The Myths of Greece and Rome E-Book

H. A. Guerber

• Herausgeber: Alicia Editions
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

This book is a detailed treatise on Greek and Roman mythology, dealing comprehensively with the Gods, demi-Gods and heroes of Greco-Roman legend. Highly Detailed and illustrated, this book constitutes a veritable encyclopaedia of Greek and Roman mythology, including descriptions of notable characters: Jupiter, Juno, Minerva, Apollo, Diana, Venus, Mercury, Mars, Vulcan, Neptune, Pluto, Bacchus, Ceres and Proserpina, Vesta, Janus, Somnus and Mors, Æolus, Hercules, Perseus, Theseus, Jason, Œdipus, Bellerophon, Pan…
Included, are some of the most famous and interesting mythological tales, such as Hercules’ 12 labors, the adventures of Ulysses, the adventures of Æneas
and the Trojan War. 
This book is highly recommended for those with an interest in ancient mythology. 

Excerpt: "The myths of Greece and Rome have inspired so much of the best thought in English literature that a knowledge of them is often essential to the understanding of what we read.
“When  Byron  calls Rome,” says  Thomas Bulfinch , the ‘Niobe of nations,’ or says of Venice, ‘She looks a Sea-Cybele fresh from Ocean,’ he calls up to the mind of one familiar with our subject illustrations more vivid and striking than the pencil could furnish, but which are lost to the reader ignorant of mythology.” Literature abounds in such poetic borrowings from the classics, and it is impossible to enjoy fully the works of some of our best writers if we cannot immediately appreciate their imagery.
Again, expressions such as “the heel of Achilles” are part of the common language, but their meaning is lost upon those to whom the myths from which they are derived are unfamiliar.
But apart from the practical utility of the myths, as necessary to the comprehension of much that we read and hear, they have a great aesthetic value, presenting, as they do, a mine of imaginative material whose richness and beauty cannot fail to appeal even to the colder sensibilities of this more prosaic age. It would be difficult, indeed, to exaggerate the importance of these old-world stories, with their wonderful admixture of pagan faith and riotous imagination, in correcting the tendency to mere utilitarianism in the education of the young, and there is need to lay stress upon this because of the increased attention now being given to science and modern languages at the expense of the classics."

