EPISODE 50

DURING WHICH HERMES MEETS THE MYSTERIOUS CHARON

Previously: Hermes has been punished for having stolen Hera’s chariot and Poseidon’s trident. He must go and spend three months in the Underworld in his uncle Hades’ house and place himself from now on in his service.

It was with a heavy heart that Hermes set out towards the Underworld. He had never yet been in the underground kingdom of his uncle Hades, but the idea of being shut up below the earth, where the sun and the air never entered, frightened him. Furthermore, he did not know Hades all that well, yet his stern aspect intimidated him. He had sometimes met him in the palace and he seemed to be a querulous man, mean even. Like everyone else, Hermes did not like the company of the dead. And that was just it: Hades reigned over the kingdom of the dead.

When he reached the cave which was the entrance to the Underworld, Hermes found himself before a wide, black river overcast by a lingering fog. “I cannot very well swim across it,” murmured the young god. “And it is impossible to fly over it in this fog—one cannot even see the opposite bank.” He was mulling things over in his mind when he heard a strange lapping sound. It was like the sound of slowly approaching oars. Suddenly, a boat emerged from the mists. It was steered by an old man, whose head was covered by a black hood. The old man pressed with a slow and precise motion on the great oar which he used to move the vessel along. Soon, the boat had reached the shore where Hermes stood.

Just then, a host of shadows began to push and shove in order to get on board the boat. Hermes had not heard them arrive. Where had they come from? Where were they going? Who were they? They seemed exhausted and they pressed on so they might not miss the boarding. The old man scrutinized them one by one. He examined them from head to toe, then he made them turn around. After this check, some were given permission to board the boat while others were firmly thrown back onto the shore. Those who had been refused passage beseeched the old man, hanging themselves from his sleeves, weeping. But nothing seemed capable of changing his mind. Hermes looked at these shadows as they wept and his heart sank, without knowing the reason why. He could understand nothing of the scene unfolding before his eyes, yet it unsettled him in a strange way.

He remembered that his mission was to gain entrance to the Underworld. So he tried in his turn to climb on board the small boat.

“My name is Hermes,” he said to the old man, and he stretched out his hand in greeting.

“And I am Charon, and this black river is the Styx,” muttered the other, who did not take Hermes’ extended hand. “No living person, however, can cross this river. You cannot board now. Wait until you are dead.” And he pushed Hermes away roughly back onto the shore.

“But I am immortal!” Hermes exclaimed. “I am Hades’ nephew and I have a message for him from his brother Zeus.”

It was too late. Charon had picked up his oar once more and the boat was already disappearing into the fog, ferrying the shades of the dead, who sat huddled close to one another.

Hermes sat on the ground to think. Around him, the shadows bewailed their lot.

“We don’t have any luck,” said one, “if only we had been decently buried, according to the rites, Charon would not have refused us entry to the kingdom of the dead.”

“The road to this place has been long and difficult to find, I am so tired,” sighed another. “And I shall have to remain on earth for another hundred years before I may board that boat…”

“A hundred years, during which we shall never be able to find rest,” wept another still, “since the only place of rest for us is the kingdom of Hades. And we don’t have the right to enter it!”

So these shadows were the souls of the dead. Hermes understood everything now. He knew that it was the duty of human beings to bury their dead with dignity. Failing that, the souls were condemned to roam on earth for a hundred years. Hermes felt great pity for these forsaken souls. He saw them drift slowly apart as each mournfully took their own way.

Yet he still needed to find a means to cross to the other side of this river. Hermes gathered together some pieces of driftwood which lay scattered on the shore, tied them securely together with a piece of thin rope and in that way fashioned a raft for himself. His clever trick had restored his good humour back to him. The wood floated very well and he was going to be able to cross the black and icy waters of the Styx. But what would he find on the other side?

 

To be continued…