it, all by himself; and we ought not to grudge wasting a little of our
precious time to amuse him. He is not half so bright as we are, to be
sure; and, for that reason, he needs us to look after his comfort and
happiness. Let us be kind to the old fellow. Why, if Mother Earth had
not been very kind to ourselves, we might all have been Giants too."
On all their holidays, the Pygmies had excellent sport with Antaeus. He
often stretched himself out at full length on the ground, where he
looked like the long ridge of a hill; and it was a good hour's walk, no
doubt, for a short-legged Pygmy to journey from head to foot of the
Giant. He would lay down his great hand flat on the grass, and challenge
the tallest of them to clamber upon it, and straddle from finger to
finger. So fearless were they, that they made nothing of creeping in
among the folds of his garments. When his head lay sidewise on the
earth, they would march boldly up, and peep into the great cavern of his
mouth, and take it all as a joke, (as indeed it was meant) when Antaeus
gave a sudden snap with his jaws, as if he were going to swallow fifty
of them at once. You would have laughed to see the children dodging in
and out among his hair, or swinging from his beard. It is impossible to
tell half of the funny tricks that they played with their huge comrade;
but I do not know that anything was more curious than when a party of
boys were seen running races on his forehead, to try which of them could
get first round the circle of his one great eye. It was another favorite
feat with them to march along the bridge of his nose, and jump down upon
his upper lip.
If the truth must be told, they were sometimes as troublesome to the
Giant as a swarm of ants or mosquitoes, especially as they had a
fondness for mischief, and liked to prick his skin with their little
swords and lances, to see how thick and tough it was. But Antaeus took it
all kindly enough; although, once in a while, when he happened to be
sleepy, he would grumble out a peevish word or two, like the muttering
of a tempest, and ask them to have done with their nonsense. A great
deal oftener, however, he watched their merriment and gambols until his
huge, heavy, clumsy wits were completely stirred up by them; and then
would he roar out such a tremendous volume of immeasurable laughter,
that the whole nation of Pygmies had to put their hands to their ears,
else it would certainly have deafened them.
"Ho! ho! ho!" quoth the Giant, shaking his mountainous sides. "What a
funny thing it is to be little! If I were not Antaeus, I should like to
be a pygmy, just for the joke's sake."
The Pygmies had but one thing to trouble them in the world. They were
constantly at war with the cranes, and had always been so, ever since
the long-lived giant could remember. From time to time very terrible
battles had been fought, in which sometimes the little men won the
victory, and sometimes the cranes. According to some historians, the
Pygmies used to go to the battle, mounted on the backs of goats and
rams; but such animals as these must have been far too big for Pygmies
to ride upon; so that, I rather suppose, they rode on squirrel-back, or
rabbit-back, or rat-back, or perhaps got upon hedgehogs, whose prickly
quills would be very terrible to the enemy. However this might be, and
whatever creatures the Pygmies rode upon, I do not doubt that they made
a formidable appearance, armed with sword and spear, and bow and arrow,
blowing their tiny trumpet, and shouting their little war-cry. They
never failed to exhort one another to fight bravely, and recollect that
the world had its eyes upon them; although, in simple truth, the only
spectator was the Giant Antaeus, with his one, great, stupid eye, in the
middle of his forehead.
When the two armies joined battle, the cranes would rush forward,
flapping their wings and stretching out their necks, and would perhaps
snatch up some of the Pygmies crosswise in their beaks. Whenever this
happened, it was truly an awful spectacle to see those little men of
might kicking and sprawling in the air, and at last disappearing down
the crane's long, crooked throat, swallowed up alive. A hero, you know,
must hold himself in readiness for any kind of fate; and doubtless the
glory of the thing was a consolation to him, even in the crane's
gizzard. If Antaeus observed that the battle was going hard against his
little allies, he generally stopped laughing, and ran with mile-long
strides to their assistance, flourishing his club aloft and shouting at
the cranes, who quacked and croaked, and retreated as fast as they
could. Then the Pygmy army would march homeward in triumph, attributing
the victory entirely to their own valor, and to the warlike skill and
strategy of whomsoever happened to be captain general; and for a tedious
while afterwards, nothing would be heard of but grand processions, and
public banquets, and brilliant illuminations, and shows of waxwork, with
likenesses of the distinguished officers as small as life.
