that one of its windows, which was some distance above the water, was
open.
Two of the boat’s crew stood up and looked in.
Our three moon-travelers were quietly sitting inside playing dominoes!
[Illustration: TWO OF THE CREW LOOK IN.]
The great depth of the ocean had broken their fall, and they were all
safe and uninjured. They knew some one would come for them, and they
were making themselves as comfortable as they could.
Of course they were speedily taken out of their iron house, in which
they had lived for nearly a month, and in which they had met with such
strange adventures and such narrow escapes.
Then with our three friends on board, the steamer started back for
San Francisco, where our adventurers were received with the wildest
enthusiasm, which indeed attended them during all their journey to
their homes in the Atlantic States.
And so ended this trip to the moon.
It was a very wonderful thing for any one to even imagine such a
journey as this, and I do not believe that any one but a Frenchman
would have imagined it.
TARTAR HORSES AND HORSEMEN.
The people of Toorkistan, or Independent Tartary, are splendid riders.
They have fine horses, of which they take the greatest care. But their
way of taking care of horses is very different from ours.
The saddles are never taken off, night or day; and many Tartars will
not allow their horses to lie down at all because they say the corn
settles in their legs, and makes them lame! They are walked about a
great part of the time they are not on the road, sometimes for four or
five hours after coming in. At the beginning of the day’s march they
are allowed a full drink of water, but none during the day, while the
sun is hot. On first coming in from a journey, they are walked up and
down a long time, after which without being unsaddled, the bit is taken
out, and they are tied up, and covered from head to tail with thick
horse cloths, even in hot weather. Then they are fed with barley, and
Indian corn, and a very little grass.
We would think it cruel to keep a horse saddled and tied up in this
way, but the Tartar horses seem to thrive on this treatment. Their
saddles are more comfortable for the horse than ours, being well raised
above the back bone. These saddles are of wood, with a high peak in
front; and the rich Tartars cover them with embroidered cloths, and
silver mountings.
The horses are kept beautifully clean, and their coats are as smooth
and glossy as satin. In order to test whether his horse has been
properly groomed, the owner will wet the white sleeve of his shirt, and
rub it upon the horse’s coat. If there is not the least mark on the
sleeve he is satisfied.
The Tartars hunt birds on horseback, with great success. In the case of
partridges they gallop after the birds until they run them down, and
tire them out, when they can catch them alive.
[Illustration: TARTAR HORSES AND HORSEMEN.]
They have several games which they play on horseback. In one of them
the riders all try to get possession of each other’s turbans! This
seems rather childish, but it is no child’s sport to accomplish this,
and the players perform most surprising feats of horsemanship.
They also have wrestling matches on horseback, trying to dislodge one
another from the saddle, while the horses are galloping furiously and
jumping ditches.
I suppose it would be almost an impossibility for a horse to throw a
Tartar rider.
TWO HAPPY MEN.
When we have our minds set upon some pursuit in which we are resolved
to excel, we are likely to forget any little disagreeable thing that
troubles us at other times, and we are happy in our work. What pleasure
a boy takes in fashioning his kite! What delight is it to a girl to put
together ends of silks, ribbons and laces into a pretty bonnet for her
doll! There is even pleasure in learning a Latin lesson, or in working
out a difficult problem when we are interested, and are determined to
do it well. The reason why so many grown persons are unhappy is because
they have no occupation at all, or because they are engaged in some
business which they do not like.
The best cure for this is to take up some business, and make up your
mind you _will_ like it, and try to do your very best.
When a man’s business is in any branch of what we call Art he is,
perhaps, happier than he could be at anything else; for, besides the
satisfaction of doing the work, it is a pleasure to see beautiful
things grow under our hands.
I am going to tell you about two very happy men, who both lived in the
same place—a small city in Peru. One was an artist, who spent all his
time painting pictures. Let me introduce you into his home, that you
may see in what kind of place this happy mortal passed his days.
[Illustration: THE ARTIST AT WORK.]
