CHAPTER VI

MYTHS OF THE SKY AND AIR

The sky and the air are identified with the highest conceptions of

divinity reached in the myths either of savage or more cultured races.

The Great Spirit of the North American Indians was the god of the sky.

Varuna, the all-seeing, merciful god of the Hindoos, was the god of the

vault of heaven. Zeus, the supreme god of the Greeks, was the sky god;

also Odin, the great god in Norse mythology (although above him was

a mysterious, unnameable god), Ormuzd in Persian mythology, Rangi in

Polynesian, in Japan the Invisible Lord of the Middle Heaven. Closely

related in power to the gods of the sky are the gods of wind or storm.

Sometimes the god of the sky is himself the wielder of the thunder, as

in the case of Zeus, and sometimes there is a special god of storm or

thunder, as the Indra of the Hindoos or the Thor of the Norsemen. In

Indian myths, Manabozho often wielded the thunder and lightning, and he

has contests with another god of the air, Paup-puk-keewiss, the wind, a

personage full of mischief, as wind gods are apt to be, like the Greek

Hermes. The personification of wind and thunder as birds is very common,

and many a quaint tale results from this mythical idea. The Sioux

Indians believed in a god, Wah-keen-yan, in the form of a large bird,

whose flapping wings made the thunder. He lived in the far, far west, on

a mound rising from a mountain top. To his tent there are four openings,

in which there are sentinels clothed in red down. At the east is a

butterfly, at the west a bear; a fawn is at the south, and a reindeer is

at the north. He fashioned the first spear and tomahawk, and attempted

to kill the offspring of Oan-tay-hee, his bitter enemy. If Oan-tay-hee

came near the surface of the earth, then Wah-keen-yan would fire a hot

thunderbolt at him. Another of his enemies was Chaho-ter’dah, the god of

the forest. It was said that the god of thunder often came racing along,

hurling lightning at a tree, to kill the forest god, who, having been

warned, had taken refuge in the water. Then Chaho-ter’dah would ascend

a tree and hurl his lightning at his adversary to bring him down to

submission.

[Illustration: Aurora. _Guido Reni._]

Another thunder bird is Sootooch, believed in by the natives of

Vancouver’s Island. He is a mighty bird, dwelling aloft and far away,

the flap of whose wings makes the thunder, and his tongue is the forked

lightning. There were once four of these birds in the land, and they fed

on whales. But the great deity Quawteaht, entering into a whale, enticed

one thunder bird after another to swoop down and seize him with its

talons. Then he would plunge to the bottom of the sea and drown it. Thus

three of them perished, but the last one spread his wings and flew to

the distant height, where he has since remained.

The Dakotahs say that thunder is a large bird flying through the air. Its

bright tracks are seen in the air before you hear the clapping of its

wings. The old bird begins the thunder, but its rumbling noise is caused

by an immense quantity of young birds or thunders that do the mischief.

They are like the young, mischievous men that will not listen to good

counsel. The old Thunder is wise and good, and does not kill anybody nor

do any kind of mischief.

The chief god of the Brazilians is a large bird who sweeps over the

heavens, watching his children and watering their crops. He warns them of

his presence by the mighty sound of his voice, the rushing of his wings,

and the flash of his eye. This interesting bird is worshipped in a way

befitting his nature. A dry gourd is filled with pebbles and decked with

feathers and arrows, which is rattled vigorously to symbolize the drama

of the storm. This curious implement has another element of interest in

the fact that it is one of the earliest forms of musical instrument.

An equally remarkable variety of bird is the wind bird, who wings his

way through all mythologies in one form or another. Although the wind

in Greece had risen to man’s estate, it was still represented as having

wings. Even the wind god Hermes, far removed as he is from the savage

idea of the wind, could not get along without wings for his feet and

head. Zeus, also, has a raven for his messenger, and Odin has the ravens

Hugin and Munin, who fly every day over the whole world and report to him

on their return what they have seen. Besides, there is a Norse god of

the winds—a giant who sits in the northern extremity of heaven, clad in

eagle’s plumes. When he spreads out his wings for flight the winds arise

from under them.

The thunder, however, like the wind, even among savages, is sometimes

personified as men, as in the following Algonquin stories:

HOW A HUNTER VISITED THE THUNDER SPIRITS WHO DWELL IN MOUNT KATAHDIN

(_Passamaquoddy_)

_N’karnayoo._ Of old times. Once an Indian went forth to hunt. And he

departed from the east branch of the Penobscot, and came to the head of

another branch that leads into the east branch, and this he followed

even to the foot of Mount Katahdin. And there he hunted many a day

alone, and met none, till one morning in midwinter he found the track of

snowshoes. So he returned to his camp; but the next day he met with it

again in a far-distant place. And thus it was that, wherever he went,

this track came to him every day. Then noting this, as a sign to be

observed, he followed it, and it went up the mountain Katahdin, which,

being interpreted, means “the great mountain,” until at last it was lost

in a hard snowshoe road made by many travellers. And since it was hard

and even, he took off his _agahmook_ (P.), or snowshoes, and went ever

on and up with the road; and it was a strange path and strange was its

ending, for it stopped just before a high ledge, like an immense wall,

on a platform at its foot. And there were many signs there, as of many

people, yet he saw no one. And as he stayed it seemed to grow stranger

and stranger. At last he heard a sound as of footsteps coming, yet within

the wall, when lo! a girl stepped directly out of the precipice upon the

platform. But though she was beautiful beyond belief, he was afraid.

And to his every thought she answered in words, and that so sweetly

and kindly and cleverly that he was soon without fear, though he saw

that she had powerful _m’téoulin_, or great magic power. And they being

soon pleased one with the other, and wanting each other, she bade him

accompany her, and that by walking directly through the rock. “Have no

fear,” said she, “but advance boldly!” So he obeyed, and lo! the rock

was as the air, and it gave way as he went on. And ever as they went the

maiden talked to him, answering his thoughts, so that he spoke not aloud.

And anon they came to a great cavern far within, and there was an old man

seated by a fire, and the old man welcomed him. And he was very kindly

treated by the strange pair all day: in all his life he had never been

so happy. Now as the night drew near, the old man said to his daughter,

“Can you hear aught of your brothers?” Then she went out to the terrace,

and, returning, said, “No.” Then anon he asked her again, and she, going

and returning as before, replied, “Now I hear them coming.” Then they

listened, when lo! there came, as at the door without, a crash of thunder

with a flash of lightning, and out of the light stepped two young men of

great beauty, but like giants, stupendous and of awful mien. And, like

their father, their eyebrows were of stone, while their cheeks were as

rocks.

And the hunter was told by their sister that when they went forth, which

was every few days, their father said to them: “Sons, arise! it is time

now for you to go forth over the world and save our friends. Go not too

near the trees, but if you see aught that is harmful to those whom we

love, strike, and spare not!” Then when they went forth they flew on

high, among the clouds: and thus it is that the Thunder and Lightning,

whose home is in the mighty Katahdin, are made. And when the thunder

strikes, the brothers are shooting at the enemies of their friends.

Now when the day was done the hunter returned to his home, and when there

found he had been gone seven years. All this I have heard from the old

people who are dead and gone.

THE THUNDER AND LIGHTNING MEN

(_Passamaquoddy_)

This is truly an old Indian story of old time. Once an Indian was whirled

up by the roaring wind: he was taken up in a thunder-storm, and set down

again in the village of the Thunders. In after times he described them as

very like human beings: they used bows and arrows (_tah-bokque_), and had

wings.

But these wings can be laid aside, and kept for use. And from time to

time their chief gives these Thunders orders to put them on, and tells

them where to go. He also tells them how long they are to be gone, and

warns them not to go too low, for it is sure death for them to be caught

in the crotch of a tree.

The great chief of the Thunders, hearing of the stranger’s arrival,

sent for him, and received him very kindly, and told him that he would

do well to become one of them. To which the man being willing, the

chief soon after called all his people together to see the ceremony of

_thunderifying_ the Indian.

Then they bade him go into a square thing, or box, and while in it he

lost his senses and became a Thunder. Then they brought him a pair

of wings, and he put them on. So he flew about like the rest of the

Thunders; he became quite like them, and followed all their ways. And he

said that they always flew toward the _sou’ n’ snook_, or south, and that

the roar and crash of the thunder was the sound of their wings. Their

great amusement is to play at ball across the sky. When they return they

carefully put away their wings for their next flight. There is a big bird

in the south, and this they are always trying to kill, but never succeed

in doing so.

They made long journeys, and always took him with them. So it went on

for a long time, but it came to pass that the Indian began to tire of

his strange friends. Then he told the chief that he wished to see his

family on earth, and the sagamore listened to him and was very kind. Then

he called all his people together, and said that their brother from the

other world was very lonesome, and wished to return. They were all very

sorry indeed to lose him, but because they loved him they let him have

his own way, and decided to carry him back again. So bidding him close

his eyes till he should be on earth, they carried him down.

The Indians saw a great thunder-storm drawing near; they heard such

thunder as they never knew before, and then something in the shape of a

human being coming down with lightning; then they ran to the spot where

he sat, and it was their long-lost brother, who had been gone seven years.

He had been in the Thunder-world. He told them how he had been playing

ball with the Thunder-boys; yes, how he had been turned into a real

Thunder himself.

HOW GLOOSKAP BOUND WUCHOWSEN, THE GREAT WIND-BIRD, AND MADE ALL THE

WATERS IN ALL THE WORLD STAGNANT

(_Passamaquoddy_)

The Indians believe in a great bird called by them _Wochowsen_ or

_Wuchowsen_, meaning Wind-Blow or the Wind-Blower, who lives far to the

North, and sits upon a great rock at the end of the sky. And it is

because whenever he moves his wings the wind blows they of old times

called him that.

When Glooskap was among men he often went out in his canoe with bow and

arrows to kill sea-fowl. At one time it was every day very windy; it grew

worse; at last it blew a tempest, and he could not go out at all. Then he

said: “Wuchowsen, the Great Bird, has done this!”

He went to find him; it was long ere he reached his abode. He found

sitting on a high rock a large white Bird.

