Mythos: A Retelling of the Myths of Ancient Greece

Sisyphus

Brotherly Love

The eternal punishment Sisyphus endures in Hades has also entered language and lore, but there is much more to his story than the famous stone he is doomed endlessly and fruitlessly to push uphill. Sisyphus was a wicked, greedy, duplicitous and often cruel man, but who cannot find something appealing – heroic even – in the unquenchable zest and fist-shaking defiance with which he lived (in fact outlived) his life? Few mortals dared to try the patience of the gods in so reckless a fashion. His foolhardy contempt and refusal to apologize or conform put one in mind of a Grecian Don Giovanni.

Deucalion and Pyrrha, the survivors of the Great Flood, had had a son named HELLEN, after whom the Greeks to this day call themselves Hellenes. Hellen’s son AEOLUS had four sons – Sisyphus, SALMONEUS, Athamas and CRETHEUS. Sisyphus and Salmoneus hated each other with as visceral and implacable a hatred as the human world had yet witnessed. Rivals in their parents’ affections, rivals in everything, from the cradle neither could bear to see the other succeed. The two princes outgrew their father’s realm of Aeolia, as Thessaly was called in those days, and moved south and west to found their own kingdoms. Salmoneus ruled over Elis and Sisyphus established Ephyra, later called Corinth. From these fastnesses, they glared at each other across the Peloponnese, their bitter enmity growing with each passing year.

Sisyphus hated Salmoneus so much it robbed him of his sleep. He wanted him dead, dead, dead. The desire was so agonizing he stabbed himself repeatedly in the thigh with a dagger to relieve himself of it. But there was nothing he could do. The Furies would avenge themselves terribly if he dared murder a brother. Fratricide was amongst the worst of the blood crimes. Eventually he decided to consult the oracle at Delphi.

‘Sons of Sisyphus and Tyro rise to slay Salmoneus,’ intoned the Pythia.

This was sweet music to Sisyphus’s ears. TYRO was his niece, daughter of his hated brother Salmoneus. All Sisyphus had to do was marry and get sons from her. Sons who would ‘rise to slay Salmoneus’. Uncles could marry nieces without raising any eyebrows in those days and so he set about beguiling and seducing Tyro with horses, jewels, poems and oceans of personal charm, for Sisyphus was nothing if not captivating when he chose to be. In due course his wooing won her, they wed and she bore him two bouncing boys.

One day some years later, Sisyphus was out fishing with his friend MELOPS. Sunning themselves on the banks of the River Sythas, they fell into conversation. At exactly the same time, Tyro set out from the palace with a maid, the two boys – now aged five and three – and a hamper of food and wine, with the idea of surprising Sisyphus with a family picnic.

Back on the riverbank, Melops and Sisyphus talked lazily about horses, women, sport and war. Tyro’s group made their way across the fields.

‘Tell me, sire,’ said Melops, ‘it has always surprised me that despite your bitter feud with King Salmoneus, you chose to marry his daughter. For all that I can tell, you still dislike him as much as ever.’

‘Dislike him? I abominate, loathe, despise and abhor him,’ said Sisyphus with a loud laugh. A laugh that allowed the approaching Tyro to draw a bead on his exact position. As her party drew nearer she could now hear every word her husband spoke.

‘I only married that bitch Tyro because I hate Salmoneus so much,’ he was saying. ‘You see, the oracle at Delphi told me that if I had sons by her they would grow up to kill him. So when he dies by the hand of his own grandchildren I will be rid of my vile pig of a brother without fear of the pursuit of the Erinyes.’

‘That is …’ Melops tried to find the word.

‘Brilliant? Cunning? Ingenious?’

Tyro checked her sons, who were about to run to the spot from which they could hear their father’s voice. Turning them round she pushed them at speed towards a bend in the river, the maid following behind.

Tyro had swallowed Sisyphus’s charm whole, but she loved her father Salmoneus with a loyalty that overrode any other consideration. The idea of allowing her sons to grow up to kill their grandfather was out of the question. She knew how to defy the oracle’s prophecy.

‘Come child,’ she said to the eldest, ‘look down at the stream. Can you see any little fishes?’

The small boy knelt on the riverbank and looked down. Tyro put a hand to his neck and pushed him under. When he had stopped struggling she did the same to the youngest.

‘Now,’ she said quite calmly to the traumatized maid, ‘this is what you will do …’

Sisyphus and Melops caught plenty of fish that afternoon. Just as the light was fading and they had started to pack up for the day, Tyro’s maidservant appeared before them, bobbing a nervous curtsey.

