CHAPTER V

MYTHS OF THE SUN, MOON, AND STARS

We come now to myths in which the Sun and the Moon, and other objects of

nature, play the most important part. We find myths of this sort all over

the globe, some of them crude and simple, and some of them in the form of

very beautiful stories.

The Incas of Peru believed they were descended from the Sun, so with them

the Sun was their totem instead of an animal or a plant. But there came a

time when the Incas established a higher god than the Sun. They deposed

the Sun because it could move only in one part of the heavens and so must

have a ruler over it. So then to the question: “What are the Sun, the

Moon, and the Stars,” they answered: “They are men and women. At evening

they swim in the waters, they go down from sight in the west. In the

morning the Sun cometh forth at Wau-bunong, the Place of Breaking Light.”

According to the Cherokee Indians, a number of beings were employed in

constructing the Sun, the first planet made. “It was the intention of

the Creator that men should live always, but the Sun, having surveyed

the land, and, finding an insufficiency for their support, changed this

design, and arranged that they should die. The daughter of the Sun was

the first to suffer under this law. She was bitten by a serpent, and

died. Thereupon the Sun decreed that men should live always. At the same

time, he commissioned a few persons to take a box, and seek the spirit of

his daughter, and return with it encased therein. In no wise must the box

be opened. But the box was opened. Immortality fled. Men must die.”

The Sun-God was not always able to carry everything before him, as the

story of his battle with the Hare-God shows, as well as the various

stories about his being ensnared and his course regulated. In some

countries, the Sun is the husband of the Moon, in others the Moon is the

husband of the Sun. Again the Moon will be the sister of the Sun or the

Sun the sister of the Moon.

THE NAVAJO STORY OF THE MAKING OF THE SUN, MOON, AND STARS

At the beginning, when the people had all crept out of the aperture in

the cave in which they had previously lived, a council of wise men was

held to discuss the propriety of introducing more light upon the earth,

which at that time was very small, being lit only by a twilight, like

that seen just at the breaking of dawn. Having deliberated some time, the

wise men concluded to have a sun and moon, and a variety of stars placed

above the earth. They first made the heavens for them to be placed in;

then the old men of the Navajos commenced building a sun, which was done

in a large house constructed for the purpose.

To the other tribes was confided the making of the moon and stars,

which they soon accomplished; when it was decided to give the sun and

moon to the guidance of the two dumb Fluters, who had figured with

some importance as musicians in their former place of residence in the

cave, and one of whom had accidentally conceived the plan of leaving

that place for their present more agreeable quarters. These two men,

who have carried the two heavenly bodies ever since, staggered at first

with their weight; and the one who carried the sun came near burning the

earth by bearing it too near, before he had reached the aperture in the

mountain through which he was to pass during the night. This misfortune,

however, was prevented by the old men, who puffed the smoke of their

pipes toward it, which caused it to retire to a greater distance in the

heavens. These men have been obliged to do this four times since the

dumb man—the Fluter—has carried the sun in the heavens; for the earth

has grown very much larger than at the beginning, and consequently the

sun would have to be removed, or the earth and all therein would perish

in its heat. Now, after the sun and moon had taken their places, the

people commenced embroidering the stars upon the heavens the wise men had

made, in beautiful and varied patterns and images. Bears and fishes and

all varieties of animals were being skilfully drawn, when in rushed a

prairie wolf, roughly exclaiming: “What folly is this? Why are you making

all this fuss to make a bit of embroidery? Just stick the stars about

the sky anywhere;” and, suiting the action to the word, the villainous

wolf scattered a large pile all over the heavens. Thus it is that there

is such confusion among the few images which the tasteful Navajos had so

carefully elaborated.

THE STORY OF THE CONQUERING OF THE SUN

(_North American Indian_)

Once upon a time Tä-vwotz, the Hare-God, was sitting with his family by

the camp-fire in the solemn woods, anxiously waiting for the return of

Tä-vi, the wayward Sun-God. Weary with long watching, the Hare-God fell

asleep, and the Sun-God came so near that he scorched the shoulders of

Tä-vwotz. Foreseeing the vengeance which would be thus provoked, he fled

back to his cave beneath the earth. Tä-vwotz awoke in great wrath and

speedily determined to go and fight the Sun-God.

After a long journey of many adventures the Hare-God came to the brink

of the earth, and there watched long and patiently, till at last, the

Sun-God coming out, he shot an arrow in his face; but the fierce heat

consumed the arrow ere it had finished its course. Then other arrows were

sped, till only one remained in his quiver; but this was the magical

arrow that never failed its mark. Tä-vwotz, holding it in his hand,

lifted the barb to his eye and baptized it in a divine tear; then the

arrow was sped and struck the Sun-God full in the face, and the sun was

shivered into a thousand fragments, which fell to the earth and caused

a general conflagration. Then Tä-vwotz, the Hare-God, fled before the

destruction he had wrought; and as he fled, the burning earth consumed

his feet, consumed his legs, consumed his body, his hands and arms. All

were consumed but the head alone, which rolled across valleys and over

mountains, fleeing destruction from the burning earth, until at last,

swollen with heat, the eyes of the god burst, and the tears gushed forth

in a flood which spread over the earth and extinguished the fire. The

Sun-God was now conquered; and he appeared before a council of the gods

to await sentence.

In that long council were established the days and nights, the seasons

and years, with the length thereof, and the Sun-God was condemned to

travel across the firmament by the same trail every day.

* * * * *

Another view of the religion of the sun is shown in the Indian hymns to

the sun, as it is rising, at mid-day, and at sunset. After the Indian

hymn, we shall find it interesting to go to the opposite side of the

earth and see what a Hindoo hymn to the sun is like. It is less a prayer

than the Indian hymn, and, like the other Hindoo hymns, a song of praise.

HYMN TO THE SUN

(_North American Indian_)

Great Spirit! Master of our lives. Great Spirit! Master of things visible

and invisible, and who daily makes them visible and invisible. Great

Spirit! Master of every other spirit, good or bad, command the good to be

favorable unto us, and deter the bad from the commission of evil.

O Grand Spirit! preserve the strength and courage of our warriors, and

augment their numbers, that they may resist oppression from our enemies,

and recover our country and the rights of our fathers.

O Grand Spirit! preserve the lives of such of our old men as are inclined

to give counsel to the young. Preserve our children and multiply their

number, and let them be the comfort and support of declining age.

Preserve our corn and our animals, and let no famine desolate the land.

Protect our villages, guard our lives!

O Great Spirit! when hidden in the west protect us from our enemies, who

violate the night and do evil when thou art not present. Good Spirit!

make known to us your pleasure by sending to us the Spirit of Dreams. Let

the Spirit of Dreams proclaim thy will in the night, and we will perform

it in the day; and if it say the time of some be closed, send them,

Master of Life, to the great country of souls, where they may meet their

friends, and where thou art pleased to shine upon them with a bright,

warm and perpetual blaze!

O Grand, O Great Spirit! hearken to the voice of the nations, hearken to

all thy children, and remember us always, for we are descended from thee.

Courage, nations, courage! the Great Spirit, now above our heads, will

make us vanquish our enemies; he will cover our fields with corn, and

increase the animals of our woods. He will see that the old be made

happy, and that the young augment. He will make the nations prosper, make

them rejoice, and make them put up their voice to him, while he rises

and sets in their land, and while his heat and light can thus gloriously

shine out.

The nations must prosper; they have been looked upon by the Great Spirit.

What more can they wish? Is not that happiness enough? See, he retires,

great and content, after having visited his children with light and

universal good.

O Grand Spirit! sleep not longer in the gloomy west, but return and call

your people to light and life—to light and life—to light and life.

HYMN TO SÛRYA, THE SUN

(_From the “Rig Veda”_)

His heralds bear him up aloft, the god who knoweth all that lives,

Sûrya, that all may look on him.

The constellations pass away, like thieves, together with their beams,

Before the all-beholding Sun.

His herald rays are seen afar refulgent o’er the world of men,

Like flames of fire that hum and blaze.

Swift and all beautiful art thou, O Sûrya, maker of the light,

Illuming all the radiant realm

Thou goest to the hosts of the gods, thou comest hither to mankind,

Hither all light to be beheld.

Traversing sky and wide mid-air, thou makest with thy beams our days,

Sun, seeing all things that have birth.

Seven bay steeds harnessed to thy car bear thee, O thou far-seeing one,

God, Sûrya, with the radiant hair.

Sûrya hath yoked the pure bright seven, the daughters of the chariot;

With these, self-yoked, he goeth forth.

Looking upon the loftier light above the darkness we have come

To Sûrya, god among the gods, the light that is most excellent.

THE WORSHIP OF THE SUN, AND THE DREAM OF ONAWUTAQUTO

(_North American Indian_)

On the shores of Lake Huron there lived, a long time ago, an aged Odjibwa

and his wife, who had an only son—a very beautiful boy—whose name was

Onawutaquto, or He that catches Clouds. These parents were proud of their

son, and anticipated the time when they should see him a celebrated

warrior. But when Onawutaquto arrived at the proper age, he was unwilling

to submit to the fast prescribed to youths entering manhood, which

very much disturbed his parents, who denied him food at their lodge,

giving him only charcoal with which to blacken his face, according to

the custom. Finally he consented to their wishes, and left the lodge

for a place of solitude. The night came on and the youth slept. In his

dream a beautiful woman came down from the clouds and stood by his side.