“Grandfather,” said Glooskap, “you take no compassion on your _Koosesek_,

your grandchildren. You have caused this wind and storm; it is too much.

Be easier with your wings!”

The Giant Bird replied: “I have been here since ancient times; in the

earliest days, ere aught else spoke, I first moved my wings; mine was the

first voice—and I will ever move my wings as I will.”

Then Glooskap rose in his might; he rose to the clouds; he took the Great

Bird-giant Wuchowsen as though he were a duck, and tied both his wings,

and threw him down into a chasm between deep rocks, and left him lying

there.

The Indians could now go out in their canoes all day long, for there

was a dead calm for many weeks and months. And with that all the waters

became stagnant. They were so thick that Glooskap could not paddle his

canoe. Then he thought of the Great Bird, and went to see him.

As he had left him he found him, for Wuchowsen is immortal. So, raising

him, he put him on his rock again, and untied one of his wings. Since

then the winds have never been so terrible as in the old time.

THE WONDERFUL EXPLOITS OF PAUP-PUK-KEEWISS

A man of large stature found himself standing alone on a prairie. He

thought to himself: “How came I here? Are there no beings on this earth

but myself? I must travel and see. I must walk till I find the abodes of

men.”

So soon as his mind was made up he set out, he knew not whither, in

search of habitations. He was a resolute fellow, and no difficulties

could turn him from his purpose: neither prairies, rivers, woods, nor

storms had the effect to daunt his courage or turn him back. After

travelling a long time he came to a wood, in which he saw decayed stumps

of trees, as if they had been cut in ancient times, but no other trace

of men. Pursuing his journey, he found more recent marks of the same

kind; after this he came upon fresh traces of human beings; first their

footsteps, and then the wood they had felled, lying in heaps. Pushing on,

he emerged toward dusk from the forest, and beheld at a distance a large

village of high lodges standing on rising ground.

“I am tired of this dog-trot,” he said to himself. “I will arrive there

on a run.”

He started off with all his speed. On coming to the first lodge, without

any especial exertion, he jumped over it, and found himself standing by

the door on the other side. Those within saw something pass over the

opening in the roof, and then they heard a thump upon the ground. “What

is that?” they all said, and one ran out to see and invited him in. He

found himself in company with an old chief and several men who were

seated in the lodge. Meat was set before him, after which the old chief

asked him whither he was going, and what was his name. He answered that

he was in search of adventures, and that his name was “Paup-puk-keewiss.”

They all opened their eyes upon the stranger with a broad stare.

“Paup-puk-keewiss!” whispered one to another, and a general titter went

round.

They invited him to stay with them, which he was inclined to do, for

it was a pleasant village, but so small as constantly to embarrass

Paup-puk-keewiss. He was in perpetual trouble; whenever he shook hands

with a stranger to whom he might be introduced, such was the abundance of

his strength, without meaning it, he wrung his arm off at the shoulder.

Once or twice, in mere sport, he cuffed the boys about the lodge by the

side of the head, and they flew out of sight as though they had been shot

from a bow; nor could they ever be found again, though they were searched

for in all the country round, far and wide. If Paup-puk-keewiss proposed

to himself a short stroll in the morning, he was at once miles out of

town. When he entered a lodge, if he happened for a moment to forget

himself, he walked straight through the leathern, or wooden, or earthen

walls as if he had been merely passing through a bush. At his meals he

broke in pieces all the dishes, set them down as lightly as he would;

and, putting a leg out of bed when he rose, it was a common thing for him

to push off the top of the lodge.

He wanted more elbow-room, and after a short stay, in which, by the

accidental letting go of his strength, he had nearly laid waste the

whole place, and filled it with demolished lodges and broken pottery

and one-armed men, he made up his mind to go farther, taking with him

a young man who had formed a strong attachment for him, and who might

serve him as his pipe-bearer; for Paup-puk-keewiss was a huge smoker,

and vast clouds followed him wherever he went, so that people could say,

“Paup-puk-keewiss is coming!” by the mighty smoke he raised.

They set out together, and when his companion was fatigued with walking,

Paup-puk-keewiss would put him forward on his journey a mile or two by

giving him a cast in the air and lighting him in a soft place among

the trees, or in a cool spot in a water-pond, among the sedges and

water-lilies. At other times he would lighten the way by showing off

a few tricks, such as leaping over trees, and turning round on one

leg till he made the dust fly; at which the pipe-bearer was mightily

pleased, although it sometimes happened that the character of these

gambols frightened him. For Paup-puk-keewiss would, without the least

hint of such an intention, jump into the air far ahead, and it would

cost the little pipe-bearer half a day’s hard travel to come up with

him; and then the dust Paup-puk-keewiss raised was often so thick and

heavy as completely to bury the poor little pipe-bearer, and compel

Paup-puk-keewiss to dig diligently and with might and main to get him out

alive.

One day they came to a very large village, where they were well received.

After staying in it some time (in the course of which Paup-puk-keewiss,

in a fit of abstraction, walked straight through the sides of three

lodges without stopping to look for the door), they were informed of a

number of wicked spirits, who lived at a distance, and who made it a

practice to kill all who came to their lodge. Attempts had been made to

destroy them, but they had always proved more than a match for such as

had come out against them.

Paup-puk-keewiss determined to pay them a visit, although he was strongly

advised not to do so. The chief of the village warned him of the great

danger he would incur, but finding Paup-puk-keewiss resolved, he said:

“Well, if you will go, being my guest I will send twenty warriors to

serve you.”

Paup-puk-keewiss thanked him for the offer, although he suggested that he

thought he could get along without them, at which the little pipe-bearer

grinned, for his master had never shown in that village what he could

do, and the chief thought that he, Paup-puk-keewiss, would be likely to

need twenty warriors, at the least, to encounter the wicked spirits with

any chance of success. Twenty young men made their appearance. They set

forward, and after about a day’s journey they descried the lodge of the

Manitoes.

Paup-puk-keewiss placed his friend, Pipe-bearer, and the warriors near

enough to see all that passed, while he went alone to the lodge.

As he entered, Paup-puk-keewiss saw five horrid-looking Manitoes in

the act of eating. It was the father and his four sons. They were

really hideous to look upon. Their eyes were swimming low in their

heads, and they glared about as if they were half starved. They offered

Paup-puk-keewiss something to eat, which he politely refused, for he had

a strong suspicion that it was the thigh-bone of a man.

“What have you come for?” said the old one.

“Nothing,” answered Paup-puk-keewiss.

They all stared at him.

“Do you not wish to wrestle?” they all asked.

“Yes,” replied Paup-puk-keewiss, “I don’t mind if I do take a turn.”

Pipe-bearer, who stood near enough to overhear the conversation, grinned

from ear to ear when he caught this remark. A hideous smile came over the

faces of the Manitoes.

“You go,” they said to the eldest brother.

The two got ready—the Manito and Paup-puk-keewiss—and they were soon

clinched in each other’s arms for a deadly throw. Paup-puk-keewiss knew

their object—his death; they wanted a taste of his body, and he was

determined they should have it, perhaps in a different sense from that

they intended.

“Haw! haw!” they cried, and soon the dust and dry leaves flew about as

if driven by a strong wind. The Manito was strong, but Paup-puk-keewiss

thought he could master him; and all at once, giving him a sly trip as

the wicked spirit was trying to finish his breakfast with a piece out

of his shoulder, he sent the Manito headforemost against a stone, and,

calling aloud to the three others, he bade them come and take the body

away.

The brothers now stepped forth in quick succession, but Paup-puk-keewiss,

having got his blood up and limbered himself by exercise, soon dispatched

the three—sending one this way, another that, and the third straight up

into the air so high that he never came down again.

It was time for the old Manito to be frightened, and dreadfully

frightened he got, and ran for his life, which was the very worst thing

he could have done; for Paup-puk-keewiss, of all his gifts of strength,

was most noted for his speed of foot. The old Manito set off, and for

mere sport’s sake Paup-puk-keewiss pursued him. Sometimes he was before

the wicked old spirit, sometimes he was flying over his head, and then

he would keep along at a steady trot just at his heels, till he had blown

all the breath out of the old knave’s body.

Meantime his friend, Pipe-bearer, and the twenty young warriors cried out:

“Ha, ha, ah! ha, ha, ah! Paup-puk-keewiss is driving him before him!”

The Manito only turned his head now and then to look back. At length,

when he was tired of the sport, to be rid of him, Paup-puk-keewiss, with

a gentle application of his foot, sent the wicked old Manito whirling

away through the air, in which he made a great number of the most curious

turnovers in the world, till he came to alight, when it so happened that

he fell astride of an old bull buffalo, grazing in a distant pasture, who

straightway set off with him at a long gallop, and the old Manito has not

been heard of to this day.

The warriors and Pipe-bearer and Paup-puk-keewiss set to work and burned

down the lodge of the wicked spirits, and then when they came to look

about, they saw that the ground was strewn on all sides with human bones

bleaching in the sun; these were the unhappy victims of the Manitoes.

Paup-puk-keewiss then took three arrows from his girdle, and, after

having performed a ceremony to the Great Spirit, he shot one into the

air, crying: “You are lying down; rise up or you will be hit!”

The bones all moved to one place. He shot the second arrow, repeating the

same words, when each bone drew toward its fellow-bone; the third arrow

brought forth to life the whole multitude of people who had been killed

by the Manitoes. Paup-puk-keewiss conducted the crowd to the chief of the

village, who had proved his friend, and gave them into his hands. The

chief was there with his counsellors, to whom he spoke apart.

“Who is more worthy,” said the chief to Paup-puk-keewiss, “to rule than

you? _You_ alone can defend them.”

Paup-puk-keewiss thanked him, and told him that he was in search of more

adventures. “I have done some things,” said Paup-puk-keewiss, rather

boastfully, “and I think I can do some more.”

The chief still urged him, but he was eager to go, and, naming

Pipe-bearer to tarry and take his place, he set out again on his travels,

promising that he would some time or other come back and see them.

