Chapter VII: Mother-Myths and Child-Myths (2)

Once when his relations were all dancing in the great House of Assembly they found out who he was. For little Maui, the infant, crept into the house, and went and sat behind one of his brothers, and hid himself, so when their mother counted her children that they might stand up ready for the dance, she said: “One, that’s Maui-taha; two, that’s Maui-roto; three, that’s Maui-pae; four, that’s Maui-waho”; and then she saw another, and cried out: “Hollo, where did this fifth come from?” Then little Maui, the infant, answered: “Ah, I’m your child, too.” Then the mother counted them all over again, and said: “Oh, no, there ought to be only four of you; now for the first time I’ve seen you.” Then little Maui and his mother stood for a long time disputing about this in the very middle of the ranks of all the dancers.

At last she got angry, and cried out: “Come, you, be off now, out of the house at once; you are no child of mine, you belong to some one else.” Then little Maui spoke out quite boldly, and said: “Very well, I’d better be off, then, for I suppose, as you say it, I must be the child of some other person; but indeed I did think I was your child when I said so, because I knew I was born by the side of the sea, and was thrown by you into the foam of the surf, after you had wrapped me up in a long tress of your hair, which you cut off for the purpose; then the seaweed formed and fashioned me, as, caught in its long tangles, the ever-heaving surges of the sea rolled me, folded as I was in them, from side to side; at length the breezes and squalls which blew from the ocean drifted me on shore again, and the soft jelly-fish of the long, sandy beaches rolled themselves round me to protect me; then again myriads of flies buzzed about me, and flocks of birds collected round me to tear me to pieces, but at that moment appeared there also my great ancestor, Tama-nui-ki-te-Rangi, and he saw the flies and birds collected in clusters and flocks above the jelly-fish, and behold, within there lay a human being; then he caught me up and carried me to his house, and he hung me up in the roof that I might feel the warm smoke and the heat of the fire, so I was saved alive by the kindness of that old man. At last I grew, and then I heard of the fame of the dancing of this great House of Assembly. It was that which brought me here. But ever since I can remember I have heard the names of these your first-born children, as you have been calling them over until this very night, when I again heard you repeating them. In proof of this I will now recite your names to you, my brothers. You are Maui-taha, and you are Maui-roto, and you are Maui-pae, and you are Maui-waho, and as for me, I’m little Maui-the-baby, and here I am sitting before you.”

When his mother, Taranga, heard all this, she cried out: “You dear little child, you are indeed my last-born, therefore I now tell you your name shall be Maui-tiki-tiki-o-Taranga,” and he was called by that name.

It was now night; but early in the morning Taranga rose up, and suddenly, in a moment of time, she was gone from the house where her children were. As soon as they woke up they looked all about to no purpose, as they could not see her; the elder brothers knew she had left them, and were accustomed to it; but the little child was exceedingly vexed; yet he thought: “I cannot see her, ’tis true, but perhaps she has only gone to prepare some food for us.” No-no—she was off, far, far away.

Now, at nightfall when their mother came back to them, her children were dancing and singing as usual. As soon as they had finished, she called to her last-born, “Come here, my child, let us sleep together”; so they slept together; but as soon as day dawned, she disappeared. The little fellow now felt quite suspicious at such strange proceedings on the part of his mother every morning. So, at length, another night, he crept out of bed in the night and stole his mother’s apron, her belt, and clothes, and hid them; then he went and stopped up every crevice in the wooden window, and in the doorway, so that the light of the dawn might not shine into the house, and make his mother hurry to get up. But after he had done this his little heart still felt very anxious and uneasy, lest his mother should, in her impatience, rise in the darkness, and defeat his plans. But the night dragged its slow length along without his mother moving; at last there came the faint light of early morn, but his mother still slept on; then the sun rose up, and mounted far up above the horizon; now at last his mother moved, and began to think to herself, “What kind of night can this be, to last so long?” and having thought thus, she dropped asleep again. Again she awoke, and began to think to herself, but could not tell that it was broad daylight outside, as the window and every chink in the house were stopped up closely.

At last up she jumped; and finding herself without her clothes or her belt or her apron, she ran and pulled out the things with which the windows and chinks in the doors were stopped up, and whilst doing so, oh, dear! oh, dear! there she saw the sun high up in the heavens; then she snatched up, as she ran off, the old flax cloak, with which the door of the house had been stopped up, and carried it off as her only covering; getting, at last, outside the house, she hurried away, and ran crying at the thought of having been so badly treated by her own children.

