knowledge of his father. Sohrāb bore the splendid physique of his noble race; as a hunter or wrestler he had no equal in all the realms of Tūrān. The Tartar king placed him at the head of his armies, and mounted on his splendid horse—the son of Rakush—the gallant youth took his place at the head of the glittering host.

“His grandsire pleased beheld the warrior train Successive throng and darken all the plain. And bounteously his treasures he supplied, Camels and steeds and gold. In martial pride Sohrāb was seen—a Grecian helmet graced His brow—and costliest mail his limbs embraced. The insidious king sees well, the tempting hour Favoring his arms against the Persian power, But treacherous, first his martial chiefs he prest To keep the secret fast within their breast; For this bold youth shall not his father know, Each must confront the other as his foe. Unknown, the youth shall Rustem’s force withstand, And soon o’erwhelm the bulwark of the land. Rustem removed, the Persian throne is ours, An easy conquest to confederate powers.”

By the careful intrigues of the king, the Tartar host was soon arrayed against Persia, and all unknown to each, the father and son were drawn up in battle array against each other. When the eye of Rustem fell upon the magnificent figure of the young Tartar prince, he was astonished at his martial bearing, for he seemed to wear the manly form of his own race. He marked the strong shoulders, so much resembling Zāl, and knew that this strong warrior knight sat his splendid horse like Rustem’s self. He thought:

“He cannot be my son unknown to me; Reason forbids the thought—it cannot be. At Samenegān, where once affection smiled, To me Tahmīneh bore her only child. That was a daughter.”

Then the trumpets clang announced the attack of the invader, as the Tartar horde sprang into the fight. The troops of horse and foot were blended in the wild disorder of Oriental battle, and the very earth seemed to shake beneath the shock, while the dust driven in dark eddies whirled high in air, obscuring the very face of heaven.

The bright steel armor glittered over all the plain, but alas, it covered the forms of fallen heroes as often as it shielded the daring hearts of living riders. The light flashed from the gold emblazoned shields as the glittering spears struck the bright surface, until it seemed as if the clouds were pouring showers of sparkling amber upon the plain.

Thus the tide of battle ebbed and flowed, while thousands were falling on either side, until the shades of night came down upon the fearful scene. Then a council of the chiefs on either side was called, and it was decreed that the next day the question of victory should be decided by single combat between the leaders of the forces. Thus was Rustem brought into close conflict with his only child. Father and son, unknown to each other, struggled in awful strife, while the treacherous Tartar chiefs looked gladly on, glorying in the thought that they would be rid of either a dangerous foe or a still more dangerous rival—possibly both. The younger blood and stronger sinews of Sohrāb won the first victories, but Rustem sprang again upon him and inflicted a fatal blow. As Sohrāb fell he felt that his wound was fatal, and he cried out, “I came here hoping to find my father, but have found only death instead.” “Who is thy father?” demanded the Persian champion. “My father is Rustem, and my mother is the daughter of the King of Samenegān.”

The words went through the father’s heart like a poisoned spear, and he fell almost unconscious beside his murdered boy. “Ungird my mail,” faltered the dying warrior, “and behold the bracelet my mother bound upon my arm. An instinct was ever at my heart that thou wert Rustem, but the Tartar chiefs ever and always told me nay—that thou wast not in the fight—that only thy servant led thy troops.”

The sight of the amulet was a fearful blow to Rustem, for it proved at once the identity of his murdered son, and the falsehood of his treacherous wife.

“Prostrate he falls. ‘By my unnatural hand My son, my son is slain—and from the land Uprooted.’ Frantic in the dust, his hair He rends in agony and deep despair. The western sun had disappeared in gloom, And still the Champion wept his cruel doom. His wondering legions marked the long delay, And seeing Rakush riderless astray, The rumor quick to Persia’s monarch sped, And there described the mighty Rustem dead.

The king’s chosen men were sent to find the warrior, whether he be slain or wounded. They found him in his terrible grief, and the war-spirit seemed dead in his bosom.

“Go,” said he, “to the Tartar chiefs, and say to them, ‘No more shall war between us stain the earth with blood.’” A moment more, and the young warrior was dead, and on a Persian bier his lifeless form was laid, while Rustem, sick of martial pomp and show, ordered the gorgeous pageantry of war to be consigned to the flames,[257] for all the warrior’s pride lay in dust and ashes as he followed the bier to the imperial resting place which was provided for Sohrāb. But to the mother was carried the most fearful blow, when the Tartar chiefs led back the splendid steed all riderless, and laid at her feet the coat of mail her son had worn, while they told the story of his fall beneath his father’s hand. What a terrible penalty her falsehood had brought upon her head and heart!

“Distracted, wild, she sprang from place to place, With frenzied hands deformed her beauteous face. The strong emotion choked her panting breath, Her veins seemed withered by the cold of death. Then gazing up, distraught, she wept again, And frantic, seeing midst her pitying train The favorite steed—now more than ever dear— The hoofs she kissed and bathed with many a tear; Clasping the mail Sohrāb in battle wore, With burning lips she kissed it o’er and o’er. His martial robes she in her arms comprest, And like an infant strained them to her breast.