The room in which he painted—his studio—was below the level of the
ground. To reach it from the street you went down three broken stone
steps. Pretty much all the light the artist had came from the ever-open
doorway. The floor was covered with straw, and scraps of vegetables,
among which chickens and guinea-pigs picked up a living. His two best
friends, a dog and a cat, usually shared the room with him. The cat
had lost its ears and its tail, but was not the less liked by her
master on that account. She was very fond of getting on his shoulder as
he bent over his work, and sometimes would take a quite comfortable nap
there.
Certainly it was not a beautiful home that made the artist happy.
He had the misfortune to be married to a woman who would have made most
men miserable. She scolded from morning to night. The artist never
could please her. No matter what he did, it was sure to be wrong in her
eyes. She would stop while stirring the pot, and rail at him, shaking
her greasy spoon to give emphasis to what she was saying. But the
artist answered her never a word. He was so absorbed in his work that
it is probable he did not hear her, half the time.
And so it was not pleasant companionship, and loving words that made
him happy.
He could not even procure the proper materials for the work he loved
so much. There were no shops in all that region where such things
were sold. In our cities there are shops in which an artist can buy
everything he needs. But our happy man could only pick up a few colors
from the apothecary—the others he got himself from earths and stones he
found among the mountains. From the grocer he obtained oil. The smoke
of his candle furnished him with black, and his brushes he manufactured
himself from the hair of the dogs killed in the city. Instead of canvas
he used white cotton cloth, which he prepared in some sort of fashion;
and then stretched, and tacked to a board.
With these materials, and under such disadvantages did our artist
work. And he painted very good pictures too. Some of them were taken
to Europe, and to the United States, and sold for twenty times more
than was paid to our artist for them. But he did not know this; and the
small sums he received sufficed for his simple wants.
He was always happy because his painting was to him a perpetual
delight. His business was his pleasure.
[Illustration: THE SCULPTOR AT WORK.]
The other happy man was also an artist. He was a sculptor. His statues
were very singular-looking; and to our eyes, very ugly. But the people
in that Peruvian town admired them greatly, and the sculptor himself
thought them beautiful, and so it was all the same, as far as he was
concerned, as if they really had been beautiful.
Clothed in rags and tatters, he worked faithfully in his studio,
piecing together legs, and arms, and bodies, and heads, until he had
an image of a man, woman, or child, that satisfied him. His room was a
little better than the painter’s, but the walls were of rough stone;
and, as for furniture, he would have laughed at the idea of having any.
He had such strongly marked Indian features that his face was not
pleasant at first sight, but he was always in such a good humor that
one soon forgot he was not handsome.
This sculptor worked in plaster. He moulded different parts of the
body, and hung them up on his walls. The legs, arms, &c. were provided
with wooden pegs, so that they could be properly fastened together.
When he wanted to make an image he would take down the different
members he required, and put them together. If they did not fit
properly he would cut out blocks of plaster, and patch them up.
These statues were all colored, and the sculptor had as much difficulty
in getting his colors as the painter, only he did not require so many.
One of the queer things about his statues was that they all had glass
eyes! And this is the way he made them. He put fragments of window
glass, cut in the shape of eyes, into a frying pan pierced with holes
about an inch in diameter. As soon as the heat softened the glass
sufficiently he would press the pieces down into the holes with a metal
stick, and thus they would be rounded like eyes.
He procured his tools how and where he could. Old nails, old brushes,
worn-out knife blades, and even sheep bones, furnished him materials.
But he took great pleasure in making these images that he thought
so lovely, and which charmed his neighbors. And, occupied in this
fascinating business, he had no time to think of his poverty, and
troubles. He was as happy as the day is long.
THE WONDERFUL ASH TREE.
The people who used to live in the northern parts of Europe were not
very pleasant people, if we are to believe all the blood-thirsty
stories we have heard about them, but they had a religion, although
it was rather a queer one. There is one thing, however, to be said of
their gods and goddesses, which is very much in their favor. They were
generally honest, and tolerably strong-minded, which is much more than
we can say about some of the gods of ancient Greece and Rome. Mercury,
you know, was a great thief, and even Jupiter was none too good.