As soon as his mother got outside the house, little Maui jumped up, and kneeling upon his hands and knees peeped after her through the doorway into the bright light. Whilst he was watching her, she reached down to a clump of rushes, and snatching it up from the ground, dropped into a hole underneath it, and clapping the rushes into the hole again as if it were its covering, so disappeared. Then little Maui jumped on his feet, and, as hard as he could go, ran out of the house, pulled up the clump of rushes, and peeping down, discovered a beautiful open cave running quite deep into the earth.

He covered up the hole again and returned to the house, and waking up his brothers who were still sleeping, said: “Come, come, my brothers, rouse up, you have slept long enough; come, get up; here we are again cajoled by our mother.” Then his brothers made haste and got up; alas! alas! the sun was quite high up in the heavens.

The little Maui now asked his brothers again, “Where do you think the place is where our father and mother dwell?” and they answered: “How should we know, we have never seen it; although we are Maui-taha, and Maui-roto, and Maui-pae, and Maui-waho, we have never seen the place; and do you think you can find that place which you are so anxious to see? What does it signify to you? Cannot you stop quietly with us? What do we care about our father, or about our mother? Did she feed us with food till we grew up to be men? not a bit of it. Why, without doubt, Rangi, or the Heaven, is our father, who kindly sent his offspring down to us: Hau-whenna, or gentle breezes, to cool the earth and young plants; and Hau-ma-ringiringi, or mists, to moisten them; and Hau-ma-roto-roto, or fine weather, to make them grow; and Tonarangi, or rain, to water them; and Tomairangi, or dews, to nourish them. He gave these his offspring to cause our food to grow, and then Papa-tu-a-nuku, or the Earth, made her seeds to spring, and grow forth, and provide sustenance for her children in this long-continuing world.”

Little Maui then answered: “What you say is truly quite correct; but such thoughts and sayings would better become me than you, for in the foaming bubbles of the sea I was nursed and fed: it would please me better if you would think over and remember the time when you were nursed at your mother’s breast; it could not have been until after you had ceased to be nourished by her milk that you could have eaten the kinds of food you have mentioned; as for me, oh! my brothers, I have never partaken either of her milk or of her food; yet I love her, for this single reason alone—that she is my mother; and because I love her, I wish to know the place where she and my father dwell.”

His brothers felt quite surprised and pleased with their little brother when they heard him talk in this way, and when, after a little time, they had recovered from their amazement, they told him to try and find their father and mother. So he said he would go. It was a long time ago that he had finished his first labor, for when he first appeared to his relatives in their house of singing and dancing, he had on that occasion transformed himself into the likeness of all manner of birds, of every bird in the world, and yet no single form that he then assumed had pleased his brothers; but now when he showed himself to them, transformed into the semblance of a pigeon, his brothers said: “Ah! now indeed, oh, brother, you do look very well indeed, very beautiful, very beautiful, much more beautiful than you looked in any of the other forms you assumed, when you first discovered yourself to us.” What made him look so beautiful now were the belt and apron he had stolen from his mother. The shining white upon his breast was her belt, the glossy black feathers at his throat, the fastening to the belt. Then off he flew until he came to the clump of rushes, closing the opening of the cave into which his mother had disappeared. Then down he went into the cave, shutting up its mouth with the rushes so as to hide the entrance. Away he flew, very fast indeed, and twice he dipped his wing, because the cave was narrow; soon he reached nearly to the bottom of the cave, and flew along it; and again, because the cave was so narrow, he dipped first one wing and then the other, but the cave now widened, and he dashed straight on.

At last he saw a party of people coming along under a grove of trees; they were a special kind of tree, called manapan trees, that belonged to the country. Maui flying on, perched upon the top of one of these trees, under which the people had seated themselves; and when he saw his mother lying down on the grass by the side of her husband, he guessed at once who they were, and he thought, “Ah! there sit my father and mother right under me”; and he soon heard their names, as they were called to by their friends who were sitting with them; then the pigeon hopped down, and perched on another spray a little lower, and it pecked off one of the berries of the tree and dropped it gently down, and hit the father with it on the forehead; and some of the party said, “Was it a bird which threw that down?” but the father said, “Oh, no, it was only a berry that fell by chance.”

Then the pigeon again pecked off some of the berries from the tree, and threw them down with all its force, and struck both father and mother, so that he really hurt them; then they cried out, and the whole party jumped up and looked into the tree, and as the pigeon began to coo, they soon found out from the noise where it was sitting amongst the leaves and branches, and the whole of them, the chiefs and common people alike, caught up stones to pelt the pigeon with, but they threw for a very long time without hitting it; at last the father tried to throw a stone at it; ah, he struck it, but Maui had himself contrived that he should be struck by the stone which his father threw; for, but by his choice no one could hit him; he was struck exactly upon his left leg, and down he fell, and as he lay fluttering and struggling upon the ground, they all ran to catch him, but lo! the pigeon had turned into a man.

