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[Illustration: HERCULES AND THE GOLDEN APPLES]




                   HALF A HUNDRED
                     HERO TALES

           OF ULYSSES AND THE MEN OF OLD

                     EDITED BY

                   FRANCIS STORR
    EDITOR OF "THE JOURNAL OF EDUCATION," LONDON

               WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
                   FRANK C. PAPE

                   [Illustration]

                      NEW YORK
               HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
                        1913




                  COPYRIGHT, 1911,
                         BY
               HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY

              _Published January, 1911_

             THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS
                    RAHWAY, N. J.




PREFACE


The apology offered for adding yet another book of Classical Stories
to the endless existing versions, ancient and modern, in verse and in
prose, is the plea that Vivien offers to Merlin for her "tender
rhyme":

    "It lives dispersedly in many hands,
    And every minstrel sings it differently."

"You Greeks," said the Egyptian priest to Herodotus, "are always
children," and Greece will never lose the secret of eternal youth. The
tale of Troy divine, of Thebes and Pelops' line, the song of sweet
Colonus, the most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby, Dido with a
willow in her hand--these old stories of Homer and Sophocles, of
Virgil and Ovid, have not lost their gloss and freshness. "The
innocent brightness of a new-born day is lovely yet." They have been
sung or said by Wace and Caxton, by Chaucer and Wordsworth, by Keats
and William Morris; they have been adapted for young readers by
Fenelon, by Niebuhr, by Kingsley, by Hawthorne, and yet the last word
has not been said. Each new editor makes his own selection, chooses
some new facet, or displays the jewel in a new light. As Sainte-Beuve
remarks of "Don Quixote" and other world classics, "One can discover
there something more than the author first of all tried to see there,
and certainly more than he dreamed of putting there."

The present collection of Fifty Stories (there might well have been
five hundred) makes no pretense either of completeness or of
uniformity. Some of the contributors have followed closely the texts,
others have given free play to their fancy, but in every case the
myths have been treated simply as stories and no attempt has been made
either to trace their origin or to indicate their religious or ethical
significance. Most of the stories point their own moral, and need no
more commentary than Jack the Giant-killer or the Sleeping Beauty.
Young readers of to-day resent the sermons even of a Kingsley. From
"Tanglewood Tales," a book that was the joy of our childhood, we have
borrowed ten stories, and have taken the liberty of dividing into
chapters and slightly abridging the longest of Hawthorne's Tales. All
but one of the remaining forty are original versions.




CONTENTS


                                                  PAGE

    PLUTO AND PROSERPINE                             1
      By H. P. Maskell

    PAN AND SYRINX                                   5
      By Mrs. Guy E. Lloyd

    THE STORY OF PHAETON                            13
      By M. M. Bird

    ARETHUSA                                        19
      By V. C. Turnbull

    THE STORY OF DAPHNE                             24
      By M. M. Bird

    DEUCALION AND PYRRHA                            28
      By M. M. Bird

    EPIMETHEUS AND PANDORA                          33
      By Nathaniel Hawthorne

    EUROPA AND THE GOD-BULL                         50
      By Nathaniel Hawthorne

    CADMUS AND THE DRAGON'S TEETH                   65
      By Nathaniel Hawthorne

    ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE                            83
      By V. C. Turnbull

    HERCULES AND THE GOLDEN APPLES                  89
        I. HERCULES AND THE OLD MAN OF THE SEA
      By Nathaniel Hawthorne

    HERCULES AND THE GOLDEN APPLES                  98
        II. HERCULES AND ATLAS
      By Nathaniel Hawthorne

