grew louder and louder, and finally so very loud that Theseus
fully expected to come close upon him, at every new zizgag and

wriggle of the path. And at last, in an open space, at the very
center of the labyrinth, he did discern the hideous creature.

Sure enough, what an ugly monster it was! Only his horned head
belonged to a bull; and yet, somehow or other, he looked like a

bull all over, preposterously waddling on his hind legs; or, if
you happened to view him in another way, he seemed wholly a

man, and all the more monstrous for being so. And there he was,
the wretched" target="_blank" title="a.可怜的；倒霉的">wretched thing, with no society, no companion, no kind of a

mate, living only to do mischief, and incapable of knowing what
affection means. Theseus hated him, and shuddered at him, and

yet could not but be sensible of some sort of pity; and all the
more, the uglier and more detestable the creature was. For he

kept striding to and fro, in a solitaryfrenzy of rage,
continually emitting a hoarse roar, which was oddly mixed up

with half-shaped words; and, after listening a while, Theseus
understood that the Minotaur was saying to himself how

miserable he was, and how hungry, and how he hated everybody,
and how he longed to eat up the human race alive.

Ah! the bull-headed villain! And O, my good little people, you
will perhaps see, one of these days, as I do now, that every

human being who suffers any thing evil to get into his nature,
or to remain there, is a kind of Minotaur, an enemy of his

fellow-creatures, and separated from all good companionship, as
this poor monster was.

Was Theseus afraid? By no means, my dear auditors. What! a hero
like Theseus afraid, Not had the Minotaur had twenty bull-heads

instead of one. Bold as he was, however, I rather fancy that it
strengthened his valiant heart, just at this crisis, to feel a

tremulous twitch at the silken cord, which he was still holding
in his left hand. It was as if Ariadne were giving him all her

might and courage; and much as he already had, and little as
she had to give, it made his own seem twice as much. And to

confess the honest truth, he needed the whole; for now the
Minotaur, turning suddenly about, caught sight of Theseus, and

instantly lowered his horribly sharp horns, exactly as a mad
bull does when he means to rush against an enemy. At the same

time, he belched forth a tremendous roar, in which there was
something like the words of human language, but all disjointed

and shaken to pieces by passing through the gullet of a
miserably enraged brute.

Theseus could only guess what the creature intended to say, and
that rather by his gestures than his words; for the Minotaur's

horns were sharper than his wits, and of a great deal more
service to him than his tongue. But probably this was the sense

of what he uttered:
"Ah, wretch of a human being! I'll stick my horns through you,

and toss you fifty feet high, and eat you up the moment you
come down."

"Come on, then, and try it!" was all that Theseus deigned to
reply; for he was far too magnanimous to assault his enemy with

insolent language.
Without more words on either side, there ensued the most awful

fight between Theseus and the Minotaur that ever happened
beneath the sun or moon. I really know not how it might have

turned out, if the monster, in his first headlong rush against
Theseus, had not missed him, by a hair's breadth, and broken

one of his horns short off against the stone wall. On this
mishap, he bellowed so intolerably that a part of the labyrinth

tumbled down, and all the inhabitants of Crete mistook the
noise for an uncommonly heavy thunder storm. Smarting with the

pain, he galloped around the open space in so ridiculous a way
that Theseus laughed at it, long afterwards, though not

precisely at the moment. After this, the two antagonists stood
valiantly up to one another, and fought, sword to horn, for a

long while. At last, the Minotaur made a run at Theseus, grazed
his left side with his horn, and flung him down; and thinking

that he had stabbed him to the heart, he cut a great caper in
the air, opened his bull mouth from ear to ear, and prepared to

snap his head off. But Theseus by this time had leaped up, and
caught the monster off his guard. Fetching a sword stroke at

him with all his force, he hit him fair upon the neck, and made
his bull head skip six yards from his human body, which fell

down flat upon the ground.
So now the battle was ended. Immediately the moon shone out as

brightly as if all the troubles of the world, and all the
wickedness and the ugliness that infest human life, were past

and gone forever. And Theseus, as he leaned on his sword,
takingbreath, felt another twitch of the silken cord; for all

through the terrible encounter, he had held it fast in his left
hand. Eager to let Ariadne know of his success, he followed the

guidance of the thread, and soon found himself at the entrance
of the labyrinth.

"Thou hast slain the monster," cried Ariadne, clasping her
hands.

"Thanks to thee, dear Ariadne," answered Theseus, "I return
victorious."

"Then," said Ariadne, "we must quickly summon thy friends, and
get them and thyself on board the vessel before dawn. If

morning finds thee here, my father will avenge the Minotaur."
To make my story short, the poor captives were awakened, and,

hardly knowing whether it was not a joyful dream, were told of
what Theseus had done, and that they must set sail for Athens

before daybreak. Hastening down to the vessel, they all
clambered on board, except Prince Theseus, who lingered behind

them on the strand, holding Ariadne's hand clasped in his own.
"Dear maiden," said he, "thou wilt surely go with us. Thou art

too gentle and sweet a child for such an iron-hearted father as
King Minos. He cares no more for thee than a granite rock cares

for the little flower that grows in one of its crevices. But my
father, King Aegeus, and my dear mother, Aethra, and all the

fathers and mothers in Athens, and all the sons and daughters
too, will love and honor thee as their benefactress. Come with

us, then; for King Minos will be very angry when he knows what
thou hast done."

Now, some low-minded people, who pretend to tell the story of
Theseus and Ariadne, have the face to say that this royal and

honorable maiden did really flee away, under cover of the
night, with the young stranger whose life she had preserved.

They say, too, that Prince Theseus (who would have died sooner
than wrong the meanest creature in the world) ungratefully

deserted Ariadne, on a solitary island, where the vessel
touched on its voyage to Athens. But, had the noble Theseus

heard these falsehoods, he would have served their slanderous
authors as he served the Minotaur! Here is what Ariadne

answered, when the brave prince of Athens besought her to
accompany him:

"No, Theseus," the maiden said, pressing his hand, and then
drawing back a step or two, "I cannot go with you. My father is

old, and has nobody but myself to love him. Hard as you think
his heart is, it would break to lose me. At first, King Minos

will be angry; but he will soon forgive his only child; and, by
and by, he will rejoice, I know, that no more youths and

maidens must come from Athens to be devoured by the Minotaur. I
have saved you, Theseus, as much for my father's sake as for

your own. Farewell! Heaven bless you!"