Leseprobe

The Myths of Greece and Rome

H. A. Guerber

Alicia Editions

Contents

Preface

The Beginning

Myths of Creation

The Giants’ War

The Story of Prometheus

Epimetheus and Pandora

Deucalion and Pyrrha

Jupiter

The Power of Jupiter

His Attendants

Philemon and Baucis

The Story of Europa

Juno

The Consort of Jupiter

Callisto and Arcas

Cleobis and Biton

Minerva

The Birth of Minerva

The Story of Arachne

Apollo

The Beautiful God

The Story of Latona

The Story of Coronis

Admetus and Alcestis

The Story of Hyacinthus

The Story of Cyparissus

The Story of Daphne

Cephalus and Procris

The Story of Clytie

The Story of Marsyas

Apollo and Midas

Orpheus and Eurydice

The Story of Amphion

The Story of Arion

The Story of Phaeton

The Nine Muses

The Story of Comatas

Aurora and Tithonus

Diana

The Goddess of the Chase

The Story of Niobe

The Story of Endymion

The Story of Orion

The Story of Actæon

Venus

The Birth of Venus

The Story of Alectryon

The Story of Adonis

Venus and Anchises

Hero and Leander

Pyramus and Thisbe

Echo and Narcissus

Pygmalion and Galatea

Cupid and Psyche

Mercury

The Childhood of Mercury

The Story of Io

Mercury and Argus

Mars

The Character of Mars

Otus and Ephialtes

Romulus and Remus

Vulcan

The Fall of Vulcan

Neptune

The Realm of Neptune

Laomedon and Hesione

Amphitrite

Idas and Marpessa

Proteus

Pluto

The Realm of Pluto

The Story of Ibycus

The Story of the Danaides

The Story of Tantalus

Sisyphus

Salmoneus

Tityus

The Story of Ixion

Bacchus

The Story of Semele

Advent of Bacchus

Bacchus and the Pirates

Bacchus and Midas

Bacchus and Ariadne

The Story of Pentheus

Ceres and Proserpina

Pluto and Proserpina

Ceres and Triptolemus

Arethusa and Alpheus

The Return of Proserpina

The Story of Erisichthon

Ceres and Stellio

Vesta

The Worship of Vesta

Lares, Manes, and Penates

Janus

Janus’ Two Faces

Somnus and Mors

The Cave of Sleep

Ceyx and Halcyone

Æolus

The Home of Æolus

Hercules

Hercules and the Serpents

Hercules’ Choice

Hercules’ Madness

The Nemean Lion

The Hydra of Lerna

The Stag of Cerynea

The Erymanthian Boar

The Augean Stables

The Cretan Bull

The Steeds of Diomedes

Hippolyte’s Girdle

The Stymphalian Birds

The Cattle of Geryones

The Hesperian Apples

Hercules and Omphale

Hercules and Deianeira

The Story of Nessus

The Death of Hercules

Perseus

Acrisius and Danae

The Shower of Gold

Danae and her Babe

The Gorgons

Perseus and Atlas

The Story of Andromeda

Theseus

The Childhood of Theseus

Dædalus and Icarus

The Minotaur

The Escape from Crete

The Centaurs and the Lapithæ

Jason

The Education of Jason

Jason and the Goddess Juno

Phryxus and Helle

The Quest of the Golden Fleece

The Story of Hylas

The Princess Medea

The Death of Absyrtus

The Calydonian Hunt

The Birth of Meleager

Atalanta’s Race

Castor and Pollux

Œdipus

The Destiny of Œdipus

Œdipus slays his Father

The Sphinx

Œdipus marries his Mother

Eteocles and Polynices

The Seven Chiefs

Antigone’s Devotion

Bellerophon

The Flight of Bellerophon

Anteia’s Treachery

The Chimæra

Bellerophon’s Fall

Minor divinities

Their Provinces and Duties

The Story of Dryope

The Story of Rhœcus

Pan

The Story of Syrinx

Vertumnus and Pomona

The Story of Glaucus

The Trojan War

Jupiter and Thetis

The Apple of Discord

The Judgment of Paris

Helen’s Suitors

The Abduction of Helen

The Hero Achilles

The Sacrifice of Iphigenia

Protesilaus and Laodamia

Chryseis and Briseis

Hector and Andromache

The Armor of Achilles

The Death of Hector

The Death of Achilles

Philoctetes

The Death of Paris

The Wooden Horse

The Story of Laocoön

The Fall of Troy

Adventures of Ulysses

Siege of Ismarus

The Lotus-eaters

Polyphemus and Galatea

Ulysses and Polyphemus

The Gift of ÆoIus

The Story of Circe

Ulysses and Circe

The Sirens

Charybdis and Scylla

The Cattle of the Sun

Ulysses and Calypso

Nausicaa and Ulysses

The Return of Ulysses

Death of the Suitors

Ulysses’ Last Journey

Æneas

The Adventures of Æneas

Æneas and Anchises

The Vision of Æneas

Æneas and Dido

Æneas visits Hades

War with the Latins

The Story of Camilla

Nisus and Euryalus

The Death of Turnus

Analysis of Myths

The Various Theories

Sky Myths

Sun and Dawn Myths

Moon Myths

Earth Myths

Sea Myths

Cloud Myths

Fire Myths

Wind Myths

Underworld Myths

Jupiter - Dominique Ingres.

Preface

The myths of Greece and Rome have inspired so much of the best thought in English literature that a knowledge of them is often essential to the understanding of what we read.

“When Byron calls Rome,” says Thomas Bulfinch , the ‘Niobe of nations,’ or says of Venice, ‘She looks a Sea-Cybele fresh from Ocean,’ he calls up to the mind of one familiar with our subject illustrations more vivid and striking than the pencil could furnish, but which are lost to the reader ignorant of mythology.” Literature abounds in such poetic borrowings from the classics, and it is impossible to enjoy fully the works of some of our best writers if we cannot immediately appreciate their imagery.

Again, expressions such as “the heel of Achilles” are part of the common language, but their meaning is lost upon those to whom the myths from which they are derived are unfamiliar.

But apart from the practical utility of the myths, as necessary to the comprehension of much that we read and hear, they have a great aesthetic value, presenting, as they do, a mine of imaginative material whose richness and beauty cannot fail to appeal even to the colder sensibilities of this more prosaic age. It would be difficult, indeed, to exaggerate the importance of these old-world stories, with their wonderful admixture of pagan faith and riotous imagination, in correcting the tendency to mere utilitarianism in the education of the young, and there is need to lay stress upon this because of the increased attention now being given to science and modern languages at the expense of the classics.

Translations of the exquisite writings of the Greek and Latin poets cannot, of course, convey the same rich impressions. They arc, at the best, weak and imperfect vehicles for reproducing the literary and imaginative wealth of a golden age; but they are, nevertheless, capable of imparting something of the atmosphere of the great originals, and, in whatever tongue they may be told, the stories themselves cannot easily be spoilt; they will assuredly appeal to thousands to whom the ancient languages of Greece and Rome are as a sealed book.

The writings of many of the great English classical translators, it may be added, are instinct with the spirit of the ancients. We might fancy that they, too, had caught sight of Proteus rising from the sea, and had heard

“Old Triton blow his wreathed horn.”

But properly to understand even these translations we first require a knowledge of mythology which it would take a lifetime to acquire piece by piece from general reading, and the aims, therefore, of this book are: first, to present outlines of the stories in a simple form pleasurable to the reader who has no desire further than to obtain a general knowledge of the myths, or to be entertained; and, second, to furnish a practical guide for the student who wishes to prosecute his mythological studies, and who desires to acquire the means whereby he will be enabled to follow intelligently the allusions to other myths which meet him at every turn, and to know something of the origin and significance of the stories.

The numerous quotations throughout will show the way to the noble pasturage from which these “flowers of Parnassus” have been culled, and they will enable the reader to appreciate the great: influence of the myths upon our literature. The large selection of reproductions from famous pictures and statuary, also, will show something of the debt which art, both ancient and modern, owes to the same inspiration.