“Ho! ho! ho!” they all cried. “Come back again and see us!” He renewed

his promise that he would, and then set out alone.

After travelling some time he came to a great lake, and on looking about

he discovered a very large otter on an island. He thought to himself:

“His skin will make me a fine pouch.” And he immediately drew up at long

shots and drove an arrow into his side. He waded into the lake, and with

some difficulty dragged him ashore, and up a hill overlooking the lake.

As soon as Paup-puk-keewiss got the otter into the sunshine where it was

warm, he skinned him, and threw the carcass some distance off, thinking

the war-eagle would come, and that he should have a chance to secure his

feathers as ornaments for the head; for Paup-puk-keewiss began to be

proud, and was disposed to display himself.

He soon heard a rushing noise as of a loud wind, but could see nothing.

Presently a large eagle dropped, as if from the air, upon the otter’s

carcass. Paup-puk-keewiss drew his bow, and the arrow passed through

under both of his wings. The bird made a convulsive flight upward, with

such force that the cumbrous body was borne up several feet from the

ground; but, with its claws deeply fixed, the heavy otter brought the

eagle back to the earth. Paup-puk-keewiss possessed himself of a handful

of the prime feathers, crowned his head with the trophy, and set off in

high spirits on the lookout for something new.

After walking awhile, he came to a body of water which flooded the trees

on its banks—it was a lake made by beavers. Taking his station on the

raised dam where the stream escaped, he watched to see whether any of the

beavers would show themselves. A head presently peeped out of the water

to see who it was that disturbed them.

“My friend,” said Paup-puk-keewiss, in his most persuasive manner, “could

you not oblige me by turning me into a beaver like yourself. Nothing

would please me so much as to make your acquaintance, I can assure you,”

for Paup-puk-keewiss was curious to know how these watery creatures

lived, and what kind of notions they had.

“I do not know,” replied the beaver, who was rather short-nosed and

surly. “I will go and ask the others. Meanwhile stay where you are, if

you please.”

“To be sure,” answered Paup-puk-keewiss, stealing down the bank several

paces as soon as the beaver’s back was turned.

Presently there was a great splashing of the water, and all the beavers

showed their heads and looked warily to where he stood, to see if he was

armed; but he had knowingly left his bow and arrows in a hollow tree at a

short distance.

After a long conversation, which they conducted in a whisper so that

Paup-puk-keewiss could not catch a word, strain his ears as he would,

they all advanced in a body toward the spot where he stood, the chief

approaching the nearest, and lifting his head highest out of the water.

“Can you not,” said Paup-puk-keewiss, noticing that they waited for him

to speak first, “turn me into a beaver? I wish to live among you.”

“Yes,” answered their chief; “lie down.” And Paup-puk-keewiss in a moment

found himself a beaver, and was gliding into the water, when a thought

seemed to strike him, and he paused at the edge of the lake. “I am very

small,” he said to the beaver, in a sorrowful tone. “You must make me

large,” he said; for Paup-puk-keewiss was terribly ambitious, and wanted

always to be the first person in every company. “Larger than any of you;

in my present size it’s hardly worth my while to go into the water.”

“Yes, yes!” said they. “By and by, when we get into the lodge, it shall

be done.”

They all dived into the lake, and in passing great heaps of limbs and

logs at the bottom, he asked the use of them. They answered, “It is for

our winter’s provisions.”

When they all got into the lodge their number was about one hundred. The

lodge was large and warm.

“Now we will make you large,” said they. “Will _that_ do?”

“Yes,” he answered; for he found that he was ten times the size of the

largest.

“You need not go out,” said the others; “we will bring you food into the

lodge, and you will be our chief.”

“Very well,” Paup-puk-keewiss answered. He thought, “I will stay here and

grow fat at their expense.” But, soon after, one ran into the lodge, out

of breath, crying out, “We are visited by the Indians!”

All huddled together in great fear. The water began to lower, for the

hunters had broken down the dam, and they soon heard them on the roof of

the lodge, breaking it up. Out jumped all the beavers into the water, and

so escaped.

Paup-puk-keewiss tried to follow them, but, unfortunately, to gratify his

ambition they had made him so large that he could not creep out at the

hole. He tried to call them back, but either they did not hear or would

not attend to him; he worried himself so much in searching for a door to

let him out that he looked like a great bladder, swollen and blistering

in the sun, and the sweat stood out upon his forehead in knobs and huge

bubbles.

Although he heard and understood every word that the hunters spoke—and

some of their expressions suggested terrible ideas—he could not turn

himself back into a man. He had chosen to be a beaver, and a beaver

he must be. One of the hunters, a prying little man, with a single

lock dangling over one eye, put his head in at the top of the lodge.

“_Ty-au!_” cried he. “_Tut ty-au!_ Me-shau-mik—king of beavers—is in.”

Whereupon the whole crowd of hunters began upon him with their clubs,

and knocked his skull about until it was no harder than a morass in

the middle of summer. Paup-puk-keewiss thought as well as ever he did,

although he was a beaver; and he felt that he was in a rather foolish

scrape, inhabiting the carcass of a beaver.

Presently seven or eight of the hunters hoisted his body upon long poles,

and marched away home with him. As they went, he reflected in this

manner: “What will become of me? My ghost or shadow will not die after

they get me to their lodges.”

Invitations were immediately sent out for a grand feast; but as soon as

his body got cold, his soul, being uncomfortable in a house without

heat, flew off.

Having reassumed his mortal shape, Paup-puk-keewiss found himself

standing near a prairie. After walking a distance, he saw a herd of

elk feeding. He admired their apparent ease and enjoyment of life, and

thought there could be nothing more pleasant than the liberty of running

about and feeding on the prairies. He had been a water animal, and now

he wished to become a land animal, to learn what passed in an elk’s head

as he roved about. He asked them if they could not turn him into one of

themselves.

“Yes,” they answered, after a pause. “Get down on your hands and feet.”

He obeyed their directions, and forthwith found himself to be an elk.

“I want big horns, big feet,” said he; “I wish to be very large,” for all

the conceit and vainglory had not been knocked out of Paup-puk-keewiss,

even by the sturdy thwacks of the hunters’ clubs.

“Yes, yes,” they answered. “There,” exerting their power, “are you big

enough?”

“That will do,” he replied, for, looking into a lake hard by,

Paup-puk-keewiss saw that he was very large. They spent their time in

grazing and running to and fro; but what astonished Paup-puk-keewiss,

although he often lifted up his head and directed his eyes that way, he

could never see the stars, which he had so admired as a human being.

Being rather cold one day, Paup-puk-keewiss went into a thick wood for

shelter, whither he was followed by most of the herd. They had not been

long there when some elks from behind passed the others like a strong

wind, calling out:

“The hunters are after us!”

All took the alarm, and off they ran, Paup-puk-keewiss with the rest.

“Keep out on the plains,” they said. But it was too late to profit by

this advice, for they had already got entangled in the thick woods.

Paup-puk-keewiss soon scented the hunters, who were closely following his

trail, for they had left all the others and were making after him in full

cry. He jumped furiously, dashed through the underwood, and broke down

whole groves of saplings in his flight. But this only made it the harder

for him to get on, such a huge and lusty elk was he by his own request.

Presently, as he dashed past an open space, he felt an arrow in his side.

They could not well miss it, he presented so wide a mark to the shot. He

bounded over trees under the smart, but the shafts clattered thicker and

thicker at his ribs, and at last one entered his heart. He fell to the

ground, and heard the whoop of triumph sounded by the hunters. On coming

up, they looked on the carcass with astonishment, and with their hands up

to their mouths, exclaimed: “_Ty-au! ty-au!_”

There were about sixty in the party, who had come out on a special hunt,

as one of their number had, the day before, observed his large tracks on

the plains. When they had skinned him his flesh grew cold and his spirit

took its flight from the dead body, and Paup-puk-keewiss found himself in

human shape, with a bow and arrows.

But his passion for adventure was not yet cooled; for, on coming to

a large lake with a sandy beach, he saw a large flock of brant, and

speaking to them in the brant language, he requested them to make a brant

of him.

“Yes,” they replied at once, for the brant is a bird of a very obliging

disposition.

“But I want to be very large,” he said. There was no end to the ambition

of Paup-puk-keewiss.

“Very well,” they answered; and he soon found himself a large brant, all

the others standing gazing in astonishment at his great size.

“You must fly as leader,” they said.

“No,” answered Paup-puk-keewiss; “I will fly behind.”

“Very well,” rejoined the brant. “One thing more we have to say to you

Brother Paup-puk-keewiss” (for he had told them his name); “you must be

careful, in flying, not to look down, for something may happen to you.”

“Well, it is so,” said he; and soon the flock rose up into the air, for

they were bound north. They flew very fast—he behind. One day, while

going with a strong wind, and as swift as their wings could flap, as they

passed over a large village the Indians raised a great shout on seeing

them, particularly on Paup-puk-keewiss’s account, for his wings were

broader than two large mats. The village people made such a frightful

noise that he forgot what had been told him about looking down. They were

now scudding along as swift as arrows, and as soon as he brought his

neck in and stretched it down to look at the shouters, his huge tail was

caught by the wind, and over and over he was blown. He tried to right

himself, but without success, for he had no sooner got out of one heavy

air-current than he fell into another, which treated him even more rudely

than that he had escaped from. Down, down he went, making more turns than

he wished for, from a height of several miles.

The first moment he had to look about him, Paup-puk-keewiss, in the shape

of a big brant, was aware that he was jammed into a large, hollow tree.

To get backward or forward was out of the question, and there, in spite

of himself, was Paup-puk-keewiss forced to tarry till his brant life was

ended by starvation, when, his spirit being at liberty, he was once more

a human being.

As he journeyed on in search of further adventures, Paup-puk-keewiss

came to a lodge in which were two old men, with heads white from extreme

age. They were very fine old men to look at. There was such sweetness

and innocence in their features that Paup-puk-keewiss would have enjoyed

himself very much at their lodge if he had had no other entertainment

than such as the gazing upon the serene and happy faces of the two

innocent old men, with heads white from extreme age, afforded.

