mighty blast on his trumpet to call the nymphs of the waters and the
spirits of the winds to his aid. Then he ascended to a barren rock that
lifted its head above the surrounding hills, bleak and without a single
blade of grass to soften it. The Greeks watched Neptune breathlessly as
he stood on its top, a mighty figure in his cloak of dripping seaweed
and the white of sea salt in his flowing, dark green hair. He raised his
trident, struck the rocks with it, and the age-old stone cracked in a
deep fissure. Out of the crack in the rock burst a spring of water where
there had been not a drop through all the centuries before.
"Neptune wins! None of the gods can excel this feat of bringing water
out of bare rock," the cry went up from the people.
But Minerva ascended now to this rock of the Acropolis and took her
place beside Neptune. She, also, touched the barren stone with her spear
that was forged and tempered by the gods. And as she did so, a marvel
resulted to her honor as well.
The green shoot of a tree suddenly appeared, pushing its way up through
the hard stone. The shoot grew tall and broadened to form a trunk and
branches, and then covered itself with gray-green leaves that made a
pleasant shade from the brilliancy of the sun. Last, this wonder tree
was hung on every branch with a strange new fruit, green balls of
delicious flavor and full of oil that was healthful and healing and
needed by the whole world.
The Greeks broke their ranks and gathered about the tree to taste and
enjoy the fruit.
"Minerva wins!" they shouted. "Neptune's spring here in the Acropolis is
like the sea, brackish in flavor, but Minerva has given Greece the olive
tree."
That is just what had happened. Minerva had given the people something
that they really needed, and the fair city of Athens was raised and
awarded to this goddess of war as the prize of her kindness to the
people.
But Neptune proved himself a very poor loser. He was a blustering,
boastful old god, used from the days of his father Oceanus, when the
waters were first separated from the land, to having his own way. He had
wanted to own Athens himself, to be able to go and come in it whenever
he liked, and it was particularly humiliating that he must give it up to
a goddess. Neptune stormed down to the shore, blew another blast on his
trumpet, and called all the deities of the sea and of tempests to come
to his aid and destroy the city.
What an army they made as they obeyed his summons!
Triton, a son of Neptune, led the hosts and sounded the horn of battle
as they approached the land, and all around him flew the Harpies, those
birds as large as men with crooked claws and a hunger for human flesh.
There were sea serpents that could crush a man with a single coil, and
Boreas, the North Wind, drove the regiment of the high tides up on the
coast. With these powers of the sea came a mighty rushing of water, and
it seemed as if neither Athens or its people would be able to survive
this arising of the sea.
But Minerva, the goddess of righteous, defensive war was there and on
the side of the Greeks. She presided over battles, but only to lead on
to victory and through victory to peace and prosperity. Few could
withstand the straight glance of Minerva's eyes, valiant, conquering and
terrifying, or the sight of her gloriously emblazoned shield. As the
powers of Neptune advanced, Minerva raised her shield, and the tides
rested and the waters receded. Then she drove the forces of Neptune back
at the point of her spear, and Athens was saved.
You will remember that the gods were very much like men in wanting
particular kinds of gifts which would be their very own, and which they
could treasure. Jupiter had a special fondness for thunderbolts and kept
piles of them behind his throne. Apollo treasured his lyre, and Mercury
his shoes and his cap. Venus never travelled without a jewelled girdle
which she thought added to her beauty, but Minerva had always wanted a
city. Now her wish had come true, for she had a very large and beautiful
one, the fair Athens.
People began coming to Athens from all parts of Greece and from
neighboring countries as well, because Minerva spent so much time there
tending and spreading the olive orchards, and keeping the city free from
invasion. Neptune had left a horse near the hill of the Acropolis when
he had to retreat, and Minerva invented a harness for it and broke it to
the bit and bridle with her own hands in the market square of Athens.
Having horses for ploughing and carrying loads of lumber and stone and
grain helped the prosperity of Athens and brought it wealth. And when
the people were at peace, Minerva laid aside her armor and crossed the
thresholds of the houses, teaching the women to spin, and weave, and
extract the precious oil from her olives.
Everyone was growing very prosperous and very rich. It seemed that the
olive tree had brought all this wealth, for it had spread throughout
Attica and plenty followed wherever it bore fruit.
