[Hermes with the boy Dionysos. Statue by Praxiteles, found at Olympia:
lang35.jpg]
The Hymn to Hermes is remarkable for the corruption of the text, which
appears even to present _lacunae_. The English reader will naturally
prefer the lively and charming version of Shelley to any other. The poet
can tell and adorn the story without visibly floundering in the pitfalls
of a dislocated text. If we may judge by line 51, and if Greek musical
tradition be correct, the date of the Hymn cannot be earlier than the
fortieth Olympiad. About that period Terpander is said to have given the
lyre seven strings (as Mercury does in the poem), in place of the
previous four strings. The date of Terpander is dubious, but probably
the seven-stringed lyre had long been in common use before the poet
attributed the invention to Hermes. The same argument applies to the
antiquity of writing, assigned by poets as the invention of various
mythical and prehistoric heroes. But the poets were not careful
archaeologists, and regarded anachronisms as genially as did Shakespeare
or Scott. Moreover, the fact that Terpander did invent the seven chords
is not beyond dispute historically, while, mythically, Apollo and Amphion
are credited with the idea. That Hermes invented fire-sticks seems a
fable which robs Prometheus of the honour. We must not look for any kind
of consistency in myth.
The learned differ as to the precise purpose of the Hymn, and some even
exclude the invention of the _cithara_. To myself it seems that the poet
chiefly revels in a very familiar subject of savage humour (notably among
the Zulus), the extraordinary feats and tricks of a tiny and apparently
feeble and helpless person or animal, such as Brer Rabbit. The triumph
of astuteness over strength (a triumph here assigned to the infancy of a
God) is the theme. Hermes is here a rustic _doublure_ of Apollo, as he
was, in fact, mainly a rural deity, though he became the Messenger of the
Gods, and the Guide of Souls outworn. In these respects he answers to
the Australian Grogoragally, in his double relation to the Father, Boyma,
and to men living and dead. {37a}
As a go-between of Gods and men, Hermes may be a _doublure_ of Apollo,
but, as the Hymn shows, he aspired in vain to Apollo's oracular function.
In one respect his behaviour has a singular savage parallel. His shoes
woven of twigs, so as not to show the direction in which he is
proceeding, answer to the equally shapeless feather sandals of the blacks
who "go _Kurdaitcha_," that is, as avengers of blood. I have nowhere
else found this practice as to the shoes, which, after all, cannot
conceal the direction of the spoor from a native tracker. {37b} The
trick of driving the cattle backwards answers to the old legend that
Bruce reversed the shoes of his horse when he fled from the court of
Edward I.
The humour of the Hymn is rather rustic: cattle theft is the chief joke,
cattle theft by a baby. The God, divine as he is, feels his mouth water
for roast beef, a primitive conception. In fact, throughout this Hymn we
are far from the solemn regard paid to Apollo, from the wistful beauty of
the Hymn to Demeter, and from the gladness and melancholy of the Hymn to
Aphrodite. Sportive myths are treated sportively, as in the story of
Ares and Aphrodite in the Odyssey. Myths contained all conceivable
elements, among others that of humour, to which the poet here abandons
himself. The statues and symbols of Hermes were inviolably sacred; as
Guide of Souls he played the part of comforter and friend: he brought men
all things lucky and fortunate: he made the cattle bring forth
abundantly: he had the golden wand of wealth. But he was also tricksy as
a Brownie or as Puck; and that fairy aspect of his character and legend,
he being the midnight thief whose maraudings account for the unexplained
disappearances of things, is the chief topic of the gay and reckless
hymn. Even the Gods, even angry Apollo, are moved to laughter, for over
sport and playfulness, too, Greek religion throws her sanction. At the
dishonesties of commerce (clearly regarded as a form of theft) Hermes
winks his laughing eyes (line 516). This is not an early Socialistic
protest against "Commercialism." The early traders, like the Vikings,
were alternately pirates and hucksters, as opportunity served. Every
occupation must have its heavenly patron, its departmental deity, and
Hermes protects thieves and raiders, "minions of the moon," "clerks of
St. Nicholas." His very birth is a stolen thing, the darkling fruit of a
divine amour in a dusky cavern. _Il chasse de race_. {39}