Daedalus was a skillful workman in many ways. One of the first things he did to make himself famous was to build a maze. It had so many winding walks and crooked paths that anyone who walked in ten steps without a guide never could get out unaided.
He built this maze for his king, but before many years he offended the king in some way and was locked up in a high tower. In the roof of the tower were hundreds of doves, and as they flew back and forth, Daedalus said:
"My king rules the land and the sea, but not the air. I will try that way of escape."
So he set to work to make wings for himself. He shaped two great frames and covered them with feathers. The largest plumes he sewed on with thread, and the smaller ones he fastened with wax.
Icarus, his son, stood and looked on, catching any of the feathers the wind tried to blow away. He troubled his father much, however, by taking the wax and making little balls, which he tossed about the room.
The keeper of the tower thought the wise man very silly to spend his time making blankets of feathers, Daedalus never let the keeper of the tower see how he curved and pointed the corners of his frames. The keeper told how foolish the wise man had grown from being shut up so long; how he spent his time gathering feathers to make great blankets. The people pitied him, not knowing that this very punishment was giving Daedalus another chance to make himself famous.
One dark night Daedalus fastened the broad wings to his shoulders, and jumping from the window found he could sail like a dove, but he could not carry his boy. Back he flew and, folding his wings, slipped into the window. Now he must make a pair for Icarus.
DAEDALUS AND ICARUS MAKING THEIR WINGS. From a bas-relief in Rome.
Soon this second pair was done, but the little fellow had to be taught like a young bird how to use them. Many a time if Daedalus had not caught him on his own great wings, Icarus would have gone tumbling heels over head, down, down to the foot of the tower.
Finally, Icarus, too, could sail like a pigeon, and if the night had not been so dark it would have been great fun to see these two new birds fly out of that tower window.
Keeping their wings so close to each other that they almost touched, they flew away over houses and fields. Before the sun came out, Daedalus told his boy to be careful to keep near him. "Don't fly too near the sun, for the heat will melt the wax, nor too low, for the damp will wet the feathers. Keep close to me."
When the morning dawned they saw the men plowing in the fields stop work to look at them. Shepherds left their flocks and ran miles to see where those strange birds were going. No one could tell who they were. It was grand to be so free and to fly so swiftly.
An eagle saw them and flew near. They felt the breeze from his powerful wings, and swifter went their own. The eagle, frightened, turned and mounted toward the sun. Icarus forgot his father's warning and followed. Daedalus flew on and on, thinking his boy was beside him. Up, up went Icarus swifter than the eagle and swept proudly past him toward the sun. The next instant he felt his wings loosen and droop.
Just then, Daedalus, who was miles away, turned his head, for he heard the boy call him.
"Icarus, Icarus, where are you?" his father shouted. There was no answer, but the mass of feathers in the blue sea below told the story. Flying down, Daedalus searched till he found the body, and, tenderly laying it in the earth he wept that he had ever thought of wings.
The land where this happened was wild, and only savage beasts lived in it, so Daedalus flew away to Sicily. There he built a temple and on its walls hung up his wings forever.
He became so proud of his own success that he believed no one else could invent anything. He was willing, though, to teach others all he knew, and sister, living near, sent her son, Perdix, to him to learn what he could.
This boy was quick to see, to hear, and to learn, and he could invent things himself.
One day when Daedalus was slowly cutting through a log with an ax, the boy showed him how much quicker he could do it with a saw he had made. No one had ever heard of a saw before, and Daedalus was angry.
"Who told you how to make this?" he asked.
"I brought home yesterday the backbone of a great fish cast up by the sea, and I made this like it, but of iron; that is all," said Perdix.
Another time Daedalus was trying to draw a perfect circle. Thirteen times he tried and failed.
"Take my irons, if you will not be angry with me," said Perdix, and he handed him a pair of compasses.
Here again was something no man had ever seen. But Daedalus, instead of being proud of his nephew, was angrier than before.
"You will be claiming that you are greater than Daedalus, who first sailed through the air, ungrateful boy," said his uncle.
"I have only tried to help you," answered Perdix.
Not long after this, when the two were in a tall building, Daedalus gave Perdix a push that sent him headlong toward the ground. The goddess Minerva, who loves learning, saw him falling and changed him into a partridge before he touched the earth. Unlike Daedalus, he has always kept his wings.
Perdix, the partridge, builds his nest low on the ground and stays in low branches. Perhaps he is afraid he may not be saved from another fall if he goes again into high places.
"Oh, isn't it a pity the peacock doesn't know that he can't sing? Why doesn't he stop that fearful screeching?"
Little Katie put her hands over her ears to keep out the sound.
JUNO AND HER PEACOCK. From an ancient fresco
"You know the peacock was once an animal that hasn't a very sweet voice," said Jack.
"No, I don't know, but Charlie Green's pet donkey makes a better noise than this bird. There, I am glad he has stopped."
"Shall I tell you a story?" asked Jack.
"Once upon a time a donkey felt that he was much abused just because his coat was rough and his face and shape were so homely; so he begged of Jupiter to make him into something beautiful. In a short time he was changed into a peacock and, looking down upon his fine feathers, began to sing. But, oh, the trouble he was in then! He had forgotten to have his voice changed, too, and it was the same old donkey voice that he had always had."
