Orpheus and EurydiceTHE STORY: Orpheus was the son

of a muse, and considered by all who heard him to be the greatest musician in the world. He played a small, stringed instrument called a lyre, the instrument played by Apollo himself.

When Orpheus played and sang, he had power over everyone and everything that heard him: not only humans, but animals, flowers, and even rocks and water.

He met and married a young woman, Eurydice, with whom he was desperately in love. But their joy was short-lived. As Eurydice walked into the meadow with her bridesmaids, she was stung by a viper and died. Some of his friends said the gods were jealous of the couple’s happiness and would not allow a mortal man and woman to live in such bliss.

Orpheus was inconsolable. He decided that he could not live without Eurydice, so he would dare what no mortal man had dared before: He would follow her into Hades and beg the dark powers to give her back to him. He undertook the terrible journey into the underworld, charming with his beautiful music all the monsters and other mythical creatures who tried to stop him. Even the dog, Cerberus, who was suppose to guard the gates of the underworld, stood motionless and stopped his snarling as Orpheus, playing his lyre, passed by. The faces of the terrible Furies, charged with keeping those who belonged in the world of the dead from trying to escape were wet with tears at the wonderful sounds that Orpheus’s Lyre made, and let him pass.

Even Hades could not resist the powerful appeal of the young man’s music. He summoned Eurydice and gave her back to her husband, with one condition. She would have to follow him out of the underworld, keeping several paces behind him. He would not be allowed to look back at her until they were both back in the sunlight.

As Orpheus walked out of Hades, he could hear his wife’s footsteps behind him, and he longed to see her and to make sure that she was following him back to earth. But he controlled himself until he stepped through the opening of the cave that was the entrance to the underworld. Then he looked back, holding out his arms to embrace his beloved wife. But he was too early. Eurydice had not yet walked into the light. The instant he saw her, she slipped back into darkness, never to return.

Orpheus desperately tried to follow her, but this time he was not allowed to go. In some versions of the story, his shock had made it impossible for him to play his instrument. In other versions, a Fury or some other mysterious monster snatched the instrument from his hands. At any rate, the power to charm away the dark creatures failed him.

So he was forced to stop at the gate of the underworld, and eventually return back to earth. In some versions of the story, he continued to play his lyre, but his songs were so sad that no one wanted to listen to them. In other versions, he could not find his lyre, and just wandered the earth, desolate and alone. Eventually he was discovered by a band of Maenads – the mad followers of the god of wine, Dionysus – who tore him limb from limb and flung his head into a swift river. The river bore the disembodied head to an island, where Muses found it and buried it.

The inhabitants of several islands claim to own Orpheus’ final resting place, and all of them tell visitors that the birds sing more sweetly than anywhere else on earth, to honor the greatest musician the world has ever known: Orpheus, who loved his wife so much that he followed her to the land of the dead, and was unable to bring her back, even for only a second.

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Perseus and the Medusa:Everybody’s Fairy Tale

SOURCES: Only fragments of this tale remain in the original Greek, but the whole tale was written down by Ovid, the Roman writer, who must either have heard several pieces of the story and put them all together, or else read the whole in some poem or document that has been lost to us.The story of Perseus is the ultimate fairy tale. It has elements from folktales that have been told for centuries, in places that seem to have little else in common: Germany, Ireland, England, Italy, Greece, and even China and Japan. The story even has a thoroughly un-Greek happy ending: The hero marries the maiden he rescues and, presumably, everybody lives happily ever after. But perhaps that is not the way the original Greek story went. It may have been written that way by Ovid, who (unlike some of his gloomy predecessors) loved happy endings.

THE STORY: King Acrisius of Argos was a weak, vain, and jealous man, and an unpopular ruler. He had one asset: a daughter, Danae, who besides great beauty also had a gentle, kind disposition and great intelligence. Naturally, when she came to marriageable age, suitors flocked to the palace to ask for her hand.

But instead of being glad, Acrisius was worried. What if his son-in-law turned out to be more clever and more popular that he was and took his throne away? He decided to ask the Oracle at Delphi what the future held for him. The answer he got was even worse than the fate he feared. “Your daughter will bear a son, and one day that son will kill you,” he was told.

Consequently, the king thought his best insurance would be to lock his daughter in a brass tower, built with no doors and only one small slit to serve as a source of light and air. The slit was too narrow for anyone, even a small child, to put an arm through. The king surrounded the tower with a high wall topped by sharp spikes, and had it patrolled day and night to make sure that nobody got in or out.

It had occurred to him to have Danae killed outright, but he was afraid that whatever god or goddess had favored her with such exceptional beauty and intelligence might take revenge on him. So this was next best, he decided. Closed in, with no freedom or exercise, very little fresh air, and limited food and drink (crusts of bread and dishes of murky water were passed to her through the slit by the guards), she would die without anyone having to use a sword or knife or giving her poison.

But somehow Danae did not die. She didn’t even get sick. She just became more beautiful every day. The king was suspicious. He watched the brass tower closely through his bedroom window. Occasionally he went and peeked through the slit to make sure that everything was still as he had ordered it: Danae locked up in the small space he had provided for her, with no visitors allowed.

One day on such a visit, to his utter horror, he heard the cry of a small baby. Immediately he had the guards break into the tower and confront Danae. How had she managed to get pregnant or to smuggle the infant into the tower past the guards and his own watchful eyes?

Danae told him a remarkable story. One day, when she had sat crying because she felt so lonely and desperate, a golden shower had rained through the slit in the wall. The golden shower turned into a magnificent young man, obviously a god. He spent several nights with her, and nine months later she bore the baby, a healthy, beautiful little boy.

Now the king felt he was in real trouble. If his daughter had become the bride of a god, he certainly could not afford to have her killed. And, if the baby was the son of a divine being, killing him was also out of the question. So he decided to repeat his previous pattern. He would put mother and child in a situation in which they would most certainly die. If the gods were inclined to blame him, he could always tell them that he had done nothing directly to cause the deaths. Why he thought the gods would find this an acceptable excuse is difficult to understand. Nevertheless, the king ordered Danae and her

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little son to be taken out of their prison and put in a boat without sails, without oars, without a rudder, and with no food or water. The princess and her baby were set adrift on a stormy night. “If she is under the protection of some god, he may still rescue her,” the king said to himself. “But that seems unlikely. I can probably now sleep peacefully again, knowing that there won’t be any grandson to kill me.”

But the gods did indeed make sure that nothing happened to the princess and her son. The shower of god had been Zeus himself, and all the inhabitants of Olympus (except, possibly, Hera) were interested in making sure the woman and her child, who was, after all, at least a half-god, landed safely. Hermes drove clouds over the little boat to send a gentle rain, giving Danae water to drink. Poseidon provided her with fish to eat. Gentle winds pushed the vessel into a safe harbor where fishing boats were just being prepared for their morning run. A fisherman called Dictys saw the beautiful girl and her child and took them home to his cottage. He and his wife had not been blessed with children, so they looked after Danae and her baby just as parents and grandparents should.

The young woman thrived in an environment of love and affection like none she had ever known. And the little boy, whom she named Perseus, grew into a strong, fearless, yet kind and gentle young man. He inherited a godlike beauty and intelligence from his father, and all who knew him loved him.

One day, when Danae and her son were accompanying Dictys to the market to sell his fish, they were seen by the king of the island (which was called Sephiros). King Polydectes was much like Danae’s father: vain, jealous, and cruel. He also had an eye for beautiful women, and he ordered Danae and her son to be removed from the fisherman’s cottage, where they had been so happy, and brought to his palace. He wooed Danae, who made it clear the she was not interested in him. When he promised to marry her, she said that she would have to turn him down because all her time, energy, and love

were taken up by her son, Perseus. Now getting rid of Perseus became one of Polydectes’ main preoccupations. Although the king made sure that Perseus had no property of his own, the young man was still happy and proud. He loved to listen to the stories his mother told him of monsters and giants and horrible beings whom he hoped someday to defeat with his strength and skill. Among the stories was one of a beautiful young woman named Medusa, who had insulted Athena. Athena turned her into the world’s ugliest monster, with bulging eyes, a swollen black tongue that hung from her mouth, yellow fangs instead of teeth, and live, hissing snakes for hair. Indeed, Medusa was so horrible to look at that anyone who saw her face immediately turned to stone. She had two sisters who took Medusa to a secret place near the ends of the earth, where they lived together and plotted ways to avenge themselves on Athena – an impossibility, since Athena was a goddess.

Perseus learned from his mother that there were whole armies of stone figures around Medusa hiding place – would-be heroes who had tried to rid the world of her, and who had turned into rocks themselves. Perseus saw the elimination of Medusa as a proper test for himself. One day, he told himself, he would find her and kill her.

On the day of a huge festival, King Polydectes asked those subjects who wished to employ his favor to give him valuable presents to celebrate the occasion. It was the custom in that country on such an occasion to offer the best one had to show what a good citizen one was, and to let others see one’s power and generosity. Other young men offered Polydectes all kinds of riches, but Perseus had nothing of value to give. Polydectes, who had decided that this was the occasion to humiliate the son of the woman who had spurned him, specifically asked him what kind of present he had brought. Proud young Perseus could not make himself say that he had absolutely nothing. Instead, he offered what had until then only been a dream: He would bring the head of Medusa.Everybody in the crowd laughed. It was well known the Medusa was very hard to find and

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that those unlucky enough to reach her never came back. They just became part of her rock garden. Polydectes was delighted. Here was an unforeseen opportunity to get rid of Danae’s son.

“Go and get me the head of Medusa,” he said. “If you do, that will be the most magnificent present I have ever received, and you will be considered the bravest, cleverest, and most powerful man in the country.”

Perseus knew that he would never be able to fulfill his promise on his own. But he also knew he was the son of a god, so he climbed up a cliff and implored whatever god was available at the moment to help him. Hermes was sent down by Zeus to help his half-brother, but also to let him know that the kind of promise he made was unwise. After giving him a brotherly scolding, Hermes informed Perseus that the gods had indeed decided to help him. Zeus was furious at Polydectes for wanting to marry Danae. Athena also took an interest in Perseus’s quest. She knew that Medusa and her sisters hated her, and she hated them in return. So, helping her half-brother kill the Medusa seemed a worthwhile project.

She had originally made the winged sandals that helped Hermes fly over the earth and oceans with complete ease. Now she made similar ones for Perseus. She also knew an indirect way to get to the Medusa. So she told Hermes to give Perseus the magical sandals, and to point him in the right direction.

“First you will have to find three witches we call the Gray Sisters and force them to tell you the whereabouts of the Medusa,” he told Perseus. "Of course, we could tell you where the Medusa is right now, but then you would not have to prove your bravery, intelligence, and strength, and Zeus wishes you to do this. So, first fly straight north and find the Gray Sisters. You’ll recognize them because they only have one eye and one tooth between them, which they pass around as needed.”

Perseus, delighted with his power to fly, made a few passes around the rock on which he was standing, and then came back to thank Hermes properly. He also asked him to

give his profound thanks to Athena and Zeus, and promised never, under any circumstances, to allow himself to believe that he could perform miracles without the help of the gods.