‘Beg pardon, majesty, but the Queen asks that you might greet the princes. They are by the riverbank, awaiting your majesty. Just behind the willow tree, sire.’

Sisyphus went to the place indicated to find his two sons lying stretched out on the grass, pale and lifeless.

The maid ran for her life and was never heard of again. Tyro, by the time the enraged Sisyphus had reached the palace with drawn sword, was safely on her way to her father’s kingdom of Elis. On her arrival home Salmoneus married her to his brother Cretheus, with whom she was deeply unhappy.

Salmoneus himself, quite as proud and vainglorious as his hated brother, had set himself up in Elis as a kind of god. Claiming to equal Zeus’s power to summon storms, he’d ordered the construction of a brass bridge over which he liked to ride his chariot at breakneck speed, trailing kettles, cauldrons and iron pots to mimic the sound of thunder. Flaming torches would be thrown skywards at the same time to imitate lightning. Such blasphemous impertinence caught the eye of Zeus, who ended the farrago with a real thunderbolt. The king, his chariot, brass bridge, cooking utensils and all were blasted to atoms and the shade of Salmoneus cast down to eternal damnation in the darkest depths of Tartarus.

Sisyphean Tasks

Sisyphus held a great feast to celebrate the death of his preposterous thunder-making brother. The morning after, he was awoken by a deputation of aggrieved lords, landowners and tenant farmers. After he had rubbed the sleep from his eyes and cleared his headache with a goblet of unwatered wine he consented to hear what might be the matter.

‘Majesty, someone is stealing our cattle! Each one of us can report a loss. Your own royal herds are depleted too. You are a wise and clever king. Surely you can find out who is responsible?’

Sisyphus dismissed them with a promise to investigate. He had a very good idea that the thief was his neighbour AUTOLYCUS, but how to prove it? Sisyphus was guileful and smart, but Autolycus was a son of Hermes himself, the prince of robbers and rascals, the god who as an infant had rustled Apollo’s cattle. From Hermes, Autolycus had inherited not only this propensity to take cows that didn’t belong to him, but also powers of enchantment that made it very difficult to catch him in the act.fn1 Besides, the cattle that Sisyphus and his neighbours had lost were brown and white and generously horned, while those of Autolycus were black and white and entirely hornless. It was baffling, but Sisyphus was sure that spells taught by Hermes were behind it and that Autolycus was secretly colour-changing stolen cows.

‘Very well,’ he said to himself, ‘we shall see which proves the more powerful, the cheap magic of a trickster god’s bastard or the native wit and intelligence of Sisyphus, founder of Corinth, the cleverest king in the world.’

He commanded that all his and his neighbours’ cattle should have the words ‘AUTOLYCUS STOLE ME’ carved into their hoofs in tiny lettering. Over the next seven nights, as expected, the local herds continued regularly to be depleted. On the eighth day Sisyphus and the leading landowners paid Autolycus a visit.

‘Greetings, my friends!’ their neighbour cried with a cheery wave. ‘To what do I owe the honour of this visit?’

‘We have come to inspect your cattle,’ said Sisyphus.

‘By all means. Are you thinking of breeding black and whites yourself? My pedigree herd is unique in the region, they tell me.’

‘Oh, it’s unique alright,’ returned Sisyphus. ‘Whoever saw hoofs like this?’ He lifted the foreleg of one of the cows.

Autolycus leaned forward, read the words carved into the hoof and gave a cheerful shrug. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Fun while it lasted.’

‘Take them all,’ commanded Sisyphus. As the landowners led the animals away, Sisyphus looked towards Autolycus’s house. ‘I think I’ll help myself to all your cows,’ he said. ‘Every last heifer.’ By which he meant AMPHITHEA, Autolycus’s wife.

Sisyphus was not a good man.fn2

The Eagle

The achievement of outsmarting the progeny of the trickster god went to Sisyphus’s head. He began to believe that he really was the cleverest and most resourceful man in the world. He set himself up as a kind of royal problem-solver, pronouncing on all manner of issues brought to him and charging enormous sums for his rulings. But there is a difference between guile and good sense, cunning and judgement, quick-wittedness and wisdom.

