The Earthly Paradise Part 11

Then loud laughed Atys, and he said again, "Father, and did this ugly dream tell thee What day it was on which I should be slain?

As may the G.o.ds grant I may one day be, And not from sickness die right wretchedly, Groaning with pain, my lords about my bed, Wis.h.i.+ng to G.o.d that I were fairly dead;

"But slain in battle, as the Lydian kings Have died ere now, in some great victory, While all about the Lydian shouting rings Death to the beaten foemen as they fly.

What death but this, O father! should I die?

But if my life by iron shall be done, What steel to-day shall glitter in the sun?

"Yea, father, if to thee it seemeth good To keep me from the bright steel-bearing throng, Let me be brave at least within the wood; For surely, if thy dream be true, no wrong Can hap to me from this beast's tushes strong: Unless perchance the beast is grown so wise, He haunts the forest clad in Lydian guise."

Then Croesus said: "O Son, I love thee so, That thou shalt do thy will upon this tide: But since unto this hunting thou must go, A trusty friend along with thee shall ride, Who not for anything shall leave thy side.

I think, indeed, he loves thee well enow To thrust his heart 'twixt thee and any blow.

"Go then, O Son, and if by some short span Thy life be measured, how shall it harm thee, If while life last thou art a happy man?

And thou art happy; only unto me Is trembling left, and infelicity: The trembling of the man who loves on earth, But unto thee is hope and present mirth.

"Nay, be thou not ashamed, for on this day I fear not much: thou read'st my dream aright, No teeth or claws shall take thy life away.

And it may chance, ere thy last glorious fight, I shall be blinded by the endless night; And brave Adrastus on this day shall be Thy safeguard, and shall give good heart to me.

"Go then, and send him hither, and depart; And as the heroes did so mayst thou do, Winning such fame as well may please thine heart."

With that word from the King did Atys go, Who, left behind, sighed, saying, "May it be so, Even as I hope; and yet I would to G.o.d These men upon my threshold ne'er had trod."

So when Adrastus to the King was come He said unto him, "O my Phrygian friend, We in this land have given thee a home, And 'gainst all foes your life will we defend: Wherefore for us that life thou shouldest spend, If any day there should be need therefor; And now a trusty friend I need right sore.

"Doubtless ere now thou hast heard many say There is a doom that threatens my son's life; Therefore this place is stript of arms to-day, And therefore still bides Atys with his wife, And tempts not any G.o.d by raising strife; Yet none the less by no desire of his, To whom would war be most abundant bliss.

"And since to-day some glory he may gain Against a monstrous b.e.s.t.i.a.l enemy And that the meaning of my dream is plain; That saith that he by steel alone shall die, His burning wish I may not well deny, Therefore afield to-morrow doth he wend And herein mayst thou show thyself my friend--

"For thou as captain of his band shalt ride, And keep a watchful eye of everything, Nor leave him whatsoever may betide: Lo, thou art brave, the son of a great king, And with thy praises doth this city ring, Why should I tell thee what a name those gain, Who dying for their friends, die not in vain?"

Then said Adrastus, "Now were I grown base Beyond all words, if I should spare for aught In guarding him, so sit with smiling face, And of this matter take no further thought, Because with my life shall his life be bought, If ill should hap; and no ill fate it were, If I should die for what I hold so dear."

Then went Adrastus, and next morn all things, That 'longed unto the hunting were well dight, And forth they went clad as the sons of kings, Fair was the morn, as through the suns.h.i.+ne bright They rode, the Prince half wild with great delight, The Phrygian smiling on him soberly, And ever looking round with watchful eye.

So through the city all the rout rode fast, With many a great black-muzzled yellow hound; And then the teeming country-side they pa.s.sed, Until they came to sour and rugged ground, And there rode up a little heathy mound, That overlooked the scrubby woods and low, That of the beast's lair somewhat they might know.

And there a good man of the country-side Showed them the places where he mostly lay; And they, descending, through the wood did ride, And followed on his tracks for half the day.