“Onawutaquto,” said she, “I am come for you; follow in my footsteps.” The

young man obeyed, and presently found himself ascending gradually above

the trees, where, passing through an orifice in the clouds, he perceived

that he had arrived upon a beautiful plain. Following his guide, he

entered a splendidly furnished lodge, on one side of which there were

bows and arrows, clubs and spears, and various warlike implements, tipped

with silver. On the other side were articles exclusively belonging to

women, which were of the most elegant description.

This, the young man found, was the home of his fair guide, who,

exhibiting to him a broad rich belt that she was embroidering with many

colors, said: “Let me conceal you beneath this belt, for my brother is

coming, and I must hide you from him.” Then, placing him in one corner

of the lodge, she concealed him entirely with the belt. Presently her

brother came in. He was very richly dressed, and his whole person shone

as if he had bright points of silver glittering all over his garments.

Without speaking, the brother took down from the wall a very richly

carved pipe, within which he placed a fragrant smoking mixture, and

regaled himself. When he had finished he turned to his sister, saying:

“Nemissa, my elder sister, when will you quit these practices? Do you

forget that the Great Spirit has commanded that you should not take away

the children from below? Perhaps you suppose that you have effectually

concealed Onawutaquto, and I do not know of his presence. If you would

not offend me, send him immediately down to his parents.” But Nemissa

was resolved to retain the young man, and the brother desisted from

urging his request. Addressing the youth, he said: “Come forth from your

concealment, and walk about and amuse yourself! You will become hungry

if you remain there.” He then presented him with a bow and arrow, and

a pipe of red stone elaborately ornamented. This was a signal that he

consented to the marriage of Nemissa to Onawutaquto, which immediately

took place. The young man found that the lodge, which was now his home,

was situated in the most delightful part of the plain; and all things—the

flowers and trees and birds—were more beautiful than any on earth. The

streams ran more swiftly, and gleamed like silver. The animals were

full of enjoyment, while the birds wore feathers of gorgeous colors.

Onawutaquto observed that the brother regularly left in the morning,

returning in the evening, when his sister would depart, remaining away a

portion of the night. This aroused his curiosity, and, wishing to solve

the mystery of this singular habit, he sought and obtained consent to

accompany the brother in one of his daily journeys. They travelled over

a smooth plain without boundaries, until Onawutaquto felt exceedingly

fatigued and very much in need of food, and he asked his companion if

there were no game in that region. “Patience, my brother,” answered

he, “we shall soon reach the spot where I eat my dinner, and you will

then see in what way I am provided.” After walking on a long time, they

came to a place which was spread over with very fine mats, where they

sat down to rest. There was at this place a round aperture in the sky,

looking through which Onawutaquto discovered the earth, with its gleaming

lakes and thick forests. In some places he could see the villages of the

Indians, and in others he saw a war party stealing upon the camp of its

enemy. In another place he saw feasting and dancing, where, on the green

plain, young men were engaged at ball. Along the stream the women were

employed in gathering apukwa for mats. “Do you see,” said the brother,

“that group of children playing beside a lodge? Observe that beautiful

and active boy,” said he, at the same time darting something at him from

his hand. The child immediately fell upon the ground, and was carried

into a lodge where the people gathered in crowds; when Onawutaquto heard

the Jossakeed, or priest, asking the child’s life in the sheshegwam, or

“song of entreaty.” To this entreaty the companion of Onawutaquto made

answer: “Send me up the sacrifice of a white dog.” Immediately a feast

was ordered by the parents of the child; the white dog was killed, his

carcass was roasted, and all the wise men and the Jossakeed of the

village assembled to witness the ceremony. “There are many below,” said

the brother to Onawutaquto, “whom you call Jossakeed, because of their

great success in the medical science, but it is to me they owe their

skill. When I have struck one of the people with sickness, the Jossakeed

directs them to look to me; and when they send me the offering I ask, I

remove my hand from off them and they recover.” The sacrifice was now

parcelled out in dishes, when the master of the feast said: “We send this

to thee, great Manito, thou that dwellest in the sun.” And immediately

the roasted animal came up to the two residents of the sky. After

partaking of this repast, they returned to the lodge by another way. It

was in this manner Onawutaquto lived for some time; but at last he became

wearied of such a life, and, thinking of his friends he had left, one

day he asked permission of his wife to return to the earth, to which,

with great reluctance and with many delays, she consented. “Since you are

better pleased,” she said, “with the cares and the ills and the poverty

of your earthly life than with the peaceful delights of the sky, go! I

give you permission, and I will guide your return; but remember, you

are still my husband. I hold a chain in my hand by which I can draw you

back whenever I will. Beware, therefore, how you venture to take a wife

among the people below. Should you ever do so, it is then you shall feel

the full force of my displeasure.” As she said this her eyes flashed and

she straightened herself up with a majestic air, and—Onawutaquto awoke

from his dream. He found himself where he had lain down to fast, and his

mother told him he had been absent a year. The change from the beautiful

realms in which he had been living to the scenes of earthly existence

was at first distasteful. He became moody and abstracted. By degrees,

however, these impressions wore away, and he regained his interest in

terrestrial pursuits. Now, forgetting the admonition of his heavenly

spouse, he married a beautiful woman of his tribe, but his bride died in

four days after their marriage. Although thus reminded, Onawutaquto soon

married again; when one day he left his lodge for the purpose of hunting,

and from that time never was seen by mortal eyes.

THE WITCH AND THE SUN’S SISTER

(_Russian_)

In a certain far-off country there once lived a king and queen. And they

had an only son, Prince Ivan, who was dumb from his birth. One day, when

he was twelve years old, he went into the stable to see a groom who was a

great friend of his.

That groom always used to tell him tales (_skazki_), and on this occasion

Prince Ivan went to him expecting to hear some stories (_skazochki_), but

that wasn’t what he heard.

“Prince Ivan!” said the groom, “your mother will soon have a daughter,

and you a sister. She will be a terrible witch, and she will eat up her

father and her mother, and all their subjects. So go and ask your father

for the best horse he has—as if you wanted a gallop—and then, if you want

to be out of harm’s way, ride away whithersoever your eyes guide you.”

Prince Ivan ran off to his father and, for the first time in his life,

began speaking to him.

At that the king was so delighted that he never thought of asking what he

wanted a good steed for, but immediately ordered the very best horse he

had in his stud to be saddled for the prince.

Prince Ivan mounted, and rode off without caring where he went. Long,

long did he ride.

At length he came to where two old women were sewing, and he begged them

to let him live with them. But they said:

“Gladly would we do so, Prince Ivan, only we have now but a short time

to live. As soon as we have broken that trunkful of needles, and used up

that trunkful of thread, that instant will death arrive!”

Prince Ivan burst into tears and rode on. Long, long did he ride. At

length he came to where the giant Vertodub was, and he besought him,

saying: “Take me to live with you.”

“Gladly would I have taken you, Prince Ivan,” replied the giant, “but now

I have very little longer to live. As soon as I have pulled up all these

trees by the roots, instantly will come my death!”

More bitterly still did the prince weep as he rode farther and farther

on. By and by he came to where the giant Vertogor was, and made the same

request to him, but he replied:

“Gladly would I have taken you, Prince Ivan, but I myself have very

little longer to live. I am set here, you know, to level mountains. The

moment I have settled matters with these you see remaining, then will my

death come!”

Prince Ivan burst into a flood of bitter tears, and rode on still

farther. Long, long did he ride. At last he came to the dwelling of the

Sun’s Sister. She received him into her house, gave him food and drink,

and treated him just as if he had been her own son.

The prince now led an easy life. But it was all no use; he couldn’t help

being miserable. He longed so to know what was going on at home.

He often went to the top of a high mountain, and thence gazed at the

palace in which he used to live, and he could see that it was all eaten

away; nothing but the bare walls remained! Then he would sigh and weep.

Once when he returned after he had been thus looking and crying, the

Sun’s Sister asked him:

“What makes your eyes so red to-day, Prince Ivan?”

“The wind has been blowing in them,” said he.

The same thing happened the second time. Then the Sun’s Sister ordered

the wind to stop blowing. Again, a third time did Prince Ivan come back

with a blubbered face. This time there was no help for it; he had to

confess everything, and then he took to entreating the Sun’s Sister to

let him go, that he might satisfy himself about his old home. She would

not let him go, but he went on urgently entreating.

So at last he persuaded her, and she let him go away to find out about

his home. But first she provided him for the journey with a brush, a

comb, and two youth-giving apples. However old anyone might be, let him

eat one of these apples, he would grow young again in an instant.

Well, Prince Ivan came to where Vertogor was. There was only just one

mountain left! He took his brush and cast it down on the open plain.

Immediately there rose out of the earth, goodness knows whence, high,

ever so high mountains, their peaks touching the sky. And the number

of them was such that there were more than the eye could see! Vertogor

rejoiced greatly and blithely recommenced his work.

After a time Prince Ivan came to where Vertodub was, and found that there

were only three trees remaining there. So he took the comb and flung it

on the open plain. Immediately from somewhere or other there came a sound

of trees, and forth from the ground arose dense oak forests, each stem

more huge than the others! Vertodub was delighted, thanked the prince,

and set to work uprooting the ancient oaks.