Day after day, night after night, she gave way to her helpless grief. Unceasingly she raved and wept by turns for one long year, then nature gave way, and she found rest in the arms of Death—“the great Consoler.”

Footnote 241:

Unless otherwise indicated, the poetical quotations in this legend will be from Atkinson’s Translation.

Footnote 242:

The Anka of the Arabians.

Footnote 243:

Iliad, B. 24.

Footnote 244:

The Narcissus, to which the beautiful eyes of Eastern women are often compared.

Footnote 245:

Called the “Serpent King” because he at one time allowed an evil creature to kiss his shoulder, and from the spot two fearful serpents sprang that required human brains for their food. The king used to select the victims by lot, and when the blacksmith Kaveh found his name upon the fatal register he tore the document in pieces, and

“On his javelin’s point He fixed his leathern apron for a banner, And lifting it high he went abroad To call the people to a task of vengeance.”

The multitude of rebels joined a foreign foe, and the hated Zohak was destroyed, and then the leathern banner was splendidly adorned with gold and jewels, and it is said that this legend gave rise to the blacksmith’s apron as the royal ensign of Persia.

Footnote 246:

It appears to have been not unusual amongst the secluded women of the East to fall deeply in love with men of whom they knew very little. Josephus claims that the king’s daughter betrayed the city of Sava in Ethiopia into the hands of Moses, having fallen in love with his valor and bravery as she saw him from the walls of the city gallantly leading the Egyptian host. Dido was won merely by the fame of Æneas, and Kotzebue has pictured Elvira as enamored of the glory of Pizarro; but when at last she discovered the savage and merciless disposition of the conqueror, she taunted him with being a fraud. The lovely Desdemona affords another instance:

OTH.—“Her father loved me; oft invited me; Still questioned me the story of my life. * * * * * * “I ran it through, even from my boyish days, Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances. * * * * * * “She loved me for the dangers I had passed, And I loved her that she did pity them.” (_Othello, Act. 1, Sc. 3_)

Footnote 247:

This picture is highly suggestive of the Demon King of Ceylon, who is so prominent in Hindu mythology, especially in the Ramayana.

Footnote 248:

Firdusi thought proper to bestow upon his hero a gigantic stature and marvelous physical powers, but other classic writers have done the same. It will be remembered that Hercules had but completed his eighth month before he strangled the serpents that Juno sent to devour him, and Homer says of Otus and Ephialtes:

“The wondrous youths had scarce nine winters told, When high in air, tremendous to behold, Nine ells aloft they reared their towering heads, And full nine cubits broad their shoulders spread. Proud of their strength and more than mortal size, The gods they challenge and affect the skies.” _Odyssey XI, 310._

Footnote 249:

The blacksmith’s apron.

Footnote 250:

Herodotus speaks of a people confederated with the army of Xerxes who employed the noose.

Footnote 251:

Kai-kaus, the second Persian king belonging to the dynasty of Kainanides.

Footnote 252:

In the Shah Namah, where so much fiction is founded upon so little historic fact, we find, as in Hindu literature, an active race of demons. These are generally defined as being in human shape, with horns, long ears, and sometimes with tails, like the monkeys in the Ramayana. Again, they assume the characteristics of the Rakshasas in Hindu mythology, and appear as enchanters, sorcerers, etc.—(_Compare Hindu Literature, pp. 189-232._)

Footnote 253:

The gor is the onager, or wild ass of the East, and in its native wilds is a very dangerous foe to encounter. Its flesh is often used for food when the hunter is driven to extremity.

Footnote 254:

It was evidently the custom, even among the Greeks also, to harangue their horses, for Homer repeatedly puts these speeches into the mouths of his heroes. Hector addresses his horses in the Eighth Book:

“Be fleet, be fearless, this important day. And all your master’s well-spent care repay. Now swift pursue, now thunder uncontroll’d, Give me to seize rich Nestor’s shield of gold.”

And in the Nineteenth Book, Achilles reproaches his horses with the death of Patrocles, when

“The generous Xanthus as the words he said Seemed sensible of woe and drooped his head; Trembling he stood before the golden wain, And bowed to dust the honors of his mane,”

before he makes a spirited reply foretelling his master’s death.

Footnote 255:

This “tiger skin” is supposed to be a magic garment which had the power of resisting the impression of every weapon. It was proof against fire, and would not sink in water. According to some classic authorities, he received it from his father, Zal; others say it was made from the skin of an animal which Rustem killed on the mountain of Sham. It will be remembered that the heroes of ancient poets frequently wore the skins of animals. Hercules wore the skin of the Nemæan lion. The skins of panthers and leopards were worn by the Greek and Trojan chiefs, and Virgil says of Alcestes:

“Rough in appearance, with darts, and a Libyan bearskin around him, Whom once a Trojan mother had borne to the river Cremisus.” (_Æn., Book V, 36._)

Footnote 256:

Compare Shakespeare—

“Here in her hairs The painter plays the spider—and hath woven A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men Faster than gnats in cobwebs: but her eyes.” —_Merchant of Venice, iii, 2._

Footnote 257:

In Virgil there is a similar scene, where Dido bids her sister erect a pile to burn the arms and the presents of Æneas.