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WONDER STORIES
THE BEST MYTHS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS
[Illustration: Iris crossing the Rainbow Bridge. _Page 222_]
WONDER STORIES
THE BEST MYTHS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS
BY CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY
Author: "For the Children's Hour," "For the Story Teller,"
"Stories Children Need," "Tell Me Another Story,"
"Stories of Great Adventures," etc.
WITH SIX PICTURES IN COLORS By CLARA M. BURD
1920
MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY
SPRINGFIELD MASSACHUSETTS
COPYRIGHTED, 1920 BY
MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY
SPRINGFIELD, MASS.
_All Rights Reserved_
Bradley Quality Books _for_ Children
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
How the Myths Began 7
What Prometheus Did with a Bit of Clay 13
The Paradise of Children.--Nathaniel Hawthorne 22
What Became of the Giants 33
How Vulcan Made the Best of Things 40
How Orion Found His Sight 48
The Wonders Venus Wrought 56
Where the Labyrinth Led 65
How Perseus Conquered the Sea 74
Pegasus, the Horse Who Could Fly 84
How Mars Lost a Battle 92
How Minerva Built a City 102
Cadmus, the Alphabet King 113
The Picture Minerva Wove 120
The Hero with a Fairy Godmother 126
The Pygmies.--Nathaniel Hawthorne 136
The Horn of Plenty 148
The Wonder the Frogs Missed 154
When Phaeton's Chariot Ran Away 163
When Apollo was Herdsman 174
How Jupiter Granted a Wish 181
How Hyacinthus Became a Flower 189
How King Midas Lost His Ears 196
How Mercury Gave up his Tricks 205
A Little Errand Girl's New Dress 215
When Proserpine was Lost 224
The Ploughman who Brought Famine 234
The Bee Man of Arcadia 242
When Pomona Shared Her Apples 252
How Psyche Reached Mount Olympus 261
How Melampos Fed the Serpent 272
How a Huntress Became a Bear 281
The Adventure of Glaucus 287
The Winning of the Golden Fleece 297
Medea's Cauldron 304
How a Golden Apple Caused a War 311
How a Wooden Horse Won a War 322
The Cyclops.--Alfred Church 329
HOW THE MYTHS BEGAN
Long ago, when our earth was more than two thousand years younger, there
was a wonderful place called Mount Olympus at the top of the world that
the ancients could see quite clearly with the eyes of hope and faith. It
did not matter that the Greek and Roman people had never set foot on
this mountain in the clouds. They knew it in story and reverenced the
gods and goddesses who inhabited it.
In the days when the myths were told, Greece was a more beautiful
country than any that is the result of civilization to-day, because the
national ideal of the Greeks was beauty and they expressed it in
whatever they thought, or wrote, or made with their hands. No matter how
far away from home the Greeks journeyed they remembered with pride and
love their blue bays and seacoast, the fertile valleys and sheep
pastures of Arcadia, the sacred grove of Delphi, those great days when
their athletes met for games and races at Athens, and the wide plains of
Olympia covered and rich with the most perfect temples and statues that
the world has ever known. When the Greeks returned the most beloved
sight that met their eyes was the flag of their nation flying at
Corinth, or the towers of the old citadel that Cadmus had founded at
Thebes.
It was the youth time of men, and there were no geographies or histories
or books of science to explain to the ancients those things about life
that everyone wants to know sooner or later. There was this same longing
for truth among the Roman people as well as among the Greeks. The
Romans, also, loved their country, and built temples as the Greeks did,
every stone of which they carved and fitted as a stepping stone on the
way to the abode of the gods.
But who were these gods, and what did a belief in their existence mean
to the Greek and Roman people?
There have been certain changes in two thousand years on our earth. We
have automobiles instead of chariots, our ships are propelled by steam
instead of by a favorable wind, and we have books that attempt to tell
us why spring always follows winter and that courage is a better part
than cowardice. But we still have hard winters and times when it is most
difficult to be brave. We still experience war and famine and crime,
and peace and plenty and love in just about the same measure that they
were to be found in Greece and Rome. The only difference is that we are
a little closer to understanding life than the ancients were. They tried
to find a means of knowing life facts and of explaining the miracles of
outdoors and of ruling their conduct by their daily intercourse with
this higher race of beings, the gods, on Mount Olympus.
There was a gate of clouds on the top of Mount Olympus that the
goddesses, who were known as the Seasons, opened to allow the
inhabitants of the Mount to descend to the earth and return. Jupiter,
the ruler of the gods, sat on the Olympian throne holding thunderbolts
and darts of lightning in his mighty hands. The same arts and labors as
those of men were practised by these celestial beings. Minerva and her
handmaidens, the Graces, wove garments for the goddesses of more
exquisite colors and textures than any that could be made by human
hands. Vulcan built the houses of the gods of glittering brass. He
shaped golden shoes that made it possible for them to travel with great
speed, and he shod their steeds so that their chariots could ride upon
the water. Hebe fed the gods with nectar and ambrosia, prepared and
served by her own fair hands. Mars loosed the dogs of war, and the
music of Apollo's lute was the song of victory and peace when war was
ended. Ceres tended and blessed the fields of grain, and Venus, clad in
beautiful garments by the Seasons, expressed the desire of the nations,
of dumb beasts and of all nature for love.