By and by Prince Ivan reached the old women, and gave each of them an

apple. They ate them, and straightway became young again. So they gave

him a handkerchief; you only had to wave it, and behind you lay a whole

lake! At last Prince Ivan arrived at home. Out came running his sister to

meet him, and caressed him fondly.

“Sit thee down, my brother!” she said. “Play a tune on the lute while I

go and get dinner ready.”

The prince sat down and strummed away on the lute (_gusli_).

Then there crept a mouse out of a hole, and said to him in a human voice:

“Save yourself, Prince. Run away quick! your sister has gone to sharpen

her teeth.”

Prince Ivan fled from the room, jumped upon his horse, and galloped away

back. Meantime the mouse kept running over the strings of the lute. They

twanged, and the sister never guessed that her brother was off. When she

had sharpened her teeth she burst into the room. Lo and behold! not a

soul was there; nothing but the mouse bolting into his hole. The witch

waxed wroth, ground her teeth like anything, and set off in pursuit.

Prince Ivan heard a loud noise and looked back. There was his sister

chasing him. So he waved his handkerchief, and a deep lake lay behind

him. While the witch was swimming across the water, Prince Ivan got a

long way ahead. But on she came faster than ever; and now she was close

at hand! Vertodub guessed that the prince was trying to escape from his

sister. So he began tearing up oaks and strewing them across the road. A

regular mountain did he pile up! there was no passing by for the witch!

So she set to work to clear the way. She gnawed, and gnawed, and at

length contrived by hard work to bore her way through; but by this time

Prince Ivan was far ahead.

On she dashed in pursuit, chased and chased. Just a little more, and it

would be impossible for him to escape! But Vertogor spied the witch,

laid hold of the very highest of all the mountains, pitched it down all

of a heap on the road, and flung another mountain right on top of it.

While the witch was climbing and clambering, Prince Ivan rode and rode,

and found himself a long way ahead. At last the witch got across the

mountain, and once more set off in pursuit of her brother. By and by she

caught sight of him and exclaimed:

“You sha’n’t get away from me this time!” And now she is close, now she

is just going to catch him!

At that very moment Prince Ivan dashed up to the abode of the Sun’s

Sister and cried.

“Sun, Sun! open the window!”

The Sun’s Sister opened the window, and the prince bounded through it,

horse and all.

Then the witch began to ask that her brother might be given up to her for

punishment. The Sun’s Sister would not listen to her, nor would she give

him up. Then the witch said:

“Let Prince Ivan be weighed against me, to see which is the heavier. If I

am, then I will eat him; but if he is, then let him kill me!”

This was done. Prince Ivan was the first to get into one of the scales;

then the witch began to get into the other. But no sooner had she set

foot in it than up shot Prince Ivan in the air, and that with such force

that he flew right up into the sky, and into the house of the Sun’s

Sister.

But as for the Witch-Snake, she remained down below on earth.

THE MAKING OF THE MIRROR

(_Japanese_)

Now, when Amaterasu, the Sun-Goddess, ascended into her kingdom, she

reigned there peacefully in great glory; and the fair light of her beauty

flooded the earth and the heavens.

Her brother Susa-wo, at the time of his banishment to the under-world,

beheld her shining and said:

“I will go and bid farewell to my sister the Sun-Goddess, ere I depart!”

So he mounted to heaven with such sudden violence that the rivers and

mountains shook and groaned aloud, and every land and country quaked.

Amaterasu was greatly alarmed and said: “I know my brother desires to

take my kingdom from me!” So she girt on her ten-span sword and her

nine-span sword, and her necklace of five hundred jewels which she

twisted round her hair and arms, and she slung on her thousand-arrow

quiver, and great high-sounding elbow-shield. Then she brandished her bow

and stamped her feet into the hard ground till it fell away from her like

rotten snow, and she stood valiantly, uttering a mighty cry of defiance.

Then Susa-wo stood on the farther side of the Tranquil River of Heaven,

which is the Milky Way, and answered her softly with fair words:

“O my sister! I am come hither with a pure heart to bid thee farewell.

Why dost thou put on a stern countenance? Let me but see thee once and

speak with thee, face to face, ere I depart.” Then the heart of the

Sun-Goddess was softened, and she let him enter and cross the River of

Heaven. But even here Susa-wo could not rest from his turbulent ways.

Now, in her wisdom, Amaterasu would wonder how best to help and comfort

mankind, and on a certain day she sent Susa-wo on a journey to find her

sister, the Food-Goddess, as she had many things to inquire of her.

When the Food-Goddess looked and saw Susa-wo descending toward her, she

quickly prepared a great banquet in his honor, and by her miraculous

power she produced from her mouth boiled rice and every kind of fish and

game. But Susa-wo, watching her, flew into a rage and cried out: “Thou

art unclean! Dost thou offer me what comes from thy mouth?” And he took

out his sword and slew her.

When Amaterasu heard this, she was very wroth with her brother, and sent

a second messenger to see if the Food-Goddess were really dead. And when

he found her, behold, a miracle! All things good for man were growing

from her head and body. Millet and grass, mulberry trees with silkworms

on them, rice and wheat and large and small beans. The messenger took

them all and presented them to the Sun-Goddess, who rejoiced greatly and

gave them to mankind, rice for the wet fields and other grains for the

dry.

And she planted the mulberry trees on the fragrant hills of heaven,

and chewed the cocoons of the silkworms, and spun thread to weave silk

garments for the gods.

Now, one day, while she was weaving with her maidens in the sacred hall,

word was brought to her that her brother had trampled the rice fields and

polluted her storehouses. And when she sought to excuse him he angered

her yet more by his folly and violence. So Amaterasu covered her face,

and in her grief and anger she hid herself from the sight of all men in a

rocky cave, and closed the door.

When her radiance was hidden, all the world was left in deep darkness and

confusion, the whole plain of heaven was obscured, and the Land of the

Reed-Plains darkened. Night and day were unknown, and neither in heaven

nor earth was there any light at all. The sound of many voices rose and

fell, like the swarming of bees, and everywhere was trouble and dismay.

In the midst of the gloom the eighty myriads of gods met together in

council, and their meeting-place was on the banks of the Milky Way of

Heaven. And the Great Wise God, wiser than his fellows, who held in

his mind the thoughts and imaginings of all men, said softly: “She is

a woman, and surely will be curious. Let us show her something more

beautiful than herself!” But as in all High Heaven nothing fairer could

be found, they made a mighty mirror, forged by the Blacksmith God from

the metals of heaven. Yet the gods were not satisfied, and commanded

him to make another. So with his anvil from the Milky Way, and bellows,

fashioned from a single deer-skin, he forged a second and yet a third,

and this last was perfect and flawless, in shape like the Sun.

And they lit great fires outside the cave and hung the mirror there

on the branches of the sacred Sakaki tree, above it a necklace of

ever-bright and glittering jewels, and below it some strips of fine-woven

cloth. Then the Wise God took from his fellows six long bows and bound

them together, and placed them upright in the ground and gently brushed

the strings.

And the fair Goddess Amé-no-Uzumé was led forth to dance, her flowing

sleeves bound up with the creeping plant Masaki, and her head-dress of

trailing Kadsura vine, gathered from the mountains of Heavenly Fragrance,

and in her hands the branches of young bamboos hung with tiny bells.

These she waved rhythmically to and fro to the sound of her stepping, and

as the humming of the bow-strings rose and fell, the eighty Myriad Gods

sat around her and joyfully beat the measure.

She sang of the beauty of an unknown goddess, and as her body swayed in

cadence, the great assembly of gods laughed aloud till the vault of

heaven shook.

The Sun-Goddess wondered greatly at all this mirth and music, and said:

“How is it that while the whole Plain of Heaven and the Land of the

Reed-Plains is darkened, Uzumé sings and frolics, and the eighty Myriad

Gods do laugh?” She peeped inquisitive out of the cave.

Uzumé still sang of the beauty of the Unknown Goddess, and the words of

the first song were these:

Gods! from the cavern’s gloom

Comes she majestical.

Shall not our hearts rejoice?

Mine is the victory!

Who can resist my charms?

Hail, Ever-Shining One!

And wondering—longing—yet unwilling to venture forth, Amaterasu looked

from the depths of the cave and listened to the strains, and heard

the gods make merry; till, opening wider the door, she stood upon the

threshold.

Two gods hastily held forward the mirror, and she saw, amazed, the vision

of her own exceeding loveliness. Then the first flush of dawn appeared

suddenly in the east, there was a stir as of awakening birds, the

mountain-tops blushed pink, and all the gods held their breath.

She stepped forward softly, still gazing entranced, while broad shafts

of light shot upward in the sky, and her glory filled the air with rosy

radiance. As she looked on her ineffable beauty, the Wise God, twisting

a rice-straw rope, stretched it across the mouth of the cave—for never

more could she desire to hide her face from a sorrowing world.

And thus with the sunshine came music and dancing, for the delight of men.

* * * * *

In Norse mythology, the story is told that the heavenly bodies were

formed of the sparks from Muspelheim. The gods did not create them, but

they placed them in the heavens to give light to the world, and assigned

them a prescribed locality and motion. Mundilfare was the father of the

sun and moon. He had two children, a son and a daughter, so lovely and

graceful that he called the boy Maane (Moon), and the girl Sol (Sun), and

Sol he gave in marriage to Glener (the Shining One).