Then all those who saw him were frightened at his fierce glaring eyes, which were red as if painted with red ochre, and they said: “Oh, it is now no wonder that he so long sat still up in the tree; had he been a bird he would have flown off long before, but he is a man.” And some of them said: “No, indeed, rather a god—just look at his form and appearance; the like has never been seen before since Rangi and Papa-tu-a-nuku were torn apart.” Then Taranga said: “I used to see one who looked like this person every night when I went to visit my children, but what I saw then excelled what I see now; just listen to me.” Then she told the story of Maui as he had told it to her and his brothers himself.

Then Taranga asked Maui, who was sitting near her, “Where do you come from? from the west?” and he answered, “No.” “From the north-east, then?” “No.” “From the south-east then?” “No.” “From the south then?” “No.” “Was it the wind which blows upon me—the wind that brought you here to me?” When she asked this, he opened his mouth and answered, “Yes.” And she cried out, “Oh, this then is indeed my child”; and she said, “Are you Maui-taha?” He answered, “No.” Then said she, “Are you Maui-tiki-tiki-o-Taranga?” and he answered, “Yes.” And she cried aloud: “This is, indeed, my child. By the winds and storms and wave-uplifting gales he was fashioned and became a human being; welcome, oh, my child, welcome! By you shall hereafter be climbed the threshold of the house of your great ancestor Hine-nui-te-po, and death shall thenceforth have no power over man.” This prophecy, however, was not fulfilled, for when the time came for him to encounter Hine-nui-te-po, he was himself killed.

Maui, after these things, returned to his brothers to tell them that he had found his parents, and to explain where they dwelt.

The young hero, Maui, had not been long at home with his brothers when he began to think that it was too soon after the rising of the sun that it became night again, and that the sun again sank down below the horizon, every day, every day; in the same manner the days appeared too short to him. So at last one day he said to his brothers, “Let us now catch the sun in a noose, so that we may compel him to move more slowly, in order that mankind may have long days to labor in to procure subsistence for themselves”; but they answered him, “Why, no man could approach it on account of its warmth, and the fierceness of its heat”; but the young hero said to them: “Have you not seen the multitude of things I have already achieved? Did I not by degrees transform myself into every bird in the world, small or great; and did I not after all this again assume the form of a man? As for that feat, I accomplished it by enchantments, and I will by the same means accomplish also this other thing which I have in mind.” When his brothers heard this they consented to aid him in his conquest of the sun.

Then they began to spin and twist ropes to form a noose to catch the sun in, and in doing this they discovered the mode of plaiting flax into stout, square-shaped ropes, and the manner of plaiting flat ropes, and of spinning round ropes; at last they finished making all the ropes they required. Then Maui took up his enchanted weapon, and he took his brothers with him, and they carried their provisions, ropes, and other things with them in their hands. They travelled all night, and as soon as day broke, they halted in the desert, and hid themselves that they might not be seen by the sun; and at night they renewed their journey, and before dawn they halted and hid themselves again; at length they got very far, very far to the eastward, and came to the very edge of the place out of which the sun rises.

Then they set to work and built on each side of this place a long high wall of clay, with huts of boughs of trees at each end to hide themselves in; when these were finished, they made the loops of the noose, and the brothers of Maui then lay in wait on one side of the place out of which the sun rises, and Maui himself lay in wait upon the other side. The young hero held in his hand his enchanted weapon, the jaw-bone of his ancestress, and said to his brothers: “Mind now, keep yourselves hid, and do not go showing yourselves foolishly to the sun; if you do, you will frighten him; but wait patiently until his head and fore-legs have got well into the snare, then I will shout; you haul away as hard as you can on the ropes on both sides, and then I’ll rush out and attack him, but do you keep your ropes tight for a good long time, until he is nearly dead, when we will let him go; but mind now, my brothers, do not let him move you to pity with his shrieks and screams.”

At last the sun came rising up out of his place, like a fire spreading far and wide over the mountains and forests; he rises up, his head passes through the noose, and it takes in more and more of his body, until his fore-paws pass through; then the ropes are pulled tight, and the monster begins to struggle and roll himself about, whilst the snare jerks backward and forward as he struggles. Ah! is he not held fast in the ropes of his enemies!