After flying due north for several weeks, and managing to cross high mountains he could never have topped without his magic sandals, Perseus found a deep, craggy valley. There, under a few scraggly bushes, huddled three very old women. They were dress in gray rags, with gray hair, and gray faces. And they were obviously quarreling. It turned out that each one wanted possession of the eye and the tooth, and they were continuously snatching these body parts from each other while at the same time screaming curses. Perseus swooped down and got possession of the disputed objects. Without the eye and the tooth, the three old witches were, of course, helpless, and they begged the young man to return them.

He told them that since he had two eyes and a full set of teeth, he had no need for their prized possessions, but he would return them only if the women would tell him how to find the Medusa.

“She and her sisters recently moved to the other end of the earth,” one of the witches said. “We don’t know exactly where you can find them, but we know who can tell you: the Nymphs of the West. They have recently been assigned by Hera to guard a special tree she is trying to hide from Zeus. The tree bears golden apples, which, it is said, can make any mortal woman as beautiful as a goddess. Hera has enough trouble with mortal woman, and she doesn’t want Zeus to find the tree, so he can give the apples as presents to anyone he wants. We will let you know where the Nymphs of the West are, and you can try to get them to tell you the Medusa’s hiding place. But first, let us warn you – the Nymphs are so beautiful that every man who sees them falls in love with them and never wants to leave. The Nymphs will tease him, and then, as often as not, throw him into the ocean to drown.”

“I’m not going to let that worry me,” said Perseus. “The gods will protect me from falling in love with the Nymphs who will

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divert me from finding and killing the Medusa.”

Then he carefully memorized the directions (to fly west as far as the winged shoes would take him) and gave the tooth and eye back to the witches as he had promised.

He found the Nymphs. They were guarding the tree with the golden apples on the uttermost western island, so far from Olympus that Zeus had, as yet, not discovered it.

The Nymphs at first mistook Perseus for Hermes; since he was the only young male they knew who owned winged sandals. But even when they found out that their visitor was not the god they thought, they were still enchanted with him. In fact, the usual situation was almost reversed: The Nymphs fell in love with Perseus, while Perseus, intent on his mission, was only interested in finding where the Medusa was hidden.

The Nymphs tried to persuade him to stay, assuring him that they had no intention of throwing him into the ocean. They even promised to let him taste some of Hera’s golden apples; but he staunchly turned them down.

“If you really care about me, you’ll help me find the Medusa,” he told them. “Zeus is tired of having men turned into rocks; and besides, I have sworn a holy oath that I will bring her head to the king of my country.”

So, sadly, the Nymphs decided they would have to let him go. They even gave him two important presents; objects that would help him kill the Medusa without becoming a part of her rock garden. First they gave him a cap that made him invisible. Then they gave him a brightly polished shield, which gleamed like a mirror. They told him to look at the reflection of the Medusa head in the shield when he attacked her, so he would not be looking directly into her terrible face.

The Medusa, they said, lived on the northern rim of the earth where the sun rarely appeared, and where the winds constantly tore at the few bushes and trees that had managed to survive. There, in a craggy mountain cave, he would find the Medusa and her two sisters.

He flew for many days, but when he came to the valley where the Medusa and her

two sisters were hiding, he knew at once that he had arrived. Thousands of stone figures surrounded the cave where the three sisters lived. Putting on his cap of invisibility, he swooped down on the fierce monster; with his back turned and his shiny shield pointed in her direction. He recognized the Medusa by her snaky hair, but she could not harm him, since he was not looking at her directly. With his sharp, long sword he chopped off her head, picked it up, and flew away. Her two sisters tried to follow him, but he was too fast for them.

Now his intention was to get back to his island home as quickly as possible, to turn over his prize to Polydectes. On the way, however, he had another adventure. As he flew east, along the shore of the ocean, he saw a beautiful young girl dressed in the finest clothes and decked out in valuable jewels. She was crying bitterly; and no wonder. She was chained to a rock, about two hundred yards from shore. On that shore a crowd of sad-looking people stood watching her.

Perseus decided to interrupt his journey long enough to find out what was wrong. He landed and approached the king and queen (whom he recognized, since they were the only ones wearing crowns). “Why is everybody so sad, and what is that lovely lady doing out there on the rock?” he asked.

“It’s all my wife’s fault,” said the man with the crown, who was indeed the king of the country, which was called Joppa. “She was exceedingly proud of our daughter Andromeda’s beauty. So one day she said that Andromeda was more beautiful than the Nereids, who as you know, are the god Poseidon’s favorite mermaids. Not only did she make this boast, but she was stupid enough to do it right near the ocean. One of the mermaids, complained to Poseidon, who was furious at my wife’s pride. So he created an enormous sea monster, longer any of our warships, and broader than my palace. He threatened to let this sea monster come ashore and destroy our country, eating up all the people in it, unless we sacrificed our daughter. We were told to bind her to that rack out there, where the monster will come and eat her.”

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“Boasting about your daughter by comparing her to immortal beings was indeed stupid,” said Perseus. “But since none of this seems to be your poor daughter’s fault, I will kill the sea monster and rescue her. I think the gods will forgive me; I have a rather special relationship with some of them.”So he flew out over the ocean and stationed himself near the rock. When the huge sea serpent appeared, he put on his cap of invisibility, flew right over the monster’s head, and hit it with his sword. The monster screamed, reared up once, and disappeared back into the sea, the water around him turning red with his blood. Perseus untied the girl, who now wept with relief and gratitude, and flew her back to her parents.

He was so struck by her beauty and gentleness that he asked the king for her hand in marriage. Andromeda had never seen so handsome and, she thought, so heroic a man and would have been delighted to become his bride. But the king and queen had apparently learned very little about excessive pride. “You marry our only daughter?” the king shouted. “She is beautiful and rich, and could marry any prince in the land. You may be good-looking, and good at sword-play, but you are nobody from nowhere. We want our child to marry an aristocrat, preferably a king.”

“You are about to become my father-in-law, whether you want to or not,” Perseus said. “You were perfectly willing to sacrifice your daughter to that awful sea monster to save yourselves, but you won’t allow her to marry a man she loves, the man who saved her life. Eventually the gods will probably get you, but meanwhile, good-bye.” He picked up Andromeda and flew off towards his homeland.

When he landed on the island where he had left his mother and Polydectes, he was amazed to find it most deserted. With Andromeda at his side, he made his

Way toward the royal palace, where he found a great festival going on. On the throne, next to the king, sat a sad and weeping Danae. The king had taken advantage of Perseus’s absence to force her to marry him.

The wedding ceremony was just about to begin. Perseus had made it home just in time.

“Polydectes,” he cried, “I am back, and I have brought you the gift I promised.” Out of his bag at his side he pulled the bloody head of Medusa. Polydectes tried to scream, but his mouth froze. He had turned into solid rock. The head of Medusa was so terrifying that, even though she was now dead, she had not lost her power.

There was another guest at the party who became the victim of Medusa. Perseus’s grandfather, Acrisius, had been invited to the wedding. He and Polydectes were fast friends, since their characters were similar, and he had agreed to his daughter’s marriage, in spite of her objections, because her future bridegroom promised to kill any sons she might have.

When his grandson Perseus held up the head of Medusa, Acrisius also looked at it, and he, too, turned to stone. Danae told her son that this development had been prophesied by the Delphic Oracle, and that he need not feel guilty about killing his grandfather. It was a fate that had been decided by the gods even before Perseus was born.

The people of the island were delighted to see Perseus again. It turned out that the fisherman who had rescued him from the sea was a remote relative of the dead king, and the only living relative. So the humble Dictys became the ruler of the kingdom, and, since he was much more intelligent and generous than Polydectes, he made all his subjects happy and prosperous. After his death, Perseus became the king.

Perseus built a temple to Zeus and Hermes, and gave back all the magical gifts they had sent him so that from then on he would be clever and brave without supernatural help. The shield held the image of Medusa’s head burned into it forever, and Athena kept it among her treasures.

Andromeda and Perseus got married and lived happily ever after. It is even possible that since he was the son of Zeus and she one of the most beautiful women in the world, they both went to the Elysian.

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Midas and the Golden TouchIt happened in the day when the

Gods of Olympus ruled over men that the people of Phrygia were in great trouble. Their king was dead and had left no heir, and they knew not where to look for a ruler. In this difficulty they did as the Greeks often did – they consulted and Oracle, that is an inspired priest or priestess. The oracle replied that he who came riding to them in a wagon should be their King. The saying perplexed the Phrygians greatly, and a number of them were assembled in the market place discussing its meaning when there came riding towards them in a wagon a countryman named Gordius, with his wife Cybele, and his little son Midas. Their appearance seems to the Phrygians a direct fulfillment of the oracle’s words. At once they rushed to Gordius, acclaiming him as their King and bore him away to the temple from which the Oracle had spoke that he might be solemnly appointed to the royal office. Gordius greatly surprised and honoured by being thus chosen, accepted with humility and thankfulness, and offered up to Zeus the wagon that had brought him his advancement. He fastened it in its place in the temple by a knot which no one was able to undo, and which in later times was called the Gordian knot.

Gordius, although he was only a poor countryman, was sensible and quick-witted, and he ruled ably over the Phrygians for many years. His son Midas was in many ways unlike his father. He loved music and dancing and reveling, and the great god of his worship was Dionysus, the god of wine. But most of all he loved gold. One day when he was still a child, he had tired himself with play and was lying among the grass, quite still and half asleep, when a company of ants, each bearing a tiny grain of wheat, came toward him. They crawled over him until they reached his mouth, where each left his grain, and then retreated whence they had come.

This was said by the wise men of the country to be a sign that Midas would one day be the richest man in all the world. The boy was delighted at this saying, and

henceforward in his dreams he saw himself always with a store of gold – chests and coffers full of the precious metal, a palace overflowing with golden treasures, gold shining on his clothing, gold everywhere, before his eyes and beneath his fingers.

In the course of time Gordius died and Midas became king, and succeeded to the treasure laid up by his father. This was not great, for the countryman, although he had kept the simple, frugal habits of his early life, had been very generous to those of his subjects who had been in want, and, besides, he had not understood the arts by which riches are gathered. With Midas this was different. He had already amassed a store of gold which was a large one for a young man, and now that he was king he set to work, steadily and resolutely, to amass more. Year by year his store grew, until he was a very rich man indeed: but still he was not satisfied. This way of gathering gold, he thought, was a slow process. He walked about his palace, thinking how delightful it would be if everything in it were made of gold: if the gleam that he loved to see were reflected from walls and floors and furniture, so that, to delight his eyes and charm his fingers, it would be no longer necessary to go to his storeroom and open his great coffers; he need simply walk from room to room, sit at his meals, or lie on his bed.

One day he heard a commotion outside his palace, and presently his servant came in and said that an old man had been found lying in drunken sleep in the royal rose gardens, and that the gardeners had brought him to the palace to ask the king’s will in the matter. Midas commanded the man be brought before him, and when this was done he recognized him at once as Silenus, the tutor of the god Dionysus, and a very great favorite with his master. It appeared that in the revels of the evening before Silenus had drunk too much wine, and had been unable to join his merry companions in the dance which had ended the festivities. He had strayed into the rose garden, and after doing some damage to the flowers in his drunkenness, had lain down and gone to sleep.