The gods, however, were much incensed at the presumption of Mundilfare,

so they took his two children and placed them in the heavens, where they

let Sol drive the horses of the Sun, while Maane guides the Moon and

regulates its increasing and waning aspect.

Very closely akin to a god of the Sun in Norse mythology is Balder the

Good. He is the favorite of all the gods and of all men and nature. So

fair and dazzling is he in form and features that rays of light seem to

issue from him. Some idea of the beauty of his hair may be formed from

the fact that the whitest of all plants is called Balder’s brow. Balder

is described as the mildest, the wisest and the most eloquent of all the

gods, yet such is his nature that the judgment he has pronounced can

never be altered. He dwells in the heavenly mansion called Breidablik,

meaning the broad-shining splendor, into which nothing unclean can enter.

He is, in fact, the God of Light. Some one says of him,[5] “Light is

the best thing we have in the world; it is white and pure; it cannot

be wounded; no shock can disturb it; nothing in the world can kill it

excepting its own negative, darkness (Höder). Loke (Fire) is jealous

of it; the pure light of heaven and the blaze of fire are each other’s

enemies. Balder does not fight, the mythology gives no exploits by him;

he only shines and dazzles, conferring blessings upon all, and this he

continues to do steadfast and unchangeable, until darkness steals upon

him—darkness that does not itself know what harm it is doing; and when

Balder is dead, cries of lamentation are heard throughout all nature.”

How his death occurred will be related in the story of him in this

chapter.

The God of the Sun in Egypt was Ra, though Osiris is often called the God

of the Sun; and probably was identified with the sun in some stage of the

long development of this myth, as already mentioned.

Like Balder and other sun gods, Ra has his fight with the demon of

darkness in the under world, as described in an ancient Egyptian papyrus,

a translation of which is given in this chapter.

In Greek mythology there are two gods of the sun and two goddesses of

the moon.[6] The older ones were Helios and Selene, but they became

identified with the later celebrated pair, Phœbus Apollo and Artemis

or Diana, as the Romans called her, the children of Zeus, the God of

the Sky, and Latona. Apollo was not only a god of the sun, who brought

the warm sun and the spring, but he was the healer, who warded off the

dangers and diseases of summer and autumn. He had a temple at Delphi,

where a priestess was wont to give forth oracles in regard to the future,

supposed to be revealed by Apollo. He was a founder of cities, a promoter

of colonization, a giver of good laws, and, finally, he was the patron of

music and poetry. To him were sacred the wolf, the roe, the mouse, the

he-goat, the ram, the dolphin, and the swan.

[Illustration: Apollo with the Lyre. _Glyptothek, Munich._]

An ancient hymn by Callimachus (240 B.C.) describes him as follows:

“How hath the laurel shoot of Apollo heaved! How the whole of

the shrine! Afar, afar be ye, sinners. Now verily doth Phœbus

knock at the doors with beauteous foot. See you not? The Delian

palm has nodded in a pleasant fashion on a sudden, and the swan

sings sweetly on the air. Now of your own accord fall back, ye

bolts of the doors, and of yourselves, ye bars. For no longer

is the god afar off. Make ready, ye young men, for the song and

the choir. Not to every one doth Apollo manifest himself, but

to only the good. Whoso shall have seen him, great is he; small

that man who hath not seen him.

“We shall behold thee, O Fardarter! and shall be no more of

small account. Nor silent lyre, nor noiseless tread should the

servants of Phœbus have, when he sojourns among them. Listen

and keep holy silence at the song in honor of Apollo.

...

“Golden are both the garment and the clasp of Apollo, his lyre,

his Lyctian bow, and his quiver: golden, too, his sandals; for

Apollo is rich in gold, and has also many possessions.

...

“And indeed he is ever beauteous, ever young.

...

“Great, too, in art is no one so much as Apollo.

“To Phœbus the care of the bow as well as of song is intrusted.

“To him, likewise, belong divinations and diviners: and from

Phœbus physicians have learned the art of delaying death.

...

“And following Phœbus men are wont to measure out cities. For

Phœbus ever delights in founding cities and Phœbus himself lays

their foundations.”

The twin sister of Apollo, Artemis, is first of all the Goddess of the

Moon. Its slender arc is her bow; its beams are her arrows, with which

she sends upon womenkind a painless death. She determined herself never

to fall in love or marry, and so she imposed upon the nymphs she gathered

about her vows of perpetual maidenhood, and if any of them broke these

vows she punished them severely and swiftly. Graceful in form and free

of movement, equipped for the chase, and surrounded by a bevy of fair

companions, the swift-rushing goddess was wont to scour hill, valley,

forest, and plain. She was, however, not only huntress, but guardian

of wild beasts, mistress of horses and kine and other domestic brutes.

She ruled marsh and mountain; her gleaming arrows smote sea as well as

land. Springs and woodland brooks she favored, for in them she and her

attendants were accustomed to bathe. She blessed with verdure the meadows

and arable lands, and from them obtained a meed of thanks. When weary

of the chase, she turned to music and dancing, for the lyre and flute

and song were dear to her. Muses, graces, nymphs, and the fair goddesses

themselves thronged the rites of the chorus-leading queen. But ordinarily

a woodland chapel or a rustic altar sufficed for her worship. There the

hunter laid his offering—antlers, skin, or edible portions of the deer

that Artemis of the golden arrows had herself vouchsafed him.

She was mistress of the brute creation, protectress of youth, patron of

temperance in all things, guardian of civil right. The cypress tree was

sacred to her; and her favorites were the bear, the boar, the dog, the

goat, and especially the hind.

A pretty picture is given of Artemis in a hymn by Callimachus which

describes how, when sitting yet a blooming child on the knees of her

sire, she thus addressed him:

“‘Grant me, kind father, to preserve eternal maidenhood, and

many names, that so Phœbus may not vie with me. And give me

arrows and bow. Grant it, sire! I ask not a quiver of thee, nor

a large bow: the cyclopes will forthwith forge me arrows, and

fashion a flexible bow. And I ask to be girt as far as the knee

with a tunic of colored border, that I may slay wild beasts.

And give me sixty ocean nymphs to form my chorus, all young and

of the same age. Give me likewise as attendants twenty Amnisian

nymphs, who may duly take care of my buskins, and, when I no

longer am shooting lynxes and stags, may tend my fleet dogs.

Give me all mountains, and assign to me any city, whichsoever

thou choosest. For ’twill be rare, when Artemis shall go down

into a city. On mountains will I dwell.’

“Thus having spoken, the maiden wished to touch the beard of

her sire, and oft outstretched her hands to no purpose, until

at last she might touch it. Then her father assented with a

smile, and said as he fondled her: ‘Have, child, whatever you

ask of your own choice; but other yet greater gifts will your

sire bestow. Thrice ten cities will I present to you, which

shall not learn to honor any other god, but thee alone, and

shall be called the cities of Artemis. And I will give thee

many cities to measure out in common with other gods, on the

continent and islands; in all shall be altars and sacred groves

of Artemis, and thou shalt be guardian over ways and harbors.’”

THE DEATH OF BALDER THE GOOD

(_From the Norse Eddas_)

This was an event which the asas deemed of great importance. Balder

the Good having been tormented by terrible dreams, indicating that his

life was in great peril, communicated them to the assembled gods, who,

sorrow-stricken, resolved to conjure all things to avert from him the

threatened danger. Then Frigg exacted an oath from fire and water, from

iron and all other metals, as well as from stones, earths, diseases,

beasts, birds, poisons, and creeping things, that none of them would do

any harm to Balder. Still Odin feared that the prosperity of the gods

had vanished. He saddled his steed Sleipner and rode down to Niflheim,

where the dog from Hel met him; it was bloody on the breast and barked

a long time at Odin. Odin advanced; the earth trembled beneath him, and

he came to the high dwelling of Hel. East of the door he knew the grave

of the vala was situated; thither he rode and sang magic songs (_kvao

galdra_), until she unwillingly stood up and asked who disturbed her

peace, after she had been lying so long covered with snow and wet with

dew. Odin called himself Vegtam, a son of Valtam, and asked for whom

the benches were strewn with rings and the couches were swimming in

gold. She replied that the mead was brewed for Balder, but all the gods

would despair. When Odin asked further who should be Balder’s bane, she

answered that Höder would hurl the famous branch and become the bane of

Odin’s son; but Rind should give birth to a son who, only one night old,

should wield a sword, and would neither wash his hands nor comb his hair

before he had avenged his brother. But recognizing Odin by an enigmatical

question, she said: “You are not Vegtam, as I believed, but you are Odin,

the old ruler.” Odin replied: “You are no vala, but the mother of three

giants.” Then the vala told Odin to ride home and boast of his journey,

but assured him that no one should again visit her thus before Loke

should be loosed from his chains and the ruin of the gods had come.

When it had been made known that nothing in the world would harm Balder,

it became a favorite pastime of the gods at their meetings to get Balder

to stand up and serve them as a mark, some hurling darts at him, some

stones, while others hewed at him with their swords and battle-axes; for

whatever they did none of them could harm him, and this was regarded

by all as a great honor shown to Balder. But when Loke Laufeyarson

beheld the scene he was sorely vexed that Balder was not hurt. Assuming,

therefore, the guise of a woman he went to Fensal, the mansion of Frigg.