Then forth rushes that bold hero, Maui-tiki-tiki-o-Taranga, with his enchanted weapon. Alas! the sun screams aloud; he roars; Maui strikes him fiercely with many blows; they hold him for a long time; at last they let him go, and then weak from wounds the sun creeps slowly along its course. Then men learned the second name of the sun, for in its agony the sun screamed out: “Why am I thus smitten by you! oh, man! do you know what you are doing? Why should you wish to kill Tama-nui-te-Ra?” At last they let him go. Oh, then, Tama-nui-te-Ra went very slowly and feebly on his course.

THE INFANT HERACLES

(_Greek_)

When Heracles (Roman, Hercules) was a very wee child, not more than ten months old, he performed a marvellous feat which was a worthy sample of the vast labors he was to accomplish during his life. His mother, Alcmena, took him and his younger brother, Iphicles, gave them both their bath and their evening feast of milk, and then tucked them safely away in their cradle, which was not an ordinary one by any means, but a magnificent bronze shield which their father, Amphitryon, had taken from his fallen enemy, Pterelaus. Then the mother stroked her little children’s heads, and said to them:

“Sleep, my little ones, a light delicious sleep; sleep, soul of mine, two brothers, babes unharmed; blessed be your sleep, and blessed may ye come to the dawn.”[10]

And as she spoke she rocked the huge shield back and forth, and soon they both fell asleep.

But just at midnight, when the constellation of the Great Bear wheeled round toward the constellation of Orion that shows his mighty shoulder, Hera (Roman, Juno) sent forth two horrible monsters, two snakes with bristling coils of azure—she urged them against the broad threshold of the house door, intending that they should devour the young child Heracles. Then the serpents crawled, writhing along the ground, and ever from their eyes shone a baleful fire as they came, and they spat out their deadly venom. But when with their flickering tongues they were drawing near the children, then Alcmena’s dear babes wakened, by the will of Zeus that knows all things, and there was a bright light in the chamber.

Then one of the children, Iphicles, straightway screamed out, when he beheld the hideous monsters above the hollow shield, and saw their pitiless fangs, and eager to flee from them he kicked off the woollen coverlet with his feet. But Heracles set his force against them, and grasped them with his hands, holding them as in a bond, having got them by the throat, wherein lies the evil venom, detested even by the gods, of baleful snakes. Then the serpents, in their turn, wound their coils about the young child, the child unweaned, who never wept in his nursling days; but again they relaxed their spines on account of the pain, and strove to find some issue from the grasp of iron. Alcmena awoke first, hearing the cry.

“Arise, Amphitryon, for numbing fear lays hold of me: arise, nor stay to put on thy shoes! Dost thou not hear how loud the younger child is wailing? and though it is the depth of night, the walls are all plain to see as in the clear dawn? I know there is some strange thing within the house, my dearest lord!”

Thus she spoke, and at his wife’s bidding Amphitryon stepped down out of his bed of cedar, making for his richly ornamented sword which he always kept hanging on a pin above his bed. Just as he was reaching out for his new woven belt, and lifting with his other hand the mighty sheath of lotus wood, lo! the wide chamber was filled again with night. Then he called aloud to his servants, who were sleeping soundly. “Lights! Bring lights as quick as may be from the hearth, my servants, and thrust back the strong bolts of the doors. Arise, serving-men, stout of heart. Your master calls you.”

Then quickly came the serving-men with burning torches, filling the whole house. When they saw the young child Heracles clutching the two snakes in his tender grasp, they all cried out and smote their hands together. But Heracles displayed the creeping things to his father, Amphitryon, and leaped on high in his childish glee, and laughing, at his father’s feet he laid them down, the dread monsters fallen on the sleep of death. Then Alcmena took Iphicles, dry-eyed and wan with fear, and laid him in her own bosom; but Amphitryon placed the other child beneath a lamb’s wool coverlet, and betook himself again to his rest.

The cocks had barely sung their third welcome to the earliest dawn, when Alcmena called forth the seer Tiresias, who cannot lie, and told him of the new portent, and bade him declare what things should come to pass.

“Nay, even if the gods devise some mischief, do not in pity conceal it from me; let me remind thee what thou well knowest, that mortals may not escape the doom that Fate speeds from her spindle.”

Thus the Queen spoke, and he answered:

“Be of good cheer, daughter of Perseus, woman that hast borne the noblest of children. For by the sweet light that long hath left mine eyes, I swear that many Achæan women, as they card the soft wool about their knees, shall sing at eventide of Alcmena’s name, and thou shalt be honorable among the women of Argos. Such a man, even this thy son, shall mount to the starry firmament, the hero, broad of breast, the master of all wild beasts, and of all mankind. Twelve labors is he fated to accomplish, and thereafter to dwell in the house of Zeus.”

