No More Learning

a
a
is
?
a
a
;
?
it it, if
a
?
it
340 RUSSIAN FAIRY TALES.
many people were here, and the moment you appeared they all ran away. "
"Well, then, done; come to-morrow to the haven. "
The next morning they met at the haven, went on board the ship, and sailed to the island. There they ate and drank their fill one whole day, and the next day they got up and went towards the golden mountain.
They arrived there; the merchant who was one in seven hundred pulled out his drinking glass. "Come now, let us have a drink first," said he.
"Stop, mine host! You who are the chief ought to drink the first: let me treat you with mine own drink. " And the merchant's son, who had betimes provided himself with sleep ing poison, poured out a full glass of it and gave it to the mer chant who was one in seven hundred. He drank it off and fell into a sound sleep.
The merchant's son slaughtered the sorriest horse, disem boweled it, laid his host in the horse's belly, put the spade there too, sewed up the wound, and went and hid himself among the bushes. Instantly the black iron-beaked crows flew down, took up the carcass, carried it to the mountain, and fell a-pecking at it. The merchant who was one in seven hundred awoke and looked hither and thither. " Where ami? " he asked.
"On the mountain," bawled the merchant's son. "Take your spade and dig gold; if you dig much, I will show you how to get off the mountain. "
The merchant who was one in seven hundred took his spade and dug and dug; he dug up twenty wagon loads.
"Stop, that's enough now," said the merchant's son; "thanks for your labor, and good-by. "
" You ? why, get off as best you can. Ninety-nine of your sort have perished on that mountain, you can make up the hundred. "
So the merchant's son took all the twenty wagons, went to the golden castle, married the lovely damsel, the daughter of the merchant who was one in seven hundred, took possession of all her riches, and came to live in the capital with his whole family.
But the merchant who was one in seven hundred remained there on the mountain, and the black iron-beaked crows picked his bones.
"Butwhatabout me? "
RUSSIAN FAIRY TALES. 341
The Story of Gore-Gorinskoe [Woeful Woe] .
There once lived in a village two brothers, one of whom was rich, and the other poor. With the rich man everything went swimmingly, in everything he laid his hand to he found luck and bliss ; but as for the poor man, slave and toil as he might, fortune flew away from him. The rich man, in a few years, so grew out of bounds that he went to live in the town, and built him the biggest house there, and settled down as a merchant ; but the poor man got into such straits that sometimes he had not even a crust of bread in the house to feed a whole armful of children, small — smaller — smallest, who all cried together, and begged for something to eat and drink.
And the poor man began to repine at his fate, he began to lose heart, and his disheveled head began to sink deeper be tween his shoulders. And he went to his rich brother in the
" Willingly," said the poor man so he set to work, swept out the yard, curried the horses, and split up firewood. At the end of the week the rich brother gave him grisenha [five cents] in money and large lump of bread. " Thanks even for that," said the poor man, and was about to turn away homewards, when " his brother's conscience evidently pricked him, and he said, Why dost thou slip off like that To-morrow my name day stay and feast with us. "
And the poor man stayed to his brother's banquet. But, unfortunately for him, great many rich guests assembled at his brother's — men of renown; and these guests his brother served most zealously, bowing down low before them, and implor ing them as favor to be so good as to eat and drink their fill. But he forgot altogether about his poor brother, who could only look on from afar, and see all the good people eating and drink ing, and enjoying themselves, and making merry.
At last the banquet was over, the guests arose, they began to thank the host and hostess, and the poor man also bowed to his very girdle. The guests also went home, and very merry they all were they laughed, and joked, and sang songs all the way. And the poor man went home as hungry as ever, and he thought to himself, " Come, now, will sing song too, so that
I am quite worn out. "
town and said: "Help me !
" Why should I not ? " replied the rich man. " We can well
afford only you must come and work out with me all this week. "
I a
? a
;
it
;
a
a
:
is
a
it,
RUSSIAN FAIRY TALES.
people may think that I too was not overlooked or passed over on my brother's name day, but ate to surfeit, and drank myself drunk with the best of them. "
And so the peasant began singing a song, but suddenly his voice died away. He heard quite plainly that some one behind his back was imitating his song in a thin piping voice. He stopped short, and the voice stopped short ; he went on singing, and"again the voice imitated him. "
Who is that singing ? come forth !
man, and he saw before him a monster, all shriveled up and yel low, with scarcely any life in it, huddled up in rags, and girded about with the same vile rags, and its feet wound round with linden bast. The peasant was quite petrified with horror, and he said to the monster, " Who art thou ? "
I will
" I am Gore-Gorinskoe ; help thee to sing. "
I have compassion on thee ;
" Well, Gore, let us go together through the wide world arm in arm. I see that I shall find no other friends and kins
men there. " I will never desert thee. "
" Let us go, then, master ; "
"And on what shall we go, then ?
