We will take the story of Io, as told by Æschylus and Herodotus, for the ancient legends of Greece, subjects alike for history and drama, have one great advantage: their main outlines were impersonal and known to all; details, treatment, and interpretation could be varied to express the artist’s personal thought. Io, the daughter of Inachus, king of Argos, was beloved by Zeus: through the jealousy of Hera she was changed into a cow, and after long wanderings regained her mortal shape and found rest in Egypt, where she became mother of Epaphus, first king of the land. Such is the legend, and this is Herodotus’ version of it: The Persians say that some Phœnicians once brought a cargo of merchandise to Argos. The women of the town, among them Io, came down to the sea-shore to bargain. The Phœnicians seized the women and carried them off to Egypt. Now to carry off women by violence the Persians think is the act of a wicked man; to trouble about avenging them is the act of a fool; to pay no regard to them when carried off is the part of a wise man; for it is clear that, if they had not wished it themselves, they would not be ravished. Such is the Persian account, but as regards Io the Phœnicians do not agree. They say that they used no violence in taking her to Egypt, but that she had an intrigue with their captain when he was at Argos. When she discovered that she was likely to become a mother she was afraid of her parents, and to hide her secret came of her own accord with them to Egypt.’ All the poetry and romance of the story have disappeared: realism has triumphed. Io is a woman; on the best interpretation of her conduct she is vain and imprudent; she shows herself to strange men, and is carried off by them, although, as the story is at pains, though not very logically, to add, it must have been with her own consent. On the worst interpretation she is a mere wanton. She allows a sea-captain to seduce her, and then deserts her home, her parents, and her native land. Listen now to Æschylus—in the beautiful version by Mr. E. R. Bevan: The chambers, where I housed, a virgin hidden, Strange faces aye in the night would visit, wooing With sooth suggestion: ‘Oh, most huge in fortune, Most happiest of all maidens—wherefore maiden, Oh, wherefore so long maiden, when there waits thee Wedlock the highest? He, the Lord of Heaven, Is waxen hot, pierced with desire of thee, Yea, and with thee would tread the passages Of love’s delight. Now therefore foot not from thee, O child, the bed of the Highest; but do this, Go forth to where the meadow is deep, the field Of Lerna—stations of the household flock, Home of thy father’s herds—go even thither, That so the eye of Zeus may ease desire.’