![]() ![]() The boundless grief is too heavy to bear. When the images of earth cling too tightly to memory, when the call of happiness becomes too insistent, it happens that melancholy arises in man's heart: this is the rock's victory, this is the rock itself. Again I fancy Sisyphus returning toward his rock, and the sorrow was in the beginning. If the descent is thus sometimes performed in sorrow, it can also take place in joy. There is no fate that can not be surmounted by scorn. The lucidity that was to constitute his torture at the same time crowns his victory. Sisyphus, proletarian of the gods, powerless and rebellious, knows the whole extent of his wretched condition: it is what he thinks of during his descent. But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomes conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him? The workman of today works everyday in his life at the same tasks, and his fate is no less absurd. ![]() If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness. A face that toils so close to stones is already stone itself! I see that man going back down with a heavy yet measured step toward the torment of which he will never know the end. It is during that return, that pause, that Sisyphus interests me. Then Sisyphus watches the stone rush down in a few moments toward tlower world whence he will have to push it up again toward the summit. At the very end of his long effort measured by skyless space and time without depth, the purpose is achieved. As for this myth, one sees merely the whole effort of a body straining to raise the huge stone, to roll it, and push it up a slope a hundred times over one sees the face screwed up, the cheek tight against the stone, the shoulder bracing the clay-covered mass, the foot wedging it, the fresh start with arms outstretched, the wholly human security of two earth-clotted hands. Myths are made for the imagination to breathe life into them. Nothing is told us about Sisyphus in the underworld. This is the price that must be paid for the passions of this earth. His scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing. He is, as much through his passions as through his torture. You have already grasped that Sisyphus is the absurd hero. Mercury came and seized the impudent man by the collar and, snatching him from his joys, lead him forcibly back to the underworld, where his rock was ready for him. Many years more he lived facing the curve of the gulf, the sparkling sea, and the smiles of earth. Recalls, signs of anger, warnings were of no avail. But when he had seen again the face of this world, enjoyed water and sun, warm stones and the sea, he no longer wanted to go back to the infernal darkness. And there, annoyed by an obedience so contrary to human love, he obtained from Pluto permission to return to earth in order to chastise his wife. He ordered her to cast his unburied body into the middle of the public square. It is said that Sisyphus, being near to death, rashly wanted to test his wife's love. He dispatched the god of war, who liberated Death from the hands of her conqueror. Pluto could not endure the sight of his deserted, silent empire. ![]() Homer tells us also that Sisyphus had put Death in chains. He was punished for this in the underworld. To the celestial thunderbolts he preferred the benediction of water. He, who knew of the abduction, offered to tell about it on condition that Esopus would give water to the citadel of Corinth. The father was shocked by that disappearance and complained to Sisyphus. ![]() Egina, the daughter of Esopus, was carried off by Jupiter. To begin with, he is accused of a certain levity in regard to the gods. Opinions differ as to the reasons why he became the futile laborer of the underworld. According to another tradition, however, he was disposed to practice the profession of highwayman. If one believes Homer, Sisyphus was the wisest and most prudent of mortals. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor. The gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight. ![]()
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