Not far from Athens lay the kingdom of the Persians who were invincible
in battle, having devoted themselves for many years to the arts of
warfare. Through their interest in their own affairs the Athenians
forgot about their warlike neighbors, until one fateful day when a
runner breathlessly told them that the hosts of the Persian army waited
at the boundaries of their cities.
Such confusion and terror as ensued! The Athenians were not ready for
war. They consulted an oracle as to how to meet the Persian host and the
oracle replied,
"Trust to your citadel of wood!"
The wise men of Athens quite misunderstood this advice and went busily
to work erecting wooden fortifications around the hill of the Acropolis
where Minerva's first olive tree stood as if it were guarding their
prosperity. The oracle had meant for the Athenians to trust to their
fleet and try to prevent the Persian army from entering along the coast,
and by the time the wooden wall was built, the Persians had begun to
fire Athens.
Minerva, with her flaming spear raised and her eyes filled with tears,
went to her father, Jupiter, to beg for the safety of her city. She
kneeled at the foot of his throne to make her plea, and it must have
been hard indeed for Jupiter to refuse his favorite daughter as he
looked down at Minerva, prostrate before him in her shining suit of
mail. But the king of the gods told Minerva something about her city
which even he was powerless to change.
"Athens, in her prosperity, has forgotten the gods," Jupiter said. "She
lives and works for herself and not for others. She must perish in order
that a better and nobler city may rise from her ruins."
So Minerva was obliged to watch from the clouds as fire and sword
consumed Athens and the smoke of the flaming city rose like incense to
the seats of the gods. When there seemed to be nothing left except the
stones which had been the foundation of Athens' beauty, and those of her
heroes who had not perished had been obliged to take to the sea, Minerva
descended to her hill, the Acropolis. She wanted to see if the roots, at
least, of her olive tree had been spared, and she found a wonder.
As a sign that she had not forsaken Athens, even in ruins, Jupiter had
allowed the roots of her tree to remain, and from them there sprang a
new green shoot. With wonderful quickness it grew to a height of three
yards in the barren waste that was all the Persians had left, a sign
that Athens was not dead, but would live and arise a new, fairer city.
Minerva held her bright shield above her golden helmet and hastened to
the sea coast, calling together the heroes to man the ships and set sail
against the fleet of the enemy. The Persian fleet greatly outnumbered
that of the Greeks, but at last it was driven off with terrible rout and
those of the Persians who were left on land were destroyed. The war was
won for the Greeks through Minerva's help, but Jupiter's prophecy had
been fulfilled. The old Athens was gone, and it was necessary to build a
new city.
That was just the kind of undertaking that Minerva liked, to win a
defensive war and then build so as to destroy all traces of it. She and
the Greeks, with the help of all the other gods, went to work to make
Athens such a city as had not been dreamed of before.
Ceres, the goddess of agriculture, restored the waste fields and
orchards so that the olive grew again and plenty came once more. Minerva
busied herself encouraging the women to do more beautiful handwork than
before the war, and she taught them how to feed and tend little children
so that they might grow up strong and well and be the glory of Greece.
Large numbers of horses were trained and harnessed to war chariots.
Apollo sent sunshine and music to the city, and the builders erected
beautiful marble temples and statues and pillars and fountains.
The Athenians began doing things together, which always helps to make a
city great and strong. There were parades of the soldiers and the
athletes on the holidays, and public games and banquets and drills were
held. The best holiday of all was Minerva's own. First, there was a
procession in which a new robe for the goddess, woven and embroidered by
the most skilful women and girls of Athens, was carried through the city
on a wagon built in the form of a ship, the robe spread like a sail on
the front. It was like a great float in a parade. All Athens followed
the wagon, the young of the nobility on horseback or in chariots, the
soldiers fully armed, and the trades people and farmers with their wives
and daughters in their best clothes. The new robe was intended for the
statue of Minerva that stood in the Parthenon in Athens. They named her
Pallas Athene at last, the guardian of their beloved city.