And at the last they brought him well to bay, Within an oozy s.p.a.ce amidst the wood, About the which a ring of alders stood.

So when the hounds' changed voices clear they heard With hearts aflame on towards him straight they drew Atys the first of all, of nought afeard, Except that folk should say some other slew The beast; and l.u.s.tily his horn he blew, Going afoot; then, mighty spear in hand, Adrastus headed all the following band.

Now when they came unto the plot of ground Where stood the boar, hounds dead about him lay Or sprawled about, bleeding from many a wound, But still the others held him well at bay, Nor had he been bestead thus ere that day.

But yet, seeing Atys, straight he rushed at him, Speckled with foam, bleeding in flank and limb.

Then Atys stood and cast his well-steeled spear With a great shout, and straight and well it flew; For now the broad blade cutting through the ear, A stream of blood from out the shoulder drew.

And therewithal another, no less true, Adrastus cast, whereby the boar had died: But Atys drew the bright sword from his side,

And to the tottering beast he drew anigh: But as the sun's rays ran adown the blade Adrastus threw a javelin hastily, For of the mighty beast was he afraid, Lest by his wounds he should not yet be stayed, But with a last rush cast his life away, And dying there, the son of Croesus slay.

But even as the feathered dart he hurled, His strained, despairing eyes, beheld the end, And changed seemed all the fas.h.i.+on of the world, And past and future into one did blend, As he beheld the fixed eyes of his friend, That no reproach had in them, and no fear, For Death had seized him ere he thought him near.

Adrastus shrieked, and running up he caught The falling man, and from his bleeding side Drew out the dart, and, seeing that death had brought Deliverance to him, he thereby had died; But ere his hand the luckless steel could guide, And he the refuge of poor souls could win, The horror-stricken huntsmen had rushed in.

And these, with blows and cries he heeded nought His unresisting hands made haste to bind; Then of the alder-boughs a bier they wrought, And laid the corpse thereon, and 'gan to wind Homeward amidst the tangled wood and blind, And going slowly, at the eventide, Some leagues from Sardis did that day abide.

Onward next morn the slaughtered man they bore, With him that slew him, and at end of day They reached the city, and with mourning sore Toward the King's palace did they take their way.

He in an open western chamber lay Feasting, though inwardly his heart did burn Until that Atys should to him return.

And when those wails first smote upon his ear He set the wine-cup down, and to his feet He rose, and bitter all-consuming fear Swallowed his joy, and nigh he went to meet That which was coming through the weeping street; But in the end he thought it good to wait, And stood there doubting all the ills of fate.

But when at last up to that royal place Folk brought the thing he once had held so dear Still stood the King, staring with ghastly face As they brought forth Adrastus and the bier, But spoke at last, slowly without a tear, "O Phrygian man, that I did purify, Is it through thee that Atys came to die?"

"O King," Adrastus said, "take now my life, With whatso torment seemeth good to thee, As my word went, for I would end this strife, And underneath the earth lie quietly; Nor is it my will here alive to be: For as my brother, so Prince Atys died, And this unlucky hand some G.o.d did guide."

Then as a man constrained, the tale he told From end to end, nor spared himself one whit: And as he spoke, the wood did still behold, The trodden gra.s.s, and Atys dead on it; And many a change o'er the King's face did flit Of kingly rage, and hatred and despair, As on the slayer's face he still did stare.

At last he said, "Thy death avails me nought.

The G.o.ds themselves have done this bitter deed, That I was all too happy was their thought, Therefore thy heart is dead and mine doth bleed, And I am helpless as a trodden weed: Thou art but as the handle of the spear, The caster sits far off from any fear.

"Yet, if thy hurt they meant, I can do this,-- --Loose him and let him go in peace from me-- I will not slay the slayer of all my bliss; Yet go, poor man, for when thy face I see I curse the G.o.ds for their felicity.

Surely some other slayer they would have found, If thou hadst long ago been under ground.

"Alas, Adrastus! in my inmost heart I knew the G.o.ds would one day do this thing, But deemed indeed that it would be thy part To comfort me amidst my sorrowing; Make haste to go, for I am still a King!