They treated him well, and he made known to them that he was going back

to his village, his friends and people, whereupon the two white-headed

old men very heartily wished him a good journey and abundance of comfort

in seeing his friends once more. They even arose, old and infirm as they

were, and, tottering with exceeding difficulty to the door, were at great

pains to point out to him the exact course he should take; and they

called his attention to the circumstance that it was much shorter and

more direct than he would have taken himself. Ah! what merry deceivers

were these two old men with very white heads.

Paup-puk-keewiss, with blessings showered on him until he was fairly out

of sight, set forth with good heart. He thought he heard loud laughter

resounding after him in the direction of the lodge of the two old men;

but it could not have been the two old men, for they were certainly too

old to laugh.

He walked briskly all day, and at night he had the satisfaction of

reaching a lodge in all respects like that which he had left in the

morning. There were two fine old men, and his treatment was in every

particular the same, even down to the parting blessing and the laughter

that followed him as he went his way.

After walking the third day, and coming to a lodge the same as before,

he was satisfied from the bearings of the course he had taken that he

had been journeying in a circle, and by a notch which he had cut in the

door-post that these were the same two old men all along; and that,

despite their innocent faces and their very white heads, they had been

playing him a sorry trick.

“Who are you,” said Paup-puk-keewiss, “to treat me so? Come forth, I say!”

They were compelled to obey his summons lest, in his anger, he should

take their lives, and they appeared on the outside of the lodge.

“We must have a little trial of speed now,” said Paup-puk-keewiss.

“A race?” they asked. “We are very old; we cannot run.”

“We will see,” said Paup-puk-keewiss; whereupon he set them out upon the

road, and then he gave them a gentle push, which put them in motion. Then

he pushed them again—harder—harder—until they got under fine headway,

when he gave each of them an astounding shock with his foot, and off

they flew at a great rate, round and round the course; and such was the

magic virtue of the foot of Paup-puk-keewiss that no object once set

going by it could by any possibility stop; so that, for aught we know to

the contrary, the two innocent, white-headed, merry old men are trotting

with all their might and main around the circle in which they beguiled

Paup-puk-keewiss to this day.

Continuing his journey, Paup-puk-keewiss, although his head was warm

and buzzing with all sorts of schemes, did not know exactly what to do

until he came to a big lake. He mounted a high hill to try and see to the

other side, but he could not. He then made a canoe, and sailed forth.

The water was very clear—a transparent blue—and he saw that it abounded

with fish of a rare and delicate complexion. This circumstance inspired

him with a wish to return to his village, and to bring his people to live

near this beautiful lake.

Toward evening, coming to a woody island, he encamped and ate the fish he

had speared, and they proved to be as comforting to the stomach as they

were pleasing to the eye. The next day Paup-puk-keewiss returned to the

mainland, and as he wandered along the shore he espied at a distance the

celebrated giant, Manabozho, who is a bitter enemy of Paup-puk-keewiss,

and loses no opportunity to stop him on his journeyings and to thwart his

plans.

At first it occurred to Paup-puk-keewiss to have a trial of wits with the

giant, but on second thoughts he said to himself: “I am in a hurry now; I

will see him another time.”

With no further mischief than raising a great whirlwind of dust, which

caused Manabozho to rub his eyes severely, Paup-puk-keewiss quietly

slipped out of the way; and he made good speed withal, for in much less

time than you could count half the stars in the sky of a winter night, he

had reached home.

His return was welcomed with a great hubbub of feasting and songs; and he

had scarcely set foot in the village before he had invitations to take

potluck at different lodges, which would have lasted him the rest of his

natural life. Pipe-bearer, who had some time before given up the cares

of a ruler, and fallen back upon his native place, fairly danced with joy

at the sight of Paup-puk-keewiss, who, not to be outdone, dandled him

affectionately in his arms by casting him up and down in the air half a

mile or so, till little Pipe-bearer had no breath left in his body to say

that he was happy to see Paup-puk-keewiss home again.

Paup-puk-keewiss gave the village folks a lively account of his

adventures, and when he came to the blue lake and the abundant fish,

he dwelt upon their charms with such effect that they agreed, with one

voice, that it must be a glorious place to live in, and if he would show

them the way they would shift camp and settle there at once.

He not only showed them the way, but, bringing his wonderful strength and

speed of foot to bear, in less than half a day he had transported the

whole village, with its children, women, tents, and implements of war, to

the new water-side.

Here, for a time, Paup-puk-keewiss appeared to be content, until one

day a message came for him in the shape of a bear, who said that their

king wished to see him immediately at his village. Paup-puk-keewiss was

ready in an instant, and, mounting upon the messenger’s back, off he ran.

Toward evening they climbed a high mountain, and came to a cave where the

bear-king lived. He was a very large person, and, puffing with fat and a

sense of his own importance, he made Paup-puk-keewiss welcome by inviting

him into his lodge.

As soon as it was proper, he spoke, and said that he had sent for him on

hearing that he was the chief who was moving a large party toward his

hunting-grounds.

“You must know,” said the bear-king with a terrible growl, “that you have

no right there, and I wish you would leave the country with your party,

or else the strongest force will take possession. Take notice.”

“Very well,” replied Paup-puk-keewiss, going toward the door, for he

suspected that the king of the bears was preparing to give him a hug, “so

be it.”

He wished to gain time and to consult his people, for he had seen, as he

came along, that the bears were gathering in great force on the side of

the mountain. He also made known to the bear-king that he would go back

that night, that his people might be put in immediate possession of his

royal behest.

The bear-king replied that Paup-puk-keewiss might do as he pleased, but

that one of his young men was at his command; and, jumping nimbly on his

back, Paup-puk-keewiss rode home.

He assembled the people, and ordered the bear’s head off, to be hung

outside of the village, that the bear-spies, who were lurking in the

neighborhood, might see it and carry the news to their chief.

The next morning, by break of day, Paup-puk-keewiss had all of his young

warriors under arms and ready for a fight. About the middle of the

afternoon the bear war-party came in sight, led on by the pursy king, and

making a tremendous noise. They advanced on their hind-legs, and made a

very imposing display of their teeth and eyeballs.

The bear-chief himself came forward, and, with a majestic wave of his

right hand, said that he did not wish to shed the blood of the young

warriors, but that if Paup-puk-keewiss, who appeared to be the head of

the war-party, consented, they two would have a race, and the winner

should kill the losing chief, and all his young men should be servants to

the other.

Paup-puk-keewiss agreed, of course—how little Pipe-bearer, who stood by,

grinned as they came to terms!—and they started to run before the whole

company of warriors, who stood in a circle looking on.

At first there was a prospect that Paup-puk-keewiss would be badly

beaten; for, although he kept crowding the great fat bear-king till

the sweat trickled from his shaggy ears, he never seemed to be able to

push past him. By and by, Paup-puk-keewiss, going through a number of

the most extraordinary maneuvers in the world, raised about the great

fat bear-king such eddies and whirlwinds with the sand, and so danced

about before and after him, that he at last got fairly bewildered, and

cried out for them to come and take him off. Out of sight before him in

reaching the goal, Paup-puk-keewiss only waited for the bear-king to come

up, when he drove an arrow straight through him and ordered them to take

the body away and make it ready for supper, as he was getting hungry.

He then directed all of the other bears to fall to and help prepare the

feast, for in fulfilment of the agreement they had become servants. With

many wry faces the bears, although bound to act becomingly in their new

character, according to the forfeit, served up the body of their late

royal master; and in doing this they fell, either by accident or design,

into many curious mistakes.

When the feast came to be served up and they were summoned to be in

attendance, one of them, a sprightly young fellow of an inquisitive turn

of mind, was found upon the roof of the lodge, with his head half way

down the smoke-hole, with a view to learn what they were to have for

dinner. Another, a middle-aged bear with very long arms, who was put in

charge of the children in the character of nurse, squeezed three or four

of the most promising young pappooses to death, while the mothers were

outside to look after the preparations; and another, when he should have

been waiting at the back of his master, had climbed a shady tree and was

indulging in his afternoon nap. And when, at last, the dinner was ready

to be served, they came tumbling in with the dishes, heels over head, one

after the other, so that one half of the feast was spread upon the ground

and the other half deposited out of doors, on the other side of the lodge.

After a while, however, by strict discipline and threatening to cut off

their provisions, the bear-servants were brought into tolerable control.

Yet Paup-puk-keewiss, with his ever-restless disposition, was uneasy;

and, having done so many wonderful things, he resolved upon a strict and

thorough reform in all the affairs of the village. To prevent future

difficulty he determined to adopt new regulations between the bears and

their masters.

With this view, he issued an edict that henceforward the bears should eat

at the first table, and that the Indians were to wait upon them; that

in all public processions of an honorable character the bears should go

first; and that when any fighting was to be done, the Indians should have

the privilege reserved of receiving the first shots. A special exemption

was made in behalf of Paup-puk-keewiss’s favorite and confidential

adviser, Pipe-bearer (who had been very busy in private recommending the

new order of things), who was to be allowed to sit at the head of the

feast, and to stay at home with the old women in the event of battle.

Having seen his orders strictly enforced, and the rights of the bears

over the Indians fairly established, Paup-puk-keewiss fixed his mind upon

further adventures. He determined to go abroad for a time, and having

an old score to settle with Manabozho, he set out with a hope of soon

falling in with that famous giant. Paup-puk-keewiss was a blood relation

of Dais Imid, or He of the Little Shell, and had heard of what had passed

between that giant and his kinsman.

After wandering a long time he came to the lodge of Manabozho, who was

absent. He thought he must play him a trick, and so he turned everything

in the lodge upside down and killed his birds, of which there was an

extraordinary attendance, for Manabozho is master of the fowls of the

air, and this was the appointed morning for them to call and pay their

court to him. Among the number was a raven, accounted the meanest of

birds, which Paup-puk-keewiss killed and hung up by the neck, to insult

him.

