Bulfinch's Mythology: The Age of Fable

Ch. 9: Minerva and Arachne, Niobe, Perseus

Minerva, the goddess of wisdom, was the daughter of Jupiter.

She, they say, sprang forth from his brain full grown and clad in

complete armor. She presided over the useful and ornamental

arts, both those of men, such as agriculture and navigation,

and those of women, spinning, weaving, and needle-work. She

was also a warlike divinity; but a lover of defensive war only.

She had no sympathy with Mars's savage love of violence and

bloodshed. Athens was her chosen seat, her own city, awarded to

her as the prize of a contest with Neptune, who also aspired to

it. The tale ran that in the reign of Cecrops, the first king of

Athens, the two deities contended for the possession of the city.

The gods decreed that it should be awarded to that one who

produced the gift most useful to mortals. Neptune gave the

horse; Minerva produced the olive. The gods gave judgment that

the olive was the more useful of the two, and awarded the city to

the goddess; and it was named after her, Athens, her name in

Greek being Athene.

In another contest, a mortal dared to come in competition with

Minerva. That mortal was Arachne, a maiden who had attained such

skill in the arts of weaving and embroidery that the nymphs

themselves would leave their groves and fountains to come and

gaze upon her work. It was not only beautiful when it was done,

but beautiful also in the doing. To watch her, as she took the

wool in its rude state and formed it into rolls, or separated it

with her fingers and carded it till it looked as light and soft

as a cloud, or twirled the spindle with skilful touch, or wove

the web, or, when woven, adorned it with her needle, one would

have said that Minerva herself had taught her. But this she

denied, and could not bear to be thought a pupil even of a

goddess. "Let Minerva try her skill with mine," said she; "if

beaten, I will pay the penalty." Minerva heard this and was

displeased. Assuming the form of an old woman, she went and gave

Arachne some friendly advice. "I have had much experience,: said

she, "and I hope you will not despise my counsel. Challenge your

fellow-mortals as you will, but do not compete with a goddess.

On the contrary, I advise you to ask her forgiveness for what you

have said, and, as she is merciful, perhaps she will pardon you."

Arachne stopped her spinning, and looked at the old dame with

anger in her countenance. "Keep your counsel," said she, "for

your daughters or handmaids; for my part, I know what I say, and

I stand to it. I am not afraid of the goddess; let her try her

skill, if she dare venture." "She comes," said Minerva; and

dropping her disguise, stood confessed. The nymphs bent low in

homage, and all the bystanders paid reverence. Arachne alone was

unterrified. She blushed, indeed; a sudden color dyed her cheek,

and then she grew pale. But she stood to her resolve, and with a

foolish conceit of her own skill rushed on her fate. Minerva

forbore no longer, nor interposed any further advice. They

proceed to the contest. Each takes her station and attaches the

web to the beam. Then the slender shuttle is passed in and out

among the threads. The reed with its fine teeth strikes up the

woof into its place and compacts the web. Both work with speed;

their skilful hands move rapidly, and the excitement of the

contest makes the labor light. Wool of Tyrian dye is contrasted

with that of other colors, shaded off into one another so

adroitly that the joining deceives the eye. Like the bow, whose

long arch tinges the heavens, formed by sunbeams reflected from

the shower (this description of the rainbow is literally

translated rom Ovid), in which, where the colors meet they seem

as one, but at a little distance from the point of contact are

wholly different.

Minerva wrought on her web the scene of her contest with Neptune.

Twelve of the heavenly powers are represented, Jupiter, with

August gravity, sitting in the midst. Neptune, the ruler of the

sea, holds his trident, and appears to have just smitten the

earth, from which a horse has leaped forth. Minerva depicted

herself with helmed head, her AEgis covering her breast. Such

was the central circle; and in the four corners were represented

incidents illustrating the displeasure of the gods at such

presumptuous mortals as had dared to contend with them. These

were meant as warnings to her rival to give up the contest before

it was too late.