    HERCULES AND NESSUS                            107
      By H. P. Maskell

    THE QUEST OF THE GOLDEN FLEECE                 111
      By M. M. Bird

    HOW THESEUS FOUND HIS FATHER                   124
      By Nathaniel Hawthorne

    THESEUS AND THE WITCH MEDEA                    131
      By Nathaniel Hawthorne

    THESEUS GOES TO SLAY THE MINOTAUR              138
      By Nathaniel Hawthorne

    THESEUS AND ARIADNE                            144
      By Nathaniel Hawthorne

    PARIS AND OENONE                               154
      By V. C. Turnbull

    IPHIGENIA                                      161
      By Mrs. Guy E. Lloyd

    PROTESILAUS                                    166
      By Mrs. Guy E. Lloyd

    THE DEATH OF HECTOR                            173
      By V. C. Turnbull

    THE WOODEN HORSE                               180
      By F. Storr

    THE SACK OF TROY                               185
      By F. Storr

    THE DEATH OF AJAX                              191
      By F. Storr

    THE FLIGHT OF AENEAS FROM TROY                  196
      By F. Storr

    AENEAS AND DIDO                                 201
      By V. C. Turnbull

    AENEAS IN HADES                                 209
      By V. C. Turnbull

    NISUS AND EURYALUS                             217
      By F. Storr

    ULYSSES IN HADES                               224
      By M. M. Bird

    CIRCE'S PALACE                                 232
      By Nathaniel Hawthorne

    ULYSSES AND THE CYCLOPS                        262
      By Hope Moncrieff

    THE SIRENS                                     271
      By V. C. Turnbull

    THE STORY OF NAUSICAA                          275
      By M. M. Bird

    THE HOMECOMING OF ULYSSES                      283
      By M. M. Bird

    BAUCIS AND PHILEMON                            292
      By H. P. Maskell

    HYPERMNESTRA                                   296
      By V. C. Turnbull

    OEDIPUS AT COLONOS                             302
      By Mrs. Guy E. Lloyd

    MIDAS                                          308
      By H. P. Maskell

    PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA                          313
      By V. C. Turnbull

    MELEAGER AND ATALANTA                          320
      By H. P. Maskell

    THE STORY OF DAEDALUS AND ICARUS                326
      By M. M. Bird

    SCYLLA, THE DAUGHTER OF NISUS                  330
      By Mrs. Guy E. Lloyd

    THE STORY OF PYRAMUS AND THISBE                340
      By M. M. Bird

    HERO AND LEANDER                               344
      By Mrs. Guy E. Lloyd

    PYGMALION AND THE IMAGE                        352
      By F. Storr

    CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS                           359
      By H. P. Maskell

    ECHO AND NARCISSUS                             364
      By Thomas Bulfinch

    THE RING OF POLYCRATES                         369
      By M. M. Bird

    ROMULUS AND REMUS                              375
      By Mrs. Guy E. Lloyd


ILLUSTRATIONS


    HERCULES AND THE GOLDEN APPLES      _Frontispiece_

                                           FACING PAGE
    THE STORY OF DAPHNE                             26

    HERCULES AND NESSUS                            108

    THESEUS GOES TO SLAY THE MINOTAUR              138

    AENEAS IN HADES                                 212

    ULYSSES AND THE CYCLOPS                        266

    PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA                          316

    ROMULUS AND REMUS                              380




HALF A HUNDRED HERO TALES




PLUTO AND PROSERPINE

BY H. P. MASKELL


In the very heart of Sicily are the groves of Enna--a land of flowers
and rippling streams, where the spring-tide lasts all through the
year. Thither Proserpine, daughter of Ceres, betook herself with her
maidens to gather nosegays of violets and lilies. Eager to secure the
choicest posy, she had wandered far from her companions, when Pluto,
issuing, as was his wont, from his realm of shadows to visit the
earth, beheld her, and was smitten by her childlike beauty. Dropping
her flowers in alarm, the maiden screamed for her mother and
attendants. 'Twas in vain; the lover seized her and bore her away in
his chariot of coal-black steeds. Faster and faster sped the team as
their swart master called to each by name and shook the reins on their
necks. Through deep lakes they sped, by dark pools steaming with
volcanic heat, and on past the twin harbors of Syracuse.

