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    The Story of Hercules
    The Story of Hercules
    The Story of Hercules
    Ebook126 pages2 hours

    The Story of Hercules

    By Bob Blaisdell

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    About this ebook

    Young readers will be spellbound by the story of Hercules, the legendary hero of heroes whose name is synonymous with strength and adventure. The immortal strongman narrates a gripping tale that begins with his birth to a mortal woman admired by Zeus and concludes with his ascension to the glorious halls of Olympos.
    With great pride, Hercules relates the spectacular deeds by which he achieved immortality. His twelve labors under the command of King Eurystheus are recounted in thrilling detail, including duels with such fabulous monsters as the many-headed, fire-breathing hydra and the man-eating mares of King Diomedes. Encounters with Hippolyte, Queen of the Amazons, Cerberos, the hellhound sentry of the underworld, and many other characters from mythology recreate a timeless world of excitement and adventure.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDover Publications
    Release dateMay 24, 2012
    ISBN9780486146836
    The Story of Hercules
    Author

    Bob Blaisdell

    Bob Blaisdell is professor of English at the City University of New York’s Kingsborough Community College in Brooklyn. He is author of Creating Anna Karenina: Tolstoy and the Birth of Literature's Most Enigmatic Heroine; Chekhov Becomes Chekhov: The Emergence of a Literary Genius; and Well, Mr. Mudrick Said . . . A Memoir. In addition, he is editor of more than three dozen literary anthologies.

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      Book preview

      The Story of Hercules - Bob Blaisdell

      "

      1. My Birth, Childhood and Youth

      I AM the Greek hero Hercules, son of lord god Zeus and earth-dwelling mortal Alcmene. I earned the privilege to live with the gods on heavenly Mount Olympos through performing nearly impossible labors, tasks assigned to me because of jealous Hera, Zeus’s divine queen.

      Let me tell you the tale of my tremendous deeds, of my heroic accomplishments, of my terrible, overwhelming sorrows and stupid mistakes. For I, like all beings, was born with faults, the chief of which was a fiery temper.

      Before my birth, my mother and her husband, Amphitryon, left their native city of Tiryns in the Peloponnese and found a home in the kingdom of Thebes. Shortly after their arrival, however, Amphitryon set out on a dangerous expedition. When my mother entered Zeus’s temple to pray for Amphitryon’s safe return, Zeus observed her and fell in love, for he believed her the most beautiful mortal woman he had ever seen. She wore her hair with a black ribbon, tying it back from her lustrous forehead, and her large eyes were nearly as soft and gentle as those of a newborn deer. She pleaded, her hands clasped in prayer, whispering, Great Zeus, let my husband’s mission be fulfilled, and return him to me, his loving bride.

      Zeus answered her prayer, it is true, but not before he himself, that very night, came down from the heavens in a carriage borne by immortal winged horses. By taking on the resemblance of good Amphitryon he tricked my mother into accepting him into her arms. The result of their embraces, in nine months’ time, was myself.

      Not until the night after his visit did Zeus allow Amphitryon to return. My mother gave birth to Iphicles, my half-brother, a few minutes after my delivery. Amphitryon knew that I was Zeus’s son, not his own, but he loved me as well as any father could.

      Before my birth, however, great Zeus made the mistake of boasting of my conception. He declared before the other gods upon Olympos that the next-born descendant of Perseus, my great-grandfather, and one of Zeus’s earlier mortal sons, would become the king of Tiryns. Hera, resenting Zeus’s ambitions for me, called on the goddess of childbirth to delay my mother’s delivery and to bring on the early birth of Eurystheus, another descendant of noble Perseus.

      These acts of Hera’s enraged Zeus, but what could he do? He himself had made his word law, and so Eurystheus inherited the throne, and I, as you shall soon hear, was eventually made his slave.

      Even as a baby I displayed fearlessness and strength, much to my mother’s pride. Even in her very old age, she enjoyed telling the story of a night when my half-brother Iphicles and I were eight months old, and she awoke, hearing a hissing sound from our room. She got up to check on us, and when she entered the doorway with a lighted candle, she gasped, then screamed out for Amphitryon. As she watched in horror, I sat up in my crib, my strong little hands gripping two fork-tongued snakes by the throat. She says I smiled at the sight of her, and that I laughed as I waved the limp bodies of the poisonous serpents I had strangled.

      When I was still a boy, Amphitryon taught me how to drive a chariot. We were on a plain, almost bare of trees, with fine roads. Hold the reins just so, he warned me, and if you feel the horses pull too hard, hand the reins up to me, and I’ll take over.

      As she watched in horror, I sat up in my crib, gripping two fork-tongued snakes by the throat.

      I believe, good father (he allowed me to call him so), that these horses will do what I instruct them to do.

      Thunder and Lightning were the names of the hot-tempered, almost untamed horses. Upon seeing their usual master hand over the reins to a little curly-haired boy, they snorted, as if insulted that Amphitryon believed I could possibly control them. They broke forward, jolting the chariot and sending Amphitryon head over heels and into the dust behind the chariot. I was alone in the hard-wheeled chariot as it bounced along, threatening to tip over.

      Believe it or not, I was enjoying my solo with the reins. Wicked Lightning, the more feisty horse, glanced over his shoulder to see what it was that was tugging at its reins, for he believed I had long since been bounced out of the chariot. In spite of having been thrown to the floor of the chariot, I had held on to the reins with my fists. Finally I pulled myself to my feet, and once I had done so the horses became aware of who was master. I reined them in, controlling their wild actions, and then as they snorted with rage and surprise and began running in step and straight ahead, I lashed them with the spare ends of the reins, shouting at them, So it’s speed you want? Let’s see just how fast you can go!

      Amphitryon had, by this time, picked himself up from the dust and saddled another horse, and was giving us chase. I saw him in the distance, and to prove my mastery to my teacher, I directed the horses in tighter and tighter loops.

      Amphitryon reined in his mare and watched in amazement as I circled closer and closer to him, till the horses staggered and came to an exhausted halt.

      Hercules, he called out, you are more than a match for the finest horses in Thebes. If you were older, you could be charioteer for any general.

      Why not now? I asked, laughing.

      Because, said Amphitryon, there are other skills you should learn. I was sure I was starting you too young for this, but now I see you’ve long been ready to become a hero among men.

      Modesty is not a trait that I value, and so I must mention my early achievements and successes. From Eurytos I quickly learned to shoot a bow; from the thief Autolycos, expert at cunning moves, I learned to wrestle; from marvelous Mudrikion to hurl the spear; from Castor to use a sword. I was a master of all the fighting arts while still a boy. Castor claimed that by the age of seventeen I was the best fighter who ever lived.

      What I lack in modesty, I hope to make up for in honesty, and so I shall have to tell of my failure in the art of music.

      My one disappointed teacher was Linus, brother of famous Orpheus, that creator of songs so powerful and affecting that even objects like trees and stones were moved to follow him, and wicked men with stony hearts were made to weep. Linus was nearly the equal of his brother, and he came to Thebes to see if I could be the prodigy in music I already was in warfare. Alas, no.

      Linus was not at all awed by my strength, poor man, and he treated me as if I were just any old student. When I played the lyre poorly, he scolded me.

      Music requires feeling, not strength, he said. Even then, as a lad of seventeen, I knew the truth of his words, but I hated the shame he brought to my reddened face when he pointed out my awkward fingerings on the strings, or when he said with disgust, "Music! Music! Not power!" But he forgot himself, or should I say he forgot who I was—even

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