There were many more than these, making the great immortal family of the
gods, like men, but different in their higher understanding of life and
its meaning. They lived apart on their Mount, but they descended often
to mingle with the people. They stood beside the forge and helped with
the harvest, their voices were heard in the rustling leaves in the
forest and above the tumult and crash of war. They guarded the flocks
and crowned the victors in games and carried brave warriors to Elysian
fields after their last battles. They loved adventure and outdoors; they
felt joy and knew pain. These gods were the daily companions of the
ancients who have given them to us in our priceless inheritance of the
classics and art.
When you read the poems of the blind Roman, Homer, and those of Ovid and
Virgil; when you see a picture of a columned Greek temple or the statue
of the Apollo Belvedere or the Guido Reni painting of Aurora lighting
the sky with the torches of day, you, too, are following the age-old
stepping stones that led to Mount Olympus. The myths were the
inspiration for the greatest writing and architecture and sculpture and
painting that the world has ever known. They were more than this.
Among the ruins of the ancient cities there was found one temple with a
strange inscription on the altar: "To the unknown God." The temple was
placed on Mars Hill as if, out of the horrors of war, this new hope had
come to the people.
The word mythology means an account of tales. The myths were just that,
tales, but most beautiful and worth while stories. So that people who
made them and retold them and lived as the gods would have had them live
came, finally, to feel that there was need for them to build this other,
last altar.
WHAT PROMETHEUS DID WITH A BIT OF CLAY
Every boy and girl has the same wonder at one time or another.
"How was the world made?" they ask.
So did the boys and girls of that long ago time when the myths were new,
and the Greek teachers told them that the earth and sky were all a huge
Chaos at first until the gods from their thrones, with the help of
Nature, straightened out all things and gave order to the world. They
separated the earth from the sea, first, and then the sky from both of
these. The universe was all a flaming mass in the beginning but the
fiery part was light and ascended, forming the skies. The air hung just
below the skies. The waters were very heavy and took the lowest place
where the earth held them safely in its hollows.
Just as one takes a ball of clay and moulds it into shape, some one of
the gods, it was said, moulded the Earth. He gave places to the rivers
and the bays, raised mountains, planted the forests and laid out fertile
fields. And, next, the fishes swam in the waters, birds flew through the
woods and built nests, and four-footed beasts began to be seen
everywhere.
But the earth was not finished then by any means. There were two giants
of the race of the Titans who inhabited the earth at that time, and both
of these brothers, Prometheus and Epimetheus, could do marvellous things
with their hands. Prometheus took a little of the new earth in his hands
and as he looked it over he saw, hidden in it, some heavenly seeds, very
tiny of course but they gave him an idea about something wonderful that
he might be able to do. So Prometheus mixed some water with this handful
of earth and seed; he kneaded it well, and then he skilfully moulded it
into a form as nearly like the gods as he could make it. This figure of
clay stood upright. Instead of turning its eyes down to the ground as
the four-footed creatures did, this form that Prometheus had made looked
up toward the sky where the sun and the stars shone now that the air had
cleared.
Prometheus had made man.
While the giant was accomplishing this, his brother, Epimetheus, had
been busy with the task of equipping the other creatures of the earth so
that they could take care of themselves. To some he gave the gift of
courage, to others wisdom, great strength, or swiftness. Each creature
was given that which he most needed. It was then that the slow moving
tortoise found his shell and the eagle his talons. The deer was given
his slender limbs and the dove his wings. The sheep put on his woolly
covering that was to be renewed as often as man sheared it, and the
horse, the camel and the elephant were provided with such great strength
in their backs that they were able to draw and carry heavy loads.
Epimetheus was greatly interested in the man that his brother had made
and he felt that he might be in danger from the wild beasts that were
now so numerous and haunted the forests. So he suggested something to
the giant and Prometheus took a torch, cut in the first forest, up to
heaven and lighted it at the chariot of the sun. In this way he brought
down fire to the earth.
That was the most useful gift he could possibly have given man. This
first man had begun to dig caves and make leafy covers in the woods and
huts woven of twigs to be his shelters. Now that fire had come to the
earth he was able to light a forge and shape metals into weapons and
tools. He could defend himself from wild beasts with the spear he made,
and cut down trees with his axe for building a stronger home. He made a
ploughshare and harnessed Epimetheus' oxen to it as he planted his
fields with food grains.
It seemed as if the earth was going to be a very good place indeed for
man and his children, but after awhile all kinds of unexpected things
began to happen. The strange part about it was that man, Prometheus'
mixture of clay and heavenly seed, seemed to be at the bottom of most of
the trouble. Men used the axe to rob the forests of timber for building
war ships and fortifications around the towns, and they forged swords
and helmets and shields. Seamen spread their sails to the wind to vex
the face of the ocean. Men were not satisfied with what the surface of
the earth could give them, but dug deep down underneath it and brought
up gold and precious stones about which they fought among themselves,
each wanting to possess more than his neighbor. The land was divided
into shares and this was another cause of war, for each landowner wanted
to take away his brother's grant and add it to his own.
Even the gods began to augment the troubles of the earth.
In the beginning, before the forge fires were lighted, there had been a
Golden Age. Then the fields had given all the food that man needed.