THE STORY OF THE CHILD HERMES

(_Greek_)

The little child-god Hermes was born at the first peep of day in a rocky cavern overshadowed by a beautiful grove of ancient trees. He was so remarkable a child that he began playing on the lyre at noon, and the very same evening he stole away the herds of Phœbus Apollo. He sprang from the arms of his mother, Maia, nor could she keep him in his sacred cradle, nor from creeping forth to seek the herds of Apollo.

Wandering forth from the lofty cavern, he found a tortoise, and cried out, “What a treasure!” Before the portal, the little beast was depasturing the flowery herbage at his leisure, moving his feet in a deliberate measure over the turf. Hermes, eyeing him and laughing, exclaimed: “You are a useful godsend indeed to me, king of the dance, companion of the feast, lovely in all your nature! Welcome, you excellent plaything! Where, sweet mountain beast, did you get that speckled shell? Thus much I know, you must come home with me and be my guest; you will give joy to me, and I will do all that is in my power to honor you. Better to be at home than out-of-doors; so come with me, and though it has been said that when alive you defend from magic power, I know you will sing sweetly when you are dead.” Having spoken, this quaint infant lifted the tortoise up from the grass upon which it was feeding, and grasping it tightly in his delighted hold, carried off his treasured prize into the cavern. He then scooped out all the inside of the tortoise, leaving only the shell. Then, through the shell he bored small holes at proper distances, and fastened within, the cut stems of reeds, and a bridge, over which he stretched the strings.

When he had made this lovely instrument, he tried the chords, and brought forth beautiful music. He hit the strings with a little instrument called the plectrum, and lo! up from beneath his hand there went a tumult sweet of mighty sounds and from his lips he sent a strain of unpremeditated wit, joyous and wild and wanton—such as you may hear among revellers on a holiday. He sang a lovely song in honor of his mother Maia, but while he was singing, he was suddenly seized with a new fancy. So he deposited in his sacred crib the hollow lyre, and from the sweet cavern rushed with great leaps up to the mountain’s head, revolving in his mind some subtle feat of thievish craft, such as a swindler might devise in the lone season of dim night. The great Sun had driven his steeds and chariot under the ocean’s bed. Meanwhile the child strode over the Pierian mountains clothed in shadows, where the immortal oxen of the God are pastured in the flowering unmown meadows, and safely stalled in a remote abode—elate and proud he drove fifty from the herd, lowing aloud. He drove them wandering over the sandy way, but being of a crafty disposition, he drove them backward and forward astray, so that the tracks which seemed before were aft; then he threw his sandals into the ocean spray, and for each foot he wrought a kind of raft of tamarisk, and tamarisk-like sprigs, and bound them in a lump with withy twigs. And on his feet he tied these sandals light, so that the trail of the wide leaves might confuse his tracks; and then, a self-sufficing wight, like a man hastening on some distant way, he from Piera’s mountain bent his flight; but an old man perceived the infant pass down green Onchestus heaped like beds with grass. The old man stood, dressing his sunny vine: “Halloo! old fellow with the crooked shoulder! You grub those stumps? Before they will bear wine methinks even you must grow a little older: attend, I pray, to this advice of mine if you would escape something which might appall a bolder man. Seeing, see not—and hearing, hear not—and—if you have understanding—understand.” So saying, Hermes roused the oxen vast; over shadowy mountain and resounding dell, and flower-paven plains, great Hermes passed; till the black night divine, which favoring fell around his steps, grew gray, and morning fast wakened the world to work, and from her sea-strewn cell, the sublime Morn had just begun to climb into her watch-tower. Now to Alpheus he drove all the broad foreheaded oxen of the Sun. They came unwearied to the lofty stall and to the water-troughs which ever run through the fresh fields—and when everyone had been pastured with rush-grass tall, lotus and all sweet herbage, the great God drove them into the stall.

Hermes then heaped a mighty pile of wood, and then bethought him how to produce fire. He took two smooth laurel branches, stripped off the bark and rubbed them in his palms. Suddenly the burning vapor leaped forth on high, which the divine child saw with delight. And fine dry logs and numerous roots he gathered in a delve upon the ground and kindled them, and instantaneously the strength of the fierce flames was breathed around, and while the might of the glorious fire thus wrapped the great pile with glare and roaring sound, Hermes dragged forth two heifers, lowing loud, close to the fire—such might was in the God. He threw them on their backs upon the earth and rolled them over and over and bored their lives out. Then he cut up the fat and flesh and placed the two on spits of wood before the fire, toasting their flesh and ribs, and while this was being done he stretched their hides over a craggy stone. This was a burnt offering to the gods, but the savor of the roasted meat tempted him sorely though immortal, but he repressed the desire to taste it and put not a single morsel into his mouth.