Arachne filled her web with subjects designedly chosen to exhibit

the failings and errors of the gods. One scene represented Leda

caressing the swan, under which form Jupiter had disguised

himself; and another, Danae, in the brazen tower in which her

father had imprisoned her, but where the god effected his

entrance in the form of a shower of gold. Still another depicted

Europa deceived by Jupiter under the disguise of a bull.

Encouraged by the tameness of the animal, Europa ventured to

mount his back, whereupon Jupiter advanced into the sea, and swam

with her to Crete. You would have thought it was a real bull so

naturally was it wrought, and so natural was the water in which

it swam. She seemed to look with longing eyes back upon the

shore she was leaving, and to call to her companions for help.

She appeared to shudder with terror at the sight of the heaving

waves, and to draw back her feet from the water.

Arachne filled her canvas with these and like subjects,

wonderfully well done, but strongly marking her presumption and

impiety. Minerva could not forbear to admire, yet felt indignant

at the insult. She struck the web with her shuttle, and rent it

in pieces; she then touched the forehead of Arachne, and made her

feel her guilt and shame. She could not endure it, and went and

hanged herself. Minerva pitied her as she saw her hanging by a

rope. "Live, guilty woman," said she; " and that you may

preserve the memory of this lesson, continue to hang, you and

your descendants, to all future times." She sprinkled her with

the juices of aconite, and immediately her hair came off, and her

nose and ears likewise. Her form shrank up, and her head grew

smaller yet; her fingers grew to her side, and served for legs.

All the rest of her is body, out of which she spins her thread,

often hanging suspended by it, in the same attitude as when

Minerva touched her and transformed her into a spider.

Spenser tells the story of Arachne in his Muiopotmos, adhering

very closely to his master Ovid, but improving upon him in the

conclusion of the story. The two stanzas which follow tell what

was done after the goddess had depicted her creation of the olive

tree:

"Amongst these leaves she made a Butterfly,

With excellent device and wondrous slight,

Fluttering among the olives wantonly,

That seemed to live, so like it was in sight;

The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie,

The silken down with which his back is dight,

His broad outstretched horns, his hairy thighs,

His glorious colors, and his glistening eyes."

"Which when Arachne saw, as overlaid

And mastered with workmanship so rare.

She stood astonished long, ne aught gainsaid;

And with fast-fixed eyes on her did stare,

And by her silence, sign of one dismayed,

The victory did yield her as her share;

Yet did she inly fret and felly burn,

And all her blood to poisonous rancor turn."

And so the metamorphosis is caused by Arachne's own mortification

and vexation, and not by any direct act of the goddess.

The following specimen of old-fashioned gallantry is by Garrick:

UPON A LADY'S EMBROIDERY

"Arachne once, as poets tell,

A goddess at her art defied,

And soon the daring mortal fell

The hapless victim of her pride.

"Oh, then, beware Arachne's fate;

Be prudent, Chloe, and submit,

For you'll most surely meet her hate,

Who rival both her art and wit."

Tennyson, in his Palace of Art, describing the works of art with

which the palace was adorned, thus alludes to Europa:

"------ sweet Europa's mantle blew unclasped

From off her shoulder, backward borne,

From one hand drooped a crocus, one hand grasped

The mild bull's golden horn."

In his Princess there is this allusion to Danae:

"Now lies the earth all Danae to the stars,

And all thy heart lies open unto me."

NIOBE

The fate of Arachne was noised abroad through all the country,

and served as a warning to all presumptuous mortals not to

compare themselves with the divinities. But one, and she a

matron too, failed to learn the lesson of humility. It was

Niobe, the queen of Thebes. She had indeed much to be proud of;

but it was not her husband's fame, nor her own beauty, nor their

great descent, nor the power of their kingdom that elated her.