[Illustration: THE GOD YMER.]
The Scandinavians believed that Ymer was the very first god of all, and
he made his appearance in the following manner. Before the world was
created heavy mists filled all the dark space. This space must have
been have been very cold, for the frosty air condensed the mists, and
out of this compressed fog, the god Ymer came into existence.
But his brain does not seem to have been at all foggy; for, after a
short time, becoming tired of being alone, he set his wits to work to
find out how he could have the company of other beings like himself. He
made a very good guess as to how he had taken shape; and, gathering the
mists around him into foggy masses, he shaped them into forms like his
own; and then waited to see what would happen. Soon the cold winds came
and congealed the mists, and behold! a number of gigantic companions
for the lonely god! He took good care, however, to make them smaller
than himself; for, although they were twice the height of the tallest
mountains on our earth, yet Ymer himself, when he laid down (if he ever
did lie down) required about half the world for his bed.
Ymer was so much pleased with his success that he concluded he would
make some more things out of the mists. He spread some of it out in
great smooth surfaces, some he collected in small piles, and some he
heaped up in great masses of many curious shapes. And that is the way
the valleys, mountains, and hills were created.
The foggy material that was left fell down to an immense depth, and
became the ocean.
Ymer made nothing more, for he did not know how to work in anything but
mists, and they were all gone.
What he and his companions did in the way of employment or amusement
I cannot say. Let us hope they took comfort in striding around the
world—a walk of an hour or so—and in talking with each other. They
could not see anything except by occasional gleams of lightning, for
there was no light anywhere.
Monstrous creatures, such as dragons, hydras, griffins, and the like,
now made their appearance in the world, but there is no account of
their creation, and they must have come of their own accord.
One day a marvelous thing happened. Ymer and his giants saw a pink
flush spreading over the black sky. This grew brighter, and brighter,
until the whole firmament was a brilliant flame color. And, while they
were wondering what this could mean, whizz! came in sight a great
ball of fire! This was nothing less than a new god, named Odin. Where
he came from nobody knew, but there he was. He descended upon the
mountains, and took possession of Ymer’s world.
He brought with him the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars. He told the Sun
to light up the world, and to warm up things generally, and to be sure
to melt the ice that covered a great part of the earth. The Moon and
the Stars were to take care of the earth during the night.
Odin brought with him also, a large number of followers; and, according
to the invariable rule of all discoverers of new countries, he
proceeded to kill all the original inhabitants; beginning with great
Ymer himself, and ending with the land and sea monsters. That is,
he intended to kill them all, and he thought he had. But one of the
giants escaped, and also a wolf, named Fenris (a terrible creature that
made nothing of crushing a mountain with his teeth). And the great
sea-serpent Iormungandur was not slain.
The warmth of the sun soon called into life the grasses, the flowers,
and the trees; springs welled up in the woods; and brooks and rivers
flowed through the plains to the sea; and a great variety of animals
took possession of the world, now so beautiful.
Odin was charmed with all this, but not quite satisfied. He wanted some
beings on the earth that should be less than gods, and yet of a finer
intelligence than the beasts. Thinking about this one day, as he walked
by the sea-shore, his eyes chanced to fall upon a large branch that had
blown off a tree into the water. This put a bright idea into his mind.
He drew the wood towards him; and, splitting it in two, made a man
and a woman out of the two parts. From this couple, according to the
Scandinavian legends, all the people in the world are descended.
People increased so fast, and were so rude and savage, and quarrelled
and fought so much, that Odin found he had his hands too full of
business, and he thought it was about time for his lazy followers to
help him. So he set them all to work.
Forseti was to make peace among men. Vali was to teach them the
use of the bow, not for the purpose of killing each other, but for
slaughtering game for food. Uller was to teach skating. The goddess
Gefione taught men to labor, and how to break up the earth for seed,
and to raise crops. I think you will agree with me that she was one of
the very best of all the Scandinavian gods, and goddesses.
[Illustration: THE GOD EGIR.]