That goddess, seeing the pretended woman, inquired of her whether she

knew what the gods were doing at their meetings. The woman (Loke)

replied that they were throwing darts and stones at Balder without being

able to hurt him.

“Ay,” said Frigg, “neither metal nor wood can hurt Balder, for I have

exacted an oath from all of them.”

“What!” exclaimed the woman, “have all things sworn to spare Balder?”

“All things,” replied Frigg, “except one little shrub that grows on the

eastern side of Valhal, and is called mistletoe, and which I thought too

young and feeble to crave an oath from.”

As soon as Loke heard this he went away, and, resuming his natural form,

pulled up the mistletoe and repaired to the place where the gods were

assembled. There he found Höder standing far to one side without engaging

in the sport on account of his blindness. Loke, going up to him, said:

“Why do not you also throw something at Balder?”

“Because I am blind,” answered Höder, “and cannot see where Balder is,

and besides I have nothing to throw at him.”

“Come, then,” said Loke, “do like the rest, and show honor to Balder by

throwing this twig at him, and I will direct your arm toward the place

where he stands.”

Höder then took the mistletoe, and under the guidance of Loke darted it

at Balder, who, pierced through and through, fell down lifeless. Surely

never was there witnessed, either among gods or men, a more atrocious

deed than this! When Balder fell the gods were struck speechless with

horror, and then they looked at each other; and all were of one mind to

lay hands on him who had done the deed, but they were obliged to delay

their vengeance out of respect for the sacred place (place of peace)

where they were assembled. They at length gave vent to their grief by

such loud lamentations that they were not able to express their grief to

one another. Odin, however, felt this misfortune most severely, because

he knew best how great was the mischief and the loss which the gods had

sustained by the death of Balder. When the gods were a little composed,

Frigg asked who among them wished to gain all her love and favor by

riding to the lower world to try and find Balder, and offer a ransom to

Hel if she would permit Balder to return to Asgard; whereupon Hermod,

surnamed the Nimble, offered to undertake the journey. Odin’s horse

Sleipner was then led forth and prepared for the journey; Hermod mounted

him and galloped hastily away.

The gods then took the dead body of Balder and carried it to the sea,

where lay Balder’s ship, _Ringhorn_, which was the largest of all ships.

But when they wanted to launch this ship, in order to make Balder’s

funeral pile on it, they were unable to move it from the place. In this

predicament they sent a messenger to Jotunheim for a certain giantess

named Hyrroken (the smoking fire), who came riding on a wolf and had

twisted serpents for her reins. As soon as she alighted Odin ordered

four berserks to hold her steed, but they were obliged to throw the

animal down on the ground before they could manage it. Hyrroken then went

to the prow of the ship, and with a single push set it afloat; but the

motion was so violent that fire sparkled from the underlaid rollers and

the whole world shook. Thor, enraged at the sight, grasped his mallet

and would have broken the woman’s skull had not the gods interceded for

her. Balder’s body was then carried to the funeral pile on board the

ship, and this ceremony had such an effect upon Balder’s wife Nanna,

daughter of Nep, that her heart broke with grief, and her body was laid

upon the same pile and burned with that of her husband. Thor stood beside

the pile and consecrated it with his hammer Mjolner. Before his feet

sprang up a dwarf called Lit. Thor kicked him with his foot into the

fire, so that he also was burned. There was a vast concourse of various

kinds of people at Balder’s funeral procession. First of all came Odin,

accompanied by Frigg, the valkyries, and his ravens. Then came Frey in

his chariot, drawn by the boar Gullinburste (gold-brush), or Slidrugtanne

(the sharp-toothed). Heimdal rode his horse Goldtop, and Freyja drove in

her chariot drawn by cats. There were also a great number of frost giants

and mountain giants present. Odin cast upon the funeral pile the famous

ring Draupner, which had been made for him by the dwarfs, and possessed

the property of producing every ninth night eight rings of equal weight.

Balder’s horse, fully caparisoned, was also laid upon the pile, and

consumed in the same flames with the body of his master.

[Illustration: Diana or Artemis the Huntress. _Versailles._]

Meanwhile Hermod was proceeding on his mission. Of him it is to be

related that he rode nine days and as many nights through dark and deep

valleys—so dark that he could not discern anything until he came to the

river Gjol and passed over the Gjallar bridge (bridge over the river

Gjol), which is covered with glittering gold. Modgud, the maiden who

kept the bridge, asked him his name and parentage, and added that the

day before five fylkes (kingdoms, bands) of dead men had ridden over the

bridge; “but,” she said, “it did not shake as much beneath all of them

together as it does under you alone, and you have not the complexion

of the dead; why, then, do you ride here on your way to Hel?” “I ride

to Hel,” answered Hermod, “to seek for Balder; have you perchance seen

him pass this way?” She replied that Balder had ridden over the Gjallar

bridge, and that the road to the abodes of death (to Hel) lay downward

and toward the north.

Hermod then continued his journey until he came to the barred gates of

Hel. Then he alighted from his horse, drew the girths tighter, remounted

him, and clapped both spurs into him. The horse cleared the gate with

a tremendous leap without touching it. Hermod then rode forward to the

palace, alighted and went in, where he found his brother Balder occupying

the most distinguished seat in the hall, and spent the night in his

company. The next morning he entreated Hel (death) to let Balder ride

home with him, representing to her the sorrow which prevailed among the

gods. Hel replied that it should now be tried whether Balder was so

universally beloved as he was said to be; if, therefore, she added, all

things in the world, the living as well as the lifeless, will weep for

him, then he shall return to the gods, but if anything speak against him

or refuse to weep, then Hel will keep him.

After this Hermod rose up; Balder went with him out of the hall and gave

him the ring Draupner, to present as a keepsake to Odin. Nanna sent Frigg

a carpet, together with several other gifts, and to Fulla she sent a gold

finger-ring. Hermod then rode back to Asgard and related everything that

he had heard and witnessed.

The gods upon this dispatched messengers throughout all the world to

beseech everything to weep, in order that Balder might be delivered

from the power of Hel. All things very willingly complied with the

request—man, animals, the earth, stones, trees, and all metals—just as we

see things weep when they come out of the frost into the warm air. When

the messengers were returning, with the conviction that their mission had

been quite successful, they found on their way home a giantess (ogress,

_gygr_), who called herself Thok. They bade her also weep Balder out of

the dominion of Hel. But she answered:

Thok will weep

With dry tears

For Balder’s death;

Neither in life nor in death

Gave he me gladness;

Let Hel keep what she has.

BATTLE BETWEEN RA AND ANAPEF OR APEP IN THE UNDERWORLD

(_Egyptian_)

Get thee back, depart, retreat from me, O Anapef; withdraw, or thou

shalt be drowned at the pool of Nu, at the place where thy father hath

ordered that thy slaughter be performed. Depart thou from the divine

place of birth of Ra, wherein is thy terror. I am Ra who dwelleth in his

terror. Get thee back, Fiend, before the darts of his beams. Ra hath

overthrown thy words, the gods have turned thy face backward, the Lynx

hath torn open thy breast, the Scorpion hath cast fetters upon thee, and

Maat hath sent forth thy destruction. Those who are in the ways have

overthrown thee; fall down and depart, O Apep, thou Enemy of Ra! O thou

that passest over the region in the eastern part of heaven with the

sound of the roaring thunder-cloud, O Ra, who openest the gates of the

horizon straightway on thy appearance, Apep hath sunk helpless under thy

gashings. I have performed thy will, O Ra, I have performed thy will,

I have done that which is fair, I have done that which is fair, I have

labored for the peace of Ra. I have made to advance thy fetters, O Ra,

and Apep hath fallen through thy drawing them tight. The gods of the

south and of the north, of the west and of the east, have fastened chains

upon him, and they have fettered him with fetters; the god Rekes hath

overthrown him and the god Hertit hath put him in chains. Ra setteth, Ra

setteth, Ra is strong at his setting. Apep hath fallen; Apep, the enemy

of Ra, departeth. Greater is the punishment which hath been inflicted

on thee than the sting which is the Scorpion goddess, and mightily hath

she, whose course is everlasting, worked in upon thee, and with deadly

effect. Thou shalt never enjoy the delights of love, thou shalt never

fulfil thy desire, O Apep, thou Enemy of Ra! He maketh thee to go back,

O thou who art hateful to Ra; he looketh upon thee, get thee back! He

pierceth thy head, he cutteth through thy face, he divideth thy head at

the two sides of the ways, and it is crushed in his land; thy bones are

smashed in pieces, thy members are hacked off thee, and the god Aker hath

condemned thee, O Apep, thou Enemy of Ra! Thy mariners are those who

keep the reckoning for thee, O Ra; as thou advancest and thou resteth

there within are the offerings made to thee. As thou advancest, as thou

advancest toward the House. Let not any baleful obstacle proceed from thy

mouth against me when thou workest on my behalf. I am Set, who let loose

the storm-clouds and the thunder in the horizon of heaven.