Then he removed every trace of the fresh butchery and cooking, so that it seemed all to have vanished through the sky. He burned the hoofs and horns and head and hair; the insatiate fire devoured them hungrily. And when he saw that everything was clear, he quenched the coals and trampled the black dust, and tossed into the stream his bloody sandals. All night he worked in the serene moonshine, but when the light of day was spread abroad, he sought his natal mountain-peaks. On his long wandering, neither man nor god had met him, since he killed Apollo’s kine, nor had a single house-dog barked at him on his road. Now he passed obliquely through the keyhole, like a thin mist or an autumnal blast. Right through the temple of the spacious cave he went with soft light feet, as if his tread fell not on earth. Then he crept quickly to his cradle and spread the swaddling clothes about him; and the knave lay playing with the covering of the bed, with his left hand about his knees and the right hand holding his beloved tortoise-lyre tight. There he lay, innocent as a new-born child, as gossips say.

But though he was a god, the goddess, his fair mother, was not deceived, and knew all that he had been doing while away. So she said to him: “Whence come you and what wild adventures have you had, you cunning rogue. Where have you been all night long, clothed in your impudence? What have you done since you departed hence? Apollo will soon pass within this gate and bind your tender body in a chain inextricably tight and fast as fate, unless you can delude the god again. A pretty torment are you for gods and men.” “Dear mother,” the sly Hermes replied, “why scold and bother as if I were like other babes of my age, and understood nothing. I have hatched a scheme in my subtle brain which, while the sacred stars round heaven are rolled, will profit you and me, nor shall our lot be as you counsel, without gifts or food, to spend our lives in this obscure abode. We will leave this shadow-peopled cave and live among the gods, and pass each day in high communion, sharing their great wealth, and from the portion which Jove gave to Phœbus I will snatch my share away, and if he should find me out I’ll countermine him by a deeper plan. I’ll pierce the Pythian temple walls, though stout, and sack the fane of everything I can—cauldrons and tripods, each golden cup and every brazen pan, all the wrought tapestries and the gay garments.” So they talked together.

Meanwhile the Day, ethereal-born, arose out of the flood of flowing Ocean, bearing light to men. Apollo passed toward the sacred wood, which from the inmost depths of its green glen echoes the voice of Neptune, and there stood on the same spot in green Onchestus that same old man, the vine-dresser, who was employed hedging his vineyard there. Latona’s glorious son began: “Pray tell me, ancient hedger of Onchestus green, whether a drove of kine has passed this way, all heifers with crooked horns? For they have been stolen from the herd in high Pieria, where a black bull was fed apart, between two woody mountains in a neighboring glen, though four fierce dogs guarded them. And what is strange, the author of this theft has stolen all the fatted heifers, but the four dogs and the black bull are left. They were stolen last night at set of sun, of their soft beds and their sweet food bereft. Now tell me, old man, born before the world began, have you seen any one pass with the cows?” The old man replied: “My friend, it would require no common skill justly to speak of everything I see. On various purposes of good or ill many pass by my vineyard, and for me it is difficult to know the invisible thoughts which may be in all those many minds. Thus much alone I can certainly say. I tilled these vines until the decline of day, and then I thought I saw, but dare not speak with certainty of such a wondrous thing, a child who could scarcely have been born a week, closely following those fair-horned cattle. And in his hand he held a polished stick, and, as on purpose, he walked wavering from one side to the other of the road, and with his face turned in the opposite direction from his steps.” Apollo, hearing this, passed quickly on. No winged omen could have shown more clearly who it was. So Apollo wrapped a purple atmosphere around his shoulders, and like fire went to famous Pylos, seeking his kine there. He found their tracks, yet hardly cold, and cried: “What wonder do mine eyes behold. Here are the footsteps of the horned herd turned back toward their fields of asphodel; but these are not the tracks of beast or bird, gray wolf or bear, or lion of the dell, or maned Centaur. Sand was never stirred by man or woman thus! Inexplicable! Who with unwearied feet ever could impress the sand with such enormous vestiges?”