Flowers came up without the planting of seeds, the rivers flowed with
milk, and thick, yellow honey was distilled by the honey bees. But the
gods sent the Silver Age, not so pleasant as the one of gold. Jupiter,
the king of the gods, shortened the spring and divided the year into
seasons. Man learned then what it was to be too cold in the winter and
too warm in the summer. Then came the Bronze and the Iron ages. That was
when war and greed broke out.
Jupiter decided that the people of the earth should be further punished.
He imprisoned the north wind which scatters the clouds and sent out the
south wind to cover the face of the sky with pitchy darkness. The clouds
were driven together with a crash and torrents of rain fell. The crops
were laid low so that all the year's labor of the husbandman was
destroyed. Jupiter even called upon his brother, Neptune, who was the
god of the sea, to let loose the rivers and pour them over the land. He
tore the land with an earthquake so that even the sea overflowed its
shores. Such a flood as followed; the earth was nearly all sea without
shore! The hills were the only land, and people were obliged to ride
from one to another of them in boats while the fish swam among the tree
tops. If an anchor was dropped, it found a place in a garden. Awkward
sea-calves gamboled about where there had once been lambs playing in
green pastures; wolves struggled in the water among sheep, and yellow
lions and tigers were submerged by the rush of the sea.
It really seemed as if the earth was about to be lost in a second chaos,
but at last a green mountain peak appeared above the waste that the
waters had made and on it a man and woman of the race the giant
Prometheus had made took refuge. Remembering the heavenly seed that was
part of their birthright, they looked up toward the sky and asked
Jupiter to take pity on them. Jupiter ordered the north wind to drive
away the clouds, and Neptune sounded his horn to order the waters to
retreat. The waters obeyed, and the sea returned to its basins.
It was a very bare and desolate earth upon which the people looked down
from the Mount of Parnassus. They had not forgotten how to build and
mine and plant and harvest and keep a home. They would have to begin
things all over again, they knew, and there were two ways of going about
it.
One way would be to leave the earth the desert place which it now was
and try to wreak vengeance on the gods for the destruction they had
brought upon the earth. Prometheus, the Titan, still lived and he was
possessed of a secret by means of which he could take Jupiter's throne
away from him. He would probably never have used this secret, but the
fact that he had it came to the ears of the mighty Jupiter and caused
much consternation among the gods. Jupiter ordered Vulcan, the smith of
the gods, to forge some great links for a heavy chain. With these he
chained Prometheus to a rock and sent a vulture to eat his flesh which
grew again continually so that Prometheus suffered most terrible pain as
the vulture returned each day.
His torture would come to an end the moment he told his secret, Jupiter
assured Prometheus, but the giant would not speak because of the harm
his words might cause the men and women of earth. He suffered there
without any rest, and the earth began to take on its former guise of
fertility and prosperity as man tried to bring again the Golden Age
through his own efforts. And whenever a man felt like giving up the
task, which was indeed a mighty one, he would think of Prometheus
chained to the rock. His flesh that came from the earth was the prey of
the vulture, but the seed of the gods which was hidden in every mortal,
gave him strength to resist what he believed to be wrong and bear
suffering.
A strange old story, is it not? But it is also a story of to-day. Ours
is the same earth with its fertile fields and wide forests, its rich
mines and its wealth of flocks and herds. They are all given to us, just
as the gods gave them to the first men, for the development of peace and
plenty. And man, himself, is still a mixture of earth stuff and
something else, too, that Prometheus called heavenly seed and we call
soul. When selfishness and greed guide our uses of land and food and the
metals there is apt to be pretty nearly as bad a time on the earth as
when Jupiter and Neptune flooded it. But there is always a chance to be
a Prometheus who can forget about everything except the right, and so
help in bringing again the Golden Age of the gods to the world.
[1]THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN
Long, long ago, when this old world was in its tender infancy, there was
a child named Epimetheus who never had either father or mother; and that
he might not be lonely, another child, fatherless and motherless like
himself, was sent by the gods to be his playfellow and helpmate. Her
name was Pandora.
The first thing that Pandora saw when she entered the cottage where
Epimetheus lived was a great box. And almost the first question that she
put to him was this,
"Epimetheus, what have you in that box?"
"My dear little Pandora," answered Epimetheus, "that is a secret, and
you must be kind enough not to ask any questions about it. The box was
left here to be kept safely, and I do not myself know what it contains."
It is thousands of years since the myths tell us that Epimetheus and
Pandora lived; and the world now-a-days is a very different sort of
place from what it was then. There were no fathers or mothers to take
care of the children, because there was no danger or trouble of any
kind, and no clothes to be mended, and there was plenty to eat and
drink. Whenever a child wanted his dinner, he found it growing on a
tree. It was a very pleasant life indeed. No labor had to be done, no
tasks studied, all was sport and dancing and the sweet voices of
children talking, or caroling like birds, or laughing merrily all day
long.
But Pandora was not altogether happy on account of Epimetheus'
explanation about the box.
"Where can it have come from?" she continually asked herself, "and what
on earth can be inside it?" At last she spoke to Epimetheus.
"You might open the box," Pandora said, "and then we could see its
contents for ourselves."