" I know not what you are going upon, but I will go upon
you," and flop ! in an instant he was on the peasant's shoulders. The peasant had not strength enough to shake him off. And so the peasant went on his way, carrying Woeful Woe on his shoulders, though he was scarce able to drag one leg after the other, and the monster was singing all the time, and beating time to it, and driving him along with his little stick. " I say, master, wouldst thou like me to teach thee my favorite song? —
" ' I am Woe, the woefully woeful !
Girt about with linden bast rags,
Shod with beggars' buskins, bark stript. Live with me, then ; live with Woe, And sorrow never know.
If you say you have no money,
You can always raise honey
Yet provide hard-won penny
'Gainst the day thou'lt not have any. '
And besides," added Woe, "thou already hast this penny against an evil day, besides crust of bread let us then go on our way, and drink and be merry. "
shrieked the poor
a a
;
it, ;
RUSSIAN FAIRY TALES. 343
So they went on and on, and drank and drank, and so they got home. There sat the wife and all the children, without food, weeping, but Woe set the peasant a-dancing. "
On the following day Woe began to sigh, and said, My head aches from drinking ! " and again he called upon the master to drink a thimbleful.
" I have no money," said the peasant.
" But didn't I tell thee thou canst always raise it, honey ? Pawn thy harrow and plow, sledge and cart, and let us drink ; we'll have a rare time of it to-day, at any rate. "
What could he do? The peasant could not rid himself of Woe, so painfully tight did he sit upon him by this time ; so he let himself be dragged about by Woe, and drank and idled away the whole day. And on the next day Woe groaned still more, and even began howling, and said, " Come, let us saunter about ; let us drink away everything and pawn it. Sell thyself into slavery, and so get money to drink with. "
The peasant saw that ruin was approaching him, so he had resort to subtlety ; and he said to Woeful Woe, " I have heard our old men say that a treasure was buried about here a long time ago, but it was buried beneath such heavy stones that my single strength would be quite unable to raise it ; now, if only we could raise this treasure, darling little Woe, what a fine time of loafing and drinking we should have together ! "
" Come, then, and let us raise it ; Woe has strength enough for everything. "
So they went all about the place, and they came to a very large and heavy stone : five peasants together could not have moved it from the spot, but our friend and Woe lifted it up at the first go. And lo ! beneath the stone there was indeed a coffer dark and heavy, and at the very bottom of this coffer something was sparkling. And the peasant said to Woe, " You just creep into the coffer and get out the gold, and I'll stand here and hold up the stone. "
" So Woe crept into the coffer with great glee, and cried out:
Hi, master, here are riches incalculable ! Twenty jars choke- full of gold, all standing one beside the other ! " and he handed up to the peasant one of the jars.
The peasant took the jar into his lap, and, as at the same time he let the stone fall back into its old place, he shut up Woeful Woe in the coffer with all the gold. 'Perish thou
344 RUSSIAN FAIRY TALES.
and thy riches with thee ! " thought the peasant ; " no good luck goes along with thee. "
And he went home to his own, and with the money he got from the jar he bought wood, repaired his cottage, added live stock to his possessions, and worked harder than ever, and he began to engage in trade, and it went well with him. In a single year he grew so much richer that in place of his hut he built him a large wooden house. And then he went to town to invite his brother and his wife to the house warming.
" What are you thinking of ? " said his rich brother, with a scornful smile. " A little while ago you were naked, and had nothing to eat, and now you are giving house warmings, and laying out banquets ! "
" Well, at one time, certainly, I had nothing to eat, but now, thank God, I am no worse off than you. Come and see. "
The next day the rich brother went out into the country to his poor brother, and there on the pebbly plain he saw wooden buildings, all new and lofty, such as not every town merchant can boast of. And the poor brother who dwelt on the pebbles fed the rich brother till he could eat no more, and made him drink his fill ; and after that, when the strings of his tongue were loosened, he made a clean breast of it, and told his brother how he had grown so rich.
" Envy overcame the rich brother. He thought to himself,
This brother of mine is a fool. Out of twenty kegs he only took one. With all that money, Woe itself is not terrible. I'll go there myself, I'll take away the stone, take the money, and let Woe out from beneath the stone. Let him hound my brother to death if he likes. "
No sooner said than done. The rich man took leave of his brother ; but instead of going home he went to the stone. He pulled and tugged at it, and managed at last to push it a little to one side, so as to be able to peep into the coffer ; but before he could pull his head back again, Woe had already skipped out, and was sitting on his neck. Our rich man felt the grievous burden on his shoulders, looked round, and saw the frightful monster bestriding him. And Woe shrieked in his ear, " A pretty fellow you are ! You wanted to starve me to death in there, did you ? You shall not shake me off again in a hurry, I warrant you. " I'll never leave you again. "
" Oh, senseless Woe ! cried the rich man, " indeed 'twas not I who placed you beneath that stone, and 'tis not me, the
RUSSIAN FAIRY TALES. 345
rich man, you should cleave to ; go hence, and torment my brother. "
But Woeful Woe would not listen to him. "No," it screeched, " you lie ! You deceived me once, but you shan't do it a second time. "
And so the rich man carried Woe home with him, and all his wealth turned to dust and ashes. But the poor brother now lives in peace and plenty, and sings jesting ditties of Woe the outwitted.