The servants of Midas were very much surprised at being told to pay all

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respects to this disreputable looking stranger, to provide him with robes befitting the highest rank, and to prepare the king’s chariot for a journey. Midas and Silenus entered the chariot for a journey. Midas and Silenus entered the chariot and were driven to the place where Silenus knew the god was to be found. When he heard what had happened, Dionysus rose from the couch where he had been sleeping after the night’s festivities, and came himself to thank Midas for what he had done. The god was young and very beautiful with dark eyes shining in his flushed face, and on them he wore a wreath of ivy leaves.

“You have brought me back old Silenus” he said to Midas, “and I love him though many think that a graver and more sober tutor would better suit my godhead. Now ask of me a gift, for by the red juice of the vine which is my token, I swear to give you anything you desire”

Midas did not hesitate, for he had long made up his mind as to the thing he most desired, though he had never dreamed that the chance of possessing it would come with him.

He bowed before Dionysus and said: “Great gods of vineyards, son of Zeus, grant me I pray you that whatever I touch may turn to gold.”

Dionysus looked at him in` astonishment, believing that he joked: but seeing the king’s Ernest face he laughed out merrily. “But it so,” he said; “when you cross the threshold of you home this gift will come to you. Far you well.”

Midas hastened back to his palace, scarcely able to believe in his own good fortune. He alighted from his chariot, and entering his door, laid his hand on a carved bench that stood within. At once it changed from dark oak to shining gold, and Midas realized with delight that the god had kept his word. He went from room to room, touching walls and benches and tables, until at last his dream was fulfilled, and everywhere around him, before his eyes and beneath his feet, was gold. The gleam of it dazzled him, and he felt dizzy with the fulfillment of his highest ambition. His robes had long since turned to cloth of gold, and he looked a splendid figure when he summoned his servants and bade

them prepare a great feast in honor of the gift bestowed upon him, and to set forth the choice wines and rich dishes that befitted so great an occasion.

He sat down to the table, touched the platters and goblets, and saw them all put on the gleam that he loved; and then, for the first, a horrible misgiving took hold of him. For when he tried to eat some the delicious food that had been prepared for him, he found that as a morsel touched his lips it turned to hard gold ; he lifted his goblet to drink the choice wine, but only succeeded in filling his mouth with melted gold. After a time he rose from the table, hungry, weary, and with the horrible misgiving grown into an over- mastering fear. Was he doomed to starve with all of his treasure around him? Was it death that he had begged of the merry, laughing god? He tried to drive his fears away, telling himself that it would be absurd to give up so wonderful a gift for such a small matter as eating and drinking, and that the wise men of his kingdom would certainly be able to find some way to overcome the difficulty. So he went, tried and dispirited it his magnificent golden bed, and there soon fell asleep and forgot his worries. Nest morning, with the sun shining brightly, it was easier to be hopeful, and Midas got up early and went outside into the palace garden, exercising his power there as the evening before he had exercised it indoors. His servants brought him food, and he tired to eat it but; but again it was gold upon which his lips closed. He put by cup and platter with a sigh, and bade his heralds summon all the wisest men in his realm to assemble immediately in the palace and consult on an urgent matter with their royal master.

The council met, and the problem was gravely argued, but not one of the wise men could tell how this difficulty – the difficulty of keeping the king alive – could be successfully overcome. Some suggested one thing, some another, and trail was made of all; but still not one morsel of anything but pure gold could be placed in the king’ mouth, and Midas dismissed the council with hard and angry words.

For the rest of that day he sat brooding by himself; miserable and defiant.

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He could not, would not, give up the power that he had won. He himself would find some way, since these useless wise men could not. His head ached, and he was faint with hunger, but he held doggedly to try to resolve, and vowed that he would not turn aside from the path he had chosen, though he say Death waiting for him on the way.

After a night of exhausting, un-refreshing sleep he woke to another new day; and now his mind was changed. As he opened his eyes and saw the bright gleam of the sun’s rays on his golden furnishing he hated then with a great and bitter hatred. The sight of his golden gown filled him with loathing and he thought of his subjects- the shepherds, the herdsmen, the peasants – moving about in the poor huts with coarse, homely things, envied them with a passion that brought tears it his eyes. He thought of cool, white linen, and shuddered at the touch of his golden coverings; he remember how he used to bathe his face in cold fresh water, and he longed with a painful longing to do so once again. He was faint with hunger and a cup of wine would have given him a little strength; yet he could not have it because he exchanged all the good things of life for this ugly, hard, glittering gold.

Soon he resolved what he would do. He would go to Dionysus and entreat him to take back the gift he had bestowed. He would cast forth every morsel of gold from his house, and henceforward live in simplicity among the cool, green, living beauties of the forest. Surely the god would not refuse his prayer, and would give him back his life and his happiness.

The chariot was ordered, and soon Midas was once more in the presence of Dionysus. He looked so haggard and worn and miserable as he stood before the radiant young god, that it would have been a hard heart that refused to pity him. Humbly he said: “I pray you, O Dionysus, take from me the gift you have bestowed. Take it, or I die”

Dionysus looked on him kindly, yet with a little half mocking smile.” Go you, then, wash in Pactolus, near its source. Its waters will cleanse you from this golden

plague and restore to their former state those things which your touched has changed.

Midas thanked the God with words of heartfelt gratitude. Then he hurried to his chariot and bade his servant drive him quickly to the bank of the healing river. He now longed far more earnestly to rid himself of his fatal gift than before he had learned to attain it. When he reached the river, he plunged eagerly into its waters. Their delicious coolness and freshness seemed to give him new life. He held up his hands, and let the water drip from his fingers, rejoicing to see that the water were still crystal clear, without the yellow taint of which his eyes had sickened. Then, springing from the stream, he laid his hands, all wet and dripping, upon his golden chariot; and the heart of the King Midas rejoiced, for he knew that the hated power had passed from him.

Henceforward he hated gold as much as before he had loved it. He gave up the luxurious life in which he had delighted, and lived simply like a shepherd or a hunter whose real home is in the fields and woods. He became a worshiper of Pan, the god of flocks and herds, and often saw him in the groves of the forest and listened to his music.

Pan was the son of Hermes and Penelope, a nymph of the woods. When he was a tiny, newborn baby he looked such a curious little creature that his mother ran away from him in fear. His body was covered with fur; he had little, furry, pointed ears, and felt like the hoofs of a goat. His father carried him up to Olympus to show him to the gods and they were all delighted with him. They laughed at him and praised hi whimsical ways and his funny, bonding movements. But Pan did not care to dwell on Olympus; he loved better the woodland places of the earth where he could wander freely, and play with the satyrs and fauns and forest nymphs and startle travelers by jumping out upon them from behind a tree, and dance and sing through the long, sunny days.

Once he loved a nymph named Syrinx, but she, frightened by his unusual appearance, fled from him in terror. He followed her, his hoofed feet pattering on the ground. Coming to the banks of a river, Syrinx

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called piteously upon the water nymphs to help her. They head, and hurried to her assistance so that Pan, coming up and clasping as he thought his loved Syrinx, found that he was embracing a tuft of reeds. He sighed deeply, and his sigh breathed through the reeds, bringing out from them a sweet, low sound. “I will at least have something that will remind me of my love,” He said, and cut seven pieces, of different lengths, from the reeds, and fashioned them into a pipe, on which he played the most delightful music.

Midas loved the music of Pan’s pipes, and would lie in the woods listening to it the whole of a summer afternoon. Pan himself was very proud of his skill; he even boasted that the music he made on his pipes was sweeter than that made by Apollo, and one day he challenged the sun-god to a contest. Tmolus, the mountain-god was chosen as judge, and all the inhabitants of the woodland gathered round to listen. Midas was there too, very anxious that Pan should be successful. But through the forest-god played very sweetly there was no doubt that Apollo’s music excelled his. The listeners were so entranced with the marvelous sounds he produced that they shouted in acclamation when Tmolus unhesitatingly awarded him the prize.

But there was one among the listeners who declared that the prize should have been given to Pan, and that one was King Midas, and he obstinately persisted in his opinion, though all the others exclaimed loudly at his strange lack of musical taste. At last Apollo grew angry.

“Is it possible,” he said, “That anyone with ears can have so little power to use them? I will give you a new pair of ears, with which you may perhaps do better.”

Then Midas, to his dismay, felt his ears growing long and furry, and found that he was able to move them about; just he had seen asses do. He was indeed, furnished with a pair of ass’s ears.

His shame at this horrible transformation was so great that he could not bear that any of his subjects should know o fit. He secretly procured for himself a cap which he could draw down tightly over his eyes, and

he wore this cap always. But the time came when the barber, whose duty it was to cut and trim his hair, came to perform his accustomed task. Midas did not know what to do. His kingly dignity demanded that he should not let his hair grow long and wild, but should have it properly attended to; he was forced, therefore, to let the barber into the secret of his ass’s ears.

The barber’s astonishment was so great that he could think of nothing else; neither by night nor by day could he forget what he had seen. He knew that the king would slay him if he was to tell the secret to any other person, and yet he felt that he could not keep it to himself. Always he went in fear that the desire to tell would some day be so great that he would shout the secret aloud for all to hear. So at last he dug a deep hole in a remote spot, and thrusting his head down into it, he called aloud: “King Midas has the ears of an ass. I myself have seen them.” This act gave him the relief that he desired, and he filled up the hole and went back to his work in the palace.

Not long afterward a bed of reeds appeared on the place where the barber had filled up the hole, and when the wind blew through them they whispered, “King Midas has the ears of an ass”; and all the people passing by heard and repeated the marvel. Thus, after all, the great secret became known throughout the land.

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Poseidon and DemeterPoseidon was so delighted with this

kingdom, the sea that he built a whole underwater city, including a palace of pearl and coral for himself. He needed a queen, and he chose the most beautiful water nymph, Nereid, as his bride. But he heard a prophecy (some say it came from Hera) that any son Nereid would bear him would be stronger than his father and might even depose him from his watery kingdom. So, as a second chance, Poseidon picked another nymph, Amphitrite, who at first was pleased to be crowded queen of the oceans. But, soon came to regret the marriage. Like his brother, Zeus, Poseidon was an unfaithful husband. He was constantly running or swimming after beautiful women. He did not spend much time in his kingdom, but traveled constantly through the universe. Where he found many beautiful and willing maidens attached by his power and riches. According to legend, he had more than one hundred children. He was also a difficult god, changeable and quarrelsome, who hardly ever forgave a slight. When he got angry, he let loose the waves of the sea to create storms and hurricanes, which could destroy whole parts of the earth. However, none of these powers could reach Olympus, which towered above the waters. He was a practical joker who liked to frighten other gods and humans by creating monsters like the octopus, the squid, and the blowfish. When he was still in love with his wife, Amphitrite, he made her beautiful dolphin and gave it to her as a gift. The dolphin was regarding by the ancient Greek as Poseidon’s special pet, and according to some legends, killing a dolphin was a serious insult to the sea god, bound to bring terrible vengeance.

Soon, however, Poseidon became dissatisfied with owning only the city under the sea and started looking for some earthy properties. He picked a city called Attica, near enough the ocean so that it would be easy for

him to reach. He claimed it by planting his trident in a hillside where a salt spring spouted.