The myths are told as graphically and accurately as possible, great care being taken, however, to avoid the more repulsive features of heathen mythology; and when two or more versions of the same myth occur, the preference has invariably been given to the most popular, that is to say, to the one which has inspired the greatest works.

Both the Latin and the Greek forms of proper names are given, but the Latin names are usually retained throughout the narrative, because more frequently used in poetry and art.

The closing chapter includes an analysis of myths by the light of philology and comparative mythology, and the philological explanation of the stories related in the preceding chapters.

Thanks are due to Messrs. Longmans, Green and Co. for permission to include numerous quotations from Mr. Conington’s translation of the “Æneid,” and to Sir Lewis Morris and others whose works have similarly been placed under contribution.

The Beginning

Myths of CreationThe Giants’ WarThe Story of PrometheusEpimetheus and PandoraDeucalion and Pyrrha

Myths of Creation

Mythology is the science which treats of the early traditions, or myths, relating to the religion of the ancients, and includes, besides a full account of the origin of their gods, their theory concerning the beginning of all things.

Among all the nations scattered over the face of the earth, the Hebrews alone were instructed by God, who gave them not only a full account of the creation of the world and of all living creatures, but also a code of laws to regulate their conduct. All the questions they fain would ask were fully answered, and no room remained for conjecture.

It was not so, however, with the other nations. The Greeks and Romans, for instance, lacking the definite knowledge which we obtain from the Scriptures, and still anxious to know everything, were forced to construct, in part, their own theory. As they looked about them for some clue to serve as guide, they could not help but observe and admire the wonders of nature. The succession of day and night, summer and winter, rain and sunshine; the fact that the tallest trees sprang from tiny seeds, the greatest rivers from diminutive streams, and the most beautiful flowers and delicious fruits from small green buds, — all seemed to tell them of a superior Being, who had fashioned them to serve a definite purpose.

They soon came to the conclusion that a hand mighty enough to call all these wonders into life, could also have created the beautiful earth whereon they dwelt. These thoughts gave rise to others; suppositions became certainties; and soon the following myth or fable was evolved, to be handed down from generation to generation.

At first, when all things lay in a great confused mass, —

“Ere earth and sea, and covering heavens, were known,

The face of nature, o’er the world, was one;

And men have called it Chaos; formless, rude,

The mass; dead matter’s weight, inert, and crude;

Where, in mix’d heap of ill-compounded mould,

The jarring seeds of things confusedly roll’d.”

Ovid ( Elton’s tr.).

The Earth did not exist. Land, sea, and air were mixed up together; so that the earth was not solid, the sea was not fluid, nor the air transparent.

“No sun yet beam’d from yon cerulean height;

No orbing moon repair’d her horns of light;

No earth, self-poised, on liquid ether hung;

No sea its world-enclasping waters flung;

Earth was half air, half sea, an embryo heap;

Nor earth was fix’d, nor fluid was the deep;

Dark was the void of air; no form was traced;

Obstructing atoms struggled through the waste;

Where cold, and hot, and moist, and dry rebell’d;

Heavy the light, and hard the soft repell’d.”

Ovid ( Elton’s tr.).

Over this shapeless mass reigned a careless deity called Chaos, whose personal appearance could not be described, as there was no light by which he could be seen. He shared his throne with his wife, the dark goddess of Night, named Nyx or Nox, whose black robes, and still blacker countenance, did not tend to enliven the surrounding gloom.

These two divinities wearied of their power in the course of time, and called their son Erebus (Darkness) to their assistance. His first act was to dethrone and supplant Chaos; and then, thinking he would be happier with a helpmeet, he married his own mother, Nyx. Of course, with our present views, this marriage was a heinous sin; but the ancients, who at first had no fixed laws, did not consider this union unsuitable, and recounted how Erebus and Nyx ruled over the chaotic world together, until their two beautiful children, Æther (Light) and Hemera (Day), acting in concert, dethroned them, and seized the supreme power.

Space, illumined for the first time by their radiance, revealed itself in all its uncouthness. Æther and Hemera carefully examined the confusion, saw its innumerable possibilities, and decided to evolve from it a “thing of beauty”; but quite conscious of the magnitude of such an undertaking, and feeling that some assistance would be desirable, they summoned Eros (Amor, or Love), their own child, to their aid. By their combined efforts, Pontus (the Sea) and Gæa (Ge, Tellus, Terra), as the Earth was first called, were created.

In the beginning the Earth did not present the beautiful appearance that it does now. No trees waved their leafy branches on the hillsides; no flowers bloomed in the valleys; no grass grew on the plains; no birds flew through the air. All was silent, bare, and motionless. Eros, the first to perceive these deficiencies, seized his life-giving arrows and pierced the cold bosom of the Earth. Immediately the brown surface was covered with luxuriant verdure; birds of many colors flitted through the foliage of the new-born forest trees; animals of all kinds gamboled over the grassy plains; and swift-darting fishes swam in the limpid streams. All was now life, joy, and motion.

Gæa, roused from her apathy, admired all that had already been done for her embellishment, and, resolving to crown and complete the work so well begun, created Uranus (Heaven).