He then went on till he came to a very high point of rocks running out

into the lake, from the top of which he could see the country back as

far as the eye could reach. While sitting there, Manabozho’s mountain

chickens flew round and past him in great numbers. Out of mere spite to

their master, Paup-puk-keewiss shot them by the score, for his arrows

were very sure and the birds very plenty, and he amused himself by

throwing the birds down the rocks. At length a wary bird cried out:

“Paup-puk-keewiss is killing us; go and tell our father.”

Away sped a delegation of the birds which were the quickest of wing, and

Manabozho soon made his appearance on the plain below. Paup-puk-keewiss,

who when he is in the wrong is no match for Manabozho, made his escape on

the other side. Manabozho, who had in two or three strides reached the

top of the mountain, cried out:

“You are a rogue. The earth is not so large but I can get up to you.”

Off ran Paup-puk-keewiss, and Manabozho after him. The race was sharp,

and such leaps and strides as they made! Over hills and prairies, with

all his speed, went Paup-puk-keewiss, and Manabozho hard upon him.

Paup-puk-keewiss had some mischievous notions still left in his head

which he thought might befriend him. He knew that Manabozho was under a

spell to restore whatever he, Paup-puk-keewiss, destroyed. Forthwith he

stopped and climbed a large pine-tree, stripped off its beautiful green

foliage, threw it to the winds, and then went on.

When Manabozho reached the spot, the tree addressed him. “Great chief,”

said the tree, “will you give me my life again? Paup-puk-keewiss has

killed me.”

“Yes,” replied Manabozho, who as quickly as he could gathered the

scattered leaves and branches, renewed its beauty with his breath, and

set off. Although Paup-puk-keewiss in the same way compelled Manabozho to

lose time in repairing the hemlock, the sycamore, cedar, and many other

trees, the giant did not falter, but pushing briskly forward, was fast

overtaking him when Paup-puk-keewiss happened to see an elk. And asking

him, for old acquaintance’ sake, to take him on his back, the elk did so,

and for some time he made good headway; but still Manabozho was in sight.

He was fast gaining upon him when Paup-puk-keewiss threw himself off the

elk’s back, and, striking a great sandstone rock near the path, he broke

it into pieces, and scattered the grains in a thousand directions; for

this was nearly his last hope of escape. Manabozho was so close upon him

at this place that he had almost caught him; but the foundation of the

rock cried out:

“Haye! Ne-me-sho, Paup-puk-keewiss has spoiled me. Will you not restore

me to life?”

“Yes,” replied Manabozho. He re-established the rock in all its strength.

He then pushed on in pursuit, and had got so near to Paup-puk-keewiss as

to put out his arm to seize him; but Paup-puk-keewiss dodged him and,

as his last chance, he immediately raised such a dust and commotion by

whirlwinds as made the trees break and the sand and leaves dance in the

air. Again and again Manabozho stretched his arm, but he escaped him

at every turn, and kept up such a tumult of dust that he dashed into a

hollow tree which had been blown down, changed himself into a snake, and

crept out at the roots just in time to save his life; for at that moment

Manabozho, who had the power of lightning, struck it, and it was strewn

about in little pieces.

Again Paup-puk-keewiss was in human shape, and Manabozho was pressing him

hard. At a distance he saw a very high bluff of rocks jutting out into

a lake, and he ran for the foot of the precipice, which was abrupt and

elevated. As he came near, to his surprise and great relief, the Manito

of the rock opened his door and told Paup-puk-keewiss to come in. The

door was no sooner closed than Manabozho knocked.

“Open it!” he cried, with a loud voice. The Manito was afraid of him, but

he said to Paup-puk-keewiss: “Since I have taken you as my guest, I would

sooner die with you than open the door.”

“Open it!” Manabozho again cried, in a louder voice than before.

The Manito kept silent.

“Very well,” said Manabozho; “I give you till morning to live.”

Paup-puk-keewiss trembled, for he thought his last hour had come.

When the night came on the clouds were thick and black, and as they

were torn open by the lightning, such discharges of thunder were never

heard as bellowed forth. The clouds advanced slowly and wrapped the

earth about with their vast shadows as in a huge cloak. All night long

the clouds gathered, and the lightning flashed, and the thunder roared,

and above all could be heard Manabozho muttering vengeance upon poor

Paup-puk-keewiss.

“You have led a very foolish kind of life, Paup-puk-keewiss,” said his

friend the Manito.

“I know it—I know it!” Paup-puk-keewiss answered.

“You had great gifts of strength awarded to you,” said the Manito.

“I am aware of it,” replied Paup-puk-keewiss.

“Instead of employing it for useful purposes, and for the good of your

fellow-creatures, you have done nothing since you became a man but raise

whirlwinds on the highways, leap over trees, break whatever you met in

pieces, and perform a thousand idle pranks.”

Paup-puk-keewiss, with great penitence, confessed that his friend the

Manito spoke but too truly. Then Manabozho as Animiki, the Spirit of

Lightning, in a cloud of heavy blackness, floated over the bluff of rocks

that protected Paup-puk-keewiss. The threatening roar of his voice was

heard rending the air, and Paup-puk-keewiss, with his companion, the

Manito of the Rocks, trembled with fear. Mighty arrows of fire darted

through the air from Manabozho’s bow; the mountains themselves gave

way; the solid rocks were broken, and, tottering apart, fell, crushing

Paup-puk-keewiss and the Manito into fragments. For the first time

Paup-puk-keewiss experienced death, for he was incapable of entering by

his own will a new form, as he was in the human form when crushed between

the rocks of the mountain.

* * * * *

The Norse god of the sky,[7] Odin, was depicted in a most picturesque

fashion. He is said to look like an old, tall, one-eyed man, with a long

beard, a broad-brimmed hat, a striped cloak of many colors, and a spear

in his hand. On his arm he wears the gold ring Draupner and carries a

spear called Gungner; two ravens sit on his shoulders, two wolves lie

at his feet, and a huge chariot rolls over his head. He sits upon a

high throne and looks out upon the world, or he rides on the winds upon

his horse Sleipner. There is a deep speculative expression upon his

countenance. Odin’s hat symbolizes the arched vault of heaven, and his

blue or variegated cloak is the blue sky or atmosphere. His horse with

eight legs, as we learned before, symbolizes the eight winds of heaven,

and his ring the fruitfulness of nature. His spear produces violent

trembling or shaking. He is regarded as the all-pervading spirit of the

world, and produces life and spirit, though he did not create the world.

In whatever creative work he does he is helped by others. All knowledge

comes from him—the arts of war and the arts of peace; even poetry was

invented by him. He is the ruler over all things, and, although other

deities may have power, they all serve and obey him as children do their

father.

He frequently appeared to men. One of the most interesting of these

revelations of himself is told in the Norse epic, the “Volsung Saga.”

THE STORY OF ODIN’S SWORD AND SIGMUND

King Volsung had made preparations for an entertainment. Blazing fires

burned along the hall, and in the middle of the hall stood a large tree,

whose green and fair foliage covered the roof. King Volsung had placed

it there, and it was called Odin’s tree. Now, as the guests sat around

the fire in the evening, a man entered the hall whose countenance they

did not know. He wore a variegated cloak, was barefooted, his breeches

were of linen, and a wide-brimmed hat hung down over his face. He was

very tall, looked old, and was one-eyed. He had a sword in his hand. The

man went to the tree, and struck his sword into it with so powerful a

blow that it sunk into it even to the hilt. No one dared greet this man.

Then said he: “He who draws this sword out of the trunk of the tree shall

have it as a gift from me, and shall find it true that he never wielded

a better sword.” Then went the old man out of the hall again, and no one

knew who he was or whither he went. Now all tried to draw the sword out,

but it would not move before Volsung’s son, Sigmund, came; for him it

seemed to be quite loose.

When Odin went forth to battle, he was resplendent in armor and a golden

helmet; with him were his messengers, the Valkyries—giant, warlike

maids who, when in Valhalla, the home of Odin, brought in the drink and

waited upon the table, but in time of battle were sent forth by Odin to

every battle-field, carrying the message of death to the brave hero, and

inviting him home to Odin’s hall, a message he received with joy and

gladness. To bear away to heaven the souls of the dead is often an office

of a wind god, and in this case of wind goddesses, for there can be

little doubt that the Valkyries had some of the attributes of the wind.

The Norse god next in importance to Odin was Thor. He wears a red beard.

He has a fiery nature, is girded with a belt of strength, and swings a

hammer in his hand. He rides in a chariot drawn by two goats, from whose

hoofs and teeth sparks of fire flash, and the scarlet cloud reflects

his fiery eyes. Over his head he wears a crown of stars, under his feet

rests the earth, and it shows the footprints of his mighty steps. He is

enormously strong, and very terrible when angry, which is not supposed

to be often, for he has, on the whole, a good-natured disposition. The

region in which he lives is called Thrudvaug and his mansion Bilskiner,

in which there are five hundred and forty halls. His hammer, his belt,

and his gauntlet are all possessed of remarkable qualities. The first is

called Mjolner, and woe be to the frost or mountain giant against whom

Thor hurls it. His iron gauntlet he wears when he is laying about him

with his hammer, and when he puts on his belt of strength his power is

redoubled. This mighty god has many and wonderful adventures.

There is no better description of the god Thor to be found than that by

our own poet Longfellow, in his “Tales of a Wayside Inn”:

“I am the god Thor,

I am the war god,

I am the Thunderer!

Here in my Northland,

My fastness and fortress,

Reign I forever!

Here amid icebergs

Rule I the nations;

This is my hammer,

Mjolner, the mighty

Giants and sorcerers

Cannot withstand it!

These are the gauntlets

Wherewith I wield it

And hurl it afar off;

This is my girdle;

Whenever I brace it

Strength is redoubled!

The light thou beholdest

Stream through the heavens,

In flashes of crimson,

Is but my red beard

Blown by the night wind,

Affrighting the nations.

Jove is my brother;

Mine eyes are the lightning;

The wheels of my chariot

Roll in the thunder;

The blows of my hammer

Ring in the earthquake!”