"Pandora, what are you thinking of?" Epimetheus exclaimed. And his face
expressed so much horror at the idea of looking into a box, which had
been given him on condition that he never open it, that Pandora thought
it best not to suggest it any more. Still she could not help thinking
and talking about it.
"At least," she said, "you can tell me how it came here."
"It was left at the door," Epimetheus replied, "just before you came and
by a person who looked very smiling and intelligent, and who could
hardly keep from smiling as he set it down. He was dressed in an odd
kind of a cloak, and had on a cap that seemed to be made partly of
feathers so that it looked as if it had wings."
"What sort of a staff had he?" asked Pandora.
"Oh, the most curious staff that you ever saw!" cried Epimetheus. "It
was like two serpents twisting around a stick, and was carved so
naturally that I, at first, thought the serpents were alive."
"I know him," said Pandora thoughtfully. "Nobody else has such a staff.
It was Mercury, and he brought me here as well as the box. No doubt he
intended it for me, and most probably it contains pretty dresses for me
to wear, or toys for us both, or something nice for us to eat."
"Perhaps so," answered Epimetheus, turning away, "but until Mercury
comes back and gives his permission, we have neither of us any right to
lift the lid."
One day not long after that Epimetheus went to gather figs and grapes by
himself without asking Pandora. Ever since she had come he had heard
about that box, nothing but the box, and he was tired of it. And as soon
as he was gone, Pandora kneeled down on the floor and looked intently at
it.
It was made of a beautiful kind of wood, and was so highly polished that
Pandora could see her face in it. The edges and corners were carved with
most wonderful skill. Around the edge there were figures of graceful men
and women and the prettiest children ever seen, reclining or playing in
gardens and forests. The most beautiful face of all was done in high
relief in the centre of the box. There was nothing else save the dark,
rich smoothness of the wood and this one face with a garland of flowers
about its brow. The features had a kind of mischievous expression with
all their loveliness and if the mouth had spoken it would probably have
said,
"Do not be afraid Pandora! What harm can there be in opening a box.
Never mind that poor, simple Epimetheus. You are wiser than he and have
ten times as much courage. Open the box and see if you do not find
something very pretty."
And on this particular day, when Pandora was alone, her curiosity grew
so great that at last she touched the box. She was more than half
determined to open it if she could.
First, however, she tried to lift it. It was heavy, much too heavy for
the slender strength of a child like Pandora. She raised one end of the
box a few inches from the floor, and then let it fall with a pretty loud
thump. A moment afterward she almost thought that she heard something
stir inside the box. She was not quite sure whether she heard it or not,
but her curiosity grew stronger than ever. Suddenly her eyes fell on a
curious knot of gold that tied it. She took it in her fingers and,
almost without intending it, she was soon busily engaged in trying to
undo it.
It was a very intricate knot indeed, but at last, by the merest
accident, Pandora gave the cord a kind of twist and it unwound itself,
as if by magic. The box was without a fastening.
[Illustration: Pandora saw a crowd of ugly little shapes.]
"This is the strangest thing I ever knew," Pandora said. "What will
Epimetheus say? And how can I possibly tie it again?"
And then the thought came into her naughty little heart that, since she
would be suspected of looking into the box, she might as well do so at
once.
As Pandora raised the lid of the box the cottage was suddenly darkened,
for a black cloud had swept quite over the sun and seemed to have buried
it alive. There had, for a little while past, been a low growling and
grumbling which all at once broke into a heavy peal of thunder. But
Pandora heeded nothing of all this. She lifted the lid nearly upright
and looked inside. It seemed as if a sudden swarm of winged creatures
brushed past her, taking flight out of the box while, at the same time,
she heard the voice of Epimetheus in the doorway exclaiming as if he was
in pain,
"Oh, I am stung! I am stung! Naughty Pandora, why have you opened this
wicked box?"
Pandora let fall the lid and looked up to see what had befallen
Epimetheus. The thundercloud had so darkened the room that she could
not clearly see what was in it. But she heard a disagreeable buzzing,
as if a great many huge flies or giant bees were darting about. And as
her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness she saw a crowd of ugly little
shapes, looking very spiteful, and having bats' wings and terribly long
stings in their tails. It was one of these that had strung Epimetheus.
Nor was it a great while after before Pandora herself began to cry. An
odious little monster had settled on her forehead, and would have stung
her very deeply if Epimetheus had not run and brushed it away.
Now, if you wish to know what these ugly things were that made their
escape out of the box, I must tell you that they were the whole family
of earthly Troubles. There were evil Passions. There were a great many
species of Cares. There were more than a hundred and fifty Sorrows.
There were Diseases in a vast number of strange and painful shapes.
There were more kinds of Naughtiness than it would be of any kind of use
to talk about. In short, everything that has since afflicted the souls
and bodies of mankind had been shut up in the mysterious box given to
Epimetheus and Pandora to be kept safely in order that the happy
children of the world might never be molested by them. Had they been
faithful to their trust all would have gone well with them. No grown
person would ever have been sad, nor any child have had cause to shed a
single tear, from that hour until this moment.