"That's a funny story, Jack. It seems to me that mother told us that a long time ago."
"Then I know another story of how the eyes came into the peacock's feathers."
"You are a queer boy, Jack. Those eyes were always there."
"Oh, no, they were not, Kate. You watch the young peacock chickens, and I'll prove my story, or part of it, anyway. Don't you remember that at first they are a dull brown, and then, when they are about a year old, they begin to show a little green? They are three years old before the eyes begin to show in the feathers. You are a queer girl to forget that."
"Well, tell your story, and I will see if it is a good one." So Jack began:
"Argus was a watchman. His great eyes were like green balls, but with fifty little eyes in each. Yes, he had a hundred eyes, and never more than two went to sleep at once. He could see even better in the night than in the daytime, so he was a fine watchman.
"Once Argus was told to watch a certain prisoner who could not be shut in a room, but had to be left in a field. Not once was he to lose sight of this prisoner. If he did, every one of his hundred eyes would be taken from him.
"Day and night Argus watched, never sleeping except with two eyes at a time. He was as faithful as fifty soldiers.
"But he loved music, and the friends of the prisoner knew it. So they sent some one to him who could play upon the harp and sing, thinking that perhaps Argus might be charmed to sleep.
"This player's name was Mercury, and he was so quick that some thought he wore wings on his feet. If he did wear them, he could take them off when he liked, for he was just a plain shepherd in a sheepskin coat and sheepskin sandals when Argus saw him.
"If he had come with a spear, or with bow and arrow, Argus would have been ready to keep him out, but Mercury was too bright for that.
"No, he was just a plain shepherd, and he sat down in a field near the one Argus was in, to watch his sheep. While he sat there, he played such sweet music that Argus said, 'Bring your sheep into my field and we will watch together.'
"That was just what Mercury had planned. So he was not very long in getting his sheep into the field with Argus. There the two lay in the shade of the trees and told stories, and Mercury played and watched the green eyes of Argus, while Argus watched the prisoner.
"One night Mercury played so softly, so sweetly, that for one minute every one of the hundred green eyes of Argus closed, the watchman nodded, and in that minute Mercury struck him on the neck and cut off his head. Then the prisoner was free. Juno took the green eyes of Argus and put them on her pet bird, the peacock."
"Oh, Jack, I don't believe a word of it."
"I don't, either," said Jack, "but these stories are both more than two thousand years old, and I shouldn't wonder if some one did believe them a long time ago."
"Has everything a name, father?" asked a wide-awake boy one day.
"Everything I know of has a name," answered the father.
"What is the name of this stone, then?"
"The name of the stone you have just picked up happens to be granite."
"I believe you made that up, father, just because I asked you so quickly. Really is it granite? Has a rock a name?"
"Why, certainly, my boy. It seems strange that a boy of ten does not know granite when he sees it."
"But you lived in the country, father, when you were a boy, and I have been here hardly a month. Oh, here is another kind of stone; what is this?"
The father cracked the bit of rock so as to get a fresh surface and then answered:
"Common white quartz, Harold. You are giving me easy specimens, which is lucky for both of us."
"Why, father, where did you learn all their names?"
"I don't know all their names. I know only the most common ones. To find the names of some kinds of rock or stone I should need quite an outfit, such as you may have seen in the high-school laboratory."
"Do all the flowers have names, too, father?"
"Harold, if you could find a flower that has not been named you would become quite famous. The flower probably would be named after you. Think of that! There is something to work for; and you were wishing only last night that you could be a famous man."
"Where did all the flowers get their names? Did the teachers name them?"
"Oh, I suspect the teachers named some, and many people helped them. I don't believe I ever stopped to think that it is curious that everything on the earth and in the sea and in the sky is named. You are a very thoughtful boy, Harold. Ask all the questions you please."
This praise from his quiet father made Harold happier than anything in the world. He was silent a moment, but then asked:
"Have the stars names, too, father? I mean all of them. I know those large ones have, for you told me."
"Yes, Harold, every star has a name of some kind. Some of them have only a letter or a number. But that answers for a name, you know."
"And all the animals, and all the birds, and all the beetles, and all the--everything! I'll have to go to school just all my life!"
And then Mr. Hadley laughed aloud.
"To-day, father, in the geography class, I learned about many cities, and there are more in the large geography. Do you know how any of the cities got their names?"
"What country were you studying about to-day, Harold?"
"It was about Greece, and some of the cities had such long hard names that I can't remember them. Oh, yes, now I remember Athens. Why, father, you were there once, for I have heard you tell about Greece; and one of the pictures in the parlor is named 'In Athens.' Do tell me something about the place, for I can't make it seem like a real city like New York or Chicago."
"Do you like olives, Harold?"
"Yes, indeed, I do, and you like olive oil. Oh, of course, olives grow in Greece. I couldn't think what made you ask such a queer question. Now tell me about Greece, won't you, please? Is it a beautiful country?"
"Yes, and I'll tell you a tale of the sea, of olives, and of Athens, all in one. You remember that beautiful head of Minerva, which is near my book-shelf, do you not? Minerva has another name. She is often called Athena. She was known to the ancient people of Greece as the goddess of wisdom and learning. Can you remember the name of the king of the sea?"