HOW THOR CONQUERED THE STONE GIANT HRUNGNER

Thor had once gone eastward to crush trolls, but Odin rode on his horse

Sleipner to Jotunheim, the land of giants, and came to a giant by name

Hrungner. Then he asked Hrungner what man that was, who with a helmet

of gold rode through the air and over the sea, and added that it was

an extraordinarily good horse he had. Odin replied that he would wager

his head that so good a horse could not be found in Jotunheim. Hrungner

said that it was indeed a very excellent horse, but he had one called

Goldfax that could take much longer paces, and he immediately sprang upon

his horse and galloped away after Odin. Odin constantly kept ahead, but

Hrungner’s giant nature had become so excited that before he was himself

aware of it he had come within the gates of Asgard. When he came to the

door of the hall the gods invited him in to drink. They set before him

the bowls out of which Thor was accustomed to drink, and he emptied them

each in one draught, and so he became drunk and began to boast in a most

conceited fashion. He was going to take Valhal, he said, and carry it off

to Jotunheim; he would demolish Asgard and kill the gods, except Freyja

and Lif, whom he would take home with him; and while Freyja was pouring

the celestial beverage into bowls for him he remarked that he was going

to drink up all the ale of the gods. At last the gods grew very tired of

his arrogance. They, therefore, called Thor, who came at once. He was

very much enraged and, swinging his hammer about, he fiercely asked who

was to blame that dogwise giants should be permitted to drink there, or

who had given safety to Hrungner in Valhal, and why Freyja should pour

ale for him as she did at the feasts of the gods. Hrungner, looking at

Thor with anything but a friendly eye, answered that Odin had invited

him and that he was under his protection. Thor said that Hrungner should

come to rue that invitation before he came out; but the giant answered

that it would be but little honor to Thor to kill him, unarmed, as he

was; it would be a better proof of his valor if he dared contend with

him at the boundaries of his territory. “It was foolish, indeed, of me

to leave my weapons at home. Had I my shield and my flint stone with me,

we would now try a duel. But I declare you to be a coward if you kill me

unarmed.” Thor would not excuse himself from such a challenge the like

of which no one had ever offered him before. Hrungner now went his way

and hastened home. This journey of Hrungner was much talked of by the

giants, and especially did his challenge of Thor awaken their interest,

and it was of great importance to them which of the two should come out

from the combat victorious. For if Hrungner, who was the most powerful

among the giants, should be conquered, they might look for nothing but

evil from Thor. They, therefore, made a man of clay, nine miles high

and three miles broad between the shoulders. They could not find a

heart corresponding to his size and therefore took one out of a mare;

but this fluttered and trembled when Thor came. Hrungner had a heart

of hard stone, sharp and three-cornered; his head was also of stone,

and likewise his shield, which was broad and thick, and this shield he

held before him when he stood waiting for Thor. His weapon was a flint

stone, which he swung over his shoulders, so that it was no trifle to

join in combat with him. By his side stood the clay giant, who was so

extremely terrified that the sweat poured from off him. Thor went to the

duel together with Thjalfe, a servant, whom he had got from a peasant

by the sea. Thjalfe ran to the place where Hrungner was standing, and

said to him: “You stand unguarded, giant; you hold the shield before

you, but Thor has seen you; he comes with violence from beneath the

earth and attacks you.” Then Hrungner hastily put the shield beneath

his feet and stood upon it, but he seized his flint stone with both

hands. Presently he saw flashes of lightning and heard loud crashings,

and then he saw Thor in his might rushing forward with impetuous speed,

swinging his hammer and throwing it from the distance against Hrungner.

The latter lifted the flint stone with both his hands and threw it with

all his might against the hammer; the two met in the air and the flint

stone broke into two pieces, one piece of which fell on the ground (and

hence the flint mountains), while the other flew with such force against

the head of Thor that he fell forward to the ground; but the hammer

Mjolner hit Hrungner right in the head and crushed his skull into small

pieces, he himself falling over Thor, so that his foot lay across Thor’s

neck. Thor could only be released from the giant’s foot by his own son

Magne (strength), and to this day the flint stone sticks fast in Thor’s

forehead.

* * * * *

Longfellow calls Thor the brother of Zeus. Zeus is, however, only like

Thor in his character of the thunderer. As the All-father of the Greeks

he is like Odin.

Zeus, or Jupiter,[8] as he was called by the Romans, was regarded as the

supreme ruler of the universe. Sometimes he was pictured as a god of war.

Then he rode in his thunder car, hurling the thunderbolt or lashing his

enemies with a scourge of lightning. He wore a breastplate or shield of

storm-cloud like the skin of a gray goat fearful to behold and made by

the God of Fire. His special messenger was the eagle.

In his peaceful guise, he sat throned in the high clear heavens. There he

was the gatherer of clouds and snows, the dispenser of gentle rains and

winds, the moderator of light and heat and the seasons. He was worshipped

with various rites in different places, but everywhere the loftiest trees

and the highest mountain peaks were sacred to him.

HOW ZEUS CAME TO BE KING OF GODS

The story told of Zeus is that he had not always been the supreme god.

Before him reigned his father, Cronus, and before Cronus his grandfather,

Uranus. Cronus deposed Uranus, and having heard that he was destined to

be deposed by one of his own children, he indulged in the queer habit

of swallowing them all. His wife, Rhea, however, when Zeus was born

thought of the happy expedient of giving Cronus a stone to swallow,

which he, unsuspecting, did. The little Zeus was hidden in the island

of Crete, where he was tended by nymphs and brought up on goat’s milk.

When he became a full-grown god, he made his father disgorge the brothers

and sisters he had swallowed—namely, Vesta, Ceres, Juno, Pluto, and

Neptune—and then went to war against his cruel father. This war is a

battle of the powers of light against the powers of darkness. Cronus is

helped by his brothers the Titans, and Zeus is helped by the Cyclopes,

one-eyed giants, and the Hecatonchires, hundred-handed monsters who

had been confined for ages in Tartarus. Zeus and his hosts held Mount

Olympus. For ages victory wavered in the balance, until by the advice of

Rhea, Zeus released the Cyclopes and the Hecatonchires. Instantly they

hastened to the battle-field of Thessaly, the Cyclopes to support Zeus

with their thunders and lightnings, the hundred-handed monsters with the

shock of the earthquake. Provided with such artillery, shaking earth

and sea, Zeus issued to the onslaught. With the gleam of the lightning

the Titans were blinded, by the earthquake they were laid low, with the

flames they were well-nigh consumed; overpowered and fettered by the

hands of the Hecatonchires, they were consigned to the yawning cave of

Tartarus. In the council of the gods following this great battle Zeus was

chosen Sovereign of the World. He delegated to his brother Posidon or

Neptune the kingdom of the sea and all the waters, to his brother Hades

or Pluto the government of the underworld, dark, unseen, mysterious,

where the spirits of the dead should dwell, and of Tartarus the prison

of the subdued Titans. For himself Zeus retained heaven and earth. His

dwelling and that of the gods was on the summit of an ideal mountain

called Olympus. The gods all had their separate dwellings, but all when

summoned assembled in the palace of Zeus, there to feast upon ambrosia

and nectar. Their duties consisted in discussing the affairs of heaven

and earth, while for amusement they had the melodies of Apollo’s lyre,

and the songs of the muses. There was a gate of clouds to this heavenly

city kept by goddesses, the Hours or Seasons, and through these gates the

celestials passed when bent upon any errand to earth.

[Illustration: The Flying Mercury or Hermes. _Giovanni di Bologna._]

Hermes (Roman name, Mercury) was the personification of the wind and

the messenger of Zeus, and, like the Valkyries, he had the office of

conducting the souls of the dead to Hades. His summoning of the souls

of the dead is beautifully described in this passage from the Odyssey,

translated by the poet Bryant:

“In his hand he bore

The beautiful golden wand, with which at will

He shuts the eyes of men, or opens them

From sleep. With this he guided on their way

The ghostly rout; they followed, uttering

A shrilly wail. As when a flock of bats,

Deep in a dismal cavern, fly about

And squeak, if one have fallen from the place

Where, clinging to each other and the rock,

They rested, so that crowd of ghosts went forth

With shrill and plaintive cries. Before them moved

Beneficent Hermes through those dreary ways,

And past the ocean stream they went, and past

Leucadia’s rock, the portals of the Sun,

And people of the land of dreams, until

They reached the fields of asphodel, where dwell

The souls, the bodiless forms of those who die.”

Among the loveliest of the sky deities are the goddesses of the dawn.

Besides bringing light and joy to mankind, they are his kind helpers when

he is in trouble, and the givers of all good things. We have already made

the acquaintance of the Hindoo Dawn Goddess Ushas, and give here another

Vedic hymn in her praise. The counterpart of Ushas in Greek mythology is

Aurora, the Goddess of the Dawn, who is pictured flying before the car

of Apollo. A more developed Dawn Goddess is Pallas Athēne (Roman name

Minerva.) She is represented as having sprung fully armed from the head

of her father Zeus, as the Dawn springs up in the morning sky. But she

has a warlike, as well as a beneficent side when she wields the lightning

and the thunderbolts. When Pallas Athēne decided to give her aid to

any human being, she sometimes took the form of Mentes, or of a young

shepherd, as she does in different scenes in the “Odyssey.” When she

descends to earth she is described as fastening underneath her feet

“The fair, ambrosial golden sandals worn

To bear her over ocean like the wind,

And o’er the boundless land. In hand she took,

Well tipped with trenchant brass, the mighty spear,

Heavy and huge and strong, with which she bears

Whole phalanxes of heroes to earth,

When she, the daughter of a mighty sire,

Is angered. From the Olympian heights she plunged

And stood among the men of Ithaca.

... In her hand she bore the spear,

And seemed the stranger Mentes.”

When Pallas returned to heaven she

“Passed like an eagle out of sight and all

Were seized with deep amazement as they saw.”

Another time Pallas appears to Odysseus or Ulysses in the shape

“Of a young shepherd, delicately formed,

As are the sons of kings. A mantle lay

Upon her shoulder in rich folds, her feet

Shone in their sandals: in her hand she bore

A javelin. As Ulysses saw, his heart

Was glad within him, and he hastened on

And thus accosted her with wingèd words,

‘Fair youth, who art the first whom I have met

Upon this shore, I bid thee hail, and hope

Thou meetest me with no unkind intent.

