Stories of the Olden Time (Historical Series-Book IV Part I)

Excerpt

I.—ARION.

1. Arion was a famous musician, and dwelt at the court of Periander, King of Corinth, with whom he was a great favorite. There was a musical contest in Sicily, and Arion longed to compete for the prize. He told his wish to Periander, who besought him like a brother to give up the thought. "Pray stay with me," he said, "and be contented. He who strives to win may lose." Arion answered: "A wandering life best suits the free heart of a poet. A talent which a god bestowed upon me I would fain make a source of pleasure to others; and if I win the prize, how will the enjoyment of it be increased by the consciousness of my wide-spread fame!"

2. He went, won the prize, and embarked with his wealth in a Corinthian vessel for home. On the second morning after setting sail, the wind breathed mild and fair. "O Periander!" he exclaimed, "dismiss your fears. Soon shall you forget them in my embrace. With what lavish offerings will we display our gratitude to the gods, and how merry will we be at the festal board!" The wind and sea continued favorable, not a cloud dimmed the firmament. He had not trusted too much to the ocean, but to man he had. He overheard the seamen plotting to get possession of his treasure. Presently they surrounded him, loud and mutinous, and said: "Arion, you must die! If you would have a grave on the shore, yield yourself to die on this spot; but if otherwise, cast yourself into the sea."

3. "Will nothing satisfy you but my life?" said he; "take my gold in welcome. I willingly buy my life at that price." "No, no; we can not spare you. Your life would be too dangerous to us. Where could we go to escape Periander if he should know that you had been robbed by us? Your gold would be of little use to us, if, on returning home, we could never more be free from fear." "Grant me, then," said he, "a last request, since naught will prevail to save my life, that I may die as I have lived, as becomes a bard. When I shall have sung my death-song, and my harp-strings cease to vibrate, then I will bid farewell to life, and yield to my fate." This prayer, like the others, would have been unheeded—they thought only of their booty—but to hear so famous a musician moved their hearts. "Suffer me," he added, "to arrange my dress. Apollo will not favor me unless I am clad in my minstrel garb."

4. He clothed himself in gold and purple, fair to see, his tunic fell around him in graceful folds, jewels adorned his arms, his brow was crowned with a golden wreath, and over his neck and shoulders flowed his hair, perfumed with odors. His left hand held the lyre, his right the ivory wand with which he struck the chords. Like one inspired he seemed to drink the morning air and glitter in the morning ray. The seamen gazed in admiration. He strode forward to the vessel's side, and looked down into the blue sea.

5. Addressing his lyre, he sang: "Companion of my voice, come with me to the realm of shades! Though Cerberus may growl, we know the power of song can tame his rage....