Then came games in which the athletes took part, and the most sought for
prize was a large earthenware vase on one side of which there was
painted a figure of Minerva striding forward as if she was hurling her
spear, and having a column on each side of her to indicate a
race-course. On the other side of the vase was a picture of the game in
which it was won, and it was filled to brimming with pure olive oil from
Minerva's tree. For the Greeks had learned that war is sometimes
necessary, but Minerva would heal their wounds with the oil of her
sacred tree and the new Athens was to be known always as one of the most
perfect cities of the ages.
CADMUS, THE ALPHABET KING
There are many ways of building a city, and this is how Cadmus, in the
days of the myths, built Thebes, the beautiful.
Cadmus was but a youth when he began his wanderings which took him from
shore to shore of the earth, for he was descended from Neptune, the god
of the sea, and had been born with the spirit of the restless tides in
his heart. But Cadmus had a longing to search out and make for himself a
home on land where he could gather the heroes about him and make temples
and a market place and set up fair statues.
So he consulted the oracle of Apollo to know what country he should
settle in, and a voice issued from that strange, deep cleft in the rock
at Delphi saying that he would find a cow in a field, and should pursue
her wherever she wandered. Where she stopped Cadmus also should stop and
build a city which he was to call Thebes.
As soon as Cadmus left the cave of the oracle, he was surprised to see
a white cow wearing a garland of flowers about her neck and cropping in
the grass nearby. She raised her head when Cadmus appeared, and walked
slowly before him. So he followed her, and she went on until she came to
a wide plain in the fertile land of Egypt. Here she stood still and
lifted her broad forehead to the sky, filling the air with her lowings.
Cadmus stooped down and lifted a handful of the foreign soil to his
lips, kissing it, and looking with delight at the beauties of the blue
hills which surrounded this spot to which Apollo had guided him. He felt
that he ought to offer his thanks to Jupiter, and so he went to a nearby
fountain to draw some pure water to bathe his hands before he lifted
them up to the sky.
The fountain spouted, as clear as crystal, from a cave covered with a
thick growth of bushes and situated in an ancient grove that had never
been profaned by an axe. Cadmus pushed his way into it, and when he was
inside the cave it seemed as if he had left the world behind, so dark
was it, with the shadows of the boughs and thick leaves.
Cadmus dipped a vase which his servants had brought him in the waters
of the fountain, and was about to raise it, brimming full, when it
suddenly dropped from his hands, the blood left his cheeks, and his
limbs trembled. A venomous serpent whose eyes shone like fire and who
showed triple fangs and triple teeth raised its head from the waters
with a terrible hiss. Its crested head and scales glittered like
burnished bronze; it twisted its body in a huge coil and then raised
itself, ready to strike, to a height that over-topped the trees of the
grove. And while Cadmus' servants stood still, unable to move for their
fright, the serpent killed them all, some with its poisonous fangs, some
with its foaming breath, and others in its choking folds.
There was only Cadmus left, and at last he crept out of the cave,
screening his body behind the bushes, and made ready to take his stand
against the serpent. He covered himself from head to foot with a lion's
skin. In one hand he carried a javelin and in the other a lance, but in
his heart Cadmus carried courage which was a stronger weapon than either
of these. Then he faced the serpent, standing in the midst of his
fallen men and looking into its bloody jaws as he lifted a huge stone
and threw it straight. It struck the serpent's scales and penetrated to
its heart. The creature's neck swelled with rage, the panting breath
that issued from its nostrils poisoned the air. Then it twisted itself
in a circle and fell to the ground where it lay like the shattered trunk
of a tree. Cadmus, watching for his chance, went boldly up to the
monster and thrust his spear into its head, fastening it to the tree
beneath which it had fallen. The serpent's weight bent and twisted the
tree as it struggled to free itself, but at last Cadmus saw it give up
the fight and hang there, quiet in death.
Then a marvellous thing happened. As Cadmus stood, looking at his fallen
foe, a voice came to him which he could hear distinctly, although he was
not able to know from whence it came, and it said,
"It is decreed, O Cadmus, that you shall take out the teeth of this
dragon and plant them in the plain upon which you are to found the city
of Thebes."
So Cadmus obeyed the command. He pulled out the serpent's triple row of
sharply pointed teeth. He made a furrow and planted them in it, and
scarcely had he covered them with earth than the clods raised
themselves. As happened in the days when Jason had traveled all the long
way in search of the fleece of gold, the ground where the dragon's teeth
had taken root was pierced by the metal points of helmets and spears.