Do you recall the Asopos? It was in the waters of this Boeotian river that the Theban priestess Semele had washed, attracting the attentions of Zeus and bringing about the birth of Dionysus. Unhappily the god of that river had a daughter, AEGINA, who was beautiful enough to catch Zeus’s eye. In the form of an eagle the god swooped down and seized the girl, taking her to an island off the coast of Attica. The distraught river god searched everywhere for her, asking everyone he met if they had seen any sign of his beloved daughter.

‘A young girl, dressed in goatskin, you say?’ responded Sisyphus when his turn came to be pressed for information. ‘Why, yes, I saw just such a maiden snatched up by an eagle not long ago. She had been bathing in the river when he dived out of the sun … It was the most –’

‘Where did he take her? Did you see?’

‘Are those bracelets real gold? I must say they are very fine.’

‘Take them, they are yours. Only for pity’s sake tell me what happened to Aegina.’

‘I was high on a hill so I saw the whole thing. The eagle took her to – that ring of yours, an emerald, is it? Why thank you, now let me see … Yes, they flew across the sea and landed there, on that island. Come to the window. You can just make it out on the horizon, see? Oenone, they call the island, I believe. That’s where you’ll find them. Oh, are you leaving?’

Asopos chartered a boat and made his way to the island. He hadn’t made it halfway over before Zeus saw him coming and sent a thunderbolt across his bows. Its blast swept Asopos and his boat in a great tidal bore up his own estuary and into his river.fn3

But Sisyphus! Zeus had had his eye on that villain for some time. It had not gone unnoticed to the god of xenia that Sisyphus had a history of abusing the guests that travelled in his lands. Taxing them, plundering their treasures, making free with their women, shamelessly transgressing every canon of the sacred laws of hospitality. And now he presumed to interfere in matters that were none of his business, to meddle in the affairs of his betters, to tell tales on the King of the Gods himself. It was time to take measures. An example must be set that would serve as a warning to others. Death and damnation to him.

Despite Sisyphus’s royal blood, his life had been too wicked, too shameless, Zeus ruled, to merit the dignity of his being conducted to the underworld by Hermes. Instead Thanatos, Death himself, was sent to shackle and escort him.

Cheating Death

Inasmuch as so gloomy a spirit was capable of so cheerful an emotion, Thanatos always enjoyed that moment when he manifested himself in front of those marked down for death.

Appearing before them, and visible to no one else, his gaunt form cloaked in black, wisps of hellish gasses streaming from him, he would stretch out his arm to his victims with a cruelly deliberate slowness. The moment he touched their flesh with the tip of his bony finger there would come a piteous whimper from the soul within them. Thanatos took great delight in watching his victim’s skin go pale and the eyes flutter and film over as life was extinguished. Above all he loved the sound of the soul’s last shuddering sigh as it emerged from its mortal carcass and submitted itself to his manacles, ready to be led away.

Sisyphus, like most wily, ambitious schemers, was a light sleeper. His mind was always turning, and the slightest noise could jerk him awake. Thus it was that even the silent whisper of Death gliding into his bedchamber caused him to sit up.

‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Who the hell indeed? The Hell is just who I am. Mwahahaha!’ Thanatos unloosed the sinister, ghoulish laugh that so often sent dying mortals screaming mad.

‘Stop groaning. What’s the matter with you? Have you got toothache? Indigestion? And don’t talk in riddles. What is your name?’

‘My name …’ Thanatos paused for effect. ‘My name …’

‘I haven’t got all night.’

‘My name is …’

‘Have you even got a name?’

‘Thanatos.’

‘Oh, so you’re Death, are you? Hm.’ Sisyphus seemed unimpressed. ‘I thought you’d be taller.’

‘Sisyphus, son of Aeolus,’ Thanatos intoned in quelling accents, ‘King of Corinth, Lord of …’

‘Yes, yes, I know who I am. You’re the one who seems to have trouble remembering his name. Sit down, why don’t you? Take the weight off your feet.’

‘My weight is not on my feet. I am hovering.’

Sisyphus looked down at the floor. ‘Oh yes, so you are. And you’ve come for me have you?’

Not confident that any words of his would be received with the respect and awe they deserved, Thanatos showed Sisyphus his manacles and shook them threateningly in his face.

‘So you’ve brought shackles along. Iron?’

‘Steel. Unbreakable steel. Fetters forged in the fires of Hephaestus by Steropes the Cyclops. Enchanted by my lord Hades. Whomsoever they bind cannot be unbound save by the god himself.’

‘Impressive,’ Sisyphus conceded. ‘But in my experience nothing is unbreakable. Besides, there isn’t even a lock or catch.’