THE STORY OF PHŒBUS APOLLO

(_Greek_)

Soon after his birth the Sun God spent a year among the Hyperboreans,

where for six continuous months of the year there is sunshine and spring,

soft climate, profusion of herbs and flowers, and the very ecstasy of

life. During this delay the Delphians sang pæans—hymns of praise—to

Apollo, and danced in chorus about the tripod, or three-legged stool,

where the expectant priestess of Apollo had taken her seat. At last, when

the year was warm, came the god in his chariot drawn by swans—heralded

by songs of springtide, of nightingales and swallows and crickets. Then

the crystal fount of Castalia and the stream Cephissus overflowed their

bounds, and mankind made grateful offerings to the god. But his advent

was not altogether peaceful. An enormous serpent (Python) had crept forth

from the slime with which, after the flood, the earth was covered; and in

the caves of Mount Parnassus this terror of the people lurked. Him Apollo

encountered, and after fearful combat slew with arrows, weapons which the

god of the silver bow had not before used against any but feeble animals.

In commemoration of this conquest, he instituted the Pythian games, in

which the victor, in feats of strength, swiftness of foot, or in the

chariot race, should be crowned with a wreath of beach leaves.

In his conflict with another monster of darkness, Apollo had the

assistance of his sister Artemis (Diana). By their unerring, fiery darts

they subdued the giant Tityus, who not only had obstructed the peaceful

ways to the oracle of Delphi, but had ventured to insult the mother of

the twin deities.

Another event in the life of Apollo shows the fatal effect of his fiery

darts upon a young friend, Hyacinthus. The god of the silver bow was in

the habit of going with Hyacinthus when he went forth on his hunting

and fishing expeditions, or upon tramps in the mountains. One day

they decided to play a game of quoits together. Apollo, heaving aloft

the discus with strength mingled with skill, sent it high and far.

Hyacinthus, excited with the sport and eager to make his throw, ran

forward to seize the missile; but it bounded from the earth and struck

him in the forehead. He fainted and fell. The god, as pale as himself,

raised him and tried all his art to staunch the wound and retain the

flitting life, but in vain. As when one has broken the stem of a lily in

the garden it hangs its head and turns its flowers to the earth, so the

head of the dying boy, as if too heavy for his neck, fell over on his

shoulder. “Thou diest, Hyacinth,” said Phœbus, “robbed of thy life by

me. Would that I could die for thee! But since that may not be, my lyre

shall celebrate thee, my song shall tell thy fate, and thou shalt become

a flower inscribed with my regret.” While the golden god spoke, the blood

which had flowed on the ground and stained the herbage ceased to be

blood, and a flower of hue more beautiful than Tyrian purple sprang up,

resembling in shape the lily. Phœbus then, to confer still greater honor,

marked the petals with his sorrow, inscribing “Ai! ai!” upon them. The

flower bears the name of Hyacinthus, and with returning spring revives

the memory of his fate.

Apollo was also a perfect magician in music. He helped Neptune, the God

of the Sea, to build the walls of the ancient and far-famed city of Troy

simply by playing on his lyre.

It is said that upon one occasion Pan had the temerity to compare his

music with that of Apollo, and to challenge the God of the Lyre to a

trial of skill. The challenge was accepted, and Tmolus, the Mountain

God, was chosen umpire. The Senior took his seat, and cleared away the

trees from his ears to listen. At a given signal, Pan blew on his pipes,

and with his rustic melody gave great satisfaction to himself and his

faithful follower Midas, who happened to be present. Then Tmolus turned

his head toward the Sun God, and all his trees turned with him. Apollo

rose, his brow wreathed with Parnassian laurel, while his robe of Tyrian

purple swept the ground. In his left hand he held the lyre, and with his

right hand struck the strings. Tmolus at once awarded the victory to the

lyric god, and all but Midas acquiesced in the judgment. He dissented,

and questioned the justice of the award, and Apollo promptly transformed

his depraved pair of ears into those of an ass.

THE STORY OF ARTEMIS AND ORION

(_Greek_)

Orion, the son of Neptune, was a giant and a mighty hunter, whose prowess

and manly favor gained for him the rare good-will of Artemis. It is

related that he loved Merope, the daughter of Œnopion, king of Chios, and

sought her in marriage. He cleared the island of wild beasts, and brought

the spoils of the chase as presents to his beloved; but as Œnopion

constantly deferred his consent, Orion attempted to gain possession of

the maiden by violence. Her father, incensed at this conduct, made Orion

drunk, deprived him of his sight, and cast him out on the seashore.

The blinded hero, instructed by an oracle to seek the rays of morning,

followed the sound of a Cyclop’s hammer till he reached Lemnos, where

Vulcan, taking pity on him, gave him Cedalion, one of his men, to be his

guide to the abode of the sun. Placing Cedalion on his shoulders, Orion

proceeded to the east, and there meeting the Sun God, was restored to

sight by his beam.

[Illustration: Diana or Artemis. _Correggio._]

After this he used to go hunting with Artemis, much to the displeasure of

Apollo, who did not like his sister to make such a friend of Orion. One

day, therefore, observing Orion as he walked through the sea, with his

head just above water, Apollo pointed out the black object to his sister,

and maintained that she could not hit it. The archer goddess discharged

a shaft with fatal aim; the waves rolled the dead body of Orion to the

land. Then, bewailing with many tears the death of her friend, Artemis

placed him among the stars, where he appears as a giant, with a girdle,

sword, lion’s skin, and club. Sirius, his dog, follows him, and the

Pleiades fly before him. In the beginning of winter, all through the

night, Orion follows the chase across the heavens, but with dawn he sinks

toward the waters of his father, Neptune. In the beginning of summer he

may be seen, with daybreak, in the eastern sky, till Artemis draws again

her darts and slays him.

* * * * *

The myths of the stars are almost as numerous as those of the sun and

moon, and exist everywhere. A very prevalent idea in regard to them is

that human beings are transformed into stars; for example, in Australia

they say that the god Pundjel made stars of all the good men and women

after the Deluge. In Greek mythology, the gods very frequently turned men

and women into stars. Both in Australia and Greece the stars the Greeks

called, and we know now as, Castor and Pollux were two young men. In

the first case they are said to be two hunters, in the second they were

two brothers so famous for their brotherly love that Zeus, desiring to

make their memory immortal, placed them both among the stars. Sometimes

a human being or an animal is transformed into a whole constellation or

group of stars. The story told about the constellations of the Great

Bear and the Little Bear in Greece is that once a nymph, Callisto,

of the train of Artemis, who fell in love, was changed into a bear by

Juno. One day long after she saw a youth hunting, and recognized him as

her own son. She stopped and wanted to embrace him, but her son, not

recognizing her in her bear form, was on the point of transfixing her

when Zeus arrested the crime, and, snatching away both of them, placed

them in the heavens as the Great Bear and the Little Bear. The story of

Orion’s translation into a constellation has already been given. Around

the group of stars called the Pleiades cluster many legends. Of this

group of seven stars one is so dim that it seems entirely to disappear. A

South Australian legend tells that the Pleiades were a queen and her six

attendants. The Crow fell in love with the queen, who refused to be his

wife. The Crow, however, found that the queen and her six maidens were

in the habit of hunting for white, edible grubs in the bark of trees.

The Crow at once changed himself into a grub and hid in the bark of a

tree. The six maidens sought to pick him out with their wooden hooks,

but he broke the points of all the hooks. Then came the queen with her

pretty bone hook; he let himself be drawn out, took the shape of a giant,

and ran away with her. Ever since there have only been six stars and

six maidens in the Pleiades. According to a Greek myth, the Pleiades,

who still fly before Orion in the heavens, were daughters of Atlas and

nymphs of the train of Artemis. One day they were pursued by the giant

hunter Orion, and, being very much frightened, they prayed to the gods to

change their form. Zeus heard their prayers, changed them into pigeons,

and placed them among the stars. Though their number was seven, only six

stars are now visible, for it is said Electra left her place that she

might not behold the ruin of Troy, which had been founded by her son

Dardanus. The sight had such an effect on her sisters that they blanched,

and have been pale ever since. But Electra became a comet. Her hair

floating wildly, she still ranges inconsolably the expanse of heaven.

The prettiest notion in regard to the stars is that they are the souls of

the dead. In Germany, for example, they thought that when a child died,

God made a new star.

The North American Indians are particularly fond of star myths, and they

have invented some charming star stories. According to them, stars might

come down and talk to men, after the manner of one whose story is given

below. It came down and told a hunter where to find game.

Some of the animal constellations among the stars are evidently

metamorphosed totems, for there is a widespread belief that these star

animals or men were the ancestors of the people, and that ages ago they

had been lifted up to heaven. The Milky Way is described by the Indians

sometimes as the “path of spirits and the road of souls,” sometimes as

the “road of birds along which the souls of the good go flitting like

birds, to dwell at last in heaven in peace.”

STORY OF THE CHILD AND THE STAR

(_Iowa Indian_)

Many years ago a child, when very young, observed a star in the heavens

that attracted him more than any others. As the child grew to manhood his

attachment increased. His thoughts dwelt continually on this beauty of

the night. One day, while hunting, as he sat down, travel-worn and weary

with his ill-success, his beloved star appeared to him and comforted him

with encouraging words, and then conducted him to a place where he found

a great plenty and variety of game. From this time the young man showed a

wonderful improvement in the art of hunting, and soon became celebrated

in this pursuit.

OSSEO, THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR

(_North American Indian_)

There once lived an Indian in the north who had ten daughters, all of

whom grew up to womanhood. They were noted for their beauty, especially

Oweenee, the youngest, who was very independent in her way of thinking.