The Woman Accuser.
There was once upon a time an old man and an old woman. The old woman was not a bad old woman, but there was this one bad thing about her — she did not know how to hold her tongue. Whatever she might hear from her husband, or what ever might happen at home, she was sure to spread it over the whole village ; she even doubled everything in the telling, and so things were told which never happened at all. Not unfre- quently the old man had to chastise the old woman, and her back paid for the faults of her tongue.
One day the old man went into the forest for wood. He had just got to the border of the forest, when his foot, in tread ing on a certain place, sank right into the ground. " Why, what's this? " thought the old man. "Come, now, I'll dig a bit here ; maybe I shall be lucky enough to dig out something. " He dug several times, and saw, buried in the ground, a little caldron quite full of silver and gold. " Look, now, what good luck has befallen me ! But what am I to do with it? I cannot hide it from that good wife of mine at home, and she will be sure to blab to all the world about my lucky find, and thou wilt repent the day thou didst ever see it. "
For a long time the old man sat brooding over his treasure, and at last he made up his mind what to do. He buried the treasure, threw a lot of wood over it, and went to town. There he bought at the bazaar a live pike and a live hare, returned to the wood, and hung the pike upon a tree, at the very top of it ; and carried the hare to the stream, where he had a fish basket, and he put the hare into it in a shallow place.
Then he went off home, whipped up his little nag for pure lightness of heart, and so entered his hut. " Wife, wife," he cried, " such a piece of luck has befallen me that I cannot de scribe it ! "
346
" What is tell me? "
RUSSIAN FAIRY TALES.
what it, hubby darling Why dost thou not
"
"
" What's the good, when thou wilt only blab
all about? swear it. thou dost
" On my word, I'll say nothing to anybody. I'll take the holy image from the wall and kiss not believe me. " "
" Well, well, all right. Listen, old woman
down towards her ear and whispered, " caldron full of silver and gold. "
and he bent have found in the wood
" Then why didst thou not bring
hither
" Because we had both better go together, and so bring
home. " And the old man went with his old woman to the forest.
" They went along the road, and the peasant said to his wife,
From what hear, old woman, and from what people told me the other day, would seem that fish are now to be found growing on trees, while the beasts of the forest live in the water. "
" Why, what art thou thinking about, little hubby People nowadays are much given to lying. "
" Lying, dost thou call Then come and see for thyself. " And he pointed to the tree where the pike was hanging.
" "Why, what marvel this? " screamed the old woman.
However did that pike get there " Or have the people been speaking the truth to thee after all
But the peasant stood there, and moved his arms about, and shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head, as he could not
believe his own eyes. " " Why dost thou keep standing there
said the old woman. "Go up the tree, rather, and take the pike 'twill do for
supper. "
So the peasant took the pike, and then they went on further.
They passed by the stream, and the peasant stopped his horse. But his wife began screeching at him, and said, "What art gaping at now? let us make haste and go on. "
" Nay, but look see something struggling about all round
my fish basket. I'll go and see what is. " So he ran, looked
into the fish basket, and called to his wife. " Just come and
look here, old woman Why, hare has got into our fishing
"
Fetch out quickly will do for dinner on the feast day. "
basket
"Then people must have told thee the truth after all.
it
!
! I ;
! it
is
?
a
it
it ? ?
it
;
!
?
I
if
it I it
?
I it
it, is
it
a
?
if
?
RUSSIAN FAIRY TALES.
347
The old man took up the hare, and then went straight to wards the treasure. He pitched away the wood, digged wide and deep, dragged the caldron out of the earth, and they took it home.
The old man and the old woman grew rich, they lived right merrily, and the old woman did not improve ; she went to invite guests every day, and gave such banquets that she nearly drove her husband out of the house. " The old man tried to correct her. " What's come to thee ? he cried. " Canst thou not listen to me ? "
" Don't order me about," said she. " I found the treasure as well as thou, and have as much right to make merry with it. " The old man put up with it for a very long time, but at last
he said to the old woman straight out, " Do as best thou canst, but I'm not going to give thee any more money to cast to the winds. "
But the old woman immediately fell foul of him.