‘The hasp and spring are too cunningly contrived to be seen by mortal eyes.’

‘So you say. I don’t believe for a second that they work. I bet you can’t close them round even your skinny arm. Go on, try.’

Such open ridicule of his prized manacles could not be borne. ‘Foolish man!’ cried Thanatos. ‘Such intricate devices are beyond the understanding of a mortal. See here! Round my back once and pass in front. Easy. Bring my wrists together, then close up the bracelets. And if you would be good enough to press just here, to engage the clasp, there’s an invisible panel and … behold!’

‘Yes, I see,’ said Sisyphus thoughtfully. ‘I do see. I was wrong, quite wrong. What superb workmanship.’

‘Oh.’

Thanatos tried to wave the manacles, but his whole upper body was now constrained and immobile. ‘Er … help?’

Sisyphus sprang from his bed and opened the door of a large wardrobe at the end of the room. It was the simplest thing in the world to send the hovering, tightly bound Thanatos across the room. With one push he had glided in and bumped his nose on the back of the closet.

Turning the key on him Sisyphus called out cheerily. ‘The lock to this wardrobe may be cheap and manmade, but I can assure you that it works as well as any fetters forged in the fires of Hephaestus.’

Muffled despairing cries came, begging to be let out, but with a hearty ‘Mwahahaha’ Sisyphus skipped away, deaf to Death’s entreaties.

Life without Death

The first few days of Thanatos’s imprisonment passed without incident. Neither Zeus nor Hermes nor even Hades himself thought to verify that Sisyphus had been checked in to the infernal regions as arranged. But when a whole week passed without the arrival of any new dead souls, the spirits and demons of the underworld began to murmur. Another week went by and not a single departed shade had been admitted for processing, save one venerable priestess of Artemis, whose blameless life merited the honour of a personal escort to Elysium by Hermes, the Psychopomp. This sudden stemming of the flow of souls quite perplexed the denizens of Hades, until someone remarked that they hadn’t seen Thanatos in days. Search parties were sent out, but Death could not be found. Such a thing had never happened before. Without Thanatos the whole system collapsed.

In Olympus opinion was divided. Dionysus found the whole situation hilarious and drank a toast to the end of lethal cirrhosis of the liver. Apollo, Artemis and Poseidon were more or less neutral on the subject. Demeter feared that Persephone’s authority as Queen of the Underworld was being flouted. The seasons over which mother and daughter had dominion required that life be constantly ended and begun again, and only the presence of death could achieve this. The impropriety of such a scandal made Hera quite indignant, which made Zeus restive in turn. The usually merry and irrepressible Hermes was anxious too, for the smooth running of the underworld was partly his responsibility.

But it was Ares who found the situation most intolerable. He was outraged. He looked down and saw battles being fought in the human realm with their customary ferocity, yet no one was dying. Warriors were being run through with javelins, trampled by horses, gutted by chariot wheels and beheaded by swords but they would not die. It made a mockery of combat. If soldiers and civilians did not die, why then – war had no point. It settled nothing. It achieved nothing. Neither side in a battle could ever win.

Lesser deities were as divided over the issue as the Olympians. The Keres continued to drink the blood of those felled in battle and could not care less what happened to their souls. Two of the Horai, Diké and Eunomia, agreed with Demeter that the absence of death upset the natural order of things. Their sister Eirene, the goddess of peace, could barely contain her delight. If the absence of Death meant the absence of war then surely her time had come?

Ares nagged his parents Hera and Zeus with such incessant clamour that at last they could bear it no longer. They declared that Thanatos must be found. Hera demanded to know when he had last been seen.

‘Surely, Hermes,’ said Zeus, ‘it wasn’t so long ago that you sent him to fetch the soul of that black-hearted villain Sisyphus?’

‘Damn!’ Hermes slapped his thigh in annoyance. ‘Of course! Sisyphus. We sent Thanatos to chain him up and escort him to Hades. Wait here.’

The wings at Hermes’ heels fluttered, flickered and hummed and he was gone.

He returned in the blink of an eye. ‘Sisyphus never reached the underworld. Thanatos was sent to Corinth to fetch him half a moon ago and neither has been seen since.’

‘Corinth!’ roared Ares. ‘What are we waiting for?’

The locked wardrobe in the bedchamber was soon found and wrenched open, revealing a humiliated Thanatos sitting tearfully in the corner under some cloaks. Hermes took him to the infernal regions where Hades waved his hand to release the enchanted manacles.