But the people of Attica were unhappy with Poseidon as their ruler. They knew him to be cruel and greedy and they thought that when he was in a bad mood he might well wipe them out with wind and water. So they appealed to Zeus, but he was not listening, but Athena heard their prayer and came down to plant an olive tree right next to the saltwater spring. Poseidon was enraged. He immediately raised a huge storm, which blew a whole fishing fleet out to sea, never to be heard from again.

His vengeful action only made the inhabitants of Attica more certain than before that they did not want him to be their special god. They appealed to Zeus again, and he came down to make peace.

First he declared a truce between Poseidon and Athena, and then he called a council of the gods to decide who would be put in charge of Attica. The other gods knew that Athena was more even-tempered and sensible than Poseidon, as well as much wiser. So they voted for her. In gratitude, the citizens changed the name of their town from Attica to Athens, and declared the olive tree sacred to Athena.

But Poseidon did not forgive them. From then on, Athenians had to exercise special care when they went to sea, and many stopped being fisherman and learned other skills and trades. Also Athens tended to be at a disadvantage in sea battles. Poseidon, remembering how he had rejected, usually sided with the enemies of Athens.

After Poseidon lost Athens and Athena, he decided that he had better spend more time on Olympus to make sure the he did not lose any more territory to other gods.

eye fell on Demeter, who was actually his sister. But that made no difference to him. He pursued her anyway. Demeter wanted nothing to do with her brother god. She knew of his changeable nature, and besides, since she was the goddess of corn and the moon, she had no desire to live underwater. But one evening Poseidon cornered her in a mountain pass and blocked it with his huge body, so that she could not flee. Finally Demeter said,”If

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you give me a gift, the most beautiful thing on the face of the earth, I will be yours.” She had seen some of Poseidon’s monster creation and expected that he could not make anything beautiful, no matter how hard he tried. But Poseidon fooled her. He made a horse, so beautiful that the goddess gasped with wonder. She was still safe from her brother god, however; he had a very short attention span and had become so fascinated by his new creation that he made a whole herd of horse, which galloped around the meadows, tossing their manes and their tails. He was so pleased with his creation that he forgot all about Demeter and leaped on one of the horses to ride away on the wind. Later he made a herd of small green horses, known as sea horses, which he kept in his underwater kingdom. According to an earlier legend, Poseidon hade previously tried to make a horse but somehow his work of art had not turned out just right. He got the neck too long, creating a giraffe. Or he put humps on the animal’s back and got a camel. Once he came close, but the pelt turned out striped, so he had a zebra. He did not kill these creatures, but just let them run away on earth. That is why their offspring are still with us today. The Romans called Poseidon “Neptune”. Since much of their fortune, both in commerce and war, depended on the oceans, he was one of their most important gods. In most Roman myths, Neptune is less mischievous and irresponsible than the Greeks’ Poseidon. An angry Neptune was to be feared his wrath to be taken seriously. The storms he created could destroy the Roman Navy and lead to losses in peace and war. In Roman sculptures, Neptune tends to loom larger, fiercer, and more majestic than does Poseidon in Greek art. Keeping on Neptune’s good side seemed to the Romans a wise political move. Somehow, they did not count on Jupiter or Athena (Minerva in Roman legends) to save them from the sea god’s wrath.

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Theseus and the Minotaur

Some of the Greek heroes were renowned for physical prowess alone. It was a quality all Greek heroes must possess. But Theseus had more to commend him. He was remembered in his city Athens, not so much as a giant-killer, but as a law-giver. He was a Greek hero who could use his head as well as his hands.

Theseus was born in the little city of Troizen, across the gulf of Athens. Like Perseus he was brought up by his mother. Though his father was not a god, he was an important man; he was the king of Athens. Before Theseus was born, his father sailed away form Troizen, back to his Athens kingdom. But he left behind something of his own. Under a huge rock, he placed his sword and a pair of sandals, with instructions to Theseus’ mother. If he baby proved to be a boy, he must try move the stone when he came of age. If he succeeded in recovering the sword and sandals, he could present himself at the court of his father, and claim kinship.

Theseus grew up, knowing nothing of his father, or of the test of strength that awaited him. But he learned many skills that were to prove useful to him in days to come. In boxing and wrestling he excelled; he developed great physical endurance; and, best of all, he possessed the intelligence to plan for the future. When his mother felt that he was ready, she took him top the stone, and told him the story. Theseus put his weight against the stone, and it moved. The time had come for him to claim his rightful place in his father’s kingdom.

His mother was delighted. She offered him a ship that he might sail at once to Athens. But Theseus, with his quick intelligence, realized that the sword and sandals were symbols.

“No” he said, “I shall not go by sea. My father left me sandals that I might walk, and sword that I might fight. I cannot

present myself in his court with unworn shoes and untried sword.”

Theseus’ sword saw plenty of action in the days to come, as with sandaled feet he tramped the roundabout land route across the Isthmus of Corinth and on Athens. Robbers and murders went down before him. Sinis, the giant, had killed his victims by bending down two pine-trees, securing the unfortunate men by an arm to each pine, and letting the trees fly back. Theseus left the giant swinging in two pieces from his own trees. Sciron, who had toppled wayfarers from a cliff to a man-eating tortoise below, was fed to his own private monster. (This is the story of the fate of Sciron.) Theseus tackled a club-wielding giant, and killed a fierce wild sow. He wrestled a murderous king, and put an end to Procrustes, who hacked or stretched his victims to a uniform size to fit his famous bed.

“This is a lawless country,” observed Theseus mildly.

At the Athenian court, Aegeus, Theseus’ Father, had come under the spell of Medea, the wicked but beautiful whom Jason had brought back with him after he had secured the Fleece. She had escaped to Athens from Corinth. Theseus’ reputation had traveled ahead of him, and all of Athens was out to do honour to the daring young man who had freed the country of so many scourges. Medea, by her sorcery, knew at once who Theseus was; she was jealous and afraid lest he should gain ascendancy over the king. First she tried to poison the king’s mind against Theseus. Then in a direct attack, she poisoned the hero’s cup. Just as Theseus raised the cup the king noticed, for the first time, his sword and sandals. He dashed the cup to the ground before Theseus could taste it, and turned wrathfully on Medea.

But Medea was no longer there. She made her escape from the palace and fled across the sea to Asia.

Theseus was allowed little time to enjoy the comparative quiet of court life. By the time of the spring equinox the city was

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in mourning. Theseus asked the cause. He was told the following story.

Androgeus, son of Minos, king of Crete, had come to Athens to take part in some Games. Whether by accident or by design, he was sent by King Aegeus on a dangerous bull-hunting expedition and was killed by the bull. Minos preferred to consider the whole incident as a plot against his son’s life. In his fury he came against the Athenians with an army, and completely defeated them. Instead of destroying Athens as he had originally intended, he contented himself with exacting a yearly tribute. This tribute consisted, not of money nor of goods, but of young life. Seven youths and seven maidens were drawn by lot, and sent to Crete. These unfortunates were fed to the Minotaur, a horrible creature with the head of a man and the body of a bull. Minos kept the monster in a terrifying maze which had been planned and constructed for him by Daedalus. From this Labyrinth, as it was called, the captives could find no way out. In their frantic wanderings, sooner or later they met the Minotaur. None had ever escaped with his life.

Theseus boldly announced his intention of becoming one of the seven allotted youths. His father protested and pleaded, but he remained firm.

On the appointed day, a sad little procession wound its way down to the harbour, where a ship with black sails waited to carry its cargo of captives to Crete. The King had joined the other mourning fathers to watch the embarkation. At the last moment the King had a white sail put on board.

“The ship will return,” said the King to Theseus. “If you are dead, I will see the black sail. But if, by the will of the gods, you live, come home to me under a white sail, and I will know from afar that you are alive and well.”

The ship of mourning was bound for Cnossos in Crete. That city was the centre of civilization in the Aegean world at the time. If the Athenian captives had not been so terrified, they would have looked in amazement at the great buildings, at the

stylish clothes of the inhabitants, and at all the evidences of wealth and luxury around them. But they kept their eyes on the ground as they were herded through the streets. Only Theseus looked fearlessly ahead.

Ariadne, daughter of the King of Crete, who was idly watching the procession of foreign captives winding through the streets, was attracted by the noble bearing of Theseus, and fell in love with him. Somehow, she managed to reach him with a promise of help.

Theseus had offered himself as the first victim to be put in the Labyrinth. It did not give Ariadne much time for preparation, but she reached Theseus before he entered, and handed him a little ball of thread. Some say the idea was Ariadne’s own; others think she went to Daedalus, and that this was his suggestion. The trick was so simple, and yet so ingenious, surely only Daedalus would think of it! Theseus must fasten the thread to a rock at the entrance to the Labyrinth. As he turned and twisted his way through the dark passages, the thread would unroll. When he wished to get out, he had merely to wind the ball again. Ariadne asked in return that Theseus, if he should kill the Minotaur, would take her with when he sailed from Crete.

Into the maze of narrow passages beneath towering stone walls, Theseus made his way. At almost every turn he was confronted with a choice of direction. He never knew which passage he should choose, and a moment later he could not remember which he had chosen. He was completely lost. But he unwound the ball of thread wherever he went.

Somewhere in the depths of the Labyrinth he met the Minotaur. He was unarmed, and how he manager to kill the monster we don’t know. But he was skillful wrestler, and he was quick and agile on his two feet; the Minotaur, in the narrow passage, was slow and clumsy on his four feet. It was advantage that Theseus. Had the intelligence to use the full. Somehow Theseus, the giant-killer, managed to outwit and kill the creature. He left in lying there and picking up his little ball of thread he retraced his steps by

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rewinding the thread he laid down on his journey.

Ariadne had drugged the guards and was waiting for him. They released the other thirteen, captives and in the darkness they sailed from Crete.

The story had a sad sequel. The Greeks never required that their heroes should be perfect, and Theseus was no exception. On the island of Naxos, where they put in to rest, he heartlessly abandoned Ariaden. And he completely forgot to put the white sail and the ship saw the back-sailed ship. In his despair at the supposed death of his son, he threw himself from a cliff into the sea, which has been called the Aegean ever since.

Theseus succeeded his father as king of Athens, and his great work as administrator began. He united the people into one strong nation. He reorganized the government in the form of commonwealth, in which all men were equal. He renounced his royal power, keeping only his position as a commander- in-chief. The country was ruled through a council in which the people voted. Athens became known as the home of true liberty.

His active life did not end. He fought and defeated the warlike Amazon women who were attacking Athens. He defeated the centaurs, who were part men, part horse. In company with his great friend Pirithous, he became involved in one adventure after another. Pirithous, was a rash sort of individual, and some of the adventures in which he involved Theseus had unfortunate endings. On one occasion the pair kidnapped the young Helen, who was later destined to be the cause of the Trojan War. She was only a child at this time, but Theseus proposed to wait till she grew up, and then marry her. But Castor and Pollex, Helen’s formidable brothers, set out on her trial, and the project was abandoned. Even more disastrous was Pirithous’ attempt to carry off Persephone from the underworld. Theseus accompanied his friend on this wild adventure. Hades craftily invited them to sit, on the Seat of Forgetfulness. There they sat, all else forgotten, till Hercules on his visit to the underworld, rescued Theseus.