This version of the creation of the world, although but one of the many current with the Greeks and Romans, was the one most generally adopted.

“Her first-born Earth produc’d,

Of like immensity, the starry Heaven;

That he might sheltering compass her around

On every side.”

Hesiod ( Elton’s tr.).

Another popular version stated that the first divinities, Erebus and Nyx, produced a gigantic egg, from which Eros, the god of love, emerged to create the Earth.

“In the dreary chaotical closet

Of Erebus old, was a privy deposit,

By Night the primæval in secrecy laid;

A Mystical Egg, that in silence and shade

Was brooded and hatched; till time came about:

And Love, the delightful, in glory flew out.”

Aristophanes ( Frere’s tr.).

The Earth thus created was supposed by the ancients to be a disc, instead of a sphere as science has proved. The Greeks fancied that their country occupied a central position, and that Mount Olympus, a very high mountain, the mythological abode of their gods, was placed in the exact centre. Their Earth was divided into two equal parts by Pontus (the Sea, — equivalent to our Mediterranean and Black Seas); and all around it flowed the great river Oceanus in a “steady, equable current,” undisturbed by storm, from which the Sea and all the rivers were supposed to derive their waters.

The Greeks also imagined that the portion of the Earth directly north of their country was inhabited by a fortunate race of men, the Hyperboreans, who dwelt in continual bliss, and enjoyed a never-ending springtide. Their homes were said to be “inaccessible by land or by sea.” They were “ exempt from disease, old age, and death,” and were so virtuous that the gods frequently visited them, and even condescended to share their feasts and games. A people thus favored could not fail to be happy, and many were the songs in praise of their sunny land.

“I come from a land in the sun-bright deep,

Where golden gardens grow;

Where the winds of the north, becalmed in sleep,

Their conch shells never blow.

“So near the track of the stars are we,

That oft, on night’s pale beams,

The distant sounds of their harmony

Come to our ears, like dreams.

“The Moon, too, brings her world so nigh,

That when the night-seer looks

To that shadowless orb, in a vernal sky,

He can number its hills and brooks.

“To the Sun god all our hearts and lyres

By day, by night, belong;

And the breath we draw from his living fires

We give him back in song.”

Moore.

South of Greece, also near the great river Oceanus, dwelt another nation, just as happy and virtuous as the Hyperboreans, — the Ethiopians. They, too, often enjoyed the company of the gods, who shared their innocent pleasures with great delight.

And far away, on the shore of this same marvelous river, according to some mythologists, were the beautiful Isles of the Blest, where mortals who had led virtuous lives, and had thus found favor in the sight of the gods, were transported without tasting of death, and where they enjoyed an eternity of bliss. These islands had sun, moon, and stars of their own, and were never visited by the cold wintry winds that swept down from the north.

“The Isles of the Blest, they say,

The Isles of the Blest,

Are peaceful and happy, by night and by day.

Far away in the glorious west.

“They need not the moon in that land of delight,

They need not the pale, pale star;

The sun is bright, by day and night,

Where the souls of the blessed are.

“They till not the ground, they plough not the wave,

They labour not, never! oh, never!

Not a tear do they shed, not a sigh do they heave,

They are happy, for ever and ever!”

Pindar.

Chaos, Erebus, and Nyx were deprived of their power by Æther and Hemera, who did not long enjoy the possession of the sceptre; for Uranus and Gæa, more powerful than their progenitors, soon forced them to depart, and began to reign in their stead. They had not dwelt long on the summit of Mount Olympus, before they found themselves the parents of twelve gigantic children, the Titans, whose strength was such that their father, Uranus, greatly feared them. To prevent their ever-making use of it against him, he seized them immediately after their birth, hurled them down into a dark abyss called Tartarus, and there chained them fast.

This chasm was situated far under the earth; and Uranus knew that his six sons (Oceanus, Cœus, Crius, Hyperion, Iapetus, and Cronus), as well as his six daughters, the Titanides (Ilia, Rhea, Themis, Thetis, Mnemosyne, and Phœbe), could not easily escape from its cavernous depths. The Titans did not long remain sole occupants of Tartarus, for one day the brazen doors were again thrown wide open to admit the Cyclopes— Brontes (Thunder), Steropes (Lightning), and Arges (Sheet-lightning), — three later-born children of Uranus and Gæa, who helped the Titans to make the darkness hideous with their incessant clamor for freedom. In due time their number was increased by the three terrible Centimani (Hundred-handed), Cottus, Briareus, and Gyes, who were sent thither by Uranus to share their fate.

Greatly dissatisfied with the treatment her children had received at their father’s hands, Gæa remonstrated, but all in vain. Uranus would not grant her request to set the giants free, and whenever their muffled cries reached his ear, he trembled for his own safety. Angry beyond all expression, Gæa swore revenge, and descended into Tartarus, where she urged the Titans to conspire against their father, and attempt to wrest the sceptre from his grasp.

All listened attentively to the words of sedition; but none were courageous enough to carry out her plans, except Cronus, the youngest of the Titans, more familiarly known as Saturn or Time, who found confinement and chains peculiarly galling, and who hated his father for his cruelty. Gæa finally induced him to lay violent hands upon his sire, and, after releasing him from his bonds, gave him a scythe, and bade him be of good cheer and return victorious.