ATHENA. From a Greek statue.
"Neptune, father. You have his picture, too, haven't you?"
"Yes, Harold, but now you must learn the name by which the Greeks called him. It was Poseidon. The story goes that Athena and Poseidon were each very anxious to name a certain city in Greece.
"Jupiter said that he would let the one who brought the greatest gift to the people have the honor of naming the place. And then such strife began as you can hardly imagine. Poseidon put his wits at work and called together all his friends for counsel. At last his gift was ready for the day on which they were to appear before Jupiter.
"Minerva, as she was the goddess of wisdom, needed no such help as Poseidon had asked and received. Her plans were ready in a moment and she was waiting for the great day.
"When that day came all the people of the nameless city gathered together to see what was to be brought them. As they were seated on the side of mountain, on the top of which stood Jupiter, King Poseidon appeared on the plain before them, leading a wonderful black horse. It was covered with gold armor. It pawed the ground and stamped with its hoofs, and looked like the leader of a grand army. The people shouted and would have declared for Poseidon without waiting for his rival, but Jupiter quieted them.
MINERVA. From a Roman statue.
"Then the goddess came forward on the plain. She was beautiful, tall, stately. She seemed to be holding something very small in her hand. She opened her hand before the people and commanded a gardener to dig a hole in the earth at her feet. Into this hole she dropped the small something which was in her hand. As soon as the earth was over it, tiny leaves came out. Then it grew instantly into a tree covered with silver-gray leaves. Its trunk grew larger and larger. It seemed to touch the skies It was filled with fruit. She showed them how to extract the oil. She showed them how to use the fruit.
"The horse neighed and pawed, and Poseidon laughed at the woman's gift. 'Here is war, glory, and power!' he cried.
"'Here is life, peace, and plenty!' said the goddess.
"'The city shall be named Athena' came from Jupiter on the mountain top.
"And so the city of Athens was named and the people loved Athena for her gift of the olive tree."
Two grand trees stood on a hill near a lake. One was an oak with wide branches. The other was a linden.
"Man and wife," the people called them, and when asked why, said, "Because it is true. Once they could walk around and talk. Now they stand there side by side forever. But you can hear them whisper to each other sometimes."
And if asked, "Who were they?" even the little children would say, "Why, Philemon and Baucis."
Many children had these names in those days, and knew the story of the two trees well, for there were none like them anywhere else in the land.
It was said that these two people who lived in such strange form were once a poor old couple, and their home was a wretched house in the valley. Simple, honest, and quiet, they had little to do with their bustling neighbors.
One evening two strangers walked into the village, and stopping at the first house to ask for food, were sent away in a hurry.
"We work for a living and have nothing for those who don't. Go away."
They were told the same at the next house, and at the next, all down the street. Tired and hungry, they neared the cottage where Philemon and Baucis lived.
"I will try here," said the shorter of the two strangers. The other was silent.
But before they reached the door, Philemon came to meet them. And Baucis placed the best chairs for them as they entered, first spreading over the chairs pieces of cloth she had woven.
"You are hungry," she said, and she went to the fire-place and uncovered the few coals she had saved in the ashes for her morning fire. On these she put sticks and dry bark, and with all her little strength, blew hard on them, and the fire began to burn.
On a hook over the fire she hung a small iron kettle, and getting ready the beans her husband had brought in from their little garden, she put them in to stew. All this she did eagerly, as if the strangers were invited friends. While his wife set the table, Philemon brought a bowl of water for the guests to bathe their hands. As one leg of the table was too short, Baucis put a flat shell under to make it level with the rest. Tired and trembling, she set out a few rude dishes. They were her best. She added the pitcher of milk Philemon had bought for their own meal, and when the beans were cooked, everything was ready. For dessert, she had apples and wild honey.
Drawing a bench to the table, she laid on it a thin cushion made soft with dried seaweed, and then called the strangers. The smiles and gentle welcome of the two old people made the meal seem like a feast.
The strangers were very thirsty, but each time Baucis poured out a cup of milk the pitcher filled again.
"You are people from the skies, and not men!" the old couple cried, and fell on their knees and begged the strangers to forgive them for their poor meal.
"Why did you come to us? Others could have done so much better."
"You have done the best you could; who could do better than that?" said the tall one. "Come with us," and he led them to the top of the hill.
Then he stretched out his hand toward the village, and they saw it sink down, down out of sight, and the river came rushing in, and the place was a lake. Nothing could be seen but the house they had just left. It stood on the shore of the lake. Its timbers were growing higher and higher, and the yellow straw that thatched the roof changed to shining gold. It was now a beautiful temple.
"Ask of me anything you wish and I will give it to you," said the tall one.
"I know now you are Jupiter," said Philemon. "Let us take care of your temple while we live, and when it is time for us to leave it let us go together. Let not one be taken and the other left."
Philemon and Baucis cared for the beautiful temple for years. Feeling old and weary, they went to the top of the hill one day to say good-by to all things. As they stood there they saw each other change, one into this oak and the other into this linden.
"Good-by," they said together, as the bark grew up over their lips.
No tree has so strong and true a heart as the oak, and in the leafy linden hundreds of birds sing and are happy.