" I what thou art up to," screeched she ; " thou wouldst keep all the money for thyself. No, thou rogue, I'll drive thee whither the crows will pick thy bones. Thou wilt have no good from thy money. "
The old man would have chastised her, but the old woman thrust him aside, and went straight to the magistrate to lay a complaint against her husband. " I have come to throw my self on thy honor's compassion, and to present my petition against my good-for-nothing husband. Ever since he found that treasure there is no living with him. Work he won't, and he spends all his time in drinking and gadding about. Take away all his gold from him, father. What a vile thing is gold whenitruinsaman so! "
The magistrate was sorry for the old woman, and he sent his eldest clerk to him, and bade him judge between the hus band and wife. The clerk assembled all the village elders, and went to the peasant and said to him, " The magistrate has sent me to thee, and bids thee deliver up all thy treasure into my hands. " " "
The peasant only shrugged his shoulders. What treasure ? said he. " I know nothing whatever about any treasure. "
" Not know ? Why, thy old woman has just been to com plain to the magistrate, and I tell thee what, friend, if thou deniest it, 'twill be worse for thee. If thou dost not give up the whole treasure to the magistrate, thou must give an account
see
848 RUSSIAN FAIRY TALES.
of thyself for daring to search for treasures, and not revealing them to the authorities. "
" But I cry your pardon, honored sirs ! what is this treas ure you are talking of ? My wife must have seen this treasure in her sleep ; she has told you a pack of nonsense, and you listen to her. " "
" Nonsense !
sense, but a whole caldron full of gold and silver ! "
burst forth the old woman ; " it is not non
"Thou art out of thy senses, dear wife. Honored sirs, I cry your pardon. Cross-examine her thoroughly about the affair, and if she proves this thing against me, I will answer for it with all my goods. "
" And dost thou think that I cannot prove it against thee ? Thou rascal, I will prove it. This is how the matter went, Mr.
Clerk," began the old woman ; "
went to the forest, and we saw a pike on a tree. "
I remember it, bit. We every
"A pike ? " roared the clerk at the old woman ; "or dost
thouwanttomake afoolofme? "
" Nay, I am not making a fool of thee, Mr. Clerk ;
I am
speaking the simple truth. "
"There, honored sirs," said the old man, "how can you
believe her if she goes on talking such rubbish ? "
" I am not talking rubbish, yokel !
—or hast thou forgotten how we found a hare in thy fishing basket in the stream ? "
All the elders rolled about for laughter ; even the clerk smiled, and began to stroke down his long beard. The peasant again said to his wife, " Recollect thyself, old woman : dost thou not see that every one is laughing at thee ? But ye, hon ored gentlemen, can now see for yourselves how far you can believe my wife. "
" Yes," cried all the elders, with one voice, " long as we have lived in the world, we have never heard of hares living in rivers, and fish hanging on the trees of the forest. " The clerk himself saw that this was a matter he could not get to the bottom of, so he dismissed the assembly with a wave of his hand, and went off to town to the magistrate.
And everybody laughed so much at the old woman that she was forced to bite her own tongue and listen to her husband ; and the husband bought wares with his treasure, went to live in the town, and began to trade there, exchanged his wares for money, grew rich and prosperous, and was as happy as the day was long.
I am speaking the truth
GREEK MYTHS. 349
GREEK MYTHS.
By JOHN RUSKIN. (From "The Queen of the Air. ")
[John Ruskin : English critic and essayist ; born at London, February 8, 1819. In 1839 he took the Newdigate prize for a poem. During his Oxford days he published many verses over the signature "J. R. " In 1850 his poems were col lected and privately printed. A reprint was made of them in New York in 1882. He studied art, but rather for the purposes of criticism. In 1843 appeared the first part of "Modern Painters," which was a vehement eulogy of J. M. W. Turner; the last volume in 1856. "The Seven Lamps of Architecture," 1849, and " The Stones of Venice," 1851-1853, are his best-known works. Among his popular lectures have been " Munera Pulveris," 1862-1863 ; " Sesame and Lilies," 1865 ; " Crown of Wild Olive," 1866 ; and " The Queen of the Air," 1869. His works include dozens of other titles on artistic, social, and economic subjects. His "Prseterita," 1885, is autobiographical. ]
1. I will not ask your pardon for endeavoring to interest you in the subject of Greek Mythology ; but I must ask your permission to approach it in a temper differing from that in which it is frequently treated. We cannot justly interpret the religion of any people, unless we are prepared to admit that we ourselves, as well as they, are liable to error in matters of faith ; and that the convictions of others, however singular, may in some points have been well founded; while our own, however reasonable, may in some particulars be mistaken. You must forgive me, therefore, for not always distinctively calling the creeds of the past " superstition," and the creeds of the pres ent day "religion" ; as well as for assuming that a faith now confessed may sometimes be superficial, and that a faith long forgotten may once have been sincere. It is the task of the Divine to condemn the errors of antiquity, and of the philolo
I will only pray you to read, with
gists to account for them ;
patience, and human sympathy, the thoughts of men who lived without blame in a darkness they could not dispel ; and to remember that, whatever charge of folly may justly attach to the saying, "There is no God," the folly is prouder, deeper, and less pardonable, in saying, "There is no God but for me. "
2. A myth, in its simplest definition, is a story with a mean ing attached to it other than it seems to have at first ; and the fact that it has such a meaning is generally marked by some of its circumstances being extraordinary, or, in the common use
