Chapter XV
Dædalus and Icarus
Dædalus of Athens was a son of Metion, grandson of Erectheus. He was the most skilful man of his time—an architect, sculptor, and stone worker. His works were admired in various parts of the world, and his statues were said to live, move, and see; for while the statues of earlier artists had their eyes closed and the hands not separated from the body, he was the first one who gave open eyes to his statues, extended the hands, and represented the feet as walking. But skilful, zealous, and active as he was in his work, he had vices which brought him into trouble. He had a nephew, named Talos, who was his pupil, and who displayed even more skill than his uncle and master. He discovered the potter’s wheel. He also took the jaw of a snake and copied it in iron, cutting into it a row of continuous teeth, thus inventing the saw. He also invented the lathe and many useful instruments without assistance from his teacher, which made him famous.
Dædalus, fearing that the name of his scholar might become more renowned than his own, grew so jealous that he killed the boy by hurling him down from the castle at Athens. While engaged in burying him, he was surprised by the authorities and pretended he was burying a snake. At last he was brought before the Areopagus, charged with murder, and was found guilty. He managed to escape, however, and at first wandered about in Attica, but finally fled to the island of Crete. There he met King Minos, became his friend, and was highly esteemed as a renowned artist. He was chosen to make a house for the Minotaur, a monster resembling a bull from its head to its shoulders, the remainder of its body being like a man, and to construct it so that the monster would be entirely removed from human sight. The inventive genius of Dædalus produced the Labyrinth, a structure full of complicated windings, confusing both to the eyes and feet of those who entered it. When it was finished and Dædalus began to look it over, the builder himself found his way back to the opening only with the greatest difficulty. The Minotaur was kept in the very centre of this Labyrinth, its food being seven youths and seven maidens sent to it periodically from Athens.
In the meantime Dædalus began to weary of his long banishment from home. It vexed him that he must spend his life upon an island exposed to the caprices of a tyrannical and cruel king. After long consideration, he at last joyfully exclaimed: “I have found the way to escape. Minos may be master of land and water, but the sky is free to me. He has no power over that. Through the air I will escape.” No sooner said than done. He began by arranging bird feathers of different sizes in regular order. These feathers he fastened in the middle with waxed linen cords. He then bent the joined feathers in such perfect curves that they clearly resembled wings. Dædalus had a boy, named Icarus, who stood by him and eagerly meddled, childlike, with his father’s work. All of a sudden he took some of the feathers and deftly kneaded the wax, which his father had been using, with his thumb and forefinger. The father smiled at the unassisted exertions of the child. After his work was finished Dædalus fastened the wings to his body, balanced them equally, and sailed through the air as lightly as a bird. Then, descending to earth, he constructed a smaller pair for his son and instructed him how to use them. “Always fly, my dear son, in the middle course,” he said. “If you fly too low your wings may become so dampened by the sea air that they will grow heavy and you may fall into the waves, and if you mount too high and go too near the sunbeams your feathers may suddenly take fire. Fly between sea and sky and always follow in my course.” After these warnings Dædalus fastened his wings on Icarus’ shoulders, though the old man’s hands trembled as he did so, and anxious tears dropped upon them. He then embraced his son and kissed him for the last time.
The two rose in air. The father led the way, flying as natural as a bird. He moved his wings easily and skilfully and from time to time looked back to see how his son was succeeding. They soon passed the island of Samos at the left and flew by the islands of Delos and Paros. Several other localities were left behind them when suddenly Icarus, who had grown over-confident, forsook his paternal guide to reach a higher altitude. He soon encountered the danger his father predicted. The proximity of the sun weakened the wax which held his wings together and they became detached from his shoulders. The unfortunate youth tried to keep in air with his bare arms, but it was in vain and he suddenly plunged downwards with the name of his father on his lips; but before he could call for help he sank in the sea’s blue depths. It all happened so quickly that Dædalus, when he looked back for his son, could see nothing of him. “Icarus, Icarus,” he shouted in the vacant sky, “where and in what region of air shall I seek thee?” At last he cast an anxious glance downward and saw the feathers floating on the water. He descended and wandered from shore to shore seeking the body of his unfortunate child, and at last found it. The murder of Talos was avenged. The despairing father attended to the burial of his son, upon an island which in lasting memory of the tragic event is called Icaria.