When they came to the abode of Cyane, the nymph rose up from her
crystal pool and perceived Pluto. "No farther shalt thou go!" she
cried. "A maiden must be asked of her parents, not stolen away against
her mother's will!" For answer the wrathful son of Saturn lashed his
foam-flecked steeds. He hurled his royal scepter into the very bed of
the stream. Forthwith the earth opened, making a way down into
Tartarus; and the chariot vanished through the yawning cave, leaving
Cyane dissolved in tears of grief for the ravished maiden and her own
slighted domain.

Meanwhile Ceres, anxious mother, had heard her daughter's cry for
help. Through every clime and every sea she sought and sought in vain.
From dawn to dewy eve she sought, and by night she pursued the quest
with torches kindled by the flames of AEtna. Then, by Enna's lake, she
found the scattered flowers and shreds of the torn robe, but further
traces there were none.

Weary and overcome with thirst, she chanced on a humble cottage and
begged at the door for a cup of water. The goodwife brought out a
pitcher of home-made barley wine, which she drained at a draught. An
impudent boy jeered at the goddess, and called her "toss-pot." Dire
and swift was the punishment that overtook him. Ceres sprinkled over
him the few drops that remained; and, changed into a speckled newt, he
crept away into a cranny.

Too long would be the tale of all the lands and seas where the goddess
sought for her child. When she had visited every quarter of the world
she returned once more to Sicily. Cyane, had she not melted away in
her grief, might have told all. Still, however, on Cyane's pool the
girdle of Proserpine was found floating, and thus the mother knew that
her daughter had been carried off by force. When this was brought home
to her, she tore her hair and beat her breast. Not as yet did she know
the whole truth, but she vowed vengeance against all the earth, and on
Sicily most of all, the land of her bereavement. No longer, she
complained, was ungrateful man worthy of her gifts of golden grain.

A famine spread through all the land. Plowshares broke while they were
turning the clods, the oxen died of pestilence, and blight befell the
green corn. An army of birds picked up the seed as fast as it was
sown; thistles, charlock, and tares sprang up in myriads and choked
the fields before the ear could show itself.

Then Arethusa, the river nymph, who had traveled far beneath the ocean
to meet in Sicily her lover Alpheus, raised her head in pity for the
starving land, and cried to Ceres: "O mourning mother, cease thy
useless quest, and be not angered with a land which is faithful to
thee. While I was wandering by the river Styx I beheld thy Proserpine.
Her looks were grave, yet not as of one forlorn. Take comfort! She is
a queen, and chiefest of those who dwell in the world of darkness. She
is the bride of the infernal king."

Ceres was but half consoled, and her wrath was turned from Sicily to
the bold ravisher of her daughter. She hastened to Olympus, and laid
her plaint before Jupiter. She urged that her daughter must be
restored to her. If only Pluto would resign possession of Proserpine,
she would forgive the ravisher.

Jupiter answered mildly: "This rape of the god lover can scarce be
called an injury. Pluto is my brother, and like me a king, except that
he reigns below, whereas I reign above. Give your consent, and he will
be no disgrace as a son-in-law."

Still Ceres was resolved to fetch her daughter back, and Jupiter at
length agreed that it should be so on condition that Proserpine,
during her sojourn in the shades, had allowed no food to pass her
lips.

In joy the mother hurried down to Tartarus and demanded her daughter.
But the fates were against her. The damsel had broken her fast. As
she wandered in the fair gardens of Elysium she had picked a
pomegranate from the bending tree, and had eaten seven of the sweet
purple seeds. Only one witness had seen her in the fatal act. This was
Ascalaphus, a courtier of Pluto, who some say had first put it into
the mind of the king to carry off Proserpine. In revenge for this
betrayal, Ceres changed him into an owl, and doomed him ever after to
be a bird of ill-omen who cannot bear the light of day, and whose
nightly hooting portends ill tidings to mortals.