. of the word, unnatural. Thus if I tell you that Hercules killed
350 GREEK MYTHS.
a water serpent in the lake of Lerna, and if I mean, and you understand, nothing more than that fact, the story, whether true or false, is not a myth. But if by telling you this, I mean that Hercules purified the stagnation of many streams from deadly miasmata, my story, however simple, is a true myth ; only, as, if I left it in that simplicity, you would probably look for nothing beyond, it will be wise in me to surprise your attention by adding some singular circumstance ; for instance, that the water snake had several heads, which revived as fast as they were killed, and which poisoned even the foot that trod upon them as they slept. And in proportion to the fullness of intended meaning I shall probably multiply and refine upon these improbabilities ; as, suppose, if, instead of desiring only to tell you that Hercules purified a marsh, I wished you to understand that he contended with the venom and vapor of envy and evil ambition, whether in other men's souls or in his own, and choked that malaria only by supreme toil, — I might tell you that this serpent was formed by the goddess whose pride was in the trial of Hercules ; and that its place of abode was by a palm tree ; and that for every head of it that was cut off, two rose up with renewed life ; and that the hero found at last he could not kill the creature at all by cutting its heads off or crushing them, but only by burning them down ; and that the midmost of them could not be killed even that way, but had to be buried alive. Only in proportion as I mean more, I shall certainly appear more absurd in my statement ; and at last when I get unendurably significant, all practical persons will agree that I was talking mere nonsense from the beginning, and never meant anything at all.
3. It is just possible, however, also, that the story-teller may all along have meant nothing but what he said ; and that, incredible as the events may appear, he himself literally be lieved — and expected you also to believe — all this about Her cules, without any latent moral or history whatever. And it is very necessary, in reading traditions of this kind, to deter mine, first of all, whether you are listening to a simple person, who is relating what, at all events, he believes to be true (and may, therefore, possibly have been so to some extent), or to a reserved philosopher, who is veiling a theory of the universe under the grotesque of a fairy tale. It is, in general, more likely that the first supposition should be the right one : simple and credulous persons are, perhaps fortunately, more common
-
St. George and the Dragon
From a has relief made iu 1508 from the Chateau de Gaillon, by Michael Colombe (1431-1515)
GREEK MYTHS.
351
than philosophers ; and it is of the highest importance that you should take their innocent testimony as it was meant, and not efface, under the graceful explanation which your cultivated ingenuity may suggest, either the evidence their story may contain (such as it is worth) of an extraordinary event having really taken place, or the unquestionable light which it will cast upon the character of the person by whom it was frankly believed. And to deal with Greek religion honestly, you must at once understand that this literal belief was, in the mind of the general people, as deeply rooted as ours in the legends of our own sacred book ; and that a basis of unmiraculous event was as little suspected, and an explanatory symbolism as rarely traced, by them, as by us.
You must, therefore, observe that I deeply degrade the position which such a myth as that just referred to occupied in the Greek mind, by comparing it (for fear of offending you) to our story of St. George and the Dragon. Still, the analogy is perfect in minor respects ; and though it fails to give you any notion of the vitally religious earnestness of the Greek faith, it will exactly illustrate the manner in which faith laid hold of its objects.
4. This story of Hercules and the Hydra, then, was to the general Greek mind, in its best days, a tale about a real hero and a real monster. Not one in a thousand knew anything of the way in which the story had arisen, any more than the Eng lish peasant generally is aware of the plebeian original of St. George ; or supposes that there were once alive in the world, with sharp teeth and claws, real, and very ugly, flying dragons. On the other hand, few persons traced any moral or symbolical meaning in the story, and the average Greek was as far from imagining any interpretation like that I have just given you, as an average Englishman is from seeing in St. George the Red Cross Knight of Spenser, or in the Dragon the Spirit of Infidel ity. But, for all that, there was a certain undercurrent of con sciousness in all minds that the figures meant more than they at first showed ; and, according to each man's own faculties of sentiment, he judged and read them ; just as a Knight of the Garter reads more in the jewel on his collar than the George and Dragon of a public house expresses to the host or to his customers. Thus, to the mean person the myth always meant little ; to the noble person, much ; and the greater their famil iarity with the more contemptible became to one, and the
it,
it
352
GREEK MYTHS.
more sacred to the other ; until vulgar commentators explained it entirely away, while Virgil made it the crowning glory of his choral hymn to Hercules.