Cupid was a beautiful little boy. Between the wings on his shoulders he always carried a quiver full of tiny arrows. Bow in hand, he started out every morning ready, like any boy, for mischief. One day he came to drink from a fountain with some thirsty doves who were his friends.
Apollo saw the little fellow and, to tease him, asked:
"What do you carry arrows for, saucy boy? It is for great gods like myself to do that. My arrow shot the terrible python, the serpent of darkness. What canyoudo?"
"Apollo may hit serpents, but I will hit Apollo," said Cupid, and taking out two tiny arrows, one of gold and one of lead, he touched their points together and then shot the golden one straight into Apollo.
Quick as a flash of Apollo's sun-crown, Cupid shot the other, the leaden one, into a river cloud he saw floating by. In it he knew Daphne, the daughter of the river, was hidden. The leaden arrow hit her true, but she drifted away on the swift breeze.
Apollo, the sun-god, can see through everything except fog and mist, but as Daphne fled he caught one glimpse of her face, and Cupid laughed to see how his arrow did its work. His arrows never kill; sometimes, indeed, they make life happier. Apollo now loved Daphne more than anything else on earth. Daphne was more afraid of him than of anything else in the sky.
On flew Daphne, hoping her misty cloud would hide her till she could reach her river home. On flew Apollo, begging her to stop for fear his arrows might hurt her. His great arrows of sunlight must do their work even if his friends should perish by them.
As they neared the river he saw her face again. She sank on the river bank. She was faint and he would comfort her but she cried to her father, the river, "O father, help!" The earth opened, and before Apollo could reach her he saw her waving hair change into glistening leaves. Her arms became branches. Her skin changed to dainty bark, and her face to a tree-top whose pink flowers show, even yet, the beauty of Daphne's cheek. Apollo reached out and gathered the leaves and made them into a crown.
DAPHNE. Changing into a laurel tree. From an old painting
"This tree shall be called laurel, and it shall be mine," he said. "I cannot grow old and the leaves of this tree shall be always green. Daphne has won the race against Apollo, the wreath of these leaves shall be her gift and mine to the bravest in every race. Kings and captains shall be proud to wear it."
Apollo hid his face for days behind dark clouds. Heavy rains fell. The immortal gods cannot weep, but these great drops seemed like tears for lost Daphne.
Even saucy Cupid mourned, and he did not dare go out till the storms were over, for fear Apollo's grief would spoil his wings.
In cold northern lands you can find Daphne's tree in greenhouses among the roses and lilies. And if you ask for Daphne, the gardener will point her out, for he calls the tree by her name.
In a cave by the seashore lived an old, old woman. This very old woman was also very wise.
She remembered everything that had ever happened and she knew almost everything that was going to happen in her country.
She lived in Italy and was called the Sibyl.
One day a man named Aeneas came to her cave to question her. She was very kind to him. She even took him far down into the center of the earth, Pluto's kingdom, to see those whom Pluto had carried away.
When they came back, Aeneas said he would build a temple to her and have gifts brought to her. She had so much power and was so wise he felt sure she must be more than mortal. But she would not let Aeneas build the temple. Instead she told him her story. It was this:
"Apollo saw me when I was young, and told me to ask him for any gift I would have. We were standing on the seashore. I stooped down and filled my hand with the white sand at our feet.
"'Give me as many birthdays as there are grains of sand in my hand, O Apollo!' I said.
"'It is granted,' said Apollo. But, in my foolishness, I forgot to ask for everlasting youth.
"When one hundred grains of sand had slipped away from the glass in which I placed them all, I was old. My youth was gone.
"Seven hundred grains have slipped through now. I have counted the rest. I shall yet see three hundred springs and three hundred harvests; then the Sibyl will be no more. My body has shriveled. Soon I shall be only a warning voice to the children of men, but I shall live till the grains are gone from that glade. While my voice lasts men will respect my sayings. As long as I live, I will strive to help the human race."
Aeneas went with her into the cave. The leaves were thick on the floor. The Sibyl picked them up and wrote with an eagle's quill on each.
She let him read as many as he wished. He found some of them were warnings to his friends. Some were for people he had never seen. The Sibyl placed them in rows on the ledges of rock inside the cavern.
A fierce wind blew into the cave and carried the written leaves away.
"Save them, O Sibyl!" cried Aeneas.
A SIBYL. From a Roman statue.
"My work is to write, Aeneas. I am no man's slave. If he wishes his leaf, he must come for it before the wind takes it away. There are thousands of leaves not written upon yet. But no man may have a second leaf. He must be here on time."
"One leaf, one life!" said Aeneas. "I see your meaning, O Sibyl, and go about my work. My ship shall sail to-day. Each day shall bring me nearer my journey's end, and when I reach my home the leaves on my forest trees shall teach me your lesson over again. I will rise early each day and be the first in all things. Even the winds shall not be quicker than I am in the work it is my duty to do. Farewell."
Here is another story which is told of the Sibyl. It shows that she could write on something beside leaves.
She appeared one day at the king's palace gate with a heavy burden on her back. The keeper let her in.
With a guard on either side the Sibyl was shown into the presence of the king.
The burden proved to be nine large books closely written. She offered them for sale at an enormous price. The king refused to pay it. The Sibyl only smiled and threw three of the books into the open fire. The king had wished to own those three, for he knew that future events were written in them.