Thus armed and admonished, Cronus set forth, came upon his father unawares, defeated him, thanks to his extraordinary weapon, and, after binding him fast, took possession of the vacant throne, intending to rule the universe for ever. Enraged at this insult, Uranus cursed his son, and prophesied that a day would come when he, too, would be supplanted by his children, and would suffer just punishment for his rebellion.

Cronus paid no heed to his father’s imprecations, but calmly proceeded to release the Titans, his brothers and sisters, who, in their joy and gratitude to escape the dismal realm of Tartarus, expressed their willingness to be ruled by him. Their satisfaction was complete, however, when he chose his own sister, Rhea (Cybele, Ops) for his consort, and assigned to each of the others some portion of the world to govern at will. To Oceanus and Thetis, for example, he gave charge over the ocean and all the rivers upon earth; while to Hyperion and Phœbe he entrusted the direction of the sun and moon, which the ancients supposed were daily driven across the sky in brilliant golden chariots.

Peace and security now reigned on and around Mount Olympus; and Cronus, with great satisfaction, congratulated himself on the result of his enterprise. One fine morning, however, his equanimity was disturbed by the announcement that a son was born to him. The memory of his father’s curse then suddenly returned to his mind. Anxious to avert so great a calamity as the loss of his power, he hastened to his wife, determined to devour the child, and thus prevent him from causing further annoyance. Wholly unsuspicious, Rhea heard him inquire for his son. Gladly she placed him in his extended arms; but imagine her surprise and horror when she beheld her husband swallow the babe.

Time passed, and another child was born, but only to meet with the same cruel fate. One infant after another disappeared down the capacious throat of the voracious Cronus—a personification of Time, who creates only to destroy. In vain the bereaved mother besought the life of one little one: the selfish, hardhearted father would not relent. As her prayers seemed unavailing, Rhea finally resolved to obtain by stratagem the boon her husband denied; and as soon as her youngest son, Jupiter (Jove, Zeus), was born, she concealed him.

The Childhood of Zeus - G. F. Watts.

Cronus, aware of his birth, soon made his appearance, determined to dispose of him in the usual summary manner. For some time Rhea pleaded with him, but at last pretended to yield to his commands. Hastily wrapping a large stone in swaddling clothes, she handed it to Cronus, simulating intense grief. Cronus was evidently not of a very inquiring turn of mind, for he swallowed the whole without investigating the real contents of the shapeless bundle.

“To th’ imperial son of Heaven,

Whilom the king of gods, a stone she gave

Inwrapt in infant swathes; and this with grasp

Eager he snatch’d, and in his ravening breast

Convey’d away: unhappy! nor once thought

That for the stone his child behind remain’d

Invincible, secure; who soon, with hand

Of strength o’ercoming him, should cast him forth

From glory, and himself th’ immortals rule.”

Hesiod ( Elton’s tr.).

Ignorant of the deception practiced upon him, Cronus then took leave, and the overjoyed mother clasped her rescued treasure to her breast. It was not sufficient, however, to have saved young Jupiter from imminent death: it was also necessary that his father should remain unconscious of his existence.

To ensure this, Rhea entrusted her babe to the tender care of the Melian nymphs, who bore him off to a cave on Mount Ida. There a goat, Amalthea, was procured to act as nurse, and fulfilled her office so acceptably that she was eventually placed in the heavens as a constellation, a brilliant reward for her kind ministrations. To prevent Jupiter’s cries being heard in Olympus, the Curetes (Corybantes), Rhea’s priests, uttered piercing screams, clashed their weapons, executed fierce dances, and chanted rude war-songs.

The real significance of all this unwonted noise and commotion was not at all understood by Cronus, who, in the intervals of his numerous affairs, congratulated himself upon the cunning he had shown to prevent the accomplishment of his father’s curse. But all his anxiety and fears were aroused when he suddenly became aware of the fraud practiced upon him, and of young Jupiter’s continued existence. He immediately tried to devise some plan to get rid of him; but, before he could put it into execution, he found himself attacked by his son, and, after a short but terrible encounter, he was signally defeated.

Jupiter, delighted to have triumphed so quickly, took possession of the supreme power, and aided by Rhea’s counsels, and by a nauseous potion prepared by Metis, a daughter of Oceanus, compelled Cronus to produce the unfortunate children he had swallowed; i.e., Neptune, Pluto, Vesta, Ceres, and Juno.

Following the example of his predecessor, Jupiter gave his brothers and sisters a fair share of his new kingdom. The wisest among the Titans — Mnemosyne, Themis, Oceanus, and Hyperion — submitted to the new sovereign without murmur, but the others refused their allegiance; which refusal, of course, occasioned a deadly conflict.

“When gods began with wrath,

And war rose up between their starry brows,

Some choosing to cast Cronus from his throne

That Zeus might king it there, and some in haste

With opposite oaths that they would have no Zeus

To rule the gods for ever.”