When he returned to Earth, Theseus founded himself forgotten in his city of Athens, and he died on the island of Scyros, treacherously poisoned, men say, by its ruler.

But Athens remembers him later with great affection, and his bones were eventually brought back from Scyros. There is a tradition that, hundreds of years later, at the battle of Marathon, the shade of Theseus marched before the Athenians, leading them to victory.

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Daedalus

The labyrinth from which Theseus escaped by means of the clue of Ariadne was built by Daedalus, a most skilful artificer. It was an edifice with numberless winding passages and turnings opening into one another; they seemed to have neither beginning nor ending, like the river Maeander, which returns on itself and flows now onward, now backward, in its course to the sea. Daedalus built the labyrinth for king Minos, but afterward lost the favor of the king, and was shut up in a tower. He was contrived to make and escape from his prison, but could not leave the island by sea, as the king kept strict watch on all vessels, and permitted none to sail without being carefully searched.

“Minos may control the land and sea,” said Daedalus, “but not the regions of the air. I will try that way.” So he set to work to fabricate wings for himself and his son Learus. He wrought feathers together, beginning with the smallest and adding larger, so as to form and increasing surface. The larger he secured with thread and the smaller ones with wax, and gave the whole a gentle curvature like the wings of a bird. Icarus, the boy, stood and looked on, sometimes running to gather up the feathers which the wind had blown away, and then handling the wax and working it over with his fingers, while his play impeding his father in his labours. When at last the work was done, the artist, waving his wings, found himself buoyed upwards, and hung suspended, poising himself on the beaten air. He next equipped his son in the same manner and taught him how to fly, as a bird tempts he young ones from the lofty nest into the air. When all was prepared for flight he said, “Icarus my son, I charge you to keep at a moderate height, for if you fly too low the damp will clog your wings, and if too high the heat will melt them. Keep near me and you will be safe.” While he gave him these instructions and fitted the wings to his

shoulders, the face of the father was wet with tears, and his hands trembled. He kissed the boy, not knowing if it was for the last time. Then rising into on his wings he flew off encouraging his son to follow, and looked back from his own flight to see how his son managed his wings. As they flew the ploughman stopped his work to gaze, and the Sheppard leaned on his staff and watched them, astonished at the sight, and thinking they were gods who could thus cleave the air.

They passed Samos and Delos on the left and Lebynthos on the right, when the boy, exulting in his career, began to leave the guidance of his companion and soar upward as if to reach heaven. The nearness of the blazing sun softened the wax which held the feathers together, and they came off. He fluttered with his arms, but no feathers remained to hold the air. While his mouth uttered cries to his father it was submerged in the blue waters of the sea, which thenceforth was called by his name. His father cried, “Icarus, Icarus, where are you?” At last he saw the feathers floating on the water, and bitterly lamenting his own arts, he buried the body and called the land Icaria in memory of his child. Daedalus arrived safe in Sicily, where he built a temple to Apollo, and hung up his wings, an offering to the god.

Daedalus was so proud of his achievements that he could not bear the idea of a rival. His sister had placed her son Perdix under his charge to be taught the mechanical arts. He was an apt scholar and gave striking evidences of ingenuity. Walking on the seashore he picked up the spine of a fish. Imitating it, he took a piece of iron and notched it on the edge, and thus inventing the saw. He put two pieces of iron together, connecting them at one end with a rivet, and sharpening the other ends, and made a pair of compasses. Daedalus was so envious of his nephew’s performances that he took an opportunity, when they were together one day on the top of a high tower, to push him off. But Minerva, who favours ingenuity, saw him falling, and arrested his

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fate by changing him into a bird called after his name, the Partridge. This bird does not build his nest in the trees, nor take lofty flights, but nestles in the hedges, and mindful of his fall, avoids high places.

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Egyptian MythologyOsiris and Isis

In the very early stages of its history, many thousand years before the birth of Christ, Egypt is said to have been ruled by a dynasty of gods. One of the first of these was Ra, the mighty sun-god who married Nut, goddess of the sky and the rain, and these two had a son whom they called Osiris. The future greatness of the son was magically proclaimed at his birth. A certain Egyptian named Pamyles was carrying water from the temple of Ra at the Thebes when he heard a voice calling his name. “Go Pamyles,” it said “and proclaim to the entire world that the good and great King Osiris is born today.” Pamyles obeyed the mysterious voice, and made known as widely as he could the message that had been given to him, so that it came at last to the ears of Ra. Ra saw that some power even above his own had spoken through the mouth of the wise Pamyles, and he decided that the man who had been chosen to make known the will of this power was the best person to teach the young Osiris. So the child was given into the charge of Pamyles, who trained him in virtue and wisdom, so that when the time came for him to reign, he showed that he really was “the good and great King Osiris.”

Osiris taught the Egyptians to dig and plough, to plant the vine, to live industriously and virtuously, and to worship the gods in a manner pleasing to those great beings. His people loved him so well that they delighted to please and serve him, and under his rule they became civilized, prosperous, and happy; it seemed as if a kindly wonder-working son had shed its beams through the land.

Osiris married his beautiful and gentle sister Isis, the marriage of brother and sister being a common practice among the ancient Egyptians. Isis was tall and slender, and the movements of her supple figure made those who saw her think of corn stalk in the wind. Her hair was the color of the

corn and her face had the brightness of a summer day. All about her spread sweet odors as of winds bearing the breath of flowers from fresh and fragment places. Her ways were wise and tender, and she loved especially little children, the weak, the helpless, and the suffering. The Egyptians looked up to her as an all-powerful, all-loving mother, and worshiped her as a goddess. It was she, they said, who gave them the plentiful golden harvests, in satisfied their children with bread.

Isis helped her husband in everything that he did for the good of his people, and when he felt that a call had come to him to visit distant countries and bring light to them also, she gladly undertook to do her best to carry on the good work while he was away.

This she did successfully, though Set, Osiris’ brother a cruel and wicked man, never rested in his cunning efforts to put himself in the place of the absent king. But the people loved Osiris and Isis, and were faithful to them in all things, so Set, with rage and hatred in his heart, gave up his attempts. He did not cease from his wickedness, however, but made a cunning plan to kill Osiris when he came back. He joined himself with others who were jealous of the great king – seventy-three in all- and together these evil men laid their plans. By cunning, secret means Set obtained the measurements of Osiris’ body, and then he caused a chest to be made that the king’s body would fit exactly.

By this time Osiris had returned, and Set made a great feast of welcome in his honour.“Do not go, my beloved,” entreated Isis. “Set, your brother, is an evil man, who hates you and will do you harm."

But Osiris, having no guile or bitterness in his own heart, believed others to be as himself, and with words of confidence and cheer he tried to cast out the fear that troubled his wife; then, putting on his most splendid robes, he went in all trust and friendship to his brother’s banquet.

Set and his chosen companions received Osiris with the honour that was his due, and all sat down, with great rejoicing,

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to the rich banquet that had been prepared. When it was over, Set commanded that the chest he had had made should be brought into the hall, and when all had admired its beauty and rare workmanship, he proposed, as one who provides a sport for his guests, that each in turn should lie down in the chest, and that it should belong to him whose body fitted it with exactness. One after another the guests tried, but always it was a little too short, or too long, or too narrow, or too wide. However, when Osiris lay down in it, it fitted him perfectly, and smiling in jesting triumph he was about to spring up and claims it when the great lid fell with a crash upon him. He heard the eager, exultant voices of the men around him, and the sound of great nails being hammered in. Boiling lead was poured on, to make sure that no slight crack might allow air to reach the imprisoned king, and the great chest was lifted on men’s shoulders, and with joy in their hearts, Set and his friends carried it out and set it adrift on the Nile.

Isis waited with an anxious heart for her husband’s return, trying to believe that her terrible forebodings of evil were unfounded. But the triumphant Set, having got rid of his brother, made haste eagerly to seize the royal power, and very soon the watching Isis knew that Osiris, the good and great king, was dead – slain by the treachery of those he trusted. The news pierced her loving heart like a sharp sword; but she knew there was still something she could do for her dear husband, for his soul would not rest in peace until his body was buried with the rites the gods commanded. So she got up, and cut off a lock of her bright hair, and put on a mourning garment, as it was the custom for widows to do; and then she went out to try to find the chest in which lay the body of her husband.

She traveled far, weary and hungry, and suffering many things, asking each person she met if he had seen such a chest as she sought; but none could tell her anything about it.

At last, searching along the banks of the Nile, she saw some children at play, and

of them she asked the same weary question: “have you seen anywhere a chest, large and beautiful and richly adorned?”The children looked up into the sad, beautiful face of this stately lady and loved her, as all children loved Isis of the mother heart. “We saw men carry such a chest,” they said. “It was heavy, and they bore it with labour, and as they came they talked to one another with loud and mocking words about a foe that they had slain. And they cast the chest on the waters of the Nile, just by this place, and hastily departed.”

Then Isis thanked the children, and with hope in her heart she went on her way. But the chest had drifted far, and Isis searched for a long time without finding it.

Then Anubis, son of Osiris, came to help her, and the sacred birds worshipped by the Egyptians – the ibis, the bennu, and the falcon – pitying the distress of the heartbroken wife, at last told her where the chest could be found. It had drifted, they said, on to the shore of Byblos, and had rested on a tamarisk plant, which at once had grown with miraculous speed into a tree, enclosing the chest in its trunk. So tall and stately was the tree that all who passed by exclaimed at its beauty, and when the king of the country, Melcarthus, saw it, he commanded that it should be cut down, and set up in the pillars of his palace.

Isis learned, glad that she knew at last where the body of her husband rested, but grieving that it now seemed farther out of her reach than ever. But with a brave heart she set out for Byblos, and when she reached it she sat down by a well and waited. The people coming to draw water looked curiously t the stately, beautiful lady, but Isis remained still and silent until the queen’s maidens came to draw water for their mistress. Then she rose and spoke kindly to them, and the sweet airs that always blew around her perfumed their long tresses and their garments, so that when they went back to the palace, Queen Astarte asked them whence had come the ravishing odour which she perceived with delight.

The maidens eagerly told of the lovely lady at the well, and the queen bade

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them go and bring the stranger to her; and Isis came, calm and gracious and winning all hearts. Though she seemed only a poor wanderer, she was treated with much honour in the palace, and Astarte begged her to stay and become a nurse to one of the young princes.

To the motherly heart of Isis all children were dear, and she was glad to take on this lowly position when she waited for the time when she might obtain what she had come to Babylos to seek. She stayed at the palace for many days and grew to love the pretty baby she tended. She fed him by giving him her finger to suck, and on this nourishment he grew strong, healthy, and beautiful. At night when the house was quiet Isis would build up a great fire upon the hearth, lift the baby from his bed, and lay him gently in midst of the burning logs; and then she would turn herself into a swallow and make a mournful song, grieving for her dead husband.

The servants of the palace watched in awe the doing of this silent, majestic nurse who had come so strangely among them, and after a time whispers spread among them of strange things that were done in the little prince’s chamber under cover of the night.

When Astarte heard these rumours she determined to find out the truth; and so she hid herself in the apartment and saw Isis bar the door, pile logs on the fire, then gently lay the baby on that burning couch. At that she could remain hidden no longer; she darted from her place and snatched her child from what seemed to her a bed of death.