Having spoken thus, Phœbus impetuously sought high Cyllene’s forest-cinctured hill, and the deep cavern where dark shadows lie, the home of Hermes. A delightful odor from the dew was all about. And Phœbus stooped under the craggy roof arched over the dark cavern. Maia’s child perceived from afar that he came angry about the cows that had been stolen. Then Hermes piled over him his fine and fragrant swaddling clothes. There he lay like a burning spark covered, beneath the ashes cold and dark, an infant who had sucked his fill and now was newly washed and put to bed, awake but courting sleep with weary will. And gathered in a lump, hands, feet and head, he lay, and his beloved tortoise still he grasped and held under his shoulder blade. Phœbus knew the lovely mountain goddess, not less her subtle, swindling baby, who lay swathed in his sly wiles. He looked sharp round every crook of the ample cavern for his kine, and when he saw them not he took the glittering key and opened three great hollow recesses in the rock, where many a nook was filled with sweet food immortals swallow, and mighty heaps of silver and of gold were piled within—a wonder to behold, and white and silver robes, all overwrought with cunning workmanship. Except among the gods there can be naught in the wide world to be compared with it. Latona’s offspring, after having sought his herds in every corner, thus greeted great Hermes: “Little cradled rogue, tell me about my illustrious heifers, where are they? Speak quickly, or a quarrel between us must rise, and the event will be that I shall haul you into dismal Tartarus, in fiery gloom to dwell eternally. Nor shall your father nor your mother loose the bars of that black dungeon. Utterly you shall be cast out from the light of day, unblest as they to rule the ghosts of men.” Hermes slyly answered: “Son of great Latona, what a speech is this! Why come you here to ask me what has been done with the wild oxen which it seems you miss? I have not seen them, nor from any one have I heard a word of the whole business. If you should promise an immense reward I could not tell you more. A stealer of oxen should be both tall and strong, and I am but a little new-born thing who, yet at least, can think of nothing wrong. My business is to suck and sleep and fling the cradle clothes about me all day long; or half asleep, hear my sweet mother sing, and to be washed in water clean and warm, and hushed and kissed and kept secure from harm. Oh, let not this quarrel ever be heard of, for the astounded gods would laugh at you for telling a story so absurd as that a new-born infant could fare forth out of his home after a savage herd. I was born yesterday. My small feet are too tender for the roads so hard and rough, and if you think that this is not enough, I swear a great oath that I stole not your cows, and that I know of no one else who might or could or did. Whatever things cows are I do not know, for I have only heard the name.” This said, he winked as fast as could be, and his brow was all wrinkled, and he gave a loud whistle like one who hears some strange absurdity. Apollo gently smiled and said: “Ay, ay, you cunning little rascal, you will bore many a rich man’s house, and your array of thieves will lay their siege before his door, silent as night, in night, and many a day in the wild glens rough shepherds will deplore that you or yours, having an appetite, met with their cattle. And this among the gods shall be your gift, to be the lord of those who steal and swindle.”

Apollo seized him then. “What do you mean to do with me, you unkind God?” said Hermes. “Is it about these cows you tease me so? I wish the race of cows were perished. I did not steal your cows, I do not even know what things cows are. Alas! I well may sigh that since I came into this world of woe I should ever have heard of one.” Thus Phœbus and the vagrant Hermes talked without coming to an explanation. Hermes continued to try and cheat Apollo with lies and roguery, but when no evasion served, he proposed to appeal to Jove to judge between them. Hermes paced first over the sandy ground and he of the silver bow followed, and from Jove’s equal balance they did require a judgment in the cause wherein they strove. As they came over odorous Olympus and its snows a murmuring tumult arose. And from the folded depths of the great hill, while Hermes and Apollo reverent stood before Jove’s throne, the indestructible immortals rushed in mighty multitude, and while their seats in order due they filled the lofty Thunderer in a careless mood to Phœbus said: “Whence drive you this sweet prey, this herald-baby, born but yesterday? A most important subject, trifler, this to lay before the Gods!” “Nay, father, nay. When you have understood the business, say not that I alone am fond of prey. I found this little boy in a recess in Cyllene’s mountains far away—a manifest and most apparent thief, a scandal-monger beyond all belief. I never saw his like either in heaven or earth for knavery or craft. Out of the field yester-even, by the low shore on which the loud sea laughed, he had driven my cattle right down to the river ford. The cattle’s track on the black dust is fully evident, as if they went toward the place from which they came—that asphodel meadow in which I feed my many herds. The child’s steps were most incomprehensible. I know not how I can describe in words those tracks. He could not have gone either upon his feet or his hands. He must have had some strange mode of moving on. Those immense vestiges, as I traced them on the sandy road, seemed like the trail of oak toppings, but thence the hard ground gave no mark or track denoting where they trod; but, working at his fence an old man saw him as he passed to Pylos with the cows in fiery haste. I found that in the dark he had quietly sacrificed some cows, and before light had thrown the ashes all dispersedly about the road; then, still as gloomy night, he crept into his cradle, rubbing either eye and cogitating some new trick. No eagle could have seen him as he lay hid in his cavern. I taxed him with the fact, when he declared most solemnly that he had neither seen nor in any manner heard of my lost cows, whatever things cows be; nor could he tell, though offered a reward of any one who could tell me about them.”