E. B. Browning.

The Giants’ War

Jupiter, from the top of Mount Olympus, discerned the superior number of his foes, and, quite aware of their might, concluded that reinforcements to his party would not be superfluous. In haste, therefore, he released the Cyclopes from Tartarus, where they had languished so long, stipulating that in exchange for their freedom they should supply him with thunderbolts, —-weapons which only they knew how to forge. This new engine caused great terror and dismay in the ranks of the enemy, who, nevertheless, soon rallied, and struggled valiantly to overthrow the usurper and win back the sovereignty of the world.

During ten long years the war raged incessantly, neither party wishing to submit to the dominion of the other, but at the end of that time the rebellious Titans were obliged to yield. Some of them were hurled into Tartarus once more, where they were carefully secured by Neptune, Jupiter s brother, while the young conqueror joyfully proclaimed his victory.

“League all your forces then, ye powers above,

Join all, and try th’ omnipotence of Jove;

Let down our golden everlasting chain,

Whose strong embrace holds heaven and earth and main:

Strive all, of mortal and immortal birth,

To drag, by this, the Thunderer down to earth

Ye strive in vain! if I but stretch this hand,

I heave the gods, the ocean, and the land;

I fix the chain to great Olympus’ height,

And the vast world hangs trembling in my sight!

For such I reign, unbounded and above;

And such are men and gods, compar’d to Jove.”

Homer ( Pope’s tr.).

The scene of this mighty conflict was supposed to have been in Thessaly, where the country bears the imprint of some great natural convulsion; for the ancients imagined that the gods, making the most of their gigantic strength and stature, hurled huge rocks at each other, and piled mountain upon mountain to reach the abode of Jupiter, the Thunderer.

“Mountain on mountain, as the Titans erst,

My brethren, scaling the high seat of Jove,

Heaved Pelion upon Ossa’s shoulders broad

In vain emprise.”

Lowell.

Saturn, or Cronus, the leader and instigator of the revolt, weary at last of bloodshed and strife, withdrew to Italy, or Hesperia, where he founded a prosperous kingdom, and reigned in peace for many long years.

Jupiter, having disposed of all the Titans, now fancied he would enjoy the power so unlawfully obtained; but Gæa, to punish him for depriving her children of their birthright, created a terrible monster, called Typhœus, or Typhon, which she sent to attack him. This Typhœus was a giant, from whose trunk one hundred dragon heads arose; flames shot from his eyes, nostrils, and mouths; while he incessantly uttered such bloodcurdling screams, that the gods, in terror, fled from Mount Olympus and sought refuge in Egypt. In mortal fear lest this terror-inspiring monster would pursue them, the gods there assumed the forms of different animals; and Jupiter became a ram, while Juno, his sister and queen, changed herself into a cow.

The king of the gods, however, soon became ashamed of his cowardly flight, and resolved to return to Mount Olympus to slay Typhœus with his terrible thunderbolts. A long and fierce struggle ensued, at the end of which, Jupiter, again victorious, viewed his fallen foe with boundless pride; but his triumph was very short-lived.

Enceladus, another redoubtable giant, also created by Gæa, now appeared to avenge Typhœus. He too was signally defeated, and bound with adamantine chains in a burning cave under Mount Ætna. In early times, before he had become accustomed to his prison, he gave vent to his rage by outcries, imprecations, and groans; sometimes he even breathed forth fire and flames, in hopes of injuring his conqueror. But time, it is said, somewhat cooled his resentment; and now he is content with an occasional change of position, which, owing to his huge size, causes the earth to tremble over a space of many miles, producing what is called an earthquake.

“Tis said, that thunder-struck Enceladus,

Grovelling beneath the incumbent mountain’s weight,

Lies stretched supine, eternal prey of flames;

And, when he heaves against the burning load,

Reluctant, to invert his broiling limbs,

A sudden earthquake shoots through all the isle,

And Ætna thunders dreadful under ground,

Then pours cut smoke in wreathing curls convolved,

And shades the sun’s bright orb, and blots out day.”

Addison.

Jupiter had now conquered all his foes, asserted his fight to the throne, and could at last reign over the world undisturbed; but he knew that it would be no small undertaking to rule well heaven, earth, and sea, and resolved to divide the power with his brothers. To avoid quarrels and recriminations, he portioned the world out into lots, allowing each of his brothers the privilege of drawing his own share.

Neptune thus obtained control over the sea and all the rivers, and immediately expressed his resolve to wear a symbolic crown, composed exclusively of marine shells and aquatic plants, and to abide within the bounds of his watery realm.

Pluto, the most taciturn of the brothers, received for his portion the sceptre of Tartarus and all the Lower World, where no beam of sunlight was ever allowed to find its way; while Jupiter reserved for himself the general supervision of his brothers’ estates, and the direct management of Heaven and Earth.

Peace now reigned throughout all the world. Not a murmur was heard, except from the Titans, who at length, seeing that further opposition would be useless, grew reconciled to their fate.

In the days of their prosperity, the Titans had intermarried. Cronus had taken Rhea “for better or for worse”; and Iapetus had seen, loved, and wedded the fair Clymene, one of the ocean nymphs, or Oceanides, daughters of Oceanus. The latter pair became the proud parents of four gigantic sons, — Atlas, Menetius, Prometheus (Forethought), and Epimetheus (Afterthought), — who were destined to play prominent parts in Grecian mythology.