Egir was a very important god. He showed men how to build ships, and
how to manage the sails, and the rudder. And not only did he do this,
but, he very obligingly, blew the vessels along with his powerful
breath, so that men were not afraid to trust themselves on the rivers
in these frail-looking crafts, but even boldly launched out upon the
ocean.
Widar taught people a most excellent thing—when to hold their tongues.
This he did by his example, for he was dumb, and could not talk at all.
Balder was called the Bright God. He was the most beloved of them all.
He put good thoughts into the hearts of men, and encouraged them to be
loving and patient with each other. A beautiful silvery light always
shone around him.
Now, where do you suppose all these gods lived? You would probably
answer that they dwelt up in the sky, or on the tops of high mountains.
No. They lived in an ash tree!
This wonderful tree bore the name of Ygdrasil. Its branches
overshadowed the whole world; its top supported the sky, and its roots
went so far down that no one could find the end. This tree was the
home of Odin and his gods, and there they stayed, except when business
called them elsewhere.
This is the way the gods found out what was going on in the world,
while they were having a good time in Ygdrasil. Two ravens were always
flying to and fro through the Universe, and, once a day, they would
perch on Odin’s shoulders and tell him the news. A little squirrel
darted swiftly up and down the tree, and picked up all the scraps of
gossip it could. Near the top of the tree a great eagle kept perpetual
watch, and on the very topmost branch perched a vulture; and these
birds, which could see to the horizon on every side cried out, and
flapped their wings when any strange thing happened.
Besides all these there was the watch-god, Heimdall. His sight and
hearing were marvelous. He could hear the grass grow in the fields,
and hear the wool grow on the backs of the sheep. He could not only
watch a fly from the one end of the world to the other, but could count
the spots on its wings, and the joints in its little legs, if it was
at the opposite side of the universe from himself. He could see the
smallest atom that moved at the bottom of the ocean. And, what was the
most astonishing of all, he could see in the darkest night as well as
in the brightest day.
It is a pity this god is not living now, for he could describe to us
the bottom of the ocean, and tell us if there is an open sea at the
North Pole, and an icy continent at the South Pole, and a great many
things we want very much to know, and have not been able to find out.
[Illustration: THE YOUNG GOD JARL.]
This Heimdall had golden teeth. He had also a son, named Jarl, who
was a very famous god. When he was only a child he could give heavy
blows with a great club, and swim like a fish, and ride on horseback
as swiftly as the wind. And he understood the language of birds and
beasts, and could converse with them.
There were some very queer things about these gods. We might suppose
these powerful beings would be perfectly formed, but they were not.
Heimdall, as we have seen, had false teeth; Tyr had but one hand; Widar
was dumb; Hoder was blind; and the great Odin himself had but one eye.
And it seems, too, that they did not know everything there was to be
known, as the following story will show you.
There lived in the world, in those days, a very wise man, named Kvasir.
He noticed how much trouble men had in expressing their thoughts in
any way but speech. If one wanted to send a message to another he
could only make a rude drawing on a piece of stone to represent what
he wanted to say, or paint it in certain colors that stood for certain
things. There was not much of this done, for not only was this process
troublesome, but it was easy to misunderstand these messages; and they
caused a great deal of confusion, and many quarrels, and much fighting.
Kvasir wanted to remedy this; and, after a great deal of hard study,
and many experiments he invented the art of writing. He also invented
poetry. He called his verses _runes_, and he wrote them on beech bark,
which he made into tablets.
The gods had never thought of doing anything like this.
There is no knowing how much Kvasir would have done if he had lived
longer. Perhaps he would have invented printing and paper; which, as
matters turned out, nobody thought of doing until many hundred years
later.
But this wise and good man was killed by two wicked dwarfs. They did
this in order to steal from him this treasure of poetry, and the art
of writing. You may wonder how they were going to get at the treasure,
for, after they had killed him, there could be no more poetry; and they
could not pick it out of his brain as a thief takes a pocket-book out
of the pocket. But these dwarfs were magicians, and such people, you
know, have a pretty good idea what they are about. They collected his
blood, and mixed it with honey in three separate proportions. These
they put into three jars which they closely sealed, and buried in a
cave which had never been seen either by gods or men.