It was her children; and truly the happiest of mothers would

Niobe have been, if only she had not claimed to be so. It was on

occasion of the annual celebration in honor of Latona and her

offspring, Apollo and Diana, when the people of Thebes were

assembled, their brows crowned with laurel, bearing frankincense

to the altars and paying their vows, that Niobe appeared among

the crowd. Her attire was splendid with gold and gems, and her

face as beautiful as the face of an angry woman can be. She

stood and surveyed the people with haughty looks. "What folly,"

said she, "is this! to prefer beings whom you never saw to

those who stand before your eyes! Why should Latona be honored

with worship rather than I? My father was Tantalus, who was

received as a guest at the table of the gods; my mother was a

goddess. My husband built and rules this city, Thebes; and

Phrygia is my paternal inheritance. Wherever I turn my eyes I

survey the elements of my power; nor is my form and presence

unworthy of a goddess. To all this let me add, I have seven sons

and seven daughters, and look for sons-in-law and daughters-in-

law of pretensions worthy of my alliance. Have I not cause for

pride? Will you prefer to me this Latona, the Titan's daughter,

with her two children? I have seven times as many. Fortunate

indeed am I, and fortunate I shall remain! Will any one deny

this? My abundance is my security. I feel myself too strong for

Fortune to subdue. She may take from me much; I shall still have

much left. Were I to lose some of my children, I should hardly

be left as poor as Latona with her two only. Away with you from

these solemnities, put off the laurel from your brows, have

done with this worship!" The people obeyed, and left the sacred

services uncompleted.

The goddess was indignant. On top of Mount Cynthus where she

dwelt, she thus addressed her son and daughter: "My children, I

who have been so proud of you both, and have been used to hold

myself second to none of the goddesses except Juno alone, begin

now to doubt whether I am indeed a goddess. I shall be deprived

of my worship altogether unless you protect me." She was

proceeding in this strain, but Apollo interrupted her. "Say no

more," said he; "speech only delays punishment." So said Diana

also. Darting through the air, veiled in clouds, they alighted

on the towers of the city. Spread out before the gates was a

broad plain, where the youth of the city pursued their warlike

sports. The sons of Niobe were there among the rest, some

mounted on spirited horses richly caparisoned, some driving gay

chariots. Ismenos, the first-born, as he guided his foaming

steeds, struck with an arrow from above, cried out, "Ah, me!"

dropped the reins and fell lifeless. Another, hearing the sound

of the bow, like a boatman who sees the storm gathering and

makes all sail for the port, gave the rein to his horses and

attempted to escape. The inevitable arrow overtook him as he

fled. Two others, younger boys, just from their tasks, had gone

to the playground to have a game of wrestling. As they stood

breast to breast, one arrow pierced them both. They uttered a

cry together, together cast a parting look around them, and

together breathed their last. Alphenor, an elder brother, seeing

them fall, hastened to the spot to render them assistance, and

fell stricken in the act of brotherly duty. One only was left,

Ilioneus. He raised his arms to heaven to try whether prayer

might not avail. "Spare me, ye gods!" he cried, addressing all,

in his ignorance that all needed not his intercession; and Apollo

would have spared him, but the arrow had already left the string,

and it was too late.

The terror of the people and grief of the attendants soon made

Niobe acquainted with what had taken place. She could hardly

think it possible; she was indignant that the gods had dared and

amazed that they had been able to do it. Her husband, Amphion,

overwhelmed with the blow, destroyed himself. Alas! How

different was this Niobe from her who had so lately driven away

the people from the sacred rites, and held her stately course

through the city, the envy of her friends, now the pity even of

her foes! She knelt over the lifeless bodies, and kissed, now

one, now another of her dead sons. Raising her pallid arms to

heaven, "Cruel Latona," said she, "feed full your rage with my

anguish! Satiate your hard heart, while I follow to the grave my

seven sons. Yet where is your triumph? Bereaved as I am, I am

still richer than you, my conqueror. Scarce had she spoken when

the bow sounded and struck terror into all hearts except Niobe's

alone. She was brave from excess of grief. The sisters stood in

garments of mourning over the biers of their dead brothers. One

fell, struck by an arrow, and died on the corpse she was

bewailing. Another, attempting to console her mother, suddenly

ceased to speak, and sank lifeless to the earth. A third tried

to escape by flight, a fourth by concealment, another stood

trembling, uncertain what course to take. Six were now dead, and

only one remained, whom the mother held clasped in her arms, and

covered as it were with her whole body.