Protect what thou beholdest here and me;

I make my suit to thee as to a god,

And come to thy dear knees.’”

After a little talk with Odysseus

“the blue-eyed goddess, Pallas, smiled

And touched the chief caressingly. She seemed

A beautiful and stately woman now,

Such as are skilled in works of rare device.”

She advises Odysseus and says to him:

“Hither am I come to frame for thee

Wise counsels, and to hide away the stores

Given by the opulent Phæacian chiefs

At thy departure. I shall also tell

What thou must yet endure beneath the roof

Of thine own palace, by the will of fate.

Yet bear it bravely, since thou must, nor speak

To any man or woman of thyself

And of thy wandering hither, but submit

To many things that grieve thee, silently,

And bear indignities from violent men.”

Thus this beneficent Dawn Goddess is always helping mankind in their

troubles, and scattering abroad so much wisdom that she came to be called

in Greek mythology the Goddess of Wisdom.

The Indian and the Japanese stories following show other fancies about

gods of the sky and air. “The Lover’s Vision of the Happy Land” gives a

picture of the home of departed spirits in the sky. “The Message-Bearers”

is related to the idea that the wind is a messenger of the gods, but it

is the wind in the form of the repeated sounds in echoes.

The Indians[9] were in the habit of frequenting rivers with high, wooded

banks, or ravines with precipitous sides where reverberations could be

heard for miles, until they would die away in the distance. There they

would stand for hours shouting and listening to the echoing shouts as

they leaped from shore to shore, or from hill to mountain, and from

mountain to valley—on and on into silence; always firmly believing that

the words were called from one to another of the faithful spirits until

they reached the ears of their loved ones, and finally the Great Spirit

himself.

“The Way of the Gods” describes a god of the infinite sky as the

beginning of all things.

HYMN TO THE DAWN

(_From the “Rig Veda”_)

The radiant Dawns have risen up for glory, in their white splendor

live the waves of waters.

She maketh paths all easy, fair to travel, and rich hath shown

herself, benign and friendly.

We see that thou art good: far shines thy lustre; thy beams, thy

splendors have flown up to heaven.

Decking thyself, thou makest bare thy bosom, shining in majesty,

thou goddess Morning.

Red are the kine and luminous that bear her, the blessèd one who

spreadeth through the distance.

The foes she chaseth like a valiant archer, like a swift warrior

she repelleth darkness.

Thy ways are easy on the hills: thou passest in windless calm,

self-luminous! through waters.

So lofty goddess with thine ample pathway, daughter of Heaven,

bring wealth to give us courage.

Dawn, bring me wealth: untroubled, with thine oxen thou bearest

riches at thy will and pleasure;

Thou who, a goddess, child of Heaven, hast shown thee lovely through

bounty when we called thee early.

As the birds fly forth from their resting-places, so men with store

of food rise at thy dawning.

Yea, to the liberal mortal who remaineth at home, O goddess Dawn,

much good thou bringest.

[Illustration: Athēne: Brandisher of the Spear. _Capitol, Rome._]

THE LOVER’S VISION OF THE HAPPY ISLAND

There was once a very beautiful girl, more beautiful than all the Indian

maidens of her tribe, who died suddenly, on the eve of her marriage to a

handsome young chief; and, although her lover was brave, his heart was

not proof against his loss. He mourned as one without hope. After her

burial he sat near the spot where her remains were deposited, without

speaking, musing and dreaming of her he had lost. War and hunting had no

charms for him. He pushed aside his bow and arrows, for his heart was

dead within him. He had heard the old people say that there was a path

that led to the Land of Souls, and he determined to follow it. With this

resolution he left the remains of his beloved, and, after making some

preparation for the journey, set out at an early hour of the morning.

At first he hardly knew which direction to take, for he was guided only

by the tradition that he must go southward. For a while he could discover

no change in the appearance of the country; forests, hills, valleys, and

streams had the same familiar look that they wore around his native home.

There was snow upon the ground, however, when he set out; and it was

sometimes seen clinging in thick mats upon the trees and bushes, but at

length it began to diminish, and finally, as he travelled swiftly along,

totally disappeared, when the forest assumed a more cheerful appearance.

The trees appeared to be putting forth their leaves, and suddenly, as

if by enchantment, as he walked onward, he found himself surrounded by

the budding flowers of spring; the air seemed warm upon his cheek, while

overhead, instead of wintry clouds, the sky was clear, and his ears were

saluted with songs of birds.

The lover’s heart beat quickly at these changes, for he knew he was

in the right path, as appearances agreed with the traditions of his

tribe. As he sped along, he discovered a footpath, which he followed,

and was led through a dark grove, then up a long precipitous ridge, on

the extreme summit of which he came to a lodge. In the doorway of this

lodge stood an old man, whose hair was white as snow, and whose eyes,

though deeply sunken, had a wonderful brilliancy. He had a long robe of

skins thrown loosely around his shoulders, and a staff in his hand. The

young lover accosted him and began to tell his story, when the old man

interrupted him by saying: “I have expected you, and had just risen to

bid you welcome. She whom you seek passed here a few days since. Enter my

lodge, for therein she rested, being fatigued, and I will answer all your

inquiries, and give you direction for your journey from this point.”

Having entered and rested within the lodge, according to the old man’s

invitation, the young lover, impatient of delay, soon issued forth from

the lodge-door, accompanied by the venerable chief. “You see yonder

gulf,” said the chief, “and the wide-stretching blue plains beyond. It is

the Land of Souls. You stand upon its borders, and my lodge is its gate

of entrance; but you cannot take your body along with you; leave it here

with your bow and arrows, your bundle and your dog; you will find it safe

on your return.”

So saying, he turned and reëntered his lodge, and the freed traveller

bounded forward as if his feet were winged. He found, as he thus sped

forward, that all things retained their natural colors and shapes,

except that they seemed more beautiful—the colors being richer and

shapes more comely; and he would have thought that everything was the

same as heretofore, had he not seen that the animals bounded across his

path with the utmost freedom and confidence, and birds of beautiful

plumage inhabited the groves, and sported in the waters in fearless and

undisturbed enjoyment. As he passed on, however, he noticed that his

passage was not impeded by trees or other objects; he appeared to walk

directly through them. They were, in fact, but the souls of trees, and he

then became sensible that he was in the Land of Shadows.

When he had travelled some distance through the country, which

continually became more and more attractive, he came to the banks of a

broad lake, in the center of which was a beautiful island; and tied upon

the shore of this lake he found a canoe of white, shining stone, within

which were white paddles that seemed to be of the same shining material.

He immediately entered the canoe and took the paddles in his hands, when,

to his joy and surprise, on turning around, he discovered the object of

his search, the young maiden, in another canoe exactly the counterpart

of his; who, having imitated his motions in gathering up the paddles and

making preparations for embarking, followed him as he pushed off from

shore.

The waves of the lake soon began to rise, and, at a distance, looked

ready to submerge them in their watery embrace; but yet, on approaching

their white edges, they seemed to melt away. Still, as these enormous

waves followed each other in quick succession, it kept them in continual

fear; for they felt no certainty but that some one of them might break

upon their canoes and bring them to destruction; while, added to this

perpetual fear, the water of the lake was so clear that it disclosed

to their affrighted gaze large heaps of bones of human beings who had

perished before. And, as they moved on, they saw many persons struggling

and sinking in the waves. Old men and women, and young men and maidens,

were there; and but few were able to pass over. The children alone were

seen to glide on without fear. However, notwithstanding their terror, the

young man and maiden moved unharmed along, for their deeds in life had

been free from evil, and the Master of Life had decreed their safety;

and, at length, they leaped out upon the shore of the Happy Island, the

place of their destination, and wandered together over the blissful

fields, where everything was formed to delight the eye and please the

ear. The air itself was like food, and nourished and strengthened them.

There were no tempests. No one shivered for the want of warm clothes.

No one suffered from hunger. No one mourned for the dead. They saw no

graves. They heard of no wars. There was no hunting of animals. Gladly

the young lover would have remained forever with his beloved in this

beautiful land, but this was not permitted; for, although he did not see

the Master of Life, he heard his voice in a soft breeze which commanded

his return: “Go back,” said the voice, “to the land from whence you

came. Your time has not yet come; your work is not finished, and the

duties for which I made you are not completed. Return to your people and

accomplish all the duties of a brave man. You will be the ruler of your

tribe for many years. My messenger at the gate shall instruct you in

your future work, when he surrenders your body. Listen to him, and you

shall afterwards rejoin the spirit which you must now leave behind. She

is accepted, and will dwell here forever, as young and as happy as when

I called her from the Land of Snows.” And with this the lover’s vision

closed.

THE MESSAGE-BEARERS

When the Great Spirit brought the Redmen from the Happy Hunting Grounds

and left them upon the earth, they were filled with fear lest they could

never make him hear their wants, and could not reach his ears when they

desired to tell him of their joys and sorrows. The sachems went before

him and said: “O our Father, how will thy children tell thee of the deeds

they have performed that will please thine ear? How will they ask thee

to their homes to help them drive away the bad spirits; and how will they

invite thee to their feasts and dances? O our Father, thou canst not at

all times be awake and watching thy children, and they will not know

when thou art sleeping. Thy children do not know the trail to the Happy

Hunting Grounds by which to send their wise men and sachems to talk with

thee, for thou hast covered it with thy hands and thy children cannot

discover it. How will the words of thy children reach thee, O our Father,

the Manito; how will what they say come to thine ears?”