"I have now six books and the price is the same as for the nine. Does the king want them?" The king hesitated. While he was thinking what to do, the little old woman threw three more into the fire.
"I have now three books and the price is the same as for the nine. Does the king want them?" And the king said, "Yes," without a minute's waiting, and took the books.
The little old woman vanished. Her thousand years were nearly gone, but her voice was still heard when people visited her cave.
The king searched the three books and found that all things concerning his city, Rome, were foretold in them for hundreds of years. Perhaps many wars and troubles would have been saved if he had bought all the books instead of only three.
It is usually best to decide a matter quickly when one knows that nothing can be gained by waiting.
Once upon a time the earth was so very young and the people upon it so pure and good that they could hear the morning stars as they sang together. It was during the Golden Age, as it is now called, that one morning in the early springtime a little group of girls were playing together and gathering wild flowers.
One of these girls was named Proserpina. She was the merriest of them all, though her dress was of the plainest brown. Her little feet danced everywhere and her little fingers seemed to touch the flowers as lightly as the butterfly that flitted by her.
Carelessly she danced close to a great opening in the ground. Looking down she saw a yellow daffodil growing on the edge. Leaning over to pick it, she felt herself caught by her dress, and the next minute found herself sailing far down into the earth through the great crevice. She was in a chariot drawn by black horses, which were driven by a driver who seemed to be both deaf and dumb. He neither answered when she pleaded with him to take her back, nor even seemed to hear her.
The girls who were left gathering wild flowers had missed Proserpina almost the moment she was out of sight, but no one knew what had happened.
"Come back! come back!" the girls called, but no answer came up from the great opening or from the forest near them. Only Echo marked their cry of "Proserpina, oh, Proserpina, come back!" "She has vanished," the girls whispered. "I always felt as though she had wings beneath that plain brown dress she wore," said one.
"But who can tell Queen Ceres, her mother?" they asked one another.
No one could go alone, so they all went together to Queen Ceres and told her what had happened.
CERES. From a painting in Pompeii.
The good queen wept bitterly. That day she laid aside her regal robes and began her search for Proserpina. Up and down the world went this royal mother seeking for her lost daughter. At last she came to the land of King Celeus. When Ceres reached his land she was so ragged and poor that she was glad to earn money by taking care of the king's baby son. As nurse to the little prince, Queen Ceres was almost comforted.
Because she was the goddess of the wheat and the fruits, the crops upon the land of King Celeus, while she was there, were very wonderful. In the land near Mount Aetna, where Proserpina had been lost, no rain fell and no corn nor apples grew.
Juno sent Iris down to earth to beg of Ceres to give rain to the suffering people of her own home. Ceres said no rain should fall till Proserpina came back to her mother. One day as Ceres was weeping by a fountain her tears fell into the springing water, and, as they did so, she heard a silvery voice:
"Why do you grieve, Queen Ceres?" said the water sprite or nymph.
"Proserpina, my beautiful daughter, is gone from me," said Ceres. "I have sought everywhere on the earth for her. I cannot find my daughter."
"Listen to me," said the voice from the fountain. "I have seen her. She is not on the earth; she is in the earth. She is in the palace of King Pluto, who rules below. I saw her as I ran with a river through Pluto's kingdom. She longs to come back to you."
Queen Ceres was like a stone for a time after she heard the story told by the murmuring waters of the fountain.
Proserpina alive and longing for her! It did not seem true, but she would know soon. Taking back the little prince to his mother, she hid herself in a forest, called for her chariot, and, when it came, drove straight to the top of Mount Olympus, where Jupiter sat on his shining throne.
She begged of him to command his brother Pluto to return her daughter to her.
"It is granted on one condition; that is, that Proserpina has never tasted food nor drink since she has been beneath the earth."
Mercury, the wing-footed messenger, and Flora, the goddess of Spring, sought the center of the earth to bring back Proserpina to Ceres.
Pluto loved his stolen prize as much as Queen Ceres did; and, being unhappy because she refused to eat, succeeded at last in making her taste one of the beautiful pomegranates that are both food and drink.
Even while she was tasting it Mercury and Flora stood at Pluto's gate with the command to return her to Ceres. What was to be done? Mercury, quick-witted as well as quick-footed, decided that if she dwelt with Ceres for half the year and with Pluto the other half, Jupiter's commands would be satisfied. This proved to be as Jupiter wished.
So, arrayed in shining green, Proserpina swiftly set out with Flora and Mercury to find Queen Ceres. Ceres saw her the minute her bright head appeared above the brown earth and knew her through her disguise. You remember when Proserpina was taken she wore a plain brown suit.
They lived together, the mother and daughter, through the bright spring days and the warm summer weather. When autumn came Proserpina donned her brown suit again and Pluto claimed her. There, in his underground realm, she reigns all the cold winter months. She is happy now because Queen Ceres is happy. The mother knows that when spring breathes over the earth again Proserpina will come back to her.
Can you guess who Proserpina is? You have seen her a thousand times. Yes, and when you see her next you will say how strange that the Greeks could tell such a story of only a little brown seed.
Years ago there was a beautiful girl who lived near a large garden. This girl's name was Clytie. She had wonderful golden hair and big brown eyes, and she was tall and slender.