After these sprouting signs of war came the heads and breasts of an army
of warriors until the entire plain was bright with their shields and the
air smoked and resounded with the din of fearful fighting.
Cadmus was only one against the terrible ranks of all these earth-born
brothers of his, but he made ready to do his best and encounter this new
enemy. As he advanced, however, he heard the unknown voice again,
"Meddle not with civil war, Cadmus," it said.
But Cadmus' spirit was fired with his high desire to build a city which
would be a place of peace and industry, and he knew that civil strife
was the destruction of such a city. So he entered the battle, single
handed, and smote one of these, his fighting brothers, with a sword,
but fell, pierced in his side by an arrow. He was up and advancing again
as soon as he staunched the flow of blood, killing four of the warriors.
In the meantime the warriors seemed to become mad with the spirit of
warfare and killed each other until the whole crowd was pitted against
one another. At last all of the warriors fell, mortally wounded, except
five. These five survivors threw aside their weapons and cried, as with
one voice,
"Brothers, let us live in peace."
And they joined with Cadmus in laying the foundations of a great city
which they called Thebes.
They measured and laid out roads, making them hard and strong for the
wheels of heavy chariots which would bear kings to and from the city.
They built houses whose decorations of carvings and precious metals were
not to be equalled in all Greece, and they filled them with rare
furnishings, and they painted pictures of the contests of the gods on
the walls, and shaped golden plates and cups for the tables. They set up
a strong citadel at the boundary line of the city to protect it from
invasion, and Cadmus built factories for making tools and furniture and
household utensils so as to draw traders to the city and increase its
prosperity through commerce. And there were seven gates to Thebes, in
honor of the seven strings of Apollo's lyre from which he drew the sweet
strains that brought harmony to the earth.
When Thebes was finished, it seemed as if it had no rival among the
cities of the earth, it was so good to look upon, so full of industry,
and peace, and plenty. But Cadmus had yet one gift more to make to
Thebes.
For a long time he worked secretly, carving with a sharp pointed tool
upon a stone tablet. One day he brought forth the result of his work.
Cadmus had invented the alphabet; he had given the power of learning
through reading and writing to his people.
That made his city complete, for a people who are through with civil
strife, and able to work and be educated can be as great as the gods if
they will it so.
They became great and they made Cadmus the king of Thebes for a rule
that was long and just and good.
THE PICTURE MINERVA WOVE
Arachne, the wonderful girl weaver of Greece, took a roll of white wool
in her skilled hands and separated it into long white strands. Then she
carded it until it was as soft and light as a cloud. She was at work out
of doors in a green forest and her loom was set up under an old oak tree
with the sunlight shining down between the leaves to brighten the
pattern that she set up on it. In and out her shuttle flew without
stopping until she had woven at last a fair piece of fabric.
Then Arachne threaded a needle with wool dyed in rainbow colors. She had
all the colors of this long arch, that the sunbeams shining through
raindrops make, to use in her work.
"What design will the clever Arachne embroider on her tapestry to-day?"
one of the Nymphs of the forest who had clustered about her to watch her
work asked. Then all the Nymphs, looking like a part of the forest in
their soft green garments, crowded close as Arachne began to embroider
a picture. The grass seemed to grow in it beneath her needle, and the
flowers bloomed just as they always bloom in the spring.
[Illustration: "What design will Arachne embroider to-day?" asked one of
the nymphs.]
"You weave and sew as if the great Minerva herself had taught you her
arts," a Nymph said timidly to Arachne.
The girl's face flushed with anger. It was true that the goddess Minerva
who presided over the arts that women need to know, spinning, weaving
and needlework, had taught Arachne her skill, but the girl was vain and
always denied it.
"My skill is my own," she replied. "Let Minerva try to compete with me
and if she is able to finish a rarer piece of work than mine, I am
willing to pay any penalty."
It was a thoughtless, daring boast which Arachne had made. As she spoke
the leaves of the trees fluttered, for the Nymphs, frightened at a
mortal's presumption, were moving away from Arachne. She looked up and
in their place saw an old dame standing beside her.