"Spare me one, and that the youngest! Oh, spare me one of so

many?!" she cried; and while she spoke, that one fell dead.

Desolate she sat, among sons, daughters, husband, all dead, and

seemed torpid with grief. The breeze moved not her hair, nor

color was on her cheek, her eyes glared fixed and immovable,

there was no sign of life about her. Her very tongue clave to

the roof of her mouth, and her veins ceased to convey the tide of

life. Her neck bent not, her arms made no gesture, her foot no

step. She was changed to stone, within and without. Yet tears

continued to flow; and, borne on a whirlwind to her native

mountain, she still remains, a mass of rock, from which a

trickling stream flows, the tribute of her never-ending grief.

The story of Niobe has furnished Byron with a fine illustration

of the fallen condition of modern Rome:

"The Niobe of nations! There she stands,

Childless and crownless in her voiceless woe;

An empty urn within her withered hands,

Whose holy dust was scattered long ago;

The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now;

The very sepulchres lie tenantless

Of their heroic dwellers; dost thou flow,

Old Tiber! Through a marble wilderness?

Rise with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress."

Childe Harold, IV.79

The slaughter of the children of Niobe by Apollo, alludes to the

Greek belief that pestilence and illness were sent by Apollo, and

one dying by sickness was said to be struck by Apollo's arrow.

It is to this that Morris alludes in the Earthly Paradise:

"While from the freshness of his blue abode,

Glad his death-bearing arrows to forget,

The broad sun blazed, nor scattered plagues as yet."

Our illustration of this story is a copy of a celebrated statue

in the imperial gallery of Florence. It is the principal figure

of a group supposed to have been originally arranged in the

pediment of a temple. The figure of the mother clasped by the

arm of her terrified child, is one of the most admired of the

ancient statues. It ranks with the Laocoon and the Apollo among

the masterpieces of art. The following is a translation of a

Greek epigram supposed to relate to this statue:

"To stone the gods have changed her, but in vain;

The sculptor's art has made her breathe again."

Tragic as is the story of Niobe we cannot forbear to smile at the

use Moore has made of it in Rhymes on the Road:

"'Twas in his carriage the sublime

Sir Richard Blackmore used to rhyme,

And, if the wits don't do him wrong,

'Twixt death and epics passed his time,

Scribbling and killing all day long;

Like Phoebus in his car at ease,

Now warbling forth a lofty song,

Now murdering the young Niobes."

Sir Richard Blackmore was a physician, and at the same time a

very prolific and very tasteless poet, whose works are now

forgotten, unless when recalled to mind by some wit like Moore

for the sake of a joke.

THE GRAEAE AND GORGONS

The Graeae were three sisters who were gray-haired from their

birth, whence their name. The Gorgons were monstrous females

with huge teeth like those of swine, brazen claws, and snaky

hair. They also were three in number, two of them immortal, but

the other, Medusa, mortal. None of these beings make much figure

in mythology except Medusa, the Gorgon, whose story we shall next

advert to. We mention them chiefly to introduce an ingenious

theory of some modern writers, namely, that the Gorgons and

Graeae were only personifications of the terrors of the sea, the

former denoting the STRONG billows of the wide open main, and the

latter the WHITE-crested waves that dash against the rocks of the

coast. Their names in Greek signify the above epithets.

PERSEUS AND MEDUSA

Acrisius was the king who ruled in Argos. To him had an oracle

declared that he should be slain by the child of his daughter

Danae. Therefore the cruel king, thinking it better that Danae

should have no children than that he should be slain, ordered a

tower of brass to be made, and in this tower he confined his

daughter away from all men.

But who can withstand Jupiter? He saw Danae, loved her, and

changing his form to a shower of gold, he shone into the

apartment of the captive girl.