After Dædalus had buried his son he went to the large island of Sicily, where King Cocalus ruled. He met with the same hospitable reception which Minos once extended to him, and his skill created universal astonishment. He constructed an artificial lake from which issued a broad river emptying into the neighboring sea. Upon a barren and almost insurmountable cliff, which had hardly room for a couple of trees, he built a strong fortress approached by a winding way which could be defended by three or four men. King Cocalus used this impregnable castle as a storehouse for his treasures. The third work of Dædalus was a deep cavern on the island of Sicily. Here he overcame the reek of internal fires so skilfully that a visit to the cavern, which was usually so damp, became as agreeable as if it were a mildly warmed room and the body experienced a gentle perspiration without being overheated. He also enlarged the temple of Aphrodite (Venus) upon Mount Eryx[21] and dedicated to the goddess a golden honeycomb so skilfully made that it was difficult to tell it from a real one.
When King Minos, whose island Dædalus forsook, learned that he had fled to Sicily he resolved to follow him with a strong force. He organized a fleet and set out from Crete to Agrigentum. There he disembarked his troops and sent messengers to King Cocalus, demanding the surrender of the fugitive. But Cocalus was enraged at this invasion by a foreign tyrant and determined to find some way of destroying him. He pretended to consent, promised to comply with his wishes in every way, and invited him to an interview. Minos came and was received by Cocalus with the greatest hospitality. A warm bath was prepared to relieve him of fatigue, but when he sat in the tub it was so soon overheated that Minos was suffocated. The king sent his body to the Cretans who came with him, informing them that Minos had slipped and fallen into the hot water in the tub. Minos was taken with great pomp by his warriors to Agrigentum and above his grave a temple of Venus was built. Dædalus remained in the continuous favor of Cocalus, educated many famous artists, and was the founder of art in Sicily. But he was never happy after the death of his son, and while he enriched the country which had given him refuge, with beautiful art works, his old age was sorrowful and full of troubles. He died upon the island and was buried there.
Chapter XVI
Philemon and Baucis
Upon a hill in the land of Phrygia stands a thousand year old oak, and close by it a linden of the same age, both surrounded by a low wall. Many a wreath has been hung upon the boughs of the neighborly pair. Not far from them extends a swampy lake into which empties a shallow stream. Where in former times people dwelt, now only herons and ducks rove about. Once Father Zeus came to this spot with his son Hermes carrying only his wand, but not his winged cap. They were seeking hospitality in human form. They knocked at a thousand doors praying shelter for the night. But the people were so disobliging that the heavenly visitants could not anywhere find lodging. At the end of the village was a hut, humble and small, covered with straw and rushes. In this poor house lived a happy couple, honest Philemon and Baucis, his wife, of the same age. They had spent their joyous youth together there, and there they had grown white-haired. They made no complaint of their poverty, but quietly bore their hard lot, united in love, and although childless, they were content in the mean little house which they alone occupied together.
As the high deities approached this humble roof and entered the low passageway with bowed heads, the honest couple met them with a hearty greeting. The old man placed seats for them, and Baucis, clad in a coarse dress, begged them to rest themselves. The little mother busied herself about the hearth, stirred up the ashes, piled up dry leaves and brushwood, and kindled a fire. Then she brought split wood and placed it under the little kettle hanging over the fire. In the meantime Philemon brought cabbage from his well-watered garden, deftly unleaved it, took down a side of smoked pork with his two-tined fork from the ceiling, and cut a huge piece from the shoulder to put into the boiling water. That the time might not seem too long to the strangers, they exerted themselves to entertain them with light conversation. They also poured water into the wooden tub so that they could enjoy a foot bath. Smiling in a friendly way, the gods accepted these proffers, and while they were stretching their feet comfortably in the water their gracious host prepared the couch-bed, which stood in the middle of the room. The cushions were stuffed with rushes and the feet and frame were made of woven willow. Philemon brought carpetings which were only kept for feast days,—how old and poor they were!—and the divine guests prepared to enjoy the meal which was now ready. The little mother, in her neat apron, placed with trembling hands the three-legged table before the couch, and as it would not stand very securely, she raised it slightly by placing something under it. Then she rubbed the plates with fresh mint and food was set before them. There were olives, cornelian cherries, preserved in clear thick sirup, also radishes, endives, fine cheese, and eggs cooked in the ashes. Baucis brought all these in earthen dishes, besides a showily colored pitcher and neat cups of beechwood, glazed on the inside with yellow wax, filled with milk, for they had no wine. Nuts, figs, and dates were brought for desert, and two dishes filled with plums and spicy apples. In the middle of the table was a whitish honeycomb. But the finest seasoning of the meal was the good friendly faces of the honest old couple, testifying to their honesty and generosity.