The Story of Prometheus

At the time of the creation, after covering the newborn Earth with luxuriant vegetation, and peopling it with living creatures of all kinds, Eros perceived that it would be necessary to endow them with instincts which would enable them to preserve and enjoy the life they had received. He therefore called the youngest two sons of Iapetus to his aid, and bade them make a judicious distribution of gifts to all living creatures, and create and endow a superior being, called Man, to rule over all the others.

Prometheus’ and Epimetheus’ first care was, very naturally, to provide for the beings already created. These they endowed with such reckless generosity, that all their favors were soon dispensed, and none remained for the endowment of man. Although they had not the remotest idea how to overcome this difficulty, they proceeded to fashion man from clay.

“Prometheus first transmuted

Atoms culled for human clay.”

Horace.

They first moulded an image similar in form to the gods; bade Eros breathe into its nostrils the spirit of life, and Minerva (Pallas) endow it with a soul; whereupon man lived, and moved, and viewed his new domain.

Justly proud of his handiwork, Prometheus observed man and longed to bestow upon him some great power, unshared by any other creature of earth, which would raise him far above all other living beings, and bring him nearer to the perfection of the immortal gods.

“Of Prometheus, how undaunted

On Olympus’ shining bastions

His audacious foot he planted,

Myths are told and songs are chanted,

Full of promptings and suggestions.

“Beautiful is the tradition

Of that flight through heavenly portals,

The old classic superstition

Of the theft and the transmission

Of the fire of the Immortals.”

Longfellow.

Fire alone, in his estimation, could effect this; but fire was the special possession and prerogative of the gods, and Prometheus knew they would never willingly share it with man, and that, should any one obtain it by stealth, they would never forgive the thief. Long he pondered the matter, and finally determined to obtain fire, or die in the attempt.

One dark night, therefore, he set out for Olympus, entered unperceived into the gods’ abode, seized a lighted brand, hid it in his bosom, and departed unseen, exulting in the success of his enterprise. Arrived upon earth once more, he consigned the stolen treasure to the care of man, who immediately adapted it to various purposes, and eloquently expressed his gratitude to the benevolent deity who had risked his own life to obtain it for him.

From his lofty throne on the topmost peak of Mount Olympus Jupiter beheld an unusual light upon earth. Anxious to ascertain its exact nature, he watched it closely, and before long discovered the theft. His anger then burst forth, terrible to behold; and the gods all quailed when they heard him solemnly vow he would punish the unhappy Prometheus without mercy. To seize the offender in his mighty grasp, bear him off to the Caucasian Mountains, and bind him fast to a great rock, was but a moment’s work. There a voracious vulture was summoned to feast day by day, upon his liver, the tearing of which from his side by the bird’s cruel beak and talons caused the sufferer intense anguish. All day long the vulture gorged himself; but during the cool night, while the bird slept, Prometheus’ suffering abated, and the liver grew again, thus prolonging the torture, which bade fair to have no end.

Disheartened by the prospect of long years of unremitting pain, Prometheus at times could not refrain from pitiful complaints; but generation after generation of men lived on earth, and died, blessing him for the gift he had obtained for them at such a terrible cost. After many centuries of woe, Hercules, son of Jupiter and Alcmene, found Prometheus, killed the vulture, broke the adamantine chains, and liberated the long-suffering god.

“Thy godlike crime was to be kind,

To render with thy precepts less

The sum of human wretchedness,

And strengthen man with his own mind.”

Byron.

Epimetheus and Pandora

The first mortals lived on earth in a state of perfect innocence and bliss. The air was pure and balmy; the sun shone brightly all the year; the earth brought forth delicious fruit in abundance; and beautiful, fragrant flowers bloomed everywhere. Man was content. Extreme cold, hunger, sickness, and death were unknown. Jupiter, who justly ascribed a good part of this beatific condition to the gift conferred by Prometheus, was greatly displeased, and tried to devise some means to punish mankind for the acceptance of the heavenly fire.

With this purpose in view, he assembled the gods on Mount Olympus, where, in solemn council, they decided to create woman; and as soon as she had been artfully fashioned, each one endowed her with some special charm, to make her more attractive.

“The crippled artist-god,

Illustrious, moulded from the yielding clay

A bashful virgin’s image, as advis’d

Satumian Jove.

……………………………………………………

“But now when the fair mischief, seeming-good,

His hand had perfected, he led her forth

Exulting in her grac’d attire, the gift

Of Pallas, in the midst of gods and men.

On men and gods in that same moment seiz’d

The ravishment of wonder, when they saw

The deep deceit, th’ inextricable snare.”

Hesiod ( Elton’s tr.).

Their united efforts were crowned with the utmost success.’ Nothing was lacking, except a name for the peerless creature; and the gods, after due consideration, decreed she should be called Pandora. They then bade Mercury take her to Prometheus as a gift from heaven; but he, knowing only too well that nothing good would come to him from the gods, refused to accept her, and cautioned his brother Epimetheus to follow his example. Unfortunately Epimetheus was of a confiding disposition, and when he beheld the maiden he exclaimed, “Surely so beautiful and gentle a being can bring no evil!” and accepted her most joyfully.