Perseus was the child of Jupiter and Danae. Acrisius, finding

that his precautions had come to nought, and yet hardly daring to

kill his own daughter and her young child, placed them both in a

chest and sent the chest floating on the sea. It floated away

and was finally entangled in the net of Dicte, a fisherman in the

island of Seriphus. He brought them to his house and treated

them kindly, and in the house of Dicte, Perseus grew up. When

Perseus was grown up, Polydectes, king of that country, wishing

to send Perseus to his death, bade him go in quest of the head of

Medusa. Medusa had once been a beautiful maiden, whose hair was

her chief glory, but as she dared to vie in beauty with Minerva,

the goddess deprived her of her charms and changed her beautiful

ringlets into hissing serpents. She became a cruel monster of so

frightful an aspect that no living thing could behold her without

being turned into stone. All around the cavern where she dwelt

might be seen the stony figures of men and beasts which had

chanced to catch a glimpse of her and had been petrified with the

sight. Minerva and Mercury aided Perseus. From Minerva, Perseus

borrowed her shield, and from Mercury the winged shoes and the

harpe or crooked sword. After having flown all over the earth

Perseus espied in the bright shield the image of Medusa and her

two immortal sisters. Flying down carefully he cut at her with

his harpe and severed her head. Putting the trophy in his pouch

he flew away just as the two immortal sisters were awakened by

the hissings of their snaky locks.

PERSEUS AND ATLAS

After the slaughter of Medusa, Perseus, bearing with him the head

of the Gorgon, flew far and wide, over land and sea. As night

came on, he reached the western limit of the earth, where the sun

goes down. Here he would gladly have rested till morning. It

was the realm of King Atlas, whose bulk surpassed that of all

other men. He was rich in flocks and herds and had no neighbor

or rival to dispute his state. But his chief pride was in his

gardens, whose fruit was of gold, hanging from golden branches,

half hid with golden leaves. Perseus said to him, "I come as a

guest. If you honor illustrious descent, I claim Jupiter for my

father; if mighty deeds, I plead the conquest of the Gorgon. I

seek rest and food." But Atlas remembered that an ancient

prophecy had warned him that a son of Jove should one day rob him

of his golden apples. So he answered, "Begone! Or neither your

false claims of glory nor of parentage shall protect you;" and he

attempted to thrust him out. Perseus, finding the giant too

strong for him, said, "Since you value my friendship so little,

deign to accept a present;" and turning his face away, he held up

the Gorgon's head. Atlas, with all his bulk, was changed into

stone. His beard and hair became forests, his arms and shoulders

cliffs, his head a summit, and his bones rocks. Each part

increased in bulk till he became a mountain, and (such was the

pleasure of the gods) heaven with all its stars rests upon his

shoulders.

And all in vain was Atlas turned to a mountain, for the oracle

did not mean Perseus, but the hero Hercules, who should come long

afterwards to get the golden apples for his cousin Eurystheus.

Perseus, continuing his flight, arrived at the country of the

AEthiopians, of which Cepheus was king. Cassiopeia, his queen,

proud of her beauty, had dared to compare herself to the Sea-

Nymphs, which roused their indignation to such a degree that they

sent a prodigious sea-monster to ravage the coast. To appease

the deities, Cepheus was directed hy the oracle to expose his

daughter Andromeda to be devoured by the monster. As Perseus

looked down from his aerial height he beheld the virgin chained

to a rock, and waiting the approach of the serpent. She was so

pale and motionless that if it had not been for her flowing tears

and her hair that moved in the breeze, he would have taken her

for a marble statue. He was so startled at the sight that he

almost forgot to wave his wings. As he hovered over her he said,

"O virgin, undeserving of those chains, but rather of such as

bind fond lovers together, tell me, I beseech you, your name and

the name of your country, and why you are thus bound." At first

she was silent from modesty, and, if she could, would have hid

her face with her hands; but when he repeated his questions, for

fear she might be thought guilty of some fault which she dared

not tell, she disclosed her name and that of her country, and her

mother's pride of beauty. Before she had done speaking, a sound

was heard off upon the water, and the sea-monster appeared, with

his head raised above the surface, cleaving the waves with his

broad breast. The virgin shrieked, the father and mother who had

now arrived at the scene, wretched both, but the mother more

justly so, stood by, not able to afford protection, but only to

pour forth lamentations and to embrace the victim. Then spoke

Perseus: "There will be time enough for tears; this hour is all

we have for rescue. My rank as the son of Jove and my renown as

the slayer of the Gorgon might make me acceptable as a suitor;

but I will try to win her by services rendered, if the gods will

only be propitious. If she be rescued by my valor, I demand that

she be my reward." The parents consent (how could they

hesitate?) And promise a royal dowry with her.