In the above-described warfare, if a Pygmy chanced to pluck out a
crane's tail-feather, it proved a very great feather in his cap. Once or
twice, if you will believe me, a little man was made chief ruler of the
nation for no other merit in the world than bringing home such a
feather.
But I have now said enough to let you see what a gallant little people
these were, and how happily they and their forefathers, for nobody knows
how many generations, had lived with the immeasurable Giant Antaeus. In
the remaining part of the story, I shall tell you of a far more
astonishing battle than any that was fought between the Pygmies and the
cranes.
One day the mighty Antaeus was lolling at full length among his little
friends. His pine-tree walking-stick lay on the ground close by his
side. His head was in one part of the kingdom, and his feet extended
across the boundaries of another part; and he was taking whatever
comfort he could get, while the Pygmies scrambled over him, and peeped
into his cavernous mouth, and played among his hair. Sometimes, for a
minute or two, the Giant dropped asleep, and snored like the rush of a
whirlwind. During one of these little bits of slumber, a Pygmy chanced
to climb upon his shoulder, and took a view around the horizon, as from
the summit of a hill; and he beheld something, a long way off, which
made him rub the bright specks of his eyes, and look sharper than
before. At first he mistook it for a mountain, and wondered how it had
grown up so suddenly out of the earth. But soon he saw the mountain
move. As it came nearer and nearer, what should it turn out to be but a
human shape, not so big as Antaeus, it is true, although a very enormous
figure, in comparison with Pygmies, and a vast deal bigger than the men
whom we see nowadays.
When the Pygmy was quite satisfied that his eyes had not deceived him,
he scampered, as fast as his legs would carry him, to the Giant's ear,
and stooping over its cavity, shouted lustily into it,--
"Halloo, brother Antaeus! Get up this minute, and take your pine-tree
walking-stick in your hand. Here comes another Giant to have a tussle
with you."
"Poh, poh!" grumbled Antaeus, only half awake, "None of your nonsense, my
little fellow! Don't you see I'm sleepy. There is not a Giant on earth
for whom I would take the trouble to get up."
But the Pygmy looked again, and now perceived that the stranger was
coming directly towards the prostrate form of Antaeus. With every step he
looked less like a blue mountain, and more like an immensely large man.
He was soon so nigh, that there could be no possible mistake about the
matter. There he was, with the sun flaming on his golden helmet, and
flashing from his polished breastplate; he had a sword by his side, and
a lion's skin over his back, and on his right shoulder he carried a
club, which looked bulkier and heavier than the pine-tree walking-stick
of Antaeus.
By this time, the whole nation of Pygmies had seen the new wonder, and a
million of them set up a shout, all together; so that it really made
quite an audible squeak.
"Get up, Antaeus! Bestir yourself, you lazy old Giant! Here comes another
Giant, as strong as you are, to fight with you."
"Nonsense, nonsense!" growled the sleepy Giant. "I'll have my nap out."
Still the stranger drew nearer; and now the Pygmies could plainly
discern that if his stature were less lofty than the Giant's, yet his
shoulders were even broader. And, in truth, what a pair of shoulders
they must have been! As I told you, a long while ago, they once upheld
the sky. The Pygmies, being ten times as vivacious as their great
numskull of a brother, could not abide the Giant's slow movements, and
were determined to have him on his feet. So they kept shouting to him,
and even went so far as to prick him with their swords.
"Get up, get up, get up!" they cried. "Up with you, lazy bones! The
strange Giant's club is bigger than your own, his shoulders are the
broadest, and we think him the stronger of the two."
Antaeus could not endure to have it said that any mortal was half so
mighty as himself. This latter remark of the Pygmies pricked him deeper
than their swords; and, sitting up, in rather a sulky humor, he gave a
gape of several yards wide, rubbed his eye, and finally turned his
stupid head in the direction whither his little friends were eagerly
pointing.
No sooner did he set eye on the stranger than, leaping on his feet, and
seizing his walking-stick, he strode a mile or two to meet him; all the
while brandishing the sturdy pine-tree, so that it whistled through the
air.