Clytie stood in this large garden one day, watching her pet doves as they flew about in the sky, when she caught a glimpse of the sun chariot of Apollo. She even had a glimpse of Apollo himself, as he guided his wonderful horses along their course, which was the circle of the heavens. There were many fleecy clouds in the sky, and one had veiled the burning sunlight from the eyes of Clytie, or she would never have been able to see the sight, which only the eyes of Jupiter's eagle may endure and not become blind.
After this the foolish girl went every day into the garden and, staring up into the sky, tried to see Apollo once more. Every day for more than thirty days she went into the garden. Her mother often told her that she would make Apollo angry, for he shines brightly so as to hide himself from people on the earth.
"Clytie! Clytie!" her mother would call, "come in and take your sewing."
APOLLO. From a statue in Rome.
But Clytie never would obey. Sometimes she would answer:
"Oh, mother, let me stay. He was so beautiful. I have no heart for work."
Apollo saw the foolish girl day after day and he became out of patience with her.
"Mortal maidens must obey their mothers," he said, and a burning sun-arrow fell on Clytie's bright head.
Such a strange change came upon Clytie from that moment. Her brown eyes grew larger. Her golden hair stood straight out around them, and her pretty clothing changed into great heart-shaped leaves which clung to a stiff stalk. Her feet grew firmly into the ground, and the ten little toes changed into ten strong roots that went creeping everywhere for water.
When Clytie's mother called again no answer came and she found, in going into the garden, a flower in place of her child.
And now Clytie always stares at the sun all day long. In the morning her face is toward the east, and at night it is toward the west.
Did you ever think that the sunflower was once a lovely girl?
Down in the heart of the woods there was a clear spring with water like silver. No shepherds ever brought their flocks there to drink, no lions nor other wild beasts came in the night time. No leaves nor branches fell into it, but the green grass grew around it all the year, and the rocks kept it from the sun.
One day a boy hunter found it, and, being thirsty, he stooped down to drink. As he bent he saw, for the first time in his life, his own fair face, and did not know who it was.
He thought it must be a water fairy, and he put his lips to the water, but as soon as their touch disturbed the surface, away went the shadow-face from out of his sight.
"Nothing has escaped me yet, and here I shall stay till this curly-haired creature comes out of the water," he said. "See its shining eyes and smiling mouth!"
He forgot his hunt, he forgot everything but to watch for this water sprite. When the moon and stars came out, there it was just the same as in the sunshine, and so he lingered from day to night and from night to day.
He saw the face in the water grow thinner day by day, but never thought of himself. At last he was too weak to watch any longer. His face was as white as the whitest lily, and his yellow hair fell over his hollow cheeks. With a sigh his breath floated away, his head dropped on the green grass, and there was no longer any face in the water.
NARCISSUS. From a painting from Pompeii.
The fairies came out of the woods and would have covered him with earth, but, looking for him, they found nothing but a lovely flower, gazing with bended head into the silver spring, just as the boy hunter had done.
The fairies told the story to a little child, and she told it to her father and mother. When they found this spring in the heart of the woods they called the flower growing beside it Narcissus, after the boy hunter who had perished watching his own face in the silver water.
Just see the basketful of anemones we got down in the glen! They were as thick there as they could be. We picked and picked and it didn't seem to make a bit of difference, there were so many left. Aren't they lovely?"
"They are dainty little flowers, boys. Where did you say you found them?"
"On the low land in the glen by the brook. There were great trees on both sides of the glen, and it was so still the little brook and the waterfall sounded as loud as a big river. How we wished you were there!"
"What else did you find besides the windflowers, or anemones, boys?"
"Here's a little moss and a few blood-root flowers, and Will Johnson carried home a big bouquet of wild bleeding-hearts."
"That makes me think, Charlie, of a myth there is about the first anemones."
"A myth? What is that, mother? Oh, I know, John," said Charlie; "it is one of those stories that people used to believe just as we used to believe in Santa Claus. He's a myth, you know, and now you please keep still and maybe mother has time to tell us about the first anemones. I like myths."
"This is a hunting story, so I know you will like it, boys.
"But just think of hunting with bow and arrows and spears! Would you like that?"
"Yes, yes!" shouted both the boys.
"Well, years ago in the Golden Age when the world was young there lived a Greek hunter whose name was Adonis. He was tall and straight and handsome. His friends thought it a great pity that he should spend his time in the woods, with only his dogs for company. Away he would go day after day with his arrows at his back and his spear at his side. His dogs were fierce and would attack any creature. His horse was as brave as he. His friends begged him to wait till he was older and stronger before he went into the deep forests, but he never waited. He had killed bears, wolves, and lions. Why should he wait?
ADONIS AND APHRODITE (Aphrodite is the Greek name of Venus.)
"But the wild hog is fiercer than the tiger. One spring morning while hunting in the forest, Adonis wounded two. Leaving his dogs to worry one while he killed the other, he got off his horse, and, running, threw his spear at the hog. Its thick hide was tough and the spear fell to the ground. He drew out an arrow, but before he could place it in the bow, the ugly beast had caught him with its horrid tusks.
"He tore away and, bleeding at every step, bounded down a hillside toward a brook to bathe his wounds. But the savage beast reached it as soon as he. A flock of white swans that had been drinking from the brook, rose on their strong wings and, flying straight to their mistress, Venus, told the story.