She was a great admirer of romantic places, and spent much of her time

with the flowers and winds and clouds in the open air. Though the flower

were homely, if it was fragrant—though the wind were rough, if it was

healthful—and though the cloud were dark, if it embosomed the fruitful

rain, she knew how, in spite of appearances, to acknowledge the good

qualities concealed from the eye. She paid very little attention to the

many handsome young men who came to her father’s lodge for the purpose of

seeing her.

Her elder sisters were all sought in marriage, and one after the other

they went off to dwell in the lodges of their husbands; but Oweenee

was deaf to all proposals of the kind. At last she married an old man

called Osseo, who was scarcely able to walk, and who was too poor to

have things like others. The only property he owned in the world was the

walking-staff which he carried in his hand. Though thus poor and homely,

Osseo was a devout and good man; faithful in all his duties, and obedient

in all things to the Good Spirit. Of course they jeered and laughed at

Oweenee on all sides, but she seemed to be quite happy, and said to them,

“It is my choice and you will see in the end who has acted the wisest.”

They made a special mock of the walking-staff, and scarcely an hour in

the day passed that they did not make some disparaging reference to it.

Among themselves they spoke of Osseo of the walking-staff, in derision,

as the owner of the big woods, or the great timber-man.

“True,” said Oweenee, “it is but a simple stick; but as it supports the

steps of my husband, it is more precious to me than all the forests of

the north.”

A time came when the sisters, and their husbands, and their parents

were all invited to a feast. As the distance was considerable, they

doubted whether Osseo, so aged and feeble, would be able to undertake the

journey; but in spite of their friendly doubts, he joined them, and set

out with a good heart.

As they walked along the path they could not help pitying their young and

handsome sister who had such an unsuitable mate. She, however, smiled

upon Osseo, and kept with him by the way the same as if he had been the

comeliest bridegroom in all the company. Osseo often stopped and gazed

upward; but they could perceive nothing in the direction in which he

looked, unless it was the faint glimmering of the evening star. They

heard him muttering to himself as they went along, and one of the elder

sisters caught the words, “Pity me, my father!”

“Poor old man,” said she; “he is talking to his father. What a pity it is

that he would not fall and break his neck, that our sister might have a

young husband.”

Presently, as they came to a great rock where Osseo had been used to

breathe his morning and his evening prayer, the star emitted a brighter

ray, which shone directly in his face. Osseo, with a sharp cry, fell

trembling to the earth, where the others would have left him; but his

good wife raised him up, and he sprang forward on the path, and with

steps light as the reindeer he led the party, no longer decrepit and

infirm, but a beautiful young man. On turning around to look for his

wife, behold! she had become changed, at the same moment, into an aged

and feeble woman, bent almost double, and walking with the staff which he

had cast aside.

Osseo immediately joined her, and with looks of fondness and the

tenderest regard, bestowed on her every endearing attention, and

constantly addressed her by the term of ne-ne-moosh-a, or my sweetheart.

As they walked along, whenever they were not gazing fondly in each

other’s face, they bent their looks on heaven, and a light, as if of

far-off stars, was in their eyes.

On arriving at the lodge of the hunter with whom they were to feast, they

found the banquet ready, and as soon as their entertainer had finished

his harangue—in which he told them his feasting was in honor of the

Evening or Woman’s Star—they began to partake of the portion dealt out,

according to age and character, to each one of the guests. The food was

very delicious, and they were all happy but Osseo, who looked at his

wife, and then gazed upward, as if he was looking into the substance of

the sky. Sounds were soon heard, as if from far-off voices in the air,

and they became plainer and plainer, till he could clearly distinguish

some of the words.

“My son, my son,” said the voice, “I have seen your afflictions, and

pity your wants. I come to call you away from a scene that is stained

with blood and tears. The earth is full of sorrows. Wicked spirits, the

enemies of mankind, walk abroad, and lie in wait to ensnare the children

of the sky. Every night they are lifting their voices to the Power of

Evil, and every day they make themselves busy in casting mischief in the

hunter’s path. You have long been their victim, but you shall be their

victim no more. The spell you were under is broken. Your evil genius is

overcome. I have cast him down by my superior strength, and it is this

strength I now exert for your happiness. Ascend, my son; ascend into the

skies, and partake of the feast I have prepared for you in the stars, and

bring with you those you love.

“The food set before you is enchanted and blessed. Fear not to partake

of it. It is endowed with magic power to give immortality to mortals,

and to change men to spirits. Your bowls and kettles shall no longer be

wood and earth. The one shall become silver and the other pure gold. They

shall shine like fire, and glisten like the most beautiful scarlet. Every

female shall also change her state and looks, and no longer be doomed to

laborious tasks. She shall put on the beauty of the starlight, and become

a shining bird of the air. She shall dance, and not work. She shall sing,

and not cry.

“My beams,” continued the voice, “shine faintly on your lodge, but they

have power to transform it into the lightness of the skies, and decorate

it with the colors of the clouds. Come, Osseo, my son, and dwell no

longer on earth. Think strongly on my words, and look steadfastly at my

beams. My power is now at its height. Doubt not, delay not. It is the

voice of the Spirit of the Stars that calls you away to happiness and

celestial rest.”

The words were intelligible to Osseo, but his companions thought them

some far-off sounds of music, or birds singing in the woods. Very soon

the lodge began to shake and tremble, and they felt it rising into the

air. It was too late to run out, for they were already as high as the

tops of the trees. Osseo looked around him as the lodge passed through

the topmost boughs, and behold! their wooden dishes were changed into

shells of a scarlet color, the poles of the lodge to glittering rods of

silver, and the bark that covered them into the gorgeous wings of insects.

A moment more and his brothers and sisters, and their parents and

friends, were transformed into birds of various plumage. Some were jays,

some partridges and pigeons, and others gay singing birds, who hopped

about, displaying their many-colored feathers, and singing songs of

cheerful note.

But his wife, Oweenee, still kept her earthly garb, and exhibited all

the indications of extreme old age. He again cast his eyes in the

direction of the clouds, and uttered the peculiar cry which had given him

the victory at the rock. In a moment the youth and beauty of his wife

returned; her dingy garments assumed the shining appearance of green

silk, and her staff was changed into a silver feather.

The lodge again shook and trembled, for they were now passing through

the uppermost clouds, and they immediately after found themselves in the

Evening Star, the residence of Osseo’s father.

“My son,” said the old man, “hang that cage of birds which you have

brought along in your hand at the door, and I will inform you why you and

your wife have been sent for.”

Osseo obeyed, and then took his seat in the lodge.

“Pity was shown to you,” resumed the King of the Star, “on account of

the contempt of your wife’s sisters, who laughed at her ill fortune, and

ridiculed you while you were under the power of that wicked spirit whom

you overcame at the rock. That spirit lives in the next lodge, being the

small star you see on the left of mine, and he has always felt envious

of my family because we had greater power, and especially because we had

committed to us the care of the female world. He failed in many attempts

to destroy your brothers and sisters-in-law, but succeeded at last in

transforming yourself and your wife into decrepit old persons. You must

be careful and not let the light of his beams fall on you while you are

here, for therein lies the power of his enchantment. A ray of light is

the bow and arrow he uses.”

Osseo lived happy and contented in the parental lodge, and in due time

his wife presented him with a son, who grew up rapidly, and in the very

likeness of Osseo himself. He was very quick and ready in learning

everything that was done in his grandfather’s dominions, but he wished

also to learn the art of hunting, for he had heard that this was a

favorite pursuit below. To gratify him, his father made him a bow and

arrows, and he then let the birds out of the cage that he might practise

in shooting. In this pastime he soon became expert, and the very first

day he brought down a bird; but when he went to pick it up, to his

amazement it was a beautiful young woman, with the arrow sticking in her

breast. It was one of his younger aunts.

The moment her blood fell upon the surface of that pure and spotless

planet, the charm was dissolved. The boy immediately found himself

sinking, although he was partly upheld by something like wings until he

passed through the lower clouds, and he then suddenly dropped upon a

high, breezy island in a large lake. He was pleased, on looking up, to

see all his aunts and uncles following him in the form of birds, and he

soon discovered the silver lodge, with his father and mother, descending,

with its waving tassels fluttering like so many insects’ gilded wings.

It rested on the loftiest cliffs of the island, and there they fixed

their residence. They all resumed their natural shapes, but they were

diminished to the size of fairies; and as a mark of homage to the King of

the Evening Star, they never failed on every pleasant evening during the

summer season to join hands and dance upon the top of the rocks. These

rocks were quickly observed by the Indians to be covered, in moonlight

evenings, with a larger sort of Ininees, or little men, and were called

Mish-in-e-mok-in-ok-ong, or Little Spirits, and the island is named from

them to this day.

Their shining lodge can be seen in the summer evenings, when the moon

beams strongly on the pinnacles of the rocks; and the fishermen who go

near those high cliffs at night have even heard the voices of the happy

little dancers. And Osseo and his wife, as fondly attached to each other

as ever, always lead the dance.

THE WANDERING STAR

(_A Chippewa Legend_)

A quarrel arose among the stars, when one of them was driven from its

home in the heavens, and descended to the earth. It wandered from one

path to another, and was seen hovering over the campfires when the people

were preparing to sleep. Among all the people in the world, only one

could be found who was not afraid of this star, and this was a daughter

of a Chippewa. She was not afraid of the star, but admired and loved it.