But it was impossible that the two children should keep the ugly swarm
in their own little cottage. Pandora flung open the windows and doors to
try and get rid of them and, sure enough, away flew the winged Troubles
and so pestered and tormented the people everywhere about that none of
them so much as smiled for many days afterward. And the children of the
earth, who before had seemed ageless, now grew older, day by day, and
came soon to be youths and maidens, and men and women, and then old
folks, before they dreamed of such a thing.
Meanwhile, the naughty Pandora and Epimetheus remained in their cottage.
Both of them had been painfully stung. Epimetheus sat down sullenly in a
corner with his back to Pandora. As for poor little Pandora, she flung
herself upon the floor and rested her head on the fatal box. She was
crying as if her heart would break. Suddenly there was a gentle little
tap on the inside of the lid.
"What can that be?" cried Pandora, lifting her head.
But Epimetheus was too much out of humor to answer her.
Again the tap! It sounded like the tiny knuckles of a fairy's hand.
"Who are you?" asked Pandora, "who are you inside of this dreadful box?"
A sweet little voice came from within saying,
"Only lift the lid and you shall see."
"No, no," answered Pandora, "I have had enough of lifting the lid. You
need never think that I shall be so foolish as to let you out."
"Ah," said the sweet little voice again, "you had much better let me
out. I am not like those naughty creatures that have stings in their
tails. They have no relation to me as you would soon find out if you
would only lift the lid."
Indeed, there was a kind of cheerful witchery in the tone that made it
almost impossible to refuse anything which this little voice asked.
Pandora's heart had grown lighter at every word that came from the box.
Epimetheus, too, had left his corner and seemed to be in better spirits.
"Epimetheus!" exclaimed Pandora, "come what may, I am resolved to lift
the lid."
"And as the lid seems very heavy," said Epimetheus, running across the
room, "I will help you."
So, with one consent, the two children lifted the lid. Out flew a sunny
and smiling little personage and hovered about the room, throwing light
wherever she went. Have you ever made the sunshine dance into dark
corners by reflecting it from a bit of looking glass? Well, so appeared
the winged cheerfulness of this fairylike stranger amid the gloom of the
cottage. She flew to Epimetheus and laid the least touch of her finger
on the inflamed spot where the Trouble had stung him and immediately the
pain of it was gone. Then she kissed Pandora on the forehead and her
hurt was cured likewise.
"Who are you, beautiful creature?" asked Pandora.
"I am to be called Hope," explained the sunshiny figure, "and because I
am such a cheerful person, I was packed by the gods into the box to make
amends for the swarm of ugly Troubles. Never fear! We shall do pretty
well in spite of them."
"Your wings are colored like the rainbow," exclaimed Pandora, "How
beautiful!"
"And will you stay with us," asked Epimetheus, "forever and ever?"
"As long as you need me," said Hope, "and that will be as long as you
live in the world. I promise never to desert you."
So Pandora and Epimetheus found Hope, and so has everybody else who has
trusted her since that day. The Troubles are still flying around the
world, but we have that lovely and lightsome fairy, Hope, to cure their
stings and make the world new for us.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] By permission of and special arrangement with the Houghton
Mifflin Co.
WHAT BECAME OF THE GIANTS
The giants had decided to invade Mount Olympus. They thought they could
easily do this, for there were none of the gods who could hurt them; the
giants were proof against all their weapons. They believed that this
wonderful place among the clouds was theirs by right just because they
were larger and stronger than the heroes. If the gods refused to give up
their abode with its palaces, the gilded car of day, its stores of food
such as had never been tasted by mortals and its weapons, the thunder
and lightning, the giants were going to destroy the Mount. That would
have been a pity, for with Mount Olympus would go some of the most
beautiful foundations the world has ever known.
There was one of the gods, Apollo, who held the light of the whole
universe in his right hand. It was not only that of the sun, but the
light that shone in the hearts of the Greeks and made life brighter when
they had wisdom, and knew truth, and could appreciate beauty. There was
no question at all about this light being Apollo's and coming as a gift
to men from Mount Olympus, because of his great deeds.
There was a deep cavern on the green hillside of Parnassus in Greece
where a goat herd, passing by its mouth in ancient times, had inhaled a
strange fragrance that had made him able to speak with the knowledge of
a seer. Apollo decided to preserve this cave. The city of Delphi grew
around it and Apollo sent a priestess crowned with laurel to be its
oracle and welcome those mortals who wanted to breathe its magic air.
But a monster of darkness, the Python, placed itself in front of the
oracle and allowed no man to approach Delphi.
Apollo, with his shaft of light, drove away the Python and made it
possible for any one who wanted better eyesight or keener hearing or
more truthful speech to come to the oracle.
That was not all, either, that Apollo had accomplished for the good of
men. He protected the Muses, who were the daughters of Jupiter and
Memory and could do all sorts of things to make happiness. They could
sing, and draw music from the strings of the lire, write stories and
poems, and paint pictures. It was said, also, that the laurel tree
belonged to Apollo for making wreaths with which to crown those who had
done great deeds or made dark paths bright.
But the giants could see little value in Apollo's light. They thought
mainly of how to wrest riches and nectar and ambrosia from the gods, and
they decided to try and kill Apollo and the Muses first of all.