"Who are you?" thundered the Giant. "And what do you want in my
dominions?"
There was one strange thing about Antaeus, of which I have not yet told
you, lest, hearing of so many wonders all in a lump, you might not
believe much more than half of them. You are to know, then, that
whenever this redoubtable Giant touched the ground, either with his
hand, his foot, or any other part of his body, he grew stronger than
ever he had been before. The Earth, you remember, was his mother, and
was very fond of him, as being almost the biggest of her children; and
so she took this method of keeping him always in full vigor. Some
persons affirm that he grew ten times stronger at every touch; others
say that it was only twice as strong. But only think of it! Whenever
Antaeus took a walk, supposing it were but ten miles, and that he stepped
a hundred yards at a stride, you may try to cipher out how much mightier
he was, on sitting down again, than when he first started. And whenever
he flung himself on the earth to take a little repose, even if he got up
the very next instant, he would be as strong as exactly ten just such
giants as his former self. It was well for the world that Antaeus
happened to be of a sluggish disposition, and liked ease better than
exercise; for, if he had frisked about like the Pygmies, and touched the
earth as often as they did, he would long ago have been strong enough to
pull down the sky about people's ears. But these great lubberly fellows
resemble mountains, not only in bulk, but in their disinclination to
move.
Any other mortal man, except the very one whom Antaeus had now
encountered, would have been half frightened to death by the Giant's
ferocious aspect and terrible voice. But the stranger did not seem at
all disturbed. He carelessly lifted his club, and balanced it in his
hand, measuring Antaeus with his eye from head to foot, not as if
wonder-smitten at his stature, but as if he had seen a great many Giants
before, and this was by no means the biggest of them. In fact, if the
Giant had been no bigger than the Pygmies (who stood pricking up their
ears, and looking and listening to what was going forward), the stranger
could not have been less afraid of him.
"Who are you, I say?" roared Antaeus again. "What's your name? Why do you
come hither? Speak, you vagabond, or I'll try the thickness of your
skull with my walking-stick."
"You are a very discourteous Giant," answered the stranger, quietly,
"and I shall probably have to teach you a little civility, before we
part. As for my name, it is Hercules. I have come hither because this is
my most convenient road to the garden of the Hesperides, whither I am
going to get three of the golden apples for King Eurystheus."
"Caitiff, you shall go no farther!" bellowed Antaeus, putting on a
grimmer look than before; for he had heard of the mighty Hercules, and
hated him because he was said to be so strong. "Neither shall you go
back whence you came!"
"How will you prevent me," asked Hercules, "from going whither I
please?"
"By hitting you a rap with this pine-tree here," shouted Antaeus,
scowling so that he made himself the ugliest monster in Africa. "I am
fifty times stronger than you; and, now that I stamp my foot upon the
ground, I am five hundred times stronger! I am ashamed to kill such a
puny little dwarf as you seem to be. I will make a slave of you, and you
shall likewise be the slave of my brethren, here, the Pygmies. So throw
down your club and your other weapons; and as for that lion's skin, I
intend to have a pair of gloves made of it."
"Come and take it off my shoulders, then," answered Hercules, lifting
his club.
Then the Giant, grinning with rage, strode towerlike towards the
stranger (ten times strengthened at every step), and fetched a monstrous
blow at him with his pine-tree, which Hercules caught upon his club; and
being more skilful than Antaeus, he paid him back such a rap upon the
sconce, that down tumbled the great lumbering man-mountain, flat upon
the ground. The poor little Pygmies (who really never dreamed that
anybody in the world was half so strong as their brother Antaeus) were a
good deal dismayed at this. But no sooner was the Giant down, than up he
bounced again, with tenfold might, and such a furious visage as was
horrible to behold. He aimed another blow at Hercules, but struck awry,
being blinded with wrath, and only hit his poor, innocent Mother Earth,
who groaned and trembled at the stroke. His pine-tree went so deep into
the ground, and stuck there so fast, that before Antaeus could get it
out, Hercules brought down his club across his shoulders with a mighty
thwack, which made the Giant roar as if all sorts of intolerable noises
had come screeching and rumbling out of his immeasurable lungs in that
one cry. Away it went, over mountains and valleys, and, for aught I
know, was heard on the other side of the African deserts.