Then the Great Spirit created for each one of the Redmen a second self,

to whom he gave a home in the air. He provided these beings with wings

and swift feet, so they could move very rapidly. To them he imparted

the secrets of the entrance to his home, and made them guides to his

children whom he had called on the long journey, so that they should not

lose the paths leading to their future home. Finally, the Great Spirit

told these creatures of the air that they should be message-bearers for

his children, and convey their words exactly as spoken from one point

to another until they reached the ears of his sachems in the big wigwam

by the side of the council-fire that never lost its light. They must be

ready at all times to answer the calls of the Redmen, so that none of

their words might be lost. Messages to the loved ones who had left the

earth and gone to the Happy Hunting Grounds must be transmitted with

the same watchful care as were those intended for his ears alone. If

any of his children spoke idle and untruthful words, they, too, must be

repeated, that their father might know whether they were worthy to be

admitted to the grand council-fire.

When he had finished his instructions, the Great Spirit told the sachems

that he would return to his home, and that they could go with his

children to the bank of a beautiful river near which they dwelt, and

there talk to him.

Slowly and with a loud voice the chief sachem began to speak. From the

opposite bank of the river the waiting message-bearer caught up the

sachem’s words as they were spoken, and with a strong voice shouted

them to another dweller of the air, who crouched in the tree-tops far

down the river, ready and alert to do the Great Spirit’s bidding. On

and on, rolling along the ravines and valleys, leaping from hill-top to

mountainside and from mountainside to lake, striding over the forests at

a bound—fainter and yet fainter, until lost in the blue distance of the

plain—the message of thankfulness and love was borne from the lips of

the grateful sachem until it reached the ears of the ever-listening and

loving father, and was told to the chiefs who sat in the light of the

council-fire that never grows dim.

THE WAY OF THE GODS

(_Japanese_)

Listen, my children, to the true story of the Beginning of the World.

When there was neither Heaven nor Earth, nor Sun nor Moon, nor anything

that is, there existed in Infinite Space the Invisible Lord of the Middle

Heaven. With him were two other Gods.

By their miraculous power, a Thing whose shape cannot be described came

into existence in the midst of Space, in appearance like a Floating

Cloud. Forth from it sprang, as it were, a Flowering Rushsprout, rising

from the water—pure, translucent, and bright—which grew and grew and

widened and widened infinitely, till it spread over all things and became

the Canopy of Heaven. Then downward from the Floating Cloud grew the

Under-region—the Realm of Night—which is the Root-region of the World and

the abode of Departed Spirits.

And the center of the Floating Cloud became the Earth, which was still

liquid and formless and without life.

After this were born in Heaven seven generations of Gods, and the last

and most perfect of these were Izanagi and Izanami. Now, Izanagi and

Izanami were the Parents of the World and all that is in it. And it

happened in this wise: the Gods of the High Plain of Heaven said to

Izanagi and Izanami:

“Descend and make of this drifting mud and ocean a firm and beautiful

Land, and fill it with living things.” And the Gods placed in their

hands a mystic jewelled Spear.

Now, in these days the heavens were near to the earth, and the space

between was spanned by a Heavenly Floating Bridge. So they set forth

bravely on their journey, and, looking down into the space beneath them,

they saw in the depths the green plain of the Sea. They held counsel

together and said, “Is there not a country beneath?”

And Izanagi pushed the jewelled Spear down from the Floating Bridge and

stirred the green sea round and round, and some say that is why the earth

turns round and round to this day. Then the brine went curdle-curdle, and

they drew up the Spear, and the brine that fell from the end of the Spear

dropped down and became an island. This island was called Onogoro, and

is one of the Everlasting Islands of the Land of Sunrise, of the Land of

Fertile Reed-plains, which is Japan.

Now, the Gods stepped down on to the Earth, and it was strange and

desolate, and they shivered, and felt lonely and afraid.

Suddenly sounded a whirring of wings; two tiny Sekirei—wagtails—swept

by and fluttered to the ground. It was early springtime; the living air

thrilled warm and sweet. With little pecks and cheeps, full of busy

pride, the pair sought twigs and grasses and wove them deftly into a

downy nest. Quivering with rapture, the lover-bird hovered round his

mate, and sang of love and joy and happy days to come.

While the Great Gods watched, a warmth crept round the heart of Izanagi,

and in Izanami’s eyes was a mist of tears. She whispered softly, “Let us,

too, make a house to dwell in!” Then Izanagi plunged his spear into the

ground, and round them rose a great and glorious Palace, and the Spear

was the Heart-Pillar thereof. And they were hidden from the sight of

Heaven and Earth.

Then, moving round this Pillar, they met and gazed on one another with

charmed eyes. The Mother of Mankind cried joyfully: “Behold! I have met

with a lovely Youth!” And Izanagi cried back: “Behold! I have met with a

lovely Maiden!”

So the Sekirei first taught the Gods the ways of Love, and are honored

and cherished in Japan to this day.

But Izanagi remembered how Izanami had been the first to speak, and in

his displeasure said wrathfully: “I am a Man, and should by right have

spoken first!”

When the first child born to them was ugly and deformed, they put him in

a boat made of camphor-wood, and he sailed away to sea and became the God

of the fisherfolk. His children are the hairy men who live in some of the

islands of Japan to this day.

Then the Gods passed round the Pillar a second time, and Izanagi spoke

first. So his anger was appeased, and they lived greatly content.

Together they made the eight islands of Japan, and placed them at the

summit of the globe. But the land was hidden—becovered with mists—so

Izanagi sent forth the God of the Winds. He, blowing lustily, rent the

clouds, and the earth lay as a bride unveiled, shimmering with silver dew

on her green pastures.

Next came the Food-Spirit to comfort mankind, the Sea Gods, the Mountain

Gods, the Gods of the River-mouths, the Tree Gods, and the Earth Goddess.

Last of all was born the fierce Fire God, Kagu-tsuchi. Now, this God was

of such a hot and fiery temper that he burned his Great Mother, and she

suffered change and departed to the Lower World.

Then Izanagi was wroth, and cried aloud: “Oh, that I should have given my

Beloved in return for a single child!”

And his sorrow was so great that he crawled round her head and her feet,

and from the tears that he shed sprang up the Goddess of Weeping. Then he

took his ten-span sword and hewed Kagu-tsuchi in three pieces, and each

piece sprang into life as the Spirit of Thunder, the Spirit of Mountains,

and the Spirit of Rain.

Now, Izanagi loved his wife so greatly that he could find no rest or

peace on earth; and, after wandering long in search of comfort and

finding none, he determined to seek her, even in the realm of Departed

Spirits. His way lay through a long and gloomy passage where few have

trod, right through the center of the earth, till he came at length to

the Gate of Everlasting Night, to the Kingdom of Yomi, the Ruler of the

Under World. He knocked at the Gate and cried aloud:

“O my beloved Sister! come back to me!” And she answered him:

“O beloved Elder Brother! gladly would I come, but, alas! I have eaten of

Yomi’s cooking and am bewitched. Let me return and speak to him, but do

not thou follow me!”

So Izanagi waited anxiously without, till, growing impatient at her long

delay, he broke a tooth off his comb, lighting it as a torch, and so

dared to enter those terrible shades. Through dark and dreadful ways he

wandered, and his heart quailed within him.

But Yomi was wroth with him for his daring, and smote Izanami so that

when he found her she lay as one altered in death, with Eight Witches at

her head and her feet. Then a great horror fell upon Izanagi; he turned

and fled swiftly, and the Eight Ugly Women rose and pursued him. On he

ran, through winding ways where icy blasts fly shrieking; and the Witches

swept after him and would have caught him, but he seized the wreath from

his head and flung it down, and it was changed into bunches of grapes.

When the Witches saw these they stopped and greedily devoured them; then,

gathering up their robes, rose and pursued again.

Izanagi felt the chill of their coming, and drew out a many-toothed comb

from the right bunch of his hair and threw it behind him. Behold! as it

touched the ground, there sprang up a hedge of young bamboo shoots across

the path. The Witches swooped down, pulled up the young shoots, and ate

them to the last one; then again gave chase.

Now, Izanami, too, was angered against him, for she had been put to

shame; and she sent five hundred warriors from Yomi to pursue him. When

the rush and the tramping drew nearer, Izanagi unsheathed his ten-span

sword, and in his despair his breath failed as at the approach of Death.

Then suddenly appeared before him the Gate of the Pass of Yomi; and

hastily plucking some peaches which grew by the gate, he threw them, and

scattered his pursuers, and himself passed through into the light. And

he rolled a mighty stone across the mouth of the opening, so that none

hereafter could move it.

The peaches that had saved him he named Their Augustness the Great Divine

Fruit, and they are honored in some parts of Japan to this day.

Now, when he came back into the world again, Izanagi felt very weary,

and searched for a clear stream to wash away the foulness of the Lower

Regions which clung to him. When he had found one he bathed therein, and

of this washing many evil gods were born; among them were the Gods of

Crookedness, who love to plague mankind. Seeing this evil, he made the

Gods of Straightening, to make crooked things straight.

Now, when he had rested and accomplished his purification, he created

the greatest of his children in this wise:

Descending once more into the clear stream, he bathed his left eye, and

forth sprang Amaterasu, the great Sun Goddess.

Sparkling with light, she rose from the waters as the Sun rises in the

East, and her brightness was wonderful, and shone through Heaven and

Earth; never was seen such radiant glory.

Izanagi rejoiced greatly, and said, “There is none like this Miraculous

Child!”

Taking a necklace of jewels, he put it round her neck and said, “Rule

Thou over the Plain of High Heaven!”

Thus Amaterasu became the source of all life and light; the glory of her

shining has warmed and comforted all mankind, and she is worshipped by

them unto this day.

Then he bathed his right eye, and there appeared her brother, the Moon

God. Izanagi said: “Thy beauty and radiance are next to the Sun in

splendor; rule thou over the Dominion of Night!”

When the two beautiful ones had departed, a third God came forth, whose

name was Susa-wo. He was a god with a strange destiny, and could never be

at peace, sweeping ceaselessly over hills and valleys with his long beard

floating behind him. Izanagi gave him dominion over the sea.

But he was not content and neglected his kingdom, restlessly roaming over

the earth, so that the green mountains withered and the rivers dried up.

The murmuring of spirits he woke with his moaning was as the sound of

innumerable bees.

So Izanagi in his wrath banished him to the Nether Regions, and, having

accomplished his work, withdrew into an Island Cave, and abode there till

the End.