And now the monster was within the range of a stone thrown by a

skilful slinger, when with a sudden bound the youth soared into

the air. As an eagle, when from his lofty flight he sees a

serpent basking in the sun, pounces upon him and seizes him by

the neck to prevent him from turning his head round and using his

fangs, so the youth darted down upon the back of the monster and

plunged his sword into its shoulder. Irritated by the wound the

monster raised himself into the air, then plunged into the depth;

then, like a wild boar surrounded by a pack of barking dogs,

turned swiftly from side to side, while the youth eluded its

attacks by means of his wings. Wherever he can find a passage

for his sword between the scales he makes a wound, piercing now

the side, now the flank, as it slopes towards the tail. The

brute spouts from his nostrils water mixed with blood. The wings

of the hero are wet with it, and he dares no longer trust to

them. Alighting on a rock which rose above the waves, and

holding on by a projecting fragment, as the monster floated near

he gave him a death-stroke. The people who had gathered on the

shore shouted so that the hills re-echoed to the sound. The

parents, transported with joy, embraced their future son-in-law,

calling him their deliverer and the savior of their house, and

the virgin, both cause and reward of the contest, descended from

the rock.

Cassiopeia was an Aethiopian, and consequently, in spite of her

boasted beauty, black; at least so Milton seems to have thought,

who alludes to this story in his Penseroso, where he addresses

Melancholy as the

"------- goddess, sage and holy,

Whose saintly visage is too bright

To hit the sense of human sight,

And, therefore, to our weaker view

O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue.

Black, but such as in esteem

Prince Memnon's sister might beseem,

Or that starred Aethiop queen that strove

To set her beauty's praise above

The Sea-nymphs, and their powers offended."

Cassiopeia is called "the starred Aethiop queen," because after

her death she was placed among the stars, forming the

constellation of that name. Though she attained this honor, yet

the Sea-Nymphs, her old enemies, prevailed so far as to cause her

to be placed in that part of the heaven near the pole, where

every night she is half the time held with her head downward, to

give her a lesson of humility.

"Prince Memnon" was the son of Aurora and Tithonus, of whom we

shall hear later.

THE WEDDING FEAST

The joyful parents, with Perseus and Andromeda, repaired to the

palace, where a banquet was spread for them, and all was joy and

festivity. But suddenly a noise was heard of war-like clamor,

and Phineus, the betrothed of the virgin, with a party of his

adherents, burst in, demanding the maiden as his own. It was in

vain that Cepheus remonstrated, "You should have claimed her

when she lay bound to the rock, the monster's victim. The

sentence of the gods dooming her to such a fate dissolved all

engagements, as death itself would have done.:" Phineus made no

reply, but hurled his javelin at Perseus, but it missed its mark

and fell harmless. Perseus would have thrown his in turn, but

the cowardly assailant ran and took shelter behind the altar.

But his act was a signal for an onset by his band upon the guests

of Cepheus. They defended themselves and a general conflict

ensued, the old king retreating from the scene after fruitless

expostulations, calling the gods to witness that he was guiltless

of this outrage on the rights of hospitality.

Perseus and his friends maintained for some time the unequal

contest; but the numbers of the assailants were too great for

them, and destruction seemed inevitable, when a sudden thought

struck Perseus: "I will make my enemy defend me." Then, with a

loud voice he exclaimed, :If I have any friend here let him turn

away his eyes!" and held aloft the Gorgon's head. "Seek not to

frighten us with your jugglery," said Thescelus, and raised his

javelin in act to throw, and became stone in the very attitude.

Ampyx was about to plunge his sword into the body of a prostrate

foe, but his arm stiffened and he could neither thrust forward

nor withdraw it. Another, in the midst of a vociferous

challenge, stopped, his mouth open, but no sound issuing. One of

Perseus's friends, Aconteus, caught sight of the Gorgon and

stiffened like the rest. Astyages struck him with his sword, but

instead of wounding, it recoiled with a ringing noise.