Around thee, powerless to infect thy soul, Rose, in his crested crowd, the Lerna worm.
Non te rationis egentem Lernaeus turba capitum circumstetit anguis.
And although, in any special toil of the hero's life, the moral interpretation was rarely with definiteness attached to its event, yet in the whole course of the life, not only a symbolical mean ing, but the warrant for the existence of a real spiritual power, was apprehended of all men. Hercules was no dead hero, to be remembered only as a victor over monsters of the past — harm less now as slain. He was the perpetual type and mirror of heroism, and its present and living aid against every ravenous form of human trial and pain.
5. But, if we seek to know more than this and to ascertain the manner in which the story first crystallized into its shape, we shall find ourselves led back generally to one or other of two sources — either to actual historical events, represented by the fancy under figures personifying them ; or else to natural phenomena similarly endowed with life by the imaginative power usually more or less under the influence of terror. The historical myths we must leave the masters of history to follow ; they, and the events they record, being yet involved in great, though attractive and penetrable, mystery. But the stars, and hills, and storms are with us now, as they were with others of old ; and it only needs that we look at them with the earnest ness of those childish eyes to understand the first words spoken of them by the children of men, and then, in all the most beauti ful and enduring myths, we shall find, not only a literal story
of a real person, not only a parallel imagery of moral principle, but an underlying worship of natural phenomena, out of which both have sprung, and in which both forever remain rooted. Thus, from the real sun, rising and setting, — from the real atmosphere, calm in its dominion of unfading blue, and fierce in its descent of tempest, —the Greek forms first the idea of two entirely personal and corporeal gods, whose limbs are clothed in divine flesh, and whose brows are crowned with divine beauty ; yet so real that the quiver rattles at their shoulder, and the
GREEK MYTHS.
353
chariot bends beneath their weight. And, on the other hand, collaterally with these corporeal images, and never for one instant separated from them, he conceives also two omnipresent spiritual influences, of which one illuminates, as the sun, with a constant fire, whatever in humanity is skillful and wise ; and the other, like the living air, breathes the calm of heavenly fortitude, and strength of righteous anger, into every human breast that is pure and brave.
6. Now, therefore, in nearly every myth of importance, you have to discern these three structural parts, —the root and the two branches : the root, in physical existence, sun, or sky, or cloud, or sea ; then the personal incarnation of that, becoming a trusted and companionable deity, with whom you may walk hand in hand, as a child with its brother or its sister ; and, lastly, the moral significance of the image, which is in all the great myths eternally and beneficently true.
7. The great myths ; that is to say, myths made by great people. For the first plain fact about myth making is one which has been most strangely lost sight of, — that you cannot make a myth unless you have something to make it of. You cannot tell a secret which you don't know. If the myth is about the sky, it must have been made by somebody who had looked at the sky. If the myth is about justice and fortitude, it must have been made by some one who knew what it was to be just or patient. According to the quantity of under standing in the person will be the quantity of significance in his fable ; and the myth of a simple and ignorant race must necessarily mean little, because a simple and ignorant race have little to mean. So the great question in reading a story is always, not what wild hunter dreamed, or what childish race first dreaded it ; but what wise man first perfectly told, and what strong people first perfectly lived by it. And the real meaning of any myth is that which it has at the noblest age of the nation among whom it is current. The farther back you pierce, the less significance you will find, until you come to the first narrow thought, which, indeed, contains the germ of the accomplished tradition; but only as the seed contains the flower. As the intelligence and passion of the race develop, they cling to and nourish their beloved and sacred legend ; leaf by leaf it expands under the touch of more pure affections, and more delicate imagination, until at last the perfect fable bourgeons out into symmetry of milky stem and honeyed bell.