Then Isis spoke sorrowfully: “O Queen Astarte,” she said “You who love your child have done him a great wrong. Could you but have trusted him to my care in which each day you saw his strength and beauty increase I would have given him the gift of immortality. But you have snatched him from me; take him, then, for my work here is done, and it is time that I depart.”

Queen Astarte, with her baby in her arms, looked at the queenly figure of Isis and heard her lofty words, and a great awe

of this women who had been her child’s nurse came over her. “Who are you?” she cried. “Who can bestow on a mortal the gift of immortality?”

Then Isis spoke, her voice low and sad: “I am Isis, the unhappy Queen of Egypt, wife of the murdered Osiris, and I seek my husband’s body that I may bury it with the rites the gods command, that his tortured sprit may have rest. Help me therefore, O sister queen, for the chest in which his murderers imprisoned him lies hidden in the great pillar which holds up the roof of your palace.”

As she spoke the thunder crashed and lightning played around her, so that Queen Astrarte was terrified and sank to the ground, saying, “Take what thou wilt, O dread queen.” Then Isis struck the tree, and it opened, and within was the chest made by the wicket Set.

When King Melcarthus heard what happened he offered freely to Isis one of his ships, and in this chest was taken back to Egypt. Once more in her own country she opened the chest, and the long-delayed funeral rites were performed; but even then her troubles were not over. She wished to tell her son Horus that her search had been successful, but she dared not leave her husband’s body where it would fall into the hands of his enemies, and with much trouble she sought out a hiding-place for it in the depths of the forest. Even there the wicked set discovered it, and in his rage he rent it in fourteen pieces, which he scattered thought-out the country.

Isis, returning found that her weary search must begin again, but with faithful untiring love she sought long and patiently. She sailed down the Nile in a papyrus boat, and searched the country on either bank, or when she found one of the pieces of the cruelly torn body she buried it with honor, and raised a temple to mark the spot. She did not pause in her sad task till thirteen pieces had been thus buried. The fourteen had been eaten by crocodiles. Then at Philoe she raised a magnificent temple in honor of Osiris, and to this for many ages afterward the faithful of Egypt made their pilgrimages.

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Osiris now reigns as the king of the underworld, where he judges the souls of the dead who are brought before him. Isis is still the loving mother of her people, making their land fertile, giving them the golden harvest, helping them in their troubles, and making winds of heaven bear freshness and healing over the world.

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THE PRINCESS AND THE DEMON

Long ago, in the days when Egypt was the greatest nation on earth, there reigned over it a king whose name was Rameses. He was a mighty man of war, and conquered many of the countries that lay round about Egypt so that their rulers became his vassals and paid him tribute. Every year on the day appointed they journeyed to his city at the mouth of the Euphrates, to do him honour and present their offerings, and every year they came in greater numbers as fresh countries fell under his rule.

On one such day King Rameses sat on his throne and looked proudly upon the impressive showing. Prince after prince, stately of carriage and in rich apparel, entered his presence, and bowed low before him; behind each came a train of brightly clad slaves bearing tribute – gold and precious stones, sandalwood and ivory, spices and oils, cloth of marvelous dye, rich silks, baskets filled with deep-hued fruits, and wine gleaming in crystals flasks - so that the chambers glowed with colour and sweet odours filled the air.

King Rameses noted each comer with a careful eye, strict to see that no due remained unpaid, and he spoke a gracious word to each vassal who rendered his homage and passed on. After a time came the Prince of Bekhten, ruler of a far-distinct province; and then the king started up from his throne and took no more heed of the gorgeous procession passing slowly before him. For with the prince was his daughter a maid famed for her loveliness through all the land. She was tall and slender and of grace passing men’s imagination; her face was so beautiful that there could be found nothing in heaven or earth, no flower or star or glory of the sky or sea to which it could be compared; so that looking on her men

said, “ Her beauty is the beauty of Amen-ra, the great god of sun”.

To Rameses it seem as if the sun had indeed entered his palace, and the first moment that he saw the maiden he loved her and desired her for his wife. The princess was willing, and her father rejoiced that such honour should be done her. With great pomp and splendour the two were married, and the princess became the great royal wife. She was very happy with her husband, and he loved her more and more as the days went on; she filled her high place with a noble dignity, yet was kind and gentle to all, so that her people loved her well, and her beauty brought light and joy to the land.

In her far distant home the princess had left a little sister named Bent-reshy, who was very dear to her. Not long after the marriage a terrible thing happened to this little sister. A demon, very powerful and malignant, entered into her, and poor Bent-reshy became so ill that the prince, her father, feared she would die. The greatest physicians in the land were called, but none could do her any good, and prayers to the gods were unavailing. Then her father in his despair sent to the great King of Egypt, hoping that some aid might be obtained from that mighty kingdom.

Rameses and the Great Royal Wife were keeping the festival of the god Amen-Ra in his temple when the messenger arrived. Word was sent to them, and they came with haste. Then the messenger presented rich gifts, and said, bowing to the ground before the king: “This message sent my master, the Prince of Bekhten: the little sister of the Great Royal Wife lies ill, tormented by a demon. I pray thee therefore, O great king, to send a physician to heal her of her malady.”

The king and his wife were very sad, and they consulted together as to how they could help Bent-reshy. All the wise men of the kingdom were assembled, and one of their number, named Tehuti-em-eb, was chosen, and he set off at once on the long journey to Bekhten.

A year and five months he traveled, making great speed, and at last reached the

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palace of the prince. But the demon was too strong for Tehuti-em-eb, and nothing that he could do was of any avail, though he used all his arts and laboured long. Then the Prince of Bekhten felt that his last hope was gone, and he covered his face and wept for his little daughter so tormented and soon to be lost to him forever. But Tehuti-em-eb spoke words of hope.

“Be comforted, O Prince,” he said, “for in the land of Egypt, in the temple of Khonsu, is a statue of the god Khonsu, Expeller of Demons. Ask yet once more of Rameses that he will send you this god, and then it may be that your daughter shall be made whole.”

Again messengers were sent to Egypt, while those who were left at home watched the little sister with fear in their hearts lest she should die before the messenger returned.

Now at Thebes, in the splendid temple which Rameses had built to the moon-god Khonsu in Thebes and the other Khonsu, Expeller of Demons.

The messenger from the Prince of Bekhten arrived in Thebes during the month sacred to Khonsu, and he sought Rameses in the temple of the god. He bowed before the king and told his message; and the king turned to where stood the statue of Khonsu in Thebes in the likeness of a goodly youth, tall and handsome. “Is it your will, O great Khonsu, god of the moon, traveler of the sky, light in darkness,” he cried, “that I send Khonsu the Demon Expeller to the far land of Bekhten that he may heal the little sister of the Great Royal Wife of her deadly sickness?”

The great god Khonsu bowed his bright head and spoke to the sorrowing king: “Send him, O Rameses, in faith, without doubt or anxiety and my protection shall go with him, so that he shall quickly journey to Bekhten and look with power and healing on the little sister of the Great Royal Wife.”

Then Rameses left the temple and hastily prepared a great train, with camels, and chariots richly ornamented, as for the journey of a king; and Khonsu, Expeller of Demons, went with the train toward

Bekhten. When they drew near the city a great crowd came out to meet them, offering rich gifts and worshipping the great god Khonsu. “My daughter still lives,” said the prince, bowing low before him, “though at the point of death.” Come at once, I pray, to her chamber, lest the demon, hearing of your approach, become angry and rend her so that she dies.”

Khonsu the Demon Expeller came into the maiden’s chamber, and as soon as he looked at her the demon came out and left her whole and well; and she sat up and embraced her father, so that he and his courtiers knew not what to do for joy. Those who stood near Khonsu herd a voice and words spoken, though they could see no one. “O Khonsu,” said the voice, thou art more powerful than I, and I am thy slave. If thou commandest that I go from hence I will go. But I pray thee ask from the prince of Bekhten that he will make a holy day for me and a sacrifice. Then shall I go in peace.” Khonsu replied “It shall be as thou hast asked.” Khonsu told the prince, and he appointed a day to be kept holy; and in the morning of that day people came and offered first a sacrifice to Khonsu, Expeller of Demons, and then they offered a sacrifice to the demon; and the demon was satisfied, and departed from the land. When he was gone there was great gladness, and Bent-reshy, smiling and happy, was once more the sunshine of her father’s palace. But because her father loved her so dearly, a cloud of dread still hung over him, and he thought, “If Khonsu, Expeller of Demons leaves my land, the demon may return, and once more torment Bent-reshy, or perhaps enter into other of my people so that sorrows come upon us.” So he would not let Khonsu go back, but kept him in Bekhten because of this fear. Three years passed and still the prince would not let the god return to his own place. Then one night he had a dream, and in his dream he stood in the temple before the shrine that he made for Khonsu, Expeller of Demons, and suddenly the doors of the shrine burst open and the beautiful god came

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out; but as the prince looked, Khonsu changed into the form of a hawk and flew toward Egypt. Then the prince knew that the gods sent him this dream in Their displeasure to tell him that he could no longer keep Khonsu, Expeller of Demons, from his own place; for the spirit of the god had taken flight, and only the out word form remained. The prince trembled, and resolved to make his peace with the gods. He sent back the statue of Khonsu the next morning, with many rich presents, and Khonsu came safely back to his own place. Once more his statue was set up in the temple at Thebes, and the rich gifts that the Prince of Bekhten had given him he gave Khonsu in Thebes, keeping nothing for himself.

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The Legend of the Nile’s Source

The Nile is one of the world’s greatest rivers, and Khnemu-Ra, the god of the Nile, was an important god in ancient Egypt. From the beginning, he showed favour to the people of Egypt, so that they flourished and increased. From the Nile came the food of the Egyptians; every year the river spread itself over the land with blessing, so that when it returned to its bed, the seeds that were sown brought forth great crops, and all the people were fed. But if the Nile did not spread itself, then there was no blessing on the land.

In the eleventh year of the reign of Teheser, the Nile ceased to show favour to the Egyptians. It remained within its banks, so that the crops were poor, and the people complained. But the granaries were all full with what remained of last year’s harvest, and none felt want; all hoped for better things in the coming year. But again the Nile remained in its banks, and this went on for seven years, until there was no food left in the granaries, or anywhere else in the land. Thus in the eighteenth year of the reign of Teheser the famine was so bad that everywhere men, women and children were dying of hunger, while those alive were so weak that even the strongest could barely walk upright. Men’s hearts became so hardened that they snatched from the hands of sick people and little children any morsel of food that these hands had obtained. It seemed as if love and pitty and courage had died out of the land as well as corn and grapes. King Teheser was greatly grieved by the woes of his people, and he sought the help of the god i-em-hetep, son of Ptah, the great physician, who in former times had delivered the Egyptians from there troubles, but no answer came to his prayer. Then he said, “I-em-hetep will not answer because the matter is not his concern; it is to the god of the Nile that we must take our prayers”.

So he sent to Mater, his governor in the southern provinces, to ask the name of the god to the Nile and also was the river had its sources.