Madness may take me, I have many hands Who will not spare to do my worst commands."

With that Adrastus' bonds were done away, And forthwith to the city gates he ran, And on the road where they had been that day Rushed through the gathering night; and some lone man Beheld next day his visage wild and wan, Peering from out a thicket of the wood Where he had spilt that well-beloved blood.

And now the day of burial pomp must be, And to those rites all lords of Lydia came About the King, and that day, they and he Cast royal gifts of rich things on the flame; But while they stood and wept, and called by name Upon the dead, amidst them came a man With raiment rent, and haggard face and wan:

Who when the marshals would have thrust him out And men looked strange on him, began to say, "Surely the world is changed since ye have doubt Of who I am; nay, turn me not away, For ye have called me princely ere to-day-- Adrastus, son of Gordius, a great king, Where unto Pallas Phrygian maidens sing.

"O Lydians, many a rich thing have ye cast Into this flame, but I myself will give A greater gift, since now I see at last The G.o.ds are wearied for that still I live, And with their will, why should I longer strive?

Atys, O Atys, thus I give to thee A life that lived for thy felicity."

And therewith from his side a knife he drew, And, crying out, upon the pile he leapt, And with one mighty stroke himself he slew.

So there these princes both together slept, And their light ashes, gathered up, were kept Within a golden vessel wrought all o'er With histories of this hunting of the boar.

A gentle wind had risen midst his tale, That bore the sweet scents of the fertile vale In at the open windows; and these men The burden of their years scarce noted then, Soothed by the sweet luxurious summer time, And by the cadence of that ancient rhyme, Spite of its saddening import; nay, indeed, Of some such thoughts the Wanderers had need As that tale gave them--Yea, a man shall be A wonder for his glorious chivalry, First in all wisdom, of a prudent mind, Yet none the less him too his fate shall find Unfenced by these, a man 'mongst other men.

Yea, and will Fortune pick out, now and then, The n.o.blest for the anvil of her blows; Great names are few, and yet, indeed, who knows What greater souls have fallen 'neath the stroke Of careless fate? Purblind are most of folk, The happy are the masters of the earth Which ever give small heed to hapless worth; So goes the world, and this we needs must bear Like eld and death: yet there were some men there Who drank in silence to the memory Of those who failed on earth great men to be, Though better than the men who won the crown.

But when the sun was fairly going down They left the house, and, following up the stream, In the low sun saw the kingfisher gleam 'Twixt bank and alder, and the grebe steal out From the high sedge, and, in his restless doubt, Dive down, and rise to see what men were there: They saw the swallow chase high up in air The circling gnats; the shaded dusky pool Broke by the splas.h.i.+ng chub; the ripple cool, Rising and falling, of some distant weir They heard, till it oppressed the listening ear, As twilight grew: so back they turned again Glad of their rest, and pleasure after pain.

Within the gardens once again they met, That now the roses did well-nigh forget, For hot July was drawing to an end, And August came the fainting year to mend With fruit and grain; so 'neath the trellises, Nigh blossomless, did they lie well at ease, And watched the poppies burn across the gra.s.s, And o'er the bindweed's bells the brown bee pa.s.s Still murmuring of his gains: windless and bright The morn had been, to help their dear delight; But heavy clouds ere noon grew round the sun, And, halfway to the zenith, wild and dun The sky grew, and the thunder growled afar; But, ere the steely clouds began their war, A change there came, and, as by some great hand, The clouds that hung in threatening o'er the land Were drawn away; then a light wind arose That shook the light stems of that flowery close, And made men sigh for pleasure; therewithal Did mirth upon the feasting elders fall, And they no longer watched the lowering sky, But called aloud for some new history.

Then spoke the Suabian, "Sirs, this tale is told Among our searchers for fine stones and gold, And though I tell it wrong be good to me; For I the written book did never see, Made by some Fleming, as I think, wherein Is told this tale of wilfulness and sin."