354 GREEK MYTHS.
8. But through whatever changes it may pass, remember that our right reading of it is wholly dependent on the mate rials we have in our own minds for an intelligent answering sympathy. If it first arose among a people who dwelt under stainless skies, and measured their journeys by ascending and declining stars, we certainly cannot read their story, if we have never seen anything above us in the day but smoke, nor any thing around us in the night but candles. If the tale goes on to change clouds or planets into living creatures, — to invest them with fair forms and inflame them with mighty passions, —we can only understand the story of the human-hearted things, in so far as we ourselves take pleasure in the perfect- ness of visible form, or can sympathize, by an effort of imagina tion, with the strange people who had other loves than that of wealth, and other interests than those of commerce. And, lastly, if the myth complete itself to the fulfilled thoughts of the nation, by attributing to the gods, whom they have carved out of their fantasy, continual presence with their own souls ; and their every effort for good is finally guided by the sense of the companionship, the praise, and the pure will of immortals, we shall be able to follow them into this last circle of their faith only in the degree in which the better parts of our own beings have been also stirred by the aspects of nature, or strengthened by her laws. It may be easy to prove that the ascent of Apollo in his chariot signifies nothing but the rising of the sun. But what does the sunrise itself signify to us ?
return to frivolous amusement, or fruitless labor, it will, indeed, not be easy for us to conceive the power, over a Greek, of the name of Apollo. But for us also, as for the Greek, the sun rise means daily restoration to the sense of passionate gladness and of perfect life, —— means the thrilling of new strength through every nerve, the shedding over us of better peace than the peace of night, in the power of the dawn, — and the purging of evil vision and fear by the baptism of its dew — the sun itself an influence, to us also, of spiritual good — and becomes thus in reality, not in imagination, to us also, spirit ual power, —we may then soon overpass the narrow limit of conception which kept that power impersonal, and rise with the Greek to the thought of an angel who rejoiced as strong man to run his course, whose voice calling to life and to labor rang round the earth, and whose going forth was to the ends of heaven.
If only languid
a
a
is
a
;
if
if it
if,
BALLADE OF THE MYSTERIOUS HOSTS OF THE FOREST. 355
BALLADE OF THE MYSTERIOUS HOSTS OF THE FOREST.
By THEODORE DE BANVILLE. (Translated by Andrew Lang. )
[Theodore Faullain de Banville, French novelist and poet, was born at Moulins, March 14, 1823 ; died at Paris, March 13, 1891. He was the son of a naval officer ; became a Parisian man of letters. His best-known works were the volumes of poetry, "The Caryatides" (1842), "The Stalactites" (1846), "Odes Funambulesques " (1857), "New Odes Funambulesques " (1868), " Russian Idyls " (1872), and "Thirty-six Merry Ballads" (1873). He wrote also prose tales and sketches; as, "The Poor Mountebanks" (1853), "The Parisians of Paris" (1866), " Tales for Women" (1881), and "The Soul of Paris " (1890). He published his autobiography, " My Recollections," in 1882.
For biography of Andrew Lang, the distinguished scholar, poet, and man of letters, see " Calypso," Vol. 2. ]
Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old, Beneath the shade of thorn and holly tree ;
The west wind breathes upon them pure and cold, And still wolves dread Diana roving free,
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky gray ; Then down the dells, with blown soft hair and bright,
And through the dim wood, Dian thrids her way.
With waterweeds twined in their locks of gold The strange cold forest fairies dance in glee ;
Sylphs overtimorous and overbold
Haunt the dark hollows where the dwarf may be, The wild red dwarf, the nixies' enemy :
Then, 'mid their mirth, and laughter, and affright, The sudden goddess enters, tall and white,
With one long sigh for summers passed away ; The swift feet tear the ivy nets outright,
And through the dim wood Dian thrids her way.
She gleans her sylvan trophies ; down the wold She hears the sobbing of the stags that flee,
Mixed with the music of the hunting rolled : But her delight is all in archery,
And naught of ruth and pity wotteth she
More than the hounds that follow on the flight ;
35G
THE LABORS OF HERCULES.
The tall nymph draws a golden bow of might, And thick she rains the gentle shafts that slay,
She tosses loose her locks upon the night,
And Dian through the dim wood thrids her way.
Envoi.
Prince, let us leave the din, the dust, the spite,
The gloom and glare of towns, the plague, the blight ;
Amid the forest leaves and fountain spray There is the mystic home of our delight,
And through the dim wood Dian thrids her way.
THE LABORS OF HERCULES. By Sib GEORGE W. COX (rewritten).
Deceived by the evil advice of Ate, the "mischief-maker of the gods, Jupiter said to Juno his queen, This day a child shall be born of the race of Perseus, who shall be the mightiest of all on earth. " He meant his son Hercules ; but Juno had a crafty trick in her mind to lay a heavy curse on that son, whom naturally she hated for his being such. She asked Jupi ter if what he had just said should surely be so, and he gave the nod which meant the vow that could not be recalled ; then she went to the Fates and induced them to have Eurystheus born first, so that he should be the one mortal more powerful than Hercules, though he was a weak, jealous, and spiteful man.
So the lot was fixed that all his life long Hercules should toil at the will of a mean and envious master. He was matchless in strength, courage, and beauty ; but he was to have neither profit nor comfort from them till he should pass from the land of mortals. But Jupiter was enraged at the ruin of his plans for the child by Juno's plot ; he cast forth Ate from the halls of Olympus and forbade her to dwell again among the gods, and ordained that Hercules should dwell with the gods in Olympus as soon as his days of toils on earth were ended.