These three compounds were Logic, Eloquence, and Poetry. We shall never
know what the dwarfs were going to do with them, for I am happy to say
that they were not allowed to keep them.
[Illustration: THE THREE PRECIOUS JARS.]
Odin’s two ravens had witnessed the whole performance of the dwarfs,
and the sensible birds concluded this must be a great treasure, or it
would not be worth so much trouble. So they flew straight to Odin, and
told him all about it. Odin sent the squirrel up the tree Ygdrasil
with an order for the eagle to leave his post, to fly to the cave, and
to bring the jars to him.
This the eagle accomplished in a very short space of time, and Odin
immediately opened each jar, and tasted the contents. He at once
commenced reasoning eloquently in the most ravishing strains of poetry.
His daughter Saga, and his son Bragi, were with their father; and,
seeing how he enjoyed these new dishes, they wanted some too. Odin
politely offered the first jar to Saga, but it probably did not taste
pleasantly, as she declined to do more than just touch its contents to
her lips. But Bragi drank up all his father had left, and immediately
began to sing a magnificent chant. From that time he was called the god
of poetry.
Bragi was not stingy with his treasure, but gave some of it to men, and
thus the invention of the good Kvasir was used as he would have used it
had he lived; and men learned to write, and to sing.
The greatest of the gods, next to Odin, was his son Thor. He was the
god of tempests. He held thunderbolts shut up in his fists, and flung
lightning from his fingers’ ends. He had a mighty hammer with which he
reconstructed the world after Ymer had been killed. He splintered up
the mountains, and made them all over again, and he knocked away at the
crust of the earth, and made valleys and caves, and sometimes he amused
himself by splitting open the earth, and tumbling a mountain or two
into the abyss. And that was the way earthquakes came about. He made
holes in some of the mountains, and let the imprisoned fire out of them.
Odin gave Thor three wonderful gifts. The first was his great hammer.
It would go out of his hand to do his bidding, and then return of its
own accord. The second was a pair of iron gloves. He had only to put
these on, and his spear would come back into his hand after having
destroyed his victim. The third was a war belt, which made him stronger
than any other being while he wore it.
It is no great wonder that with all these things to help him Thor
succeeded in killing off Ymer, and his race of giants, for he did most
of this work.
[Illustration: THE GOD THOR.]
But, you remember, in the account given of the destruction of the
giants, and the land and sea monsters, that one giant escaped, and the
wolf Fenris, and the great sea-serpent, Iormungandur. And, by these
three, after a great number of years, Odin and his gods came to grief.
The gods all understood that their fates depended upon the god of love,
the bright and beautiful Balder. If he died they must die. Think then
how troubled they must have been, when, one day, they heard a great
cry ringing through the earth, and up to the very top of the ash tree,
where was placed their highest heaven, called Walhalla. This piercing
cry was: “Balder, fair Balder is going to die!” They had never thought
before that their beloved Balder could die, but now they were sore
afraid, not only for him, but for themselves. They were told by some
wise woman that Balder would surely die unless all substances that
could inflict death were made powerless. Upon hearing this his mother,
Frigg, travelled over the whole world, and asked the rocks, and the
pebbles, frost and rain, and wood and iron; everything, in short, to
spare her son. And they all promised not to hurt him.
There was great joy among the gods when Frigg returned with this good
news. So Balder was not to die, after all. And there was a great feast
held in Walhalla to celebrate the glad tiding. In the midst of the
merriment it was proposed to try some of these things that had promised
not to hurt Balder, to see how they would avoid injuring him. One of
the gods threw a clod of earth at Balder, and it broke into a cloud of
dust before it reached him. Another poured a pitcher of water over him,
and the water formed a cascade over him without wetting his clothes.
Then they tried more dangerous weapons; a rock; a club; a sword; and
Vali shot an arrow at him. All passed by him, or fell harmless. Even
Thor’s mighty hammer refused to hit Balder.