As you may suppose, the poor giant was terribly weary of having to hold up, night and day, year after year, the whole weight of the sun, moon, and stars. Even his strength is not able to keep stars from falling now and then—sometimes on a clear night you may see them tumbling down by scores, so it is terrible to think of what would happen if he took even a moment’s rest. The whole sky would come crashing down, and the universe would be in ruins. He was longing for the rest he dared not take, and so, when Hercules, said to him, “I am seeking fruit from the gardens of the Hesperides,” a crafty idea came into the giant’s mind.
“Ah!” said he, with a nod which shook down a whole shower of stars. “There is no difficulty. All you have to do is walk through the sea towards the setting sun, till you get there. And there’s nothing to prevent you from getting the golden fruit but the dragon who guards the tree on which it grows. The sea doesn’t come up higher than my waist, even in the deepest part; and, if you can get past the dragon, my three daughters, the Hesperides, will no doubt receive you with the greatest surprise.”
For the first time, Hercules felt dismayed. He had no boat, nor the means of building one; he could not swim further than his eyes could see. As for wading through an ocean that would come up to the waist of a giant as high as the skies, that was absurd. And as to the dragon, he remembered that Perseus had only passed it by means of a helmet which made its wearer invisible.
Atlas saw his perplexity.
“Ah, I forgot you were such a little fellow,” said the giant. “I’ll go and get you some of the fruit myself. It isn’t many of my steps from here to the garden, and the dragon knows me—and if he didn’t, I could step over him. And he couldn’t hurt me, seeing that I’ve been turned to stone. But wait, though—what on earth’s to become of the sky while I’m gone?”
“I’m pretty strong,” said Hercules. “If I climb up to the peak of the next mountain to you, I daresay I could hold the sky up while you’re away.”
Atlas smiled to himself, for this was just what he had intended.
“Come up, then,” said he. So Hercules clambered to the highest peak he could find, and Atlas, slowly bending, gradually and carefully let down the sky upon the head and shoulders of the hero. Then, heaving a deep roar of relief, he strode into the sea.
It was surely the strangest plight in which a mortal ever found himself—standing on a mountain-peak, and, by the strength of his own shoulders, keeping the skies from falling. He was answerable for the safety of the whole world: the burden of the entire universe was laid upon the shoulders of one man. They were strong enough to bear it; but it seemed like an eternity before Atlas returned. A hundred times a minute Hercules felt as if he must let all go, whatever happened; indeed he was actually tempted to yield, for he was weary of these endless labors; and it was only for mankind’s sake, and not for his own, that he held on through the agony of the crushing weight of the whole universe.
But Atlas came at last, with three golden apples in his hand.