When she awoke in the night she always beheld it, for the star loved the

maiden. In midsummer the young girl, on going into the woods for berries,

lost her way, when a storm arose. Her cries for rescue were answered only

by the frogs. A lonely night came, when she looked for her star in vain;

the storm overcast the sky, and at length caught her in its fury and bore

her away. Many seasons passed, during which the star was seen, dimmed

and wandering, in the sky. At length, one autumn, it disappeared. Then a

hunter saw a small light hanging over the water within the marshland in

which he was hunting. He returned to announce the strange sight. “That,”

said the old wise man, “was the star driven from heaven, now wandering in

search of our lost maiden, our beautiful child of the Chippewas.”

THE DAUGHTERS OF THE STARS

(_North American Indian_)

Waupee, or the White Hawk, lived in a remote part of the forest, where

animals abounded. Every day he returned from the chase with a large

spoil, for he was one of the most skilful and lucky hunters of his tribe.

His form was like the cedar; the fire of youth beamed from his eye; there

was no forest too gloomy for him to penetrate, and no track made by bird

or beast of any kind which he could not readily follow.

One day he had gone beyond any point which he had ever before visited.

He travelled through an open wood, which enabled him to see a great

distance. At length he beheld a light breaking through the foliage of

the distant trees, which made him sure that he was on the borders of a

prairie. It was a wide plain, covered with long blue grass, and enamelled

with flowers of a thousand lovely tints.

After walking for some time without a path, musing upon the open country,

and enjoying the fragrant breeze, he suddenly came to a ring worn among

the grass and the flowers, as if it had been made by footsteps moving

lightly round and round. But it was strange—so strange as to cause the

White Hawk to pause and gaze long and fixedly upon the ground—there was

no path which led to this flowery circle. There was not even a crushed

leaf nor a broken twig, nor the least trace of a footstep, approaching or

retiring, to be found. He thought he would hide himself and lie in wait

to discover, if he could, what this strange circle meant.

Presently he heard the faint sounds of music in the air. He looked up in

the direction they came from, and as the magic notes died away he saw

a small object, like a little summer cloud that approaches the earth,

floating down from above. At first it was very small, and seemed as if it

could have been blown away by the first breeze that came along; but it

rapidly grew as he gazed upon it, and the music every moment came clearer

and more sweetly to his ear. As it neared the earth it appeared as a

basket, and it was filled with twelve sisters, of the most lovely forms

and enchanting beauty.

As soon as the basket touched the ground they leaped out, and began

straightway to dance, in the most joyous manner, around the magic

ring, striking, as they did so, a shining ball, which uttered the most

ravishing melodies, and kept time as they danced.

The White Hawk, from his concealment, entranced, gazed upon their

graceful forms and movements. He admired them all, but he was most

pleased with the youngest. He longed to be at her side, to embrace her,

to call her his own; and unable to remain longer a silent admirer, he

rushed out and endeavored to seize this twelfth beauty who so enchanted

him. But the sisters, with the quickness of birds, the moment they

descried the form of a man, leaped back into the basket, and were drawn

up into the sky.

Lamenting his ill-luck, Waupee gazed longingly upon the fairy basket as

it ascended and bore the lovely sisters from his view. “They are gone,”

he said, “and I shall see them no more.”

He returned to his solitary lodge, but he found no relief to his mind. He

walked abroad, but to look at the sky, which had withdrawn from his sight

the only being he had ever loved, was painful to him now.

The next day, selecting the same hour, the White Hawk went back to the

prairie, and took his station near the ring; in order to deceive the

sisters, he assumed the form of an opossum, and sat among the grass as

if he were there engaged in chewing the cud. He had not waited long when

he saw the cloudy basket descend, and heard the same sweet music falling

as before. He crept slowly toward the ring; but the instant the sisters

caught sight of him they were startled, and sprang into their car. It

rose a short distance when one of the elder sisters spoke.

“Perhaps,” she said, “it has come to show us how the game is played by

mortals.”

“Oh, no!” the youngest replied. “Quick, let us ascend.”

And all joining in a chant, they rose out of sight.

Waupee, casting off his disguise, walked sorrowfully back to his

lodge—but, ah! the night seemed very long to lonely White Hawk. His whole

soul was filled with the thought of the beautiful sister.

Betimes, the next day, he returned to the haunted spot, hoping and

fearing, and sighing as though his very soul would leave his body in its

anguish. He reflected upon the plan he should follow to secure success.

He had already failed twice; to fail a third time would be fatal. Near by

he found an old stump, much covered with moss, and just then in use as

the residence of a number of mice, who had stopped there on a pilgrimage

to some relatives on the other side of the prairie. The White Hawk was so

pleased with their tidy little forms that he thought he, too, would be

a mouse, especially as they were by no means formidable to look at, and

would not be at all likely to create alarm.

He accordingly, having first brought the stump and set it near the ring,

without further notice became a mouse, and peeped and sported about, and

kept his sharp little eyes busy with the others; but he did not forget

to keep one eye up toward the sky, and one ear wide open in the same

direction.

It was not long before the sisters, at their customary hour, came down

and resumed their sport.

“But see,” cried the younger sister, “that stump was not there before.”

She ran off, frightened, toward the basket. Her sisters only smiled, and

gathering round the old tree stump, they struck it, in jest, when out

ran the mice, and among them Waupee. They killed them all but one, which

was pursued by the younger sister. Just as she had raised a silver stick

which she held in her hand to put an end to it, too, the form of the

White Hawk arose, and he clasped his prize in his arms. The other eleven

sprang to their basket, and were drawn up to the skies.

Waupee exerted all his skill to please his bride and win her affections.

He wiped the tears from her eyes; he related his adventures in the

chase; he dwelt upon the charms of life on the earth. He was constant

in his attentions, keeping fondly by her side, and picking out the way

for her to walk as he led her gently toward his lodge. He felt his heart

glow with joy as he entered it, and from that moment he was one of the

happiest of men.

Winter and summer passed rapidly away, and as the spring drew near

with its balmy gales and its many-colored flowers, their happiness was

increased by the presence of a beautiful boy in their lodge. What more of

earthly blessing was there for them to enjoy?

Waupee’s wife was a daughter of one of the stars, and as the scenes of

earth began to pall upon her sight, she sighed to revisit her father. But

she was obliged to hide these feelings from her husband. She remembered

the charm that would carry her up, and while White Hawk was engaged in

the chase, she took occasion to construct a wicker basket, which she

kept concealed. In the meantime she collected such rarities from the

earth as she thought would please her father, as well as the most dainty

kinds of food.

One day when Waupee was absent, and all was in readiness, she went out

to the charmed ring, taking with her her little son. As they entered the

car she commenced her magical song, and the basket rose. The song was

sad, and of a lowly and mournful cadence, and as it was wafted far away

by the wind, it caught her husband’s ear. It was a voice which he well

knew, and he instantly ran to the prairie. Though he made breathless

speed, he could not reach the ring before his wife and child had ascended

beyond his reach. He lifted up his voice in loud appeals, but they were

unavailing. The basket still went up. He watched it till it became a

small speck, and finally it vanished in the sky. He then bent his head

down to the ground, and was miserable.

Through a long winter and a long summer Waupee bewailed his loss, but he

found no relief. The beautiful spirit had come and gone, and he should

see it no more!

He mourned his wife’s loss sorely, but his son’s still more; for the boy

had both the mother’s beauty and the father’s strength.

In the meantime his wife had reached her home in the stars, and in the

blissful employments of her father’s house she had almost forgotten that

she had left a husband upon the earth. But her son, as he grew up,

resembled more and more his father, and every day he was restless and

anxious to visit the scene of his birth. His grandfather said to his

daughter, one day:

“Go, my child, and take your son down to his father, and ask him to come

up and live with us. But tell him to bring along a specimen of each kind

of bird and animal he kills in the chase.”

She accordingly took the boy and descended. The White Hawk, who was ever

near the enchanted spot, heard her voice as she came down the sky. His

heart beat with impatience as he saw her form and that of his son, and

they were soon clasped in his arms.

He heard the message of the Star, and he began to hunt with the greatest

activity, that he might collect the presents with all dispatch. He

spent whole nights, as well as days, in searching for every curious and

beautiful animal and bird. He only preserved a foot, a wing, or a tail of

each.

When all was ready, Waupee visited once more each favorite spot—the

hill-top whence he had been used to see the rising sun; the stream where

he had sported as a boy; the old lodge, now looking sad and solemn, which

he was to sit in no more; and, last of all, coming to the magic circle,

he gazed widely around him with tearful eyes, and, taking his wife and

child by the hand, they entered the car and were drawn up—into a country

far beyond the flight of birds, or the power of mortal eye to pierce.

Great joy was manifested upon their arrival at the starry plains.

The Star Chief invited all his people to a feast; and when they had

assembled, he proclaimed aloud that each one might continue as he was, an

inhabitant of his own dominions, or select of the earthly gifts such as

he liked best. A very strange confusion immediately arose; not one but

sprang forward. Some chose a foot, some a wing, some a tail, and some a

claw. Those who selected tails or claws were changed into animals, and

ran off; the others assumed the form of birds, and flew away. Waupee

chose a white hawk’s feather. His wife and son followed his example, and

each one became a white hawk. He spread his wings, and, followed by his

wife and son, descended with the other birds to the earth, where he is

still to be found, with the brightness of the starry plains in his eye

and the freedom of the heavenly breezes in his wings.