Mercury
I
Mercury was the son of Jupiter and Maia, goddess of the plains, and
from the day of his birth he was a most remarkable infant, even for a
god. When scarcely a day old, he sprang from his mother's arms, and ran
some distance off to where a tortoise shell was lying on the ground.
Picking this up, he bored holes in its side, stretched strings across
it, and began to play. Thus it was that the first lyre was made.
[Illustration: Flying Mercury]
Proud of this beginning to his day's adventures, Mercury ran away
again toward evening, when his mother was asleep, and roamed about the
fragrant meadows where Apollo kept his herd of cattle. The pasturage
was rich and the oxen were fat, and the mischievous young god--only a
day old--decided to have some of them for his dinner. He took fifty of
the herd and tied branches of leaves to their feet--so that their hoofs
might leave no print on the smooth turf--and drove them to a quiet spot
far away from the meadow. Here he killed and ate two of the oxen,
and kept the rest in hiding for another day's feast. Then he hurried
back to his mother who had not yet wakened.
When Apollo found late that evening that fifty of his cattle were gone,
he searched but could not find them. As he was about to give them up as
lost, he remembered that a son had been lately born to Jupiter, whom
that divine ruler had appointed to be the god of thieves. Suspecting
that his stolen oxen were in the hands of this master-thief, Apollo
hastened to where Maia and the babe were sleeping. Rousing the child
angrily, the irate god accused him of the theft; but Mercury protested
his innocence, and asked, "How could an infant but a day old ever do
such an unheard-of thing?" Apollo was unconvinced, however, by this
appearance of candor, and feeling sure of the boy's guilt, dragged
him off to Olympus, where Mercury found it impossible to pretend any
longer that he knew nothing of the missing oxen. He acknowledged his
thieving, showed Apollo the hiding place of the stolen cattle, and
in return for those that he had eaten gave the sun-god his wonderful
new lyre. This gift so delighted Apollo that he presented the day-old
prince of thieves with a magic wand, which, when held between any who
were quarreling, would cause all anger and strife to cease. To test
the value of the wand Mercury thrust it between two snakes which were
struggling over the possession of a wounded bird; and immediately they
twined themselves around the staff, and remained coiled together in
perfect friendliness. This pleased Mercury so much that he bade them
stay there forever as long as the wand should last.[17]
There were two other valuable gifts that the gods gave the young
Mercury,--a winged cap and a pair of winged sandals,--so that, as the
messenger of the gods, he might be fleet of foot on his many errands to
and from Olympus.
"Hastily beneath his feet he bound
The fair ambrosial golden sandals, worn
To bear him over ocean like the wind
And o'er the boundless land."
--BRYANT'S Homer's _Odyssey_, Book V, line 56.
Among the varied duties assigned to Mercury was that of conducting
the souls of the dead to Hades; but this did not occupy all the god's
time, and he still had many hours in which to go on other missions. In
spite of his rather doubtful reputation for honesty, the gods often
sought his assistance in their difficulties; and in one very delicate
commission he proved himself a competent ally. This was when Jupiter
went wooing the maiden Io.
The jealous and vengeful Juno was always on the watch whenever her
lord took a fancy to go wandering about the earth; so to woo the
gentle Io unseen by his wife required some diplomacy on Jupiter's part.
Accordingly he spread a thick cloud over the meadow where he was wont
to meet the maiden, and trusted that its appearance would not arouse
Juno's suspicions. He also took the precaution to visit Io at the time
when the watchful queen of heaven was accustomed to sleep; but one
day Juno awoke sooner than usual, and finding Jupiter absent, she at
once surmised that he was adventuring again in some love-affair. When
she looked down at the earth, she saw the thick cloud that hung over
the meadow and noticed that it never altered its position, no matter
how the winds blew. Feeling sure that this was some trick intended to
deceive her, the wrathful goddess glided down to the earth and appeared
at the astonished Jupiter's side--but not before he had had time to
change Io into a heifer.
"Golden-sandaled" Juno walked about the meadow gathering flowers, then
she asked her husband why he was lingering there, so far from bright
Olympus. Jupiter answered that he was amusing himself by creating a
heifer. This explanation did not deceive Juno; but she pretended to be
satisfied, and praised the beautiful creature's glossy skin and large
soft eyes. Then she demanded it of Jupiter as a gift, and the ruler of
the gods, not knowing how to refuse, consented. The triumphant goddess
led away the heifer and put her in charge of Argus. Now Argus had a
hundred eyes, and though he often went to sleep, some of his eyes
always kept awake; so Juno felt sure that no device of Jupiter's could
enable Io to escape from the watchful guardian who never wholly slept.