Mater, journeying quickly, came to the king and bowed low before him, and said: “Oh King, in the region that thou has given me to rule lies the wonderful island elephantine. On it was built the first city that was ever known in the world, and out of it raises the sun.” Within the island is a great cavern, which is in two parts, each shaped like the breast of women, and inside this cavern is the source of the Nile. At the proper season of the year the god Khnemu-Ra draws back the bolts pf the door of the cavern, and the waters rush out to bless the land. But now the god draws not back the bolts. He sits in the temple of the gods which is built on the island of Elephantine, silence and motionless, because men have not made offerings to him of the god’s gifts he has given them, and have not remembered his name.”

King Teheser when he heard this he waited no longer, but rose up quickly and made his way to the temple of the gods; and there he offered sacrifices and prayed to the gods Khnemu-Ra that he would again unbolt the door that the waters might rush out and bless the land. Khnemu looked on him and saw the great anguish of has spirit and the love he had for his people, and he had pitty on him, and said, “I am Khnemu-Ra, the creator. My hands rest upon thee to protect thy person and make sound the body. I am the Nile, who rises to give health to those who toil. I am the guide and director of all the men, the all mighty, the father of the gods. Now I will have pitty on you and on your land, and the Nile shall rise again as it has done in times past; for each year I will unbolt the door that the waters may rush forth and bless the land that it shall be fruitful and the people shall eat and be satisfied. This will I do because I have pitty upon your misery, and the misery of your land. Yet remember, Oh King, how my shrine is broken down and no man has put his hands to build it up, all though all around lie the stones that would make it whole,”

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King Teheser, his heart full of thankfulness, answered: “Oh mighty Khnemu-Ra, creator of all things, god of the Nile, who will give bread to my starving people. From henceforward your temple shall be honored, and do offerings made, and I will make a proclamation that all Egypt shall worship the good god Khnemu-Ra, and offer him thanks-offering.” So he bowed himself and went out and he made a royal decree that the lands on each side of the Nile should be set apart for the support of the temple, that priests should be appointed to serve Khnemu-Ra, and that the land round about should pay a tax for there maintenance.

All these things he caused to be written on a rock, in remembrance of the great bounty of the god; and many thousands of years later in there year 1890, the stone was found on the island of Sahul, and the story of the god of the Nile became known to the world.

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Myths of the Norsemen

The Wolf Fenris

Loki, god of fire, had two brothers, Aiger, god of the sea, and Kari, god of air. These three belonged to a race older than either the Aesir of the Vanas, the gods of the sea and the wind, and were quite distinct from them. Loki, however, was allowed to come and go in Asgard as he pleased. He was from the beginning a mischief maker, always thinking up some trick or deceit that he could practice upon the high gods; but at first his mischief amused the Aesir, and therefore they permitted his presence among them. Loki was, besides, very cunning, and sometimes when the gods were in a difficult in come show them a way out which their slower brains had not seen. But gradually Loki’s fun grew more and more malicious, and at times he only just escaped a terrible punishment at the hands of the angry gods.

He offered them, too, by his marriage. He secretly took for his wife a hideous giantess named Ahgurboda, and three monstrous children were born to him- the wolf, Fenris; Hel, a horrible- looking creature whose body was half blue, half fresh color: and lormungandr, a venomous serpent.

Loki was terribly afraid of what would happen when the Aesir found out that he had brought into the world such horrible monsters, so he hid them for as long as he could in a dark cave in the depths of Jotunheim; but they grew so quickly it was impossible to keep them there for very long.

Before he could think of a more secure hiding place, Odin from Hilidskiall has seen the cave and its inmates, and at once a terrible rage possessed him. With the speed of lighting he made his way to the cave, and first dragging out Hel he flung her over into Niflheim, the region of the dead, telling her that she might take, if she would,

the rule of that dismal kingdom. He the seized Iormungandr and threw him into the sea, for very soon he became so big that he was able to wind himself right round the earth and hold his tail in his mouth.

Fenris was more difficult to deal with, and at last Odin decided to take the wolf back with him to Asgard and see if his fierce nature could be tamed by kindness. But very soon he saw that there was no hope of any such change in the creature’s disposition. Fenris ate and drank and exercise himself in his own uncouth manner, regardless of any about him; and every day he grew bigger, uglier, stronger and fiercer. Odin was troubled and anxious, and the gods murmured against him because he had brought such an unpleasant monster to beautiful Asgard.

At length the Aersir became really frightened. If Fenris were left alone he would soon become strong enough to be a real danger in their midst; so they held a consultation to decided what should be done with him. They could not kill him, for no blood might be shed within the border of Asgard. So they resolved to bind him so firmly that he would not be able to do any mischief. They obtained a very strong chain, and one day they went up to Fenris in friendly fashion and purposed that they should bind him with this chain for sport, and see if he could break it. Fenris guess their object, but he was not afraid of being bound, as he knew his own strength. He let them put the chain on him, binding it as closely and cunningly as they could, and then he gave one mighty stretch and the chain fell off, broken in many places.

All the gods clapped their hands and shouted in applause, though they were really angry that their plan had failed. “We will try again,” they said, “and this time perhaps you will not find it easy to get free.” They searched until they found a much stronger chain. This time Fenris was a little unwilling to allow himself to be bound, but the gods flattered him, saying that such a chain would be nothing to his great strength, and at last he let them put it on. He freed himself, but not as easily as before; he was obliged to

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struggle and put forth all his strength, and he determined that the experiment should not be tried a third time.

The gods, greatly disappointed, gathered together to discuss what they could do next. “It is clear.” They said, “That no ordinary chain, however strong, will bind this outrageous wolf. Our only hope is in the dwarfs who made Thor’s hammer and Odin’s spear and Frey’s boar. Let us send to them and ask them to make us a chain which Fenris will not be able to break.” Skirnir, the servant of Frey, was sent to Svart-alfa-heim, the home of the dwarfs, and before very long he came back with a chain so light and soft that it looked as if a child might take it in his tender fingers and pull it apart as he might pull the petals off a rose. But Skirnir said the dwarfs had assured him that this chain, which they called Gleipnir, could not be broken. It was made of the sound of a cat’s footsteps, the beards of women, the roots of a mountain, the voice of fishes, the longings of the bear, and the spittle of birds; and strong spells had gone into its weaving.

The gods, though they were rather distrustful of this slight chain, knew what wonders were constantly being worked by the dwarfs and determined to try it. They persuaded Fenris to go with them to an island in the middle of a lake, and then, after they had all joined in various sports, one of them brought out Gleipnir and proposed that Fenris should once more give an exhibition of his strength. It looked so slight a thing that Fenris’ suspicions were at once aroused; they would not, he was sure, propose to bind him with such a chain unless it possessed some magic power which made it dangerous. Yet he looked at it again, and could not believe that he need fear it. He had grown enormously, and was much stronger than when he had been bound before.

“See.” cried the gods, “Fenris is afraid of a silk. How weak he must have grown since he broke the strong iron with which we bound him only recently. Poor Fenris! See how fear has taken him. Leave him alone, frighten him no more.”

“Frighten me!” shrieked the wolf. “Who says that I am frightened? It is you

who are the cowards, and I will prove it. You shall bind me with what you will, if one of you will hold his hand in my mouth meanwhile.”

The gods drew back in dismay, for no one was willing to lose his hand in the jaws of the fierce wolf.

The Fenris in his turn cried, “Cowards!” and taunted them, until Tyr, the bravest of all the gods, could not bear it no longer. “Stop your mocking!” he cried. “I will put my hand in your mouth. A god is not afraid of a wolf.”

The Tyr put his right hand between those cruel, ugly jaws, while the other gods made haste to bind the creature fast with the silken chain. When they had finished Fenris put out all his strength in one mighty effort to free himself, but the bonds held fast.

At once a panic of rage and terror came upon him, and his jaws closed with a vicious snap, severing Tyr’s hand at the wrist. Then he struggled and tore and rolled over and over on the ground, striving frantically to free himself, but the dwarfs had done their work well, and Gleipnir still remained closely bound round his terrible neck and savage paws.

The gods, throwing off their pretence of friendship, shouted in glee, and drew him from one side to another to show him how powerless he was; and Tyr, in spite of the pain in his bleeding wrist, shouted as loudly as the others. They drew the chain through a rock and fastened it to a boulder which was sunk deep in the earth; and there they left Fenris, bound fast until Ragnarok, the last great day when the gods should be overthrown, when he would be released to join in the final battle.

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The Wild Huntsman

Odin, the All Father, sat one day on his throne Hlidskialf, set high in his palace of Valaskialf, in Asgard, home of the gods. He looked around him and saw his glorious city with its shining palaces built of gold and silver; he looked away to the north and saw the desolate land of his enemies, the giants; to the south and saw quenchless fires of Muspllsheim, the land of the flame. But he looked longest and most earnestly at the earth beneath, which the gods called Midgard, where men, his own special charge and delight, lived in toiled and fought, and his heart swelled within him as he saw that the creatures he had made bore themselves well and where valiant warfare.

“To Valhalla shall they come,” he cried, “to live and feast as heroes should. They shall not languish until age or sickness cuts them off, and then die cows’ death under a roof; in the open air with their swords in their hands and dealing brave thrusts against their enemies shall they die, in the white armed Valkyrs, though warrior-maidens made of Asgard who do my will, shall bring them to me, that I may give them the praise and honor that is their due. I will rouse me now and stir up warfare on the earth, and great deeds shall be done before the high gods.” So he rose and called aloud for Sleipnir, his eight footed steed, and at his voice all his train came eagerly round, impatient to know what he planned to do.

Then Odin said: “Tonight you shall follow the wild hunts men, and hunt the wild boar though the sky, so that all men may see us, and say, ‘Lo, hear the hounds and see the hunt as it rushes past. It has come to tell us that the war is at hand, and fierce fighting, and that many will die that the hero’s death”

He mounted his horse and rushed onward, his huntsmen following with lust shouts of “HALLO-HO!” and the hounds in full cry after them. Men heard the tumult along way off, and came and stood at their doors and looked up into the sky; women

and children trembled, whispering to each other, “The Wild Huntsmen.”

Soon they saw, rushing headlong through the heavens that dark and terrible train. First came the leader on his coal black horse, and behind him, stretched right across the sky, came his huntsmen; and still more and more came into site leaping across the rainbow bridge, Bifrost, that lead from Asgard to the earth, and urging their horses on with deep and terrible cries. “I am glad,” said one man to his neighbor, “that I remember to leave the last sheaf of wheat in my field as fodder for the Huntsman’s horses. His messengers will find there a goodly store awaiting them.” The other man said nothing, for he knew that in his field the messengers would search in vain.

Still the wild cries went on, and men as they listened, felt their blood stirred, and longed to join in that glorious chase, longed to rush widely, unarmed and unarmored as they were, against a worthy foe. There was a goatherd, named Halfdane, very poor and despised, who lived in a miserable hut among the mountains, yet who had a brave and a noble heart. He, as he saw the mighty form of the Wild Huntsman, could not help joining in the hunting cry, and shouted “HALLO-HO!” as if he were one of the train. Something dark fell out at his feet, and when he picked it up he found it was the leg of a horse. His companions, standing round, laughed loudly. “Behold,” they cried, “the steed that is given to the valiant Halfdane. Mount, my friend, and join the flying huntsman. We too will join in and cry, and ride with you.” So in mockery they shouted “HALLO-HO!”

