of a man together with the body of a
horse. They were called Centaurs, or Bull-Slayers.

One of them named Cheiron, famous for his knowledge of medicine,
music and botany, had been the teacher of Hercules. But many of them,
although learned, were not good. Hercules and Theseus had waged war on
them and had killed many, so that their numbers were greatly lessened.

Having married Deianira, the daughter of a powerful King of Calydon,
in Greece, Hercules was traveling home with her when he came to
the banks of a river and was at a loss how to cross it. Seeing his
perplexity, Nessus, one of the Centaurs, offered to take Deianira on
his back and carry her over the stream. This offer Hercules gladly
accepted.

No sooner, however, did the crafty Centaur obtain possession of
Deianira than he made off with her, intending to have her as his own
wife. You can easily imagine how angry this outrage made Hercules. He
shot one of his poisoned arrows with so much force that it went right
through the traitor Centaur, and wounded him even unto death.

But, before dying, Nessus had time to tell Deianira that if she wanted
to keep Hercules always true to her she had but to take his shirt,
and, when her husband's love was waning, prevail on him to wear it.

Deianira took the shirt, and shortly afterwards, being afraid that her
husband was ceasing to love her, she sent it to him as a present.

Now, you will remember that Hercules had shot through the shirt of
Nessus one of his poisoned arrows, and you will not be surprised
to hear that some of the poison had remained in the shirt. So when
Hercules put it on, which he did immediately upon receiving it, he was
seized with frenzy and, in his madness, he uttered terrible cries and
did dreadful deeds.

With his powerful hands he broke off huge pieces of rock, tore up
pine-trees by their roots and hurled them with resounding din into the
valley.

He could not take off the fatal shirt, and as he tore off portions of
it he tore, at the same time, his quivering flesh.

The servant of Deianira who had carried him the fatal shirt, and who
wished to solace him in his pain, he seized as she approached him and
flung headlong into the sea, where she was changed into a rock that
long, so runs the legend, kept its human form.

But at length the majesty and the courage of the hero asserted
themselves, and, although still in agony, his madness left him.

Calling to his side his friend Philoctetes,