Meanwhile Jupiter was in despair over this unhappy ending to his
wooing, and sought the help of Mercury, who often lent his ready wits
to gods and mortals in distress. Laying aside his cap and sandals and
snake-entwined wand, by which he might easily be recognized, Mercury
went down to the earth in the disguise of a shepherd. With his pipes
in his hand he strolled through the country until he came to the
mountain-side, where Argus sat watching the heifer; and when he began
to play, the music was so sweet that Argus begged him to stop awhile
that he might listen longer to the wonderful playing. The wily god
consented, and as he piped on, some of the hundred eyes grew drowsy
with sleep, but some of them stayed open and watchful.
The droning of the pipes kept on, and to add to the drowsiness of the
music, Mercury began to tell stories in a low sing-song tone that cast
a kind of spell over the eyes that were still watching. He told of
Apollo's affection for the youth Hyacinthus,[18] whom Zephyrus, god
of the west wind, also loved; and how, when the sun-god was playing
quoits with his friend, Zephyrus in a fit of jealous anger blew aside
the missile hurled by Apollo so that it struck Hyacinthus and killed
him. But the sun-god would not let the fair youth be forgotten, and
changed each drop of his blood into delicate white flowers which were
forever to bear his name.[19] Then Mercury told of Æsculapius, son of
Apollo and Coronis, who was entrusted to the care of Chiron,--most
famous of the Centaurs,--and was also taught by his divine parent the
art of healing. In this he became so skillful that he even restored
the dead to life, and so incurred the wrath of Jupiter, who, fearing
that Æsculapius[20] would receive undue honor, killed him with a
thunderbolt. To these stories Mercury added many more that told of
the loves of the gods, and at last all the hundred eyes of Argus were
closed. Then Mercury, drawing a sharp sword, cut off the great head as
it drooped forward, and rolled it down the rocks.
When Juno heard of the death of her faithful servant she was terribly
angry, and vowed that she would bring punishment on those who had
been the cause of his slaying; but before doing this she commemorated
the fidelity of Argus by taking his hundred eyes and putting them in
the tail of her favorite bird, the peacock. Then she carried out her
revenge by sending an enormous gadfly to torment poor Io, who was
still in the form of a heifer. From one country to another the unhappy
creature wandered; and once, in a desperate effort to escape her
tormentor, she plunged into the sea, which was afterwards called Ionian
in her honor. Across this she swam and reached the shore of Africa;
but even here the gadfly followed her, and the vengeance of Juno never
allowed her a moment's rest. Jupiter could do nothing to ease her
sufferings by interceding for her to the remorseless queen of heaven;
but at last Juno consented to send away the gadfly and to restore Io
to her own form if Jupiter would promise never to visit her again.
Reluctantly the ruler of the gods agreed to this demand, and Io became
once more a beautiful maiden.
II
When Jupiter went wandering on the earth in search of adventures other
than the wooing of some maiden, he often made Mercury his companion,
for this slender young god was his favorite among all the dwellers of
Olympus. One day both the gods, disguised as travelers, stopped at
the hut of an aged couple named Philemon and Baucis; and pretending
weariness, they asked to be allowed to rest. The old couple were
delighted that strangers had honored their humble roof, and in order
to extend the hospitality still further, Philemon decided to kill the
one thing he had that could furnish meat for the guests. This was a
large fat goose, who had no mind to be killed and eaten, even to supply
a meal for gods; so when the old man tried to catch him, he sought
refuge between Jupiter's knees. When the ruler of the gods learned
that the couple intended to sacrifice their one possession, he was
greatly touched by their kindness, but would not allow them to kill the
trusting bird that had fled to him for protection.
Then the good wife Baucis set before her guests olives, and cornel
berries preserved in vinegar, and cheese, with eggs cooked in the
ashes. She laid earthen cups and dishes on the table, which she had
already rubbed with sweet-smelling herbs, and placed beside them an
earthen pitcher full of their best wine. While the simple meal was
going on, and the guests were partaking of a dessert of apples and wild
honey, Baucis was so fluttered over her duties as hostess that she did
not observe the pitcher; but old Philemon looked on in astonishment at
the wine which renewed itself in the pitcher as fast as it was poured
out. He whispered to his wife to watch this miracle; and when she, too,
saw the never-empty pitcher, she was filled with a vague terror, and
looked fearfully at the smiling strangers. So Jupiter told the old
man and his wife who their guests really were, and bade them ask of
him some boon, swearing by the terrible river Styx to grant whatever
they might desire. Then Philemon and Baucis begged that they might be
allowed to serve the gods as long as they lived; and that when their
time of service was over, they might die together. Pleased with the
simplicity of this request, Jupiter gladly promised that all should
be as they wished; and he transformed their humble cottage into a
beautiful temple, where they might worship the gods all their days. And
when after years of faithful service Philemon and Baucis died, Jupiter
changed them into lordly oaks, which stood before the pillars of the
temple as a monument to their fidelity.
[Illustration: Juno]