"Challenge your fellow mortals, my child," she said, "but do not try to
compete with a goddess. You ought to ask Minerva's forgiveness for your
rash words."
Arachne tossed her head in disdain.
"Keep your counsel," she replied, "for your hand-maidens. I know what I
say and I mean it. I am not afraid of the goddess. I repeat it; let
Minerva try her skill with mine if she dare venture."
"She comes!" said the old dame, dropping her disguise and appearing
before Arachne in the shining silver mail of the goddess Minerva.
Arachne grew pale with fear at first, but her presumption overcame her
fear. Her heart was full of her foolish conceit and she set a new piece
of work on her loom as Minerva produced a second loom, and the contest
began. They attached the web to the beam and began tossing their slender
shuttles in and out of the threads. They pushed the woof up into place
with their fine reeds until the fabric was compact. Then the needlework
was begun.
Arachne, though, had decided to work something that was forbidden by the
gods. She was going to use her skill of hand and all her art for evil
instead of good.
She began embroidering a picture that would be displeasing to the gods,
and she was able to make it seem as if it were alive, because of the
figures and scenes she could outline with her needle and fill in with
her colored wools. The picture Arachne embroidered was that of the fair
Princess Europa tending her father's herds of cattle beside the sea. One
of the bulls seemed so tame that Europa mounted his back, and he plunged
into the sea with her and carried her far away from her native shores to
Greece. Arachne pictured this bull as the great god Jupiter.
Minerva's embroidery was of a very different pattern from this. She was
the goddess of wisdom and her gift from Mount Olympus to the earth had
been the beautiful olive tree that gave mortals shade, and fruit, and
oil, and wood for their building. Minerva stitched the pattern of a
green olive tree on the tapestry she was embroidering.
Among the leaves of the olive tree Minerva embroidered a butterfly. It
seemed to live and flutter in and out among the olives. One could almost
touch the velvet nap that lay on its wings and the silk down which
covered its back; there were its broad, outstretched horns, its
gleaming eyes, its glorious colors. Minerva's workmanship was more
wonderful than Arachne could ever hope to learn. As they finished she
knew that she was outdone.
Minerva looked at Arachne's tapestry, woven of pride and a desire for
vain conquest. It could not be allowed to stand beside hers that showed
the gift of life to man in the olives and such beauty as that of the
butterfly. The goddess struck Arachne's tapestry with her shuttle and
tore it in pieces.
Arachne was suddenly filled with an understanding of how she had wasted
her skill, and she longed to get away from all sight and sound of her
weaving. A vine trailed down to the ground from a near by tree. Arachne
twisted it about her body and tried to pull herself up by it to the
tree, but Minerva would not allow this. She touched Arachne's form with
the juices of aconite and at once her hair came off, and her nose and
her ears as well. Her body shrank and shrivelled and her head grew
smaller. Her fingers fastened themselves to her side and served for
legs. She hung from the vine which changed to a long gray thread.
Arachne, the skilful weaver of Greece, was changed to Arachne, the
spider of the forest. Through all the centuries since then she has been
spinning her fragile threads and weaving her frail webs that a breath of
wind, even, can destroy.
THE HERO WITH A FAIRY GODMOTHER
The prince who was the hero of one of your favorite once-upon-a-time
stories was quite sure to have had a fairy godmother to watch over his
ways and help in bringing his adventures to success. But Hercules, the
Great, of old Greece than whom we have never known a greater hero, had
two fairy godmothers. They were not known by exactly that name in the
days when the myths were made, but there were two very powerful
goddesses who presided over Hercules' destiny, and the odd thing about
it was that no one knew which of these was the more important.
Hercules began life just like any other baby except that his father was
the mighty Jupiter, a fact which made everyone expect a great deal of
him. And just as used to happen in your old fairy tales, he had enemies
because of his noble birth. One of these was the goddess, Juno.
Hercules lay in his cradle one day before he was able to walk even, and
he suddenly saw something that would have frightened anyone much older
than he. On each side of his cradle there appeared the green, hissing
head of a huge serpent, their poisonous fangs thrust out to sting this
child of the gods to death. Hercules' attendants ran away in terror not
daring to give fight to the vipers, but he reached out his tiny hands,
gripped a serpent in each by its throat and strangled them.