Phineus beheld this dreadful result of his unjust aggression, and

felt confounded. He called aloud to his friends, but got no

answer; he touched them and found them stone. Falling on his

knees and stretching out his hands to Perseus, but turning his

head away, he begged for mercy. "Take all," said he, "give me

but my life." "Base coward," said Perseus, "thus much I will

grant you; no weapon shall touch you; moreover you shall be

preserved in my house as a memorial of these events." So saying,

he held the Gorgon's head to the side where Phineus was looking,

and in the very form in which he knelt, with his hands

outstretched and face averted, he became fixed immovably, a mass

of stone!

The following allusion to Perseus is from Milman's Samor:

"As 'mid the fabled Libyan bridal stood

Perseus in stern tranquillity of wrath,

Half stood, half floated on his ankle-plumes

Out-swelling, while the bright face on his shield

Looked into stone the raging fray; so rose,

But with no magic arms, wearing alone

Th' appalling and control of his firm look,

The Briton Samor; at his rising awe

Went abroad, and the riotous hall was mute."

Then Perseus returned to Seriphus to King Polydectes and to his

mother Danae and the fisherman Dicte. He marched up the tyrant's

hall, where Polydectes and his guests were feasting. "Have you

the head of Medusa?" exclaimed Polydectes. "Here it is,"

answered Perseus, and showed it to the king and to his guests.

The ancient prophecy which Acrisius had so much feared at last

came to pass. For, as Perseus was passing through the country of

Larissa, he entered into competition with the youths of the

country at the game of hurling the discus. King Acrisius was

among the spectators. The youths of Larissa threw first, and

then Perseus. His discus went far beyond the others, and, seized

by a breeze from the sea, fell upon the foot of Acrisius. The

old king swooned with pain, and was carried away from the place

only to die. Perseus, who had heard the story of his birth and

parentage from Danae, when he learned who Acrisius was, filled

with remorse and sorrow, went to the oracle at Delphi, and there

was purified from the guilt of homicide.

Perseus gave the head of Medusa to Minerva, who had aided him so

well to obtain it. Minerva took the head of her once beautiful

rival and placed it in the middle of her Aegis.

Milton, in his Comus, thus alludes to the Aegis:

"What was that snaky-headed Gorgon-shield

That wise Minerva wore, unconquered virgin,

Wherewith she freezed her foes to congealed stone,

But rigid looks of chaste austerity,

And noble grace that dashed brute violence

With sudden adoration and blank awe!"

Armstrong, the poet of the Art of Preserving Health, thus

describes the effect of frost upon the waters:

"Now blows the surly North and chills throughout

the stiffening regions, while by stronger charms

Than Circe e'er or fell Medea brewed,

Each brook that wont to prattle to its banks

Lies all bestilled and wedged betwixt its banks,

Nor moves the withered reeds. . . .

The surges baited by the fierce Northeast,

Tossing with fretful spleen their angry heads,

E'en in the foam of all their madness struck

To monumental ice.

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Such execution,

So stern, so sudden, wrought the grisly aspect

Of terrible Medusa,

When wandering through the woods she turned to stone

Their savage tenants; just as the foaming lion

Sprang furious on his prey, her speedier power

Outran his haste,

And fixed in that fierce attitude he stands

Like Rage in marble!"

Imitations of Shakespeare

Of Atlas there is another story, which I like better than the one

told. He was one of the Titans who warred against Jupiter like

Typhoeus, Briareus, and others. After their defeat by the king

of gods and men, Atlas was condemned to stand in the far western

part of the earth, by the Pillars of Hercules, and to hold on his

shoulders the weight of heaven and the stars.

The story runs that Perseus, flying by, asked and obtained rest

and food. The next morning he asked what he could do to reward

Atlas for his kindness. The best that giant could think of was

that Perseus should show him the snaky head of Medusa, that he

might be turned to stone and be at rest from his heavy load.

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