"Back they brought her in her silver chariot, sailing so steadily that, from the silver cup of nectar she brought with her, not a drop was spilled.
"'Adonis! Adonis!' cried Venus.
"There was nothing but drops of blood on the grass to tell her where he had been. It was all that was left of the handsome hunter.
"Venus sprinkled some of the nectar on these drops and, in an hour, tiny flower buds showed their heads. Then she drove sadly home. Soft winds blew the tiny buds open, and at night blew them away. So people called them wind-flowers, or anemones. And they believe that the pink and purple which colored them came from the heart of Adonis."
"But why didn't tiger-lilies or some other big and showy flowers come, not these pretty little things?"
"I don't know, John; go and ask Venus."
Baldur, the youngest brother of Thor, was called The Beautiful. His thoughts were so kind and his ways so pleasant that all who lived in Asgard, the home of the Norse gods, loved him.
Baldur's days were the happiest of all in Asgard, but when he slept his dreams were so strange that his nights were often unhappy.
He feared danger. So Frigga, his mother, who was the wife of Woden, went to the sea and made it promise that no water should drown Baldur.
She went to the stones and made them promise not to harm her son.
Everything promised to let no evil come upon Baldur the Beautiful.
Iron and all the other metals, rocks, and trees all promised. Birds, beasts, and creeping things all agreed to help and never to hurt Frigga's youngest son.
Woden, his father, went to ask a wise old woman what his son's dreams meant. She was dead, and Woden had to go to the center of the universe to find her. She gave him what help she could, and Woden and Frigga felt that now nothing could hurt their child.
The other gods that lived in Asgard knew that Baldur was safe from all harm. But to prove this and to have a little fun among themselves, they would sometimes use him as a mark at which to throw their spears or darts.
Setting Baldur in the middle of the ring, these gods of Asgard would each throw something at him.
If a stone struck him it would only glance off and never hurt. No arrow could pierce his skin. Nothing harmed him, and Baldur would smile as they played their rough play, for he knew that no one of them would work him any ill.
But Loki was different from all the others in Asgard. He could not endure to have Baldur so loved, and wished that some one could harm him. At last Loki dressed himself up as an old woman and went to Frigga's palace. Kind Frigga took the old woman by the hand and brought her into Fensalir.
Loki, in the shape of the old woman, pretended to be very friendly.
"Do you know what the gods are doing to Baldur when you are not by?" Loki asked.
"Yes, they are proving that all things have kept their promise not to hurt my boy."
"What!" said the old woman, "have all things promised not to hurt Baldur?"
"All things," said Frigga. "All but one little plant that grows on the eastern side of Valhalla. It is called the mistletoe. It is so weak and small that I did not ask it to join with the others. I thought it could harm no one."
The old woman left Fensalir. In a few moments Loki appeared on the eastern side of Valhalla and plucked a bit of mistletoe from an old oak that shaded Woden's palace. No one saw him, for he was as sly as a fox and as tricky. Hiding the mistletoe in his hand, he hurried back to the circle of gods who were seated around Baldur.
One god who was blind sat outside the ring.
"Why don't you join in the sport?" asked the wicked Loki.
"I cannot see where Baldur is; and nothing could or would harm anyone so good," said the blind god.
"I will show you where to sit and you shall have this little sprig that is in my hand to throw. You must not be left out of the sport because you are blind," and Loki handed the mistletoe to him.
The others welcomed the blind god to the ring and made him happy by telling him that Baldur smiled at all of their strokes.
"Let me throw next," said Hodur, the blind god. Loki stood by him and directed his hand as Hodur threw the mistletoe.
Poor Baldur! The mistletoe pierced his heart through and through. He fell backward dead.
Hodur was wild with grief. The other gods knew that the treacherous Loki had done it, and did not blame Hodur. Frigga asked which of the gods would dare to ride to Loki's home to bring Baldur back.
Hermod, called the nimble, an older brother of Baldur, said he would go.
Woden, his father, told him to take the horse Sleipnir. Sleipnir had never carried any one but Woden himself. He had twice as many legs as any other horse. He made eight tracks instead of four.
Hermod mounted Sleipnir and rode fast for nine days and nine nights until he came to the land of Death, where Loki loved to stay.
Hela, who ruled there, said Baldur might return if all things above mourned for him.
WODEN ON THE THRONE. Thor on the left, Freya on the right, holding mistletoe. Loki at the bottom, suffering for the murder of Baldur. From an ancient bas-relief.
Hermod rode back and asked all things if Baldur should return. All begged for Baldur but one old hag, who sat on the side of a mountain. Everything else wept for Baldur. Tears stood on the rocks about her as we have seen drops of water on the hardest rock in early morning; the leaves of the trees shed tears of grief. This old hag refused to weep. Baldur could not return.
After the test was over, the gods believed that the old creature on the mountain side was Loki disguised in this way. It must have been the evil Loki, for nothing else could have been so cruel.
Loki met his punishment at last, but that did not save Baldur the Beautiful, the golden-haired god, whom his blind brother, dwelling in darkness, slays again at every even fall.
There is a legend connected with the name of the little blue forget-me-not which everyone loves so much.