Thessaly had the wildest forests and the most rocky coasts of any part
of Greece. It was a fitting place for the giants to meet, and it must
have been a terrible sight when they landed and formed their ranks for
battle. They say that Tityus, one of their leaders, covered nine acres
when he lay down for a nap on a plain. Certain others had a hundred
arms, limbs made of huge serpents and could breathe fire. The worst part
about this race of giants was the fact that their hearts were different
from those of the celestials and the mortals. They had hearts made of
solid stone which could never beat and feel warm. That was why the
giants made preparations to climb up the steep sides of Mount Olympus.
No one in all Greece dared to try and stop this war of the giants. They
pulled up the mountain Ossa and balanced it on top of Pelion to bridge
the way from the earth to the sky. They armed themselves by tearing up
great oak and cypress trees for clubs and carrying rocks as large as
small hills with them. Then the giants climbed up and attacked the
habitation of the gods.
It seemed as if the giants were going to win, for even the gods were
frightened and made haste to change their forms. The mighty Jupiter took
upon himself the figure of a ram. Apollo became a crow, Diana a cat,
Juno a cow, Venus a fish and Mercury a bird. But Mars, the god of war,
got out his chariot and went to meet the giants, and the others returned
at last, for there was really no courage like theirs.
The battle was still with the giants, though, for no weapons could kill
them. Mars threw his spears and they rebounded from the stone hearts of
the giants. No one knew what would happen, for certain of the giants
went down to the earth again and brought up hills with which to crush
the habitations of the gods, but just then a great idea came to Apollo.
He believed that there were unseen forces which were quite as powerful
as the giants' trees and rocks and hills in deciding this battle. So
Apollo sent Mercury, the messenger with winged shoes, post haste with a
secret message to Helios who lived in the palace of the sun commanding
him to close and lock the doors. There was no light for the giants to
fight by and they were well known to be hulking, awkward creatures, very
clumsy about using their hands and feet. They needed the light. They had
even made attempts to steal the summer from mortals that they might have
more sunshine themselves and they had succeeded in a way, for winter
came upon the earth every year with its cold and shorter days. But the
giants had neglected to bring any sunshine with them and it was suddenly
as dark as night on Mount Olympus.
The giants fumbled about and stumbled and fell upon their own weapons.
Taking advantage of this temporary rout, Jupiter sent a sky full of
thunderbolts into their midst and they tumbled back to earth again. It
was odd, but Apollo, whom the giants had thought so unessential because
he protected knowledge and the oracle of Delphi and the tender Muses,
had conquered with his own special weapon, light.
The giants were not particularly hurt by their fall; they were only
driven out of the habitation of the gods and they began taking counsel
together at once as to how they might begin their war all over again.
But they suddenly discovered that they had nothing to eat. In their
absence, Ceres had cut down and uprooted from the earth the herbs that
they needed to keep them alive and preserve their strength. Then, to
make sure that their destruction would be complete, Jupiter covered each
giant with a volcano. Each was imprisoned fast underneath a mountain,
and all he could do was to breathe through the top once in a while in a
fiery way.
That was the end of the giants. For a while they did some damage,
particularly the giant Enceladus whom it took the whole of the volcano
Aetna to cover and keep down. But gradually even the volcanoes became
quiet and there was more peace upon the earth.
Mortals, for all time, though, have followed the example of the giants
and have tried to use their strength in battle for pillage. They have
destroyed beautiful buildings and put out home fires and interfered with
teaching and music and painting and writing, because they could not see
the light shining in these. But what usually happens to them in the end
is just what happened to the giants who started out to destroy Mount
Olympus. They find that they have pulled a volcano down over their
shoulders.
HOW VULCAN MADE THE BEST OF THINGS
No one wanted Vulcan at Olympus because he was a cripple. His mother,
Juno, was ashamed of him, and his father, the great Jupiter, had the
same kind of feeling, that it was a disgrace to have a son who was
misshapen and must always limp as he took his way among the other
straight limbed gods.
But Vulcan had a desire to be of service to his fellows. There was once
an assemblage of the gods at which they were to discuss important
matters of heaven and earth, and Vulcan offered his help as cup bearer
for the company. He made a droll figure hobbling from seat to seat with
the great golden cup, and some of the gods laughed at him.
At last they threw Vulcan out of the skies and he fell for an entire
day, so far was it from Olympus to the earth. Near sunset he found
himself lying on the ground beside a smoking mountain, bruised and more
handicapped than he had ever been before. He had fallen to the island of
Lemnos in the Aegean Sea.
It was a bare, unbeautiful place, for the coast was set thick with
volcanoes that poured forth burning metal at intervals from one year's
end to another. The Sintians, who were the only inhabitants of the
island of Lemnos, had scant means of subsistence because the land was
unfertile and few ships dared anchor at their shores under the rain of
fire from the volcano that might destroy them. These people of Lemnos
were a kind, simple folk, though, and they had a great pity for Vulcan.
They gathered about him and bound up his wounds with healing herbs. They
shared their scanty store of fruit with him, and they hastened to
prepare him a tent. But when the Sintians returned to the foot of the
mountain Mosychlos where they had left Vulcan he was gone.
"We dreamed of this visitor from the gods," they decided. "It was only a
falling star that we watched, dropped from the zenith."
