Another version
reads that after their reconciliation she suspected his
fidelity on hearing that he used to ascend a hill and
cry out "Come, Nephela, come" ([Greek: Nephelae] means
cloud). So she went and concealed herself on the hill
in a thicket, where her husband accidentally killed her
with his javelin.
Is this the kind of Greek "love-stories" that English school girls
learn by the dozen? Coarse as it is, the majority of these stories are
no better, being absolutely unfit for literal translation, which is
doubtless the reason why no publisher has ever brought out a
collection of Greek "love-stories." Of those referred to above none is
so objectionable as the tale of Cephalus and Procris, nor, on the
other hand, is any one of them in any way related to what we call
romantic love. Atalanta was a sweet masculine maiden who could run
faster than any athlete. Her father was anxious to have her marry, and
she finally agreed to wed any man who could reach a certain goal
before her, the condition being, however, that she should be allowed
to transfix with her spear every suitor who failed. She had already
ornamented the place of contest with the heads of many courageous
young men, this tender-hearted, romantic maiden had, when her fun was
rudely spoiled by Meleager, who threw before her three golden apples
which she stopped to pick up, thus losing the race to that hero, who,
no doubt, was extremely happy with such a wife ever after.
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