It is said that a boy and a girl were walking by a river that flows into the Rhine. The girl saw a lovely flower growing just by the water's edge. The bank of the river was steep and the water swift.
"Oh, the beautiful flower!" she cried.
"I will get it for you," said the boy. He sprang over the side of the steep bank and, catching hold of the shrubs and bushes, made his way to the place where the flower grew.
He tried to tear the plant from the earth with both hands, hoping to get it all for her who was watching him from the bank above.
The stem broke and, still clasping the flower, he fell backward into the rushing stream.
"Forget me not!" he cried to her as the waters bore him down to the falls below. She never did forget her blue-eyed friend who had lost his life trying to get her a flower.
"Forget me not!" she would say over and over until her friends called the little blue flower by this name.
Now these blossoms are called forget-me-nots all over the world. And whether this story is true or only a legend, the dear little flower could not have a prettier name.
There is an old myth of a winged horse. Would you like to hear it? Listen.
This wonderful horse was under the care of the nine Muses. These nine fair daughters of Jupiter taught men all that is known of music, poetry, history, and the stars. It was said and believed that they helped people to remember what they taught.
And now even their names are forgotten except by the few who love to remember the things others forget.
One beautiful summer morning this winged horse appeared at the fountain of the Muses on Mount Helicon. The laughing Thalia, the Muse of Comedy, saw him as she dropped from the sky. Dancing Terpsichore tried to take him by the mane, but the white wings flashed in her face and the wonderful steed was gone before she had touched him.
Urania, the Muse who loved the heavens, believed that he was from some star world.
Clio, the Muse of History, knew that no such creature had ever lived on earth before.
They all watched for his return. The next morning he was seen again at the fountain; after that he came every day. The Muses named him Pegasus.
"We know that there is a work for all created things. What can his be?" the sisters asked one another.
Sure enough his work came at last.
In a distant land was a brave young soldier named Bellerophon. He was so bold, so fearless, and so handsome that those who ought to have been his friends became jealous of him. That means trouble, you know.
Bellerophon wished to travel. His king gave him letters on parchment to take to King Iobates of Lycia.
The king did not read the letters for ten days after Bellerophon came to Lycia. During those ten days there was feasting and dancing in honor of the new guest.
After the feasts of welcome were over, King Iobates read the letters and found that the one who sent them wanted Bellerophon punished for certain misdeeds which people said he had done.
It was a sharp trick to send such letters by the very person who was to be punished. King Iobates was puzzled as to what to do.
Then some of his wise men told him of the terrible chimera that was in the west of his kingdom. This strange creature had the head of a lion, the body of a goat, and the tail of a crocodile. Its breath was flames of fire, so the peasants said. Nobody dared to attack it.
"Just the thing," said Iobates to himself, and sent for Bellerophon.
"You are the one to rid my country of this terrible monster. Do you dare to try such a task?"
Brave Bellerophon answered, "I have no fear; my heart is pure; my strength is as the strength of ten. I will go."
BELLEROPHON AND PEGASUS. At the Fountain of the Muses on Mount Helicon.
That night he slept in the temple of Minerva, the wise goddess. He dreamed that Minerva brought him a golden bridle and told him to go to the fountain of Pirene and find Pegasus.
When he awoke the golden bridle was in his hand.
He went to the fountain and there he saw Pegasus drinking. Bellerophon held up the bridle and for the first time Pegasus was caught.
The brave soldier leapt on the winged horse's back and Pegasus struck his hoofs once against the earth, and then sprang lightly towards the sky. He spread his wings and the nine Muses saw him sailing in the air with a rider on his back.
"He has found his work," said Clio.
Bellerophon could see over all the land. He found the terrible chimera and slew it. For all its strange shape and fearful looks, it was not such a fierce animal as he had feared.
Pegasus took his rider quickly back to King Iobates' palace and then vanished. He was found the next morning by the nine Muses drinking at their fountain.
Bellerophon was given another hard task to do when the king found that he had lived through his first.
Pegasus came at his call, and with his help everything was easy.
But as soon as one work was done King Iobates found another.
Bellerophon suspected nothing, and went bravely out to help his friend the king.
At last King Iobates said he had nothing more for him to do. After a time Bellerophon married the king's daughter and lived quietly at home in Lycia.
Pegasus, the pet of the nine Muses, became so gentle that he would let them soar to the skies on his back, but no mortal save Bellerophon dared to touch him.
Bellerophon, having no more great earthly tasks to do, called his winged steed one morning and dared to attempt to guide him to Mount Olympus, 011 whose lofty top sat the great Jupiter on his throne in the clouds.
Jupiter, seeing him coming, sent a single gadfly to sting the tender skin of Pegasus. The gadfly dealt a cruel blow and proud Pegasus thought Bellerophon had dared to strike him.
He reared upon his haunches and sent Bellerophon reeling downward to earth, the victim of a selfish wish to outdo others. Bellerophon fell upon a rocky field far from any city. His fall made him both lame and blind. Separated from his friends he wandered alone, living as best he could, and it is not known what became of him. His winged steed fled to the fountain on Mount Helicon, but never again came at his call. He could not forget the sharp sting of the gadfly.
Some have fancied that those who love the Muses see him even in these days, and that the flash of his golden bridle is caught by a gifted few once in each century.