Seasons passed and at last it was noticed that the fiery Mosychlos was
only smoking. It no longer threatened the lives of the inhabitants of
Lemnos with its red hot torrents. The same fact was to be noted about
the other volcanoes; they seemed more like the smoking, sooty chimneys
of our factories of to-day than the towers of death they had been
before. And above the sound of the surf and the wailing of the wind
there could be heard a new sound, the steady beating of a hammer on
metal as a smith strikes his ringing blows from morning until night.
The bolder of the people of Lemnos went to the foot of the mountain and
discovered, to their amazement, that the rock opened like a door. They
went inside, following the sound of the hammer. In the very depths of
the mountain they saw a sight that had never been seen on earth before.
There was a dark smithy in the heart of the burning mountain with a
forge fire in which the power of the volcano burned, a great forge upon
which Vulcan was shaping metal into things of dazzling beauty, and all
about the smithy were the materials for making more; white steel,
glowing copper, shining silver, and burnished brass and gold.
A strange company of apprentices, the Cyclopes, served Vulcan here.
They had once been shepherds, but their peaceful occupation had been
taken away from them because they had neglected to pay tribute to
Apollo. Each had but a single eye, placed in the middle of the forehead,
but they were using their great strength in the smithy of Vulcan to
forge thunderbolts for Jupiter, to make a trident for Neptune and a
quiver of arrows for Apollo. Beside Vulcan stood two wonderful
hand-maidens of gold, who, like living creatures, moved about and helped
the lame smith as he worked.
Vulcan, the despised of the gods, had chained fire and conquered the
metals of the earth that he might make gifts for the gods and for the
heroes.
Wonderful objects appeared at the doorway of Vulcan's shop and were
carried to Mount Olympus. He shaped golden shoes, wearing which, the
celestials were able to walk upon land or sea, and travel faster than
thought flies. He made gold chairs and tables which could move without
hands in and out of the halls of the gods. The celestial steeds were
brought to Vulcan at Lemnos and he shod them so cleverly with brass that
they were able to whirl the chariots of the gods through the air or on
the waters with all the speed of the wind. He was even shaping brass
columns for the houses of the gods. Vulcan had become the architect,
smith, armorer, chariot-builder and the artist of all the work in Mount
Olympus.
He was accomplishing more than this. Because he had captured fire and
made the metals of the earth serve the ends of peace, the island of
Lemnos became a safe, fertile land. Vineyards were planted and yielded
rich harvests, flocks fed in green meadows, and Vulcan forged tools with
which agriculture could be carried on. Ships from the other islands of
Greece sailed to Lemnos and commerce, the strength of a nation, began.
In those days there was a great war being waged between the Trojans and
the Greeks, and many hearts beat with hope at the prowess of a young
Greek hero, Achilles. Hector, at the head of the Trojans, had stormed
the Greek camp and set fire to many of their ships. A captain of the
Greeks begged Achilles to lend him his armor that he might lead the
soldiers against the forces of Troy.
"They may think me, in your mail, the brave Achilles," he said, "and
pause from fighting, and the warlike sons of Greece, tired as they are,
may breathe once more and gain a respite from the conflict."
So Achilles loaned this captain, Patroclus, his radiant armor and his
chariot, and marshalled his men to follow into the field. At first the
assault was successful, but there came a change of fortune. Patroclus'
chariot driver was killed; then he met Hector in single combat, at the
same time receiving a spear thrust at the back. So Patroclus fell,
mortally wounded, and it was a great sorrow as well as a tragedy for
Greece, for Patroclus had been Achilles' beloved friend, and Hector
stole the armor of Achilles from his body. News of the defeat went even
to Mount Olympus and Jupiter covered all the heavens with a black cloud.
But Thetis, the mother of Achilles, hastened to the smithy of Vulcan and
told him that her son was in sore straits, having no suit of mail. She
found the lame artisan of the gods at his forge, sweating and toiling,
and with busy hands plying the bellows. But Vulcan laid by his work at
once to weld a splendid suit of armor for Achilles. There was, first of
all, a shield decorated with the insignia of war; then a helmet crested
with gold and a corselet and greaves of metal so tempered that no dart
could penetrate them. The task was done in a night and Thetis carried
the armor to her son and laid it at his feet at dawn of the next day. No
man before had ever worn such sumptuous armor.
Arrayed in Vulcan's mail Achilles went forth to battle, and the bravest
of the Trojan warriors fled before him or fell under his spear.
Achilles, his armor flashing lightning, and he, himself, as terrible as
Mars, pursued the entire army as far as the gates of Troy. His triumph
would have been complete, but he had an enemy among the company of the
gods on Mount Olympus. No arrow shot by the hand of man could have hurt
Achilles, but Apollo's shaft wounded him mortally. Apollo and Mars were
then, and will be for all time, enemies; light and music and song have
no sympathy with war.
And Achilles, having been taken from the battle-fields of earth by a
dart which Apollo directed, was carried to Olympus along a bright
pathway through the skies. On his way he stopped at the palace of the
sun. It was reared on stately columns that glittered with gold and
precious stones. The ceilings were of ivory, polished and carved, and
all the doors were of silver. There were pictures on the walls that
surpassed in their lines and colors the work of artists upon the earth.