As for the Pygmies, their capital city was laid in ruins by the
concussion and vibration of the air; and, though there was uproar enough
without their help, they all set up a shriek out of three millions of
little throats, fancying, no doubt, that they swelled the Giant's bellow
by at least ten times as much. Meanwhile, Antaeus had scrambled upon his
feet again, and pulled his pine-tree out of the earth; and, all a-flame
with fury, and more outrageously strong than ever, he ran at Hercules,
and brought down another blow.
"This time, rascal," shouted he, "you shall not escape me."
But once more Hercules warded off the stroke with his club, and the
Giant's pine-tree was shattered into a thousand splinters, most of which
flew among the Pygmies, and did them more mischief than I like to think
about. Before Antaeus could get out of the way, Hercules let drive
again, and gave him another knock-down blow, which sent him heels over
head, but served only to increase his already enormous and insufferable
strength. As for his rage, there is no telling what a fiery furnace it
had now got to be. His one eye was nothing but a circle of red flame.
Having now no weapons but his fists, he doubled them up (each bigger
than a hogshead), smote one against the other, and danced up and down
with absolute frenzy, flourishing his immense arms about, as if he meant
not merely to kill Hercules, but to smash the whole world to pieces.
"Come on!" roared this thundering Giant. "Let me hit you but one box on
the ear, and you'll never have the headache again."
Now Hercules (though strong enough, as you already know, to hold the sky
up) began to be sensible that he should never win the victory, if he
kept on knocking Antaeus down; for, by and by, if he hit him such hard
blows, the Giant would inevitably, by the help of his Mother Earth,
become stronger than the mighty Hercules himself. So, throwing down his
club, with which he had fought so many dreadful battles, the hero stood
ready to receive his antagonist with naked arms.
"Step forward," cried he. "Since I've broken your pine-tree, we'll try
which is the better man at a wrestling-match."
"Aha! then I'll soon satisfy you," shouted the Giant; for, if there was
one thing on which he prided himself more than another, it was his skill
in wrestling. "Villain, I'll fling you where you can never pick yourself
up again."
On came Antaeus, hopping and capering with the scorching heat of his
rage, and getting new vigor wherewith to wreak his passion every time he
hopped. But Hercules, you must understand, was wiser than this numskull
of a Giant, and had thought of a way to fight him,--huge, earth-born
monster that he was,--and to conquer him too, in spite of all that his
Mother Earth could do for him. Watching his opportunity, as the mad
Giant made a rush at him, Hercules caught him round the middle with both
hands, lifted him high into the air, and held him aloft overhead.
Just imagine it, my dear little friends! What a spectacle it must have
been, to see this monstrous fellow sprawling in the air, face downward,
kicking out his long legs and wriggling his whole vast body, like a baby
when its father holds it at arm's-length toward the ceiling.
But the most wonderful thing was, that, as soon as Antaeus was fairly off
the earth, he began to lose the vigor which he had gained by touching
it. Hercules very soon perceived that his troublesome enemy was growing
weaker, both because he struggled and kicked with less violence, and
because the thunder of his big voice subsided into a grumble. The truth
was, that, unless the Giant touched Mother Earth as often as once in
five minutes, not only his overgrown strength, but the very breath of
his life, would depart from him. Hercules had guessed this secret; and
it may be well for us all to remember it, in case we should ever have to
fight a battle with a fellow like Antaeus. For these earth-born creatures
are only difficult to conquer on their own ground, but may easily be
managed if we can contrive to lift them into a loftier and purer region.
So it proved with the poor Giant, whom I am really sorry for,
notwithstanding his uncivil way of treating strangers who came to visit
him.
When his strength and breath were quite gone, Hercules gave his huge
body a toss, and flung it about a mile off, where it fell heavily, and
lay with no more motion than a sand-hill. It was too late for the
Giant's Mother Earth to help him now; and I should not wonder if his
ponderous bones were lying on the same spot to this very day, and were
mistaken for those of an uncommonly large elephant.