The Odin was angry because men had mocked him, and, laughing, had proposed to join his terrible hunt. He made a fierce wind blow around about those men, which caught them up and swept them in dreadful, eddies up to the skies, and they were never seen on earth again. Halfdane looked on in terror, but he could do nothing to help his unfortunate companions. He felt within himself that this was the work of the gods; and so he went home sadly to his poor hut, taking with him the horse’s leg that had

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so strangely fallen to him from heaven. But on the morrow when he woke up he found that it had been changed to a lump of pure gold.

All night long the wild huntsman rushed through the sky with his mad following, and louder and louder grew their cries, til the whole earth seemed in tumult. At last their leader saw a faint gleam in the east, and his speed grew more headlong and his shouts wilder, for he knew that Day, in his glittering chariot, drawn by the white horse, Shining Mane, would soon appear over the rim of the earth; and before that time every steed of the wild hunt must be stabled in Asgard. One after another they galloped back over the Bifrost, and the tumult gradually sank, until the last rider disappeared, and a great calm fell upon the earth. Not many days after, Odin again looked out from his throne, and saw that war had broken out among men, and there was fierce fighting in many places; and he gloried in strength and courage of the creatures he had made. When night fell he sent out his twelve Valkyrs, clad in the shining armour and riding fleet steeds, to search the battlefields and bring back to him those who had shown themselves most valiant in the strife. Not much time had passed before he heard the beat of their horses’ hoofs returning over the shining bridge, Bifrost; and then he hurried to Valhalla, ready to welcome the heroes whom the Valkyrs had brought. He stood at the great door, above which was perched the red, golden-crested cock, Fialir, with his sons, Hermod and Bragi, on the either side; while the warriors who had been long in Valhalla trooped from the tilt-yard, and entered the hall by its five hundred and forty doors, through each of which they could pass eight hundred abreast. Here they awaited the new-comers; and these soon entered, not bleeding and exhausted as they had fallen on the field of the battle, but whole and fresh, like men who had risen and arrayed themselves after a night of peaceful sleep. They saw a huge hall, where, so mighty was a concourse, everyone could

find a place. Its roof was covered with shining golden shields, and its walls with flashing spears, which sent forth gleams of light, like rays from the sun. In each man’s place was a suit of fine armour, Odin’s gift to his heroes. The tables were spread with huge dishes of flesh from the divine boar, which was daily killed to provide the feast, and daily came to life again before the time for the next meal. Great horns of mead were carried round by the Valkyrs, who had taken off their armour, and put on beautiful white robes; and for goblet, each man had the skull of his greatest enemy. Odin smiled proudly to see his happy warriors, who drank and sang and told to each other stories of the great deeds done in the warfare. “Drink my heroes,” he shouted, “drink deep and sing, for this is Asgard, the home of the high gods, who love and honour the brave. Feast until the morning, and then in the tilt-yard you shall fight once more, and give and receive blows such as heroes love; and in the evening, cured and refreshed, you shall feast in Valhalla, the hall of the chosen slain.”

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AEGIR’S BREWING- KETTLE

Aegir, god of the sea, was a tall, thin old man, with long silvery hair and beard, and hands that looked like the claws of some terrible bird of prey. He was cruel and greedy, and loved to lie in wait for the ships of men, overturn them, and drag them down to his caves at the bottom of the sea. His wife Ran was as cruel as he was; she had an enormous net in which she used to catch the ships, and laugh as she saw how the men in them struggled vainly to get away. This dread pair had nine beautiful daughters, the waves, who floated about on the sea clad in long, flowing robes of green or blue or grey. Usually they were gay and sportive, but at times they would fall into terrible tempers and rush violently about, dashing themselves on the rocks and uttering wild, piercing shrieks.

Aegir often paid visits to the gods in Asgard, but they had never visited him in return, when one day he suddenly made up his mind to invite them to spend the harvest feast with him at the palace he had built for himself on an island in the Cattegat. The Aesir were rather surprised when they received this invitation, for the sea-god was not noted for his hospitality, and it was generally believed that the fare in his palace was both plain and scanty. So one of the gods-most likely Thor, as he was fondest of eating and drinking-mentioned to Aegir that in Asgard the board was richly spread every day, and that wine was poured out freely.

“You will need to prepare a godly feast and brew much mead,” he said, “if you think to entertain the gods of Asgard.” Aegir answered that his meats were ready and rich dishes would be plentiful, but that he was a little doubtful whether he would have enough mead.

“For,” he said, “my brewing-kettle is small, and the liquor that it will hold may not suffice for so large a party.”

“Oh, if it is only a question of the size of the brewing-kettle,” said Thor,” I will soon put that right. Hymir the giant has

a kettle that is a mile deep, and so wide that you cannot see both sides of it at once. He will lend it to you I am sure, and Tyr and I will go and fetch it.”

So Thor set off in his goat-drawn chariot with his brother Tyr, the god of war. He took the same road as he had taken when he visited Utgard-Loki; he left his goats at the peasant’s house as he had done then, and the two gods walked thence to Hymir’s house. The giant was out when they arrived, but his mother and his wife were at home-the mother a horrible old giantess with nine hundred heads, the wife young and beautiful. They received the two gods very hospitably and set meat and drink before the; but they were very doubtful as to what Hymir would say to Thor’s request.

The younger giantess advised them to hide under one of the huge kettles hanging at the end of the hall, while she told her husband of their coming. “For,” said she, “sometimes when he is in a bad temper he will kill unbidden visitors with a look.” The gods took her advice, and were hardly settled in their hiding-place when Hymir came in.

“Two gods from Asgard have come to visit you,” said his wife. “They want to borrow your big brewing-kettle to lend to Aegir, who is making a great feast.” At this Hymir’s wrath began to rise, and looked so angrily toward the place where Thor and Tyr were hidden that the rafters cracked, and all eight kettles fell with a crash. Seven of them broke into pieces; only one-that which the gods had come to borrow-remained whole. Through all the clatter and din, Hymir’s angry voice was heard, and he came threateningly toward Thor and Tyr, who were trying to get clear of the fragments that had fallen all around them. But the giant’s wife knew how to manage her husband when he fell into these sudden fits of rage, and after some trouble she convinced him that the two gods had come with no evil intentions, but solely desiring to show him honour seeing that there was no brewing-kettle in Asgard equal

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to his, or fit to prepare mead for the great feast that was getting ready.

Then Hymir’s mood changed, and he became good-tempered and jovial, and welcomed the gods with heartiness. He went out into his field, killed three of his best oxen, and brought them in to be cooked for supper; but he felt rather dismayed when Thor ate up two of the oxen, leaving only one for him to share with his wife and Tyr.

“Tomorrow,” thought the giant, “I must go to my fishing early, or I shall never catch enough to make a breakfast for such a hungry fellow as Thor.” So next morning he got up in faint light of dawn and went down to the shore. Before he had got the boat ready to launch, down came Thor, and offered to go fishing with him. Hymir was not very well pleased at this, but he did not know how to refuse, so he answered: “very well, only I have no bait for you. You must find for yourself.

“Easily done!” replied Thor, and he very calmly went to the field were the giant’s oxen were feeding, picked out the biggest, killed it, and came with its great head under his arm. He threw the head into the boat were the giant was already seated, jumped in himself, took the oars, and with great strokes carried the boat out to sea.

Very soon the giant cried out, “Stop! We've gone far enough. Here is my fishing-ground.”

But Thor took no notice, and the boat went rapidly on.

“Stop!” cried Hymir, beginning to get frightened. “I will go no farther. Put back I tell you. We are getting near the place were the Midgard snake lies blow the water, and at any moment its terrible head may be raised to see who is daring to come this way.”

Now Thor wished above all things to meet and fight the awful Lormungandr, so the giants words only made him row faster. When he thought he was probably just above the great snake he took the head of the ox fastened it to his strong fishing-hook and lowered his line very carefully.

The giant meanwhile had caught two whales. “These,” he thought, “will

surely be enough for breakfast, so now we can go home, and glad enough I shall be for I have no wish for an encounter with the Midgard snake.”

He was just about to tell Thor to turn the boat when the god gave a great shout of triumph and began to pull his line in with all his might. The water round about the boat rose in great waves, foaming and swirling as if an enormous whirlpool had suddenly been formed there.

“Hurrah!” shouted Thor “I have hooked the snake I am sure. No other creature could be so heavy or struggle so fiercely!” In spite of the giants horrified entreaties he pulled and tugged until, after a terrific struggle, the horrible head of Lormungandr, raging and sending out his poisonous breath in all directions came to the surface.

This was too much for Hymir, and taking out his great knife he cut the fishing-line through so that the snake sank back again to the bottom of the sea. Swift and terrible rage descended upon Thor. He had taken his hammer and was just going to deal the snake a crushing blow when it had disappeared from his sight. Now, his hammer still poised to strike, he turned toward Hymir and dealt him such a blow that huge giant toppled overboard. But Hymir, not a bit perturbed, only made haste to get out of the way of the dreaded snake, and waded quickly to the shore in time to meet Thor as he landed. The thunder- god, his gust of anger over, greeted him jovially; and Hymir, talking outdone, took up the boat, oars, and fishing-tackle, and followed him: and very soon they were seated at breakfast together, where the whales quickly disappeared. After breakfast Hymir called upon Thir to do some feat which would prove his boasted strength.” Come,” the giant cried, “show me that you can do something better then drag a wretched serpent from the depths of the sea. Try, for example, to break my tankard.” Thor took the tankard and flung it with all his might against the stone pillars supporting the house ; but when he went to

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pick it up he found it unbroken, and without even a dint upon its surface. Again and again he tired, but still the tankard remained uninjured and the giant shouted with delight. The giant’s wife, who was moving about the household tasks, passed near Thor, and managed to whisper in his ear, “ throw it against Hymir’s forehead head. “ quickly Thor turned and flung the tankard with all his strength, and it fell to the ground shattered.

“Well then” said Hymor, a little put out at the god’s unexpected success, “there is the kettle you came to fetch. Take it, and go your way.” Tyr went to take the kettle, but found to his surprise that he could not lift it. He tugged and strained, but it would not move. Then Thor came to see what he could do. Long he strove, but could only raise it an inch or so from the floor. He girded himself with his magic belt, Migin-giord, which doubled his strength, and drawing this to its last hole, he took up the kettle and laid it on his shoulders. But the great pull that he had given shook the giants’ house, so that the pillars were cracked and great pieces fell down from the roof; and he had planted his feet so strongly on the floor that at the last effort they had gone through and made a great hole.

Hymir looked on indignantly; and when in triumph Thor chapped the great pot on his head like a hat, and strode off with Tyr to begin the journey homeward, the giant could contain his anger no longer. He rushed from the house and called loudly upon his brothers, the storm-giants, to help him make an end of these two audacious gods, the eternal enemies of the Jotuns, now that they were in their power

The storm-giants came flocking at the call, and they all started in pursuit. Thor, looking back, saw them coming, with angry shouts and gestures. He took his great hammer, Miolnir, and hurled it at the giant closest to him, who fell dead; and when the hammer came back to his hand he threw it again, and the second giant perished. So Thor slew all the giants, and then, with the pot on his head, he journeyed merrily on with Tyr toward Asgard.

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