The whole world, the sea and the skies with their inhabitants were
pictured. Nymphs played in the sea, rode on the backs of fishes or sat
on the rocks and dried their long hair. The earth was lovely with its
forests and rivers and valleys. There was a picture of Spring crowned
with flowers. Summer wore a garland made of the heads of ripe, golden
grain. Autumn carried his arms full of grapes, and Winter wore a mantle
of bright ice and snow. Seeing this beauty, the hero forgot his wound.
Achilles had been obliged to leave his armor on the earth, an
inheritance for other brave heroes who were to take his place in the
siege of Troy, but Apollo had shown him the greatest work of Vulcan. It
was the crippled one of the gods who had built this palace of the sun.
HOW ORION FOUND HIS SIGHT
Neptune, the burly old god of the sea, had a son named Orion who was
almost as fond of the woods as he was of the ocean. From the time when
Orion was old enough to catch a sea horse and ride on its back to shore
he was gone from his home in the depths of the sea for days at a time.
When Neptune blew his conch-shell to call the runaway home, Orion would
return regretfully with the tales of the bear he had seen in the forest
or the comb of wild honey he had found in an old oak tree.
Neptune wanted Orion to be happy, so he bestowed upon him at last the
power of wading as far and in as deep water as he liked. No one had ever
been able to wade right through the fathomless ocean before, but Orion
could be seen any day, his dark head showing above the surface of the
waters, and his feet paddling beneath without touching the bottom. He
was not obliged to depend any more upon his father's chariot or the
dolphins or the sea horses to carry him to shore.
So Orion began to spend a good deal of his time on land, and as he grew
up to be a youth he became a mighty hunter. His arrows seemed to have
been charmed by Diana, so swift and sure they were. And every day Orion
bagged great spoils of game and deer.
He was making his way through the forest one day with a mighty bear that
he had just slain over his shoulder when he came suddenly upon a
clearing and in its midst there stood a fair white castle, its towers
reaching above the pine trees toward the sky. It was surrounded by a
great wall, and when Orion approached and asked the gatekeeper why it
was so fortified, he was told that the king of that country who lived in
it was in constant terror, day and night, of wild beasts.
"He would give half of his kingdom to whoever could rid the forest of
its ravening beasts," the gatekeeper told Orion.
As Orion listened, he glanced up at a window of one of the castle towers
and there he saw the face of the king's daughter, Merope, looking down
at him. Hers was a bright face, the blue eyes and smiling lips framed in
her hair which fell in a golden shower and wrapped her about like a
cloak. Orion delighted in the thought that Merope was smiling at him,
although her eyes were really looking beyond this uncouth son of the sea
and as far as the shores of Corinth where the heroes set sail for their
adventures.
"Would the king, by any chance, do you think, give his daughter, Merope,
to that hunter who rids the forest of wild beasts?" Orion asked.
The gatekeeper looked at Orion's shaggy hair, his bare feet and his
mantle, made of a lion's skin. He turned away to conceal a smile as he
answered.
"One could ask the king," he said.
Orion returned to the deep places where the night was made terrible by
the crying of those beasts of prey that hunted for men, and Neptune did
not see his son for many moons. Orion shot lions and wrestled
single-handed with bears. He strangled great snakes with his own brawny
hands and he hunted the wolf and the tiger with his spear. When the
forest was rid of the pest of these man-eating creatures, Orion returned
to the castle in the clearing, not waiting even to wash the gore of his
mighty hunting from his hands and garments, and he presented himself to
the king.
"The forest is free of wild beasts that kill, O King," Orion said. "You
may tear down your ramparts and walk in safety among the trees. As my
reward for the great deed I have done, I ask the hand of your daughter,
Merope. I would take her home with me to my palace of coral and shell in
Neptune's kingdom. And if you refuse her to me, I will take her by
force."
The king was speechless at first. Then, when he realized the boon that
this son of the sea was asking, he seemed to have no words with which to
express his scorn. He raised his sceptre in anger and struck Orion's
eyes.
"Begone from my court, boaster," he commanded.
Orion rose from his place where he had been kneeling at the foot of the
king's throne and he put his hands to his eyes, for the room seemed
suddenly as dark as night. He tried to find the door but he stumbled,
groping for it, until the attendants of the court had to take his hands
and lead him outside. They mocked at him as they pushed him through the
palace gate and watched this mighty hunter, who had the strength of the
sea in his limbs, stagger down the road like a blind beggar.
Orion was now sightless. The king, for his presumption in asking for
Merope, had struck him blind.
Without sun by day or moon by night, Orion wandered up and down the
earth, asking of whoever he met the way he must take to find the light
again.
Once he came to a spot in the woods where he heard the sound of many
soft footsteps dancing on the moss to the sound of merry piping. Orion
stretched out his arms as he felt his way nearer to the Hamadryads,
those gay creatures of the forest who played all day long with Pan and
his tunes for company.
"Can you, by any chance, direct me to Apollo who drives the chariot of
the sun?" Orion asked.
"Oh, no," the Hamadryads answered, scattering at the sight of the blind
wayfarer. "We seldom see Apollo, for he doesn't like the music Pan plays
on his pipes."
So Orion stumbled on, and he heard in the course of his wanderings the
clash and din of battle as two armies met in mortal combat on the edge
of a city. War chariots crashed by him, and he heard the din of shield
striking shield, and the groans of those heroes who fell wounded to
death.