‘We will speak about this later, Thanatos,’ he said. ‘For the moment a logjam of souls awaits you.’

‘First let me fetch that villain Sisyphus, sire,’ pleaded Thanatos. ‘He won’t be able to trick me twice.’

Hermes arched an eyebrow, but Hades looked across to Persephone, sitting in her throne next to his. She nodded. Thanatos was her favourite amongst all the servants of the underworld.

‘Just make sure you don’t foul it up,’ grunted Hades, dismissing him with a wave of the hand.

Burial Rites

We have established that Sisyphus was no fool. He did not imagine for a second that Thanatos would stay locked in his closet for eternity. Sooner or later Death would be released and set upon his trail once more.

In the town villa in which he had made temporary lodging, Sisyphus addressed his wife. After his niece Tyro drowned his sons and left him he had married again. His new young queen was as kindly and obedient as Tyro had been wilful and contrary.

‘My dear,’ he said, drawing her to him, ‘I feel that soon I shall die. When I have breathed my last and my soul has fled what will you do?’

‘I will do what must be done, my lord. I will wash and anoint you. I will place an obolus on your tongue so that you might pay the ferryman. We will stand guard seven days and seven nights over your catafalque. Burnt offerings will be made to please the King and Queen of the Underworld. And in this way your journey to the Meadows of Asphodel shall be a blessed one.’

‘You mean well, but that is exactly what you must not do,’ said Sisyphus. ‘The moment I am dead I want you to strip me naked and have me thrown into the street.’

‘My lord!’

‘I am quite serious. Deadly serious. This is my desire, my entreaty, my command. No matter what anyone else says, you will send up no prayers, make no sacrifices, perform no obsequies. Treat my remains as you would those of a dog. Promise me that.’

‘But –’

Sisyphus took her by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes to reinforce the earnestness of his commands. ‘As you love me and are bound to me, as you hope never to be haunted by my angry shade, promise to do exactly as I have said. Swear it on your soul.’

‘I – I swear it.’

‘It is good. Now, let us drink. A toast – “To life!” ’

His timing, as ever, was impeccable, for that very evening Sisyphus was awoken by the whisper of Death at his bedside.

‘Your time is come, Sisyphus of Corinth.’

‘Ah, Thanatos. I’ve been expecting you.’

‘Do not hope to trick me.’

‘Me? Trick you?’ Sisyphus stood and bowed in meek submission, putting up his wrists for shackling. ‘Nothing could be further from my mind.’

The manacles were attached and the pair glided down to the mouth of the underworld. Thanatos left Sisyphus at the near bank of the Styx and departed, anxious to make headway with the great backlog of souls that were awaiting collection.

Charon the ferryman sculled his boat across and Sisyphus stepped aboard. As he poled the boat off the bank, Charon stretched out his palm.

‘Nothing doing,’ said Sisyphus, patting his pockets.

Without a word Charon pushed him overboard into the blackness of the Styx. It was cold, abominably cold, but Sisyphus managed to get across. The waters burned and blistered his skin almost beyond endurance, but once he was on the other side he knew that he presented just such a piteous sight as he had intended.

Shades flitted past him, averting their eyes.

‘Which way to the throne room?’ he asked of one. Following their directions he found himself in the presence of Persephone.

‘Dread queen,’ Sisyphus inclined his head. ‘I beg an audience with Hades.’

‘My husband is in Tartarus today. I speak for him. Who are you and how can you dare stand before me in this condition?’

Sisyphus was naked, an ear was torn off and one of his eyes hung down from its socket. His spectral body was covered in bite marks, welts, bruises, gashes and open sores, testimony to its physical counterpart’s rough treatment on the streets of Corinth above. His wife had obeyed his instructions.

‘Madam,’ he bowed low before Persephone, ‘no one feels the impropriety of this as keenly as I. My wife, my spiteful, wicked, monstrous, blasphemous wife – it is she who has brought me to this pitiable state. Even as I lay dying I heard her say to her women, “We will not waste gold on burial rites. The gods of the underworld are nothing to us. Throw his body outside for the dogs to eat. Spend the money he set aside for his funeral on a great feast. The heifers he kept for sacrificing to Hades and Persephone shall be roasted for our pleasure.” She laughed and clapped her hands and those, dread queen, were the last sounds I heard in the world.’

Persephone was outraged. ‘She dared? She dared? She shall be punished.’