But, alas me! What a wailing did the poor little Pygmies set up when
they saw their enormous brother treated in this terrible manner! If
Hercules heard their shrieks, however, he took no notice, and perhaps
fancied them only the shrill, plaintive twittering of small birds that
had been frightened from their nests by the uproar of the battle between
himself and Antaeus. Indeed, his thoughts had been so much taken up with
the Giant, that he had never once looked at the Pygmies, nor even knew
that there was such a funny little nation in the world. And now, as he
had travelled a good way, and was also rather weary with his exertions
in the fight, he spread out his lion's skin on the ground, and reclining
himself upon it, fell fast asleep.
As soon as the Pygmies saw Hercules preparing for a nap, they nodded
their little heads at one another, and winked with their little eyes.
And when his deep, regular breathing gave them notice that he was
asleep, they assembled together in an immense crowd, spreading over a
space of about twenty-seven feet square. One of their most eloquent
orators (and a valiant warrior enough, besides, though hardly so good at
any other weapon as he was with his tongue) climbed upon a toadstool,
and, from that elevated position, addressed the multitude. His
sentiments were pretty much as follows; or, at all events, something
like this was probably the upshot of his speech:--
"Tall Pygmies and mighty little men! You and all of us have seen what a
public calamity has been brought to pass, and what an insult has here
been offered to the majesty of our nation. Yonder lies Antaeus, our great
friend and brother, slain, within our territory, by a miscreant who took
him at disadvantage, and fought him (if fighting it can be called) in a
way that neither man, nor Giant, nor Pygmy ever dreamed of fighting
until this hour. And, adding a grievous contumely to the wrong already
done us, the miscreant has now fallen asleep as quietly as if nothing
were to be dreaded from our wrath! It behooves you, fellow-countrymen,
to consider in what aspect we shall stand before the world, and what
will be the verdict of impartial history, should we suffer these
accumulated outrages to go unavenged.
"Antaeus was our brother, born of that same beloved parent to whom we owe
the thews and sinews, as well as the courageous hearts, which made him
proud of our relationship. He was our faithful ally, and fell fighting
as much for our national rights and immunities as for his own personal
ones. We and our forefathers have dwelt in friendship with him, and held
affectionate intercourse, as man to man, through immemorial generations.
You remember how often our entire people have reposed in his great
shadow, and how our little ones have played at hide-and-seek in the
tangles of his hair, and how his mighty footsteps have familiarly gone
to and fro among us, and never trodden upon any of our toes. And there
lies this dear brother,--this sweet and amiable friend,--this brave and
faithful ally,--this virtuous Giant,--this blameless and excellent
Antaeus,--dead! Dead! Silent! Powerless! A mere mountain of clay! Forgive
my tears! Nay, I behold your own! Were we to drown the world with them,
could the world blame us?
"But to resume: Shall we, my countrymen, suffer this wicked stranger to
depart unharmed, and triumph in his treacherous victory, among distant
communities of the earth? Shall we not rather compel him to leave his
bones here on our soil, by the side of our slain brother's bones, so
that, while one skeleton shall remain as the everlasting monument of our
sorrow, the other shall endure as long, exhibiting to the whole human
race a terrible example of Pygmy vengeance? Such is the question. I put
it to you in full confidence of a response that shall be worthy of our
national character, and calculated to increase, rather than diminish,
the glory which our ancestors have transmitted to us, and which we
ourselves have proudly vindicated in our welfare with the cranes."
The orator was here interrupted by a burst of irrepressible enthusiasm;
every individual Pygmy crying out that the national honor must be
preserved at all hazards. He bowed, and making a gesture for silence,
wound up his harangue in the following admirable manner:--
"It only remains for us, then, to decide whether we shall carry on the
war in our national capacity,--one united people against a common
enemy,--or whether some champion, famous in former fights, shall be
selected to defy the slayer of our brother Antaeus to single combat. In
the latter case, though not unconscious that there may be taller men
among you, I hereby offer myself for that enviable duty. And, believe
me, dear countrymen, whether I live or die, the honor of this great
country, and the fame bequeathed us by our heroic progenitors, shall
suffer no diminution in my hands. Never, while I can wield this sword,
of which I now fling away the scabbard,--never, never, never, even if
the crimson hand that slew the great Antaeus shall lay me prostrate, like
him, on the soil which I give my life to defend."