So Hercules grew up in the house of Amphitryon husband of Alcmena, the mother of the baby demigod), full of beauty and wonderful might. One day, as he lay sleeping, two huge serpents came into the chamber, twisted their coils round
(the
THE LABORS OF HERCULES. 357
the cradle, and gazed on him with their cold, glassy eyes, till the sound of their hissing woke him; but instead of being frightened, he stretched out his little arms, caught hold of the serpents' necks, and strangled them to death. All knew by this sign that he was to have terrible struggles with the evil things of the world, but was to come off the victor.
As he grew up, no one could compare with him for strength of arm and swiftness of foot, in taming horses, or in wrestling. The best men in Argos were his teachers ; and the wise cen taur Chiron was his friend, and taught him always to help the weak and take their part against any who oppressed them. For all his great strength, none were more gentle than Hercu les ; none more full of pity for those bowed down by pain and labor.
But it was bitter to him that he must spend his life slaving for Eurystheus, while others were rich in joy and pleasures, feasts and games. One day, thinking of these things, he sat down by the wayside where two paths met, in a lonely valley far from the dwellings of men. Suddenly lifting up his eyes, he saw two women coming toward him, each from a different road. Both were fair to look upon : but one had a soft and gentle face, and was clad in pure white. The other looked boldly at Hercules ; her face was ruddier, and her eyes shone with a hot and restless glitter ; her thin, embroidered robe, streaming in long folds from her shoulders, clung about her voluptuous figure, revealing more than it hid. With a quick and eager step she hastened to him, so as to be the first to
I know, man of toils and grief, that your heart is sad within you, and that you know not which way to turn. Come with me, and I will lead you on a soft
speak. And she said : "
and pleasant road, where no storms shall vex you and no sor rows shall trouble you. You shall never hear of wars or fight ing ; sickness and pain shall not come near you : but you shall feast all day long at rich banquets and listen to the songs of minstrels. You shall not want for sparkling wine, soft robes, or pleasant couches ; you shall not lack the delights of love, for the bright eyes of maidens shall look gently upon you, and their song shall lull you to sleep. "
Hercules said : " You promise me pleasant things, lady, and I am sorely pressed down by a hard master. What is your name ? "
" My friends," said she, " call me Pleasure ; those who look
358 THE LABORS OF HERCULES.
Then the other said : " Hercules, I too know who you are and the doom laid on you, and how you have toiled and endured even from childhood ; that is the very reason I feel sure you will give me your love. If you do so, men will speak of your good deeds in future times, and my name will be still more exalted. But I have no fine words to cheat you with. Noth ing good is ever reached, nothing great is ever won, without toil. If you seek for fruit from the earth, you must tend and till it ; if you would have the favor of the gods, you must come before them with prayers and offerings ; if you long for the love of men, you must do them good. " "
on me with disfavor have given me more than one bad name and an ill repute, but they speak falsely. "
You see, Hercules, that Virtue seeks to lead you on a long and weary path ; but
Then the other broke in and said :
my broad and easy road leads quickly to happiness. "
" Virtue answered with a flash of anger in her pure eyes : Wretched thing, what good thing have you to give, and what pleasure can you feel, who know not what it is to toil ? Your
lusts are satiated, your taste is dulled into indifference or nau sea. You drink the wine before you are thirsty, and fill your self with dainties before you are hungry. Though you are numbered among the immortals, the gods have cast you forth out of heaven, and good men scorn you. The sweetest of all sounds, when a man's heart praises him, you have never heard ; the sweetest of all sights, when a man looks on his good deeds, you have never seen. Those who bow down to you are weak and feeble in youth, and wretched and loathsome in old age. But I dwell with the gods in heaven, and with good men on the earth ; and without me nothing good can be done or thought. More than all others I am honored by the gods and cherished by the men who love me. In peace and in war, in health and in sickness, I am the aid of all who seek me ; and my help never fails. My children know the purest of all pleasures, when the hour of rest comes after the toil of day. In youth they are strong, and their limbs are quick with health ; in old age they look back upon a happy life ; and when they lie down to the sleep of death, their name is cherished among men for
their good and useful deeds. Love me, therefore, Hercules, and obey my words, and when your labors are ended you shall dwell with me in the home of the immortal gods. "
Hercules bowed his head and swore to follow Virtue's counsels,
THE LABORS OF HERCULES. 359
and went forth with a good courage to his labor and suffering. He lived and wrought in many lands to obey Eurystheus' orders. He did good deeds for men; but he gained nothing by them except the love of the gentle Iole.