‘Aye, majesty. But how?’

‘Flayed alive …’

‘Yes. Not bad. But I say permit me, wouldn’t it, be funny –’ Sisyphus smiled as an idea struck him, ‘– wouldn’t it be funny if you returned me to the upper world alive? Imagine her shock!’

‘Hm …’

‘And I would make sure that every day she paid for her insolence and disrespect. No gold or feasting, nothing but harsh treatment, insults and servitude. I can’t wait to see her face when I appear in front of her, alive and well and whole … and perhaps … perhaps even more youthful and vital and handsome than ever? She is only twenty-six, but imagine her torment if I outlived her! I would use her as my slave. Every day would be torture to her.’

Persephone smiled at the thought and clapped her hands. ‘Let it be so.’ The years spent in the underworld had given Persephone a regal pride and rigid belief in the proper running of the infernal kingdom.

And thus it was that Sisyphus was led out to the upper world where he and his delighted queen lived happily ever after.

His death, when it finally did come, was another matter.

Rolling the Rock

Zeus, Ares, Hermes and Hades had not been pleased when they found out how Sisyphus had evaded death for a second time. Persephone had made her decision, however, and the ruling of one immortal could not be undone by another.

When, after nearly fifty more years of serene and prosperous living, Sisyphus’s wife’s mortal span came at last to its end, the contract between Persephone and Sisyphus expired with her. Thanatos paid him a third and final visit.

This time Sisyphus gave Charon the fee and crossed the Styx in good order. Hermes awaited him on the further bank.

‘Well, well, well. King Sisyphus of Corinth. Liar, fraud, rogue and trickster. A man after my own heart. No mortal has managed to cheat death once – you contrived to do it twice. Clever you.’

Sisyphus bowed.

‘Such an achievement deserves a chance at immortality. Follow me.’

Hermes led Sisyphus down innumerable passageways and galleries to a vast underground chamber. A great ramp sloped up from the floor to the ceiling. A boulder stood at the bottom, lit by a shaft of light.

‘The upper world,’ said Hermes indicating the source of the light.

Sisyphus saw that the slope led up to a square inlet high in the roof through which a beam of daylight shone. As Hermes pointed the inlet closed up and the shaft of light disappeared.

‘Now, all you have to do is roll that boulder up the slope. When you reach the top, that hole will slide open. You will be able to climb out and live for ever as the immortal King Sisyphus. Thanatos will never visit you again.’

‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it,’ said Hermes. ‘Of course, if you don’t like the idea I can take you to Elysium, where you will spend a blissful eternity in the company of other souls of the virtuous departed. But if you choose the stone you must keep trying until you have succeeded and won your freedom and immortality. Make your choice. An idyllic afterlife down here or a shot at immortality above.’

Sisyphus examined the boulder. It was bulky, but not colossally so. The slope was steep, but not precipitously. Forty-five degrees of gradient, but no more. So. An eternity skipping though the fields of Elysium with the dull and well behaved or eternity up above in the real world of fun, filth, frolic and frenzy?

‘No tricks?’

‘No tricks, no pressure,’ said Hermes, putting his hand on Sisyphus’s shoulder and flashing his most dazzling smile. ‘Your choice.’

You know the rest. Sisyphus put his shoulder to the boulder and began to push it up the slope. Halfway there and he was confident that life eternal was assured. Three-quarters done and he was tired, but not blown. Four-fifths and … damn, this was hard work. Five-sixths, pain. Six-sevenths, agony. Seven-eighths … He was within an inch of the top now, within a fingernail’s length, just one more supreme effort and … Noooooooo! The stone slipped, bounced over Sisyphus and rolled down to the bottom. ‘Well, not bad for a first effort,’ Sisyphus thought to himself. ‘If I take my time, if I conserve my strength, I can get there. I know I can. I’ll discover a technique. Maybe I’ll go up backwards, taking the weight on my back. I can do this …’

Sisyphus is still there in the halls of Tartarus, pushing that boulder up the hill and getting almost to the top before it rolls back down and he has to start once again. He will be there until the end of time. He still believes he can do it. Just one last supreme effort and he will be free.

Painters, poets and philosophers have seen many things in the myth of Sisyphus. They have seen an image of the absurdity of human life, the futility of effort, the remorseless cruelty of fate, the unconquerable power of gravity. But they have seen too something of mankind’s courage, resilience, fortitude, endurance and self-belief. They see something heroic in our refusal to submit.