But Ceres was not doomed to lose Proserpine utterly. Jupiter decreed
that for six months of each year her daughter was to reign in dark
Tartarus by Pluto's side; for the other six months she was to return
to earth and dwell with her mother. Joy returned to the mother's
saddened heart; the barren earth at her bidding once more brought
forth its increase. Soon the fields were smiling with golden corn, and
the mellow grapes hung heavy on the vines, and once again that favored
land became the garden of the world.




PAN AND SYRINX

BY MRS. GUY E. LLOYD


Long ages ago in the pleasant land of Arcadia, where the kindly
shepherds fed their flocks on the green hills, there lived a fair
maiden named Syrinx. Even as a tiny child she loved to toddle forth
from her father's house and lose herself in the quiet woods. Often
were they forced to seek long and far before they found her, when the
dew was falling and the stars coming out in the dark blue sky; but
however late it was, they never found her afraid nor eager to be safe
at home. Sometimes she was curled up on the soft moss under the
shelter of a spreading tree, fast asleep; sometimes she was lying by
the side of a stream listening to the merry laughter of the water;
sometimes, sitting over the stones upon the hillside, she would be
watching with wonder and delight the lady moon, with her bright train
of clouds, racing across the sky as if in hot chase.

Years passed on, and Syrinx grew into a tall and slender maiden, with
long fair hair and great gray eyes, with a look in them that made her
seem to be always listening. Out in the woods there are so many sounds
for any one who has ears to hear--the different notes of the birds,
the hum of the insects, the swift, light rustle as some furry
four-legged hunter creeps through the underwood. Then there is the
pleasant, happy murmur of the breeze among the leaves, with a
different sound in it for every different tree, or the wild shriek of
the gale that rends the straining branches, or the bubbling of the
spring, or the prattle of the running stream, or the plash of the
waterfall. Many are the sounds of the woods, and Syrinx knew and loved
them all until

    "Beauty born of murmuring sound,
    Had passed into her face."

"Have a care, Syrinx," her playfellows would say sometimes. "If you
wander alone in the woods, some day you will see the terrible god
Pan."

"I should like well to see him," the maiden made answer one day to an
old crone who thus warned her. "The great god Pan loves the woods and
everything that lives in them, and so do I. We must needs be friends
if we meet."

The old woman looked at her in horror and amaze. "You know not what
you say, child," she made answer. "Some aver that none can look upon
Pan and live, but of that I am none so sure, for I have heard of
shepherds to whom he has spoken graciously, and they never the worse
for it. But of this there is no doubt--whoever hears the shout of Pan
runs mad with the sound of it. So be not too venturesome, or evil will
come of it."

Now Syrinx might have taken warning from these wise and kindly words.
As it was, she treasured them, and only wondered what this god could
be like, the sound of whose shout made men run mad. She feared to see
him, and would have run swiftly away if she had caught a glimpse of
him, and yet she went continually to the far and silent groves
whither, so the shepherds said, Pan was most wont to resort.

It chanced one day that Syrinx had wandered farther than was her wont;
she had been in the woods since daybreak, and now it was high noon.
She was tired and hot, and lay down to rest on a bank beneath a tall
ash tree that was all covered with ivy, and resting there she soon
fell fast asleep. While she slept the wild things of the woods came to
look upon her with wonder. A doe that was passing with her fawn stood
for a moment gazing mildly upon the maiden, and the fawn stooped and
licked her fingers, but at the touch Syrinx stirred in her sleep and
both doe and fawn bounded away among the bushes. A little squirrel
dropped lightly from a tree and sat up close beside her, his tail
curled jauntily over his back, his bright eyes fixed upon her face.
The little furry rabbits first peeped at her out of their holes, and
then growing bolder came quite close and sat with their soft paws
tucked down and their ears cocked very stiffly, listening to her quiet
breathing. And last of all, stepping noiselessly over the grass, came
the lord of all the wild things, the great god Pan himself.

His legs and feet were like those of a goat, so that he could move
more quickly and lightly than the wild gazelle, and his ears were long
and pointed--ears like those of a squirrel, so that he could hear the
stirring of a nestling not yet out of its egg. Softly he drew nigh to
the maiden, and there was a wicked