Then Phœbus sat down and Hermes addressed the Supreme Lord of Gods and Men. “Great Father, you know well beforehand that all I shall say is truth, for I am totally unacquainted with untruth. At sunrise Phœbus came, but with no band of gods to bear him witness, in great wrath to my abode, seeking his heifers there and declaring that I must show him where they are or he would hurl me down the dark abyss. I know that every limb of Apollo is clothed with speed and might and manliness, as a green bank with flowers, but unlike him I was born yesterday, and you may guess he knew this well when he indulged the whim of bullying a poor little new-born thing that slept and never thought of cow-driving. Am I like a strong fellow who steals kine? This driving of herds is none of mine. I have never wandered across my threshold! I reverence the divine Sun and the gods and you, and care even for this hard accuser, who must know I am as innocent as they or you. I swear by these most gloriously wrought portals through which the multitude of the Immortals pass and repass forever, day and night, devising schemes for the affairs of mortals, that I am guiltless,” and Hermes winked as if now his adversary was silenced, and Jove, according to his wont, laughed heartily to hear the subtle-witted infant give such a plausible account. But he remitted judgment for the time and sent them forth to seek the stolen cows. Hermes was truthfully to lead the way and show where he had hidden the mighty heifers.

Then they hastened to Pylos and the wide pastures and lofty stalls by the Alphean ford, where wealth in the mute night is multiplied with silent growth. While Hermes drove the herd out of the stony cavern, Phœbus spied the hides of those the little babe had slain, stretched high upon the precipice. “How was it possible,” then Phœbus asked, “that you, a little child born yesterday, a thing on mother’s milk and kisses fed, could have slain these two prodigious heifers? Ever I may well dread hereafter your prowess, when you grow strong and tall.” He spoke, and bound stiff withy bands around the infant’s wrists. He might as well have bound the wild oxen. The withy bands, though starkly interknit, fell at the feet of the immortal child, loosened by some device of his quick wit. Phœbus was again deceived, and stared while Hermes sought some hole, looking askance and winking fast, as though where he might hide himself. But suddenly he changed his plans, and with strange skill subdued Apollo by the might of winning music. His left hand held the lyre, and in his right the plectrum struck the chords; unconquerable, up from beneath his hands in circling flight the gathering music rose, and sweet as Love the penetrating notes did live and move within the heart of great Apollo. He listened with all his soul and laughed for pleasure. The unabashed boy stood close to his side harping fearlessly, and to the measure of the sweet lyre there followed loud and free his joyous voice, for he unlocked the treasure of his deep song illustrating the birth of the bright gods and the dark desert Earth, and how to the Immortals every one, a portion was assigned of all that is; but chief did clothe Maia’s son Mnemosyne in the light of his loud melodies, and as each god was born or had begun he in their order due and fit degrees sang of his birth and being, and did move Apollo to unutterable love. These words he spoke: “You heifer-stealing schemer, well do you deserve that fifty oxen should requite such minstrelsies as I have heard even now. Comrade of feasts, little contriving wight, one of your secrets I would gladly know—whether the glorious power you now show forth was folded up within you at your birth, or whether mortal taught or God inspired your skill in song?” And Hermes replied: “Wisely hast thou enquired of my skill. Jove has given to thee also divinest gifts. By thee the depths of his far voice are understood, by thee the mystery of all oracular fates. Even I, a child, perceive thy might and majesty. Thou canst seek out and compass all that wit can find or teach, yet if thou wilt, come take the lyre—be mine the glory giving it. Strike the sweet chords and sing aloud, and wake thy joyous pleasure out of many a fit of tranced sound.” The shell he proffered Apollo took, and gave him in return the glittering lash, installing him as herdsman. Hermes flashed a joyous look at him, and then Apollo with the plectrum struck the chords, and from beneath his hands a crash of mighty sounds rushed up whose music shook the soul with sweetness, and with the lyre his sweeter voice a just accordance kept.

FOOTNOTES

[1] See Schoolcraft.

[2] Leland, “Algonquin Legends.”

[3] See Gubernatis “Zoological Mythology.”

[4] Andrew Lang’s translation.

[5] See Anderson’s “Norse Mythology.”

[6] See Gayley’s “Classic Myths in English Literature.”

[7] See Anderson’s “Norse Mythology.”

[8] Gayley’s “Classic Myths in English Literature.”

[9] See Canfield’s “Legends of the Iroquois.”

[10] Andrew Lang’s translation.

THE END

GARDEN CITY, N. Y.]