The first days of their union were spent in blissful wanderings, hand in hand, under the cool forest shade; in weaving garlands of fragrant flowers; and in refreshing themselves with the luscious fruit, which hung so temptingly within reach.

One lovely evening, while dancing on the green, they saw Mercury, Jupiter’s messenger, coming towards them. His step was slow and weary, his garments dusty and travel-stained, and he seemed almost to stagger beneath the weight of a huge box which rested upon his shoulders. Pandora immediately ceased dancing, to speculate with feminine curiosity upon the contents of the chest. In a whisper she begged Epimetheus to ask Mercury what brought him thither. Epimetheus complied with her request; but Mercury evaded the question, asked permission to deposit his burden in their dwelling for safe-keeping, professing himself too weary to convey it to its destination that day, and promised to call for it shortly. The permission was promptly granted. Mercury, with a sigh, of relief, placed the box in one corner, and then departed, refusing all hospitable offers of rest and refreshment.

He had scarcely crossed the threshold, when Pandora expressed a strong desire to have a peep at the contents of the mysterious box; but Epimetheus, surprised and shocked, told her that her curiosity was unseemly, and then, to dispel the frown and pout seen for the first time on the fair face of his beloved, he entreated her to come out into the fresh air and join in the merry games of their companions. For the first time, also, Pandora refused to comply with his request. Dismayed, and very much discouraged, Epimetheus sauntered out alone, thinking she would soon join him, and perhaps by some caress atone for her present willfulness.

Left alone with the mysterious casket, Pandora became more and more inquisitive. Stealthily she drew near and examined it with great interest, for it was curiously wrought of dark wood, and surmounted by a delicately carved head, of such fine workmanship that it seemed to smile and encourage her. Around the box a glittering golden cord was wound, and fastened on top in an intricate knot. Pandora, who prided herself specially on her deft fingers, felt sure she could unfasten it, and, reasoning that it would not be indiscreet to untie it if she did not raise the lid, she set to work. Long she strove, but all in vain. Ever and anon the laughing voices of Epimetheus and his companions, playing in the luxuriant shade, were wafted in on the summer breeze. Repeatedly she heard them call and beseech her to join them; yet she persisted in her attempt. She was just on the point of giving up in despair, when suddenly the refractory knot yielded to her fumbling fingers, and the cord, unrolling, dropped on the floor.

Pandora had repeatedly fancied that sounds like whispers issued from the box. The noise now seemed to increase, and she breathlessly applied her ear to the lid to ascertain whether it really proceeded from within. Imagine, therefore, her surprise when she distinctly heard these words, uttered in the most pitiful accents: “Pandora, dear Pandora, have pity upon us! Free us from this gloomy prison! Open, open, we beseech you!”

Pandora’s heart beat so fast and loud, that it seemed for a moment to drown all other sounds. Should she open the box? Just then a familiar step outside made her start guiltily. Epimetheus was coming, and she knew he would urge her again to come out, and would prevent the gratification of her curiosity. Precipitately, therefore, she raised the lid to have one little peep before he came in.

Now, Jupiter had malignantly crammed into this box all the diseases, sorrows, vices, and crimes that afflict poor humanity; and the box was no sooner opened, than all these ills flew out, in the guise of horrid little brown-winged creatures, closely resembling moths. These little insects fluttered about, alighting, some upon Epimetheus, who had just entered, and some upon Pandora, pricking and stinging them most unmercifully. They then flew out through the open door and windows, and fastened upon the merrymakers without, whose shouts of joy were soon changed into wails of pain and anguish.

Epimetheus and Pandora had never before experienced the faintest sensation of pain or anger; but, as soon as these winged evil spirits had stung them, they began to weep, and, alas! quarreled for the first time in their lives. Epimetheus reproached his wife in bitterest terms for her thoughtless action; but in the very midst of his vituperation he suddenly heard a sweet little voice entreat for freedom. The sound proceeded from the unfortunate box, whose cover Pandora had dropped again, in the first moment of her surprise and pain. “Open, open, and I will heal your wounds! Please let me out!” it pleaded.

The tearful couple viewed each other inquiringly, and listened again. Once more they heard the same pitiful accents; and Epimetheus bade his wife open the box and set the speaker free, adding very amiably, that she had already done so much harm by her ill-fated curiosity, that it would be difficult to add materially to its evil consequences, and that, perchance, the box contained some good spirit, whose ministrations might prove beneficial.

It was well for Pandora that she opened the box a second time, for the gods, with a sudden impulse of compassion, had concealed among the evil spirits one kindly creature. Hope, whose mission was to heal the wounds inflicted by her fellow prisoners.

“Hope sole remain’d within, nor took her flight,

Beneath the vessel’s verge conceal’d from light.”

Hesiod ( Elton’s tr.).

Lightly fluttering hither and thither on her snowy pinions, Hope touched the wounded places on Pandora’s and Epimetheus’ creamy skin, and relieved their suffering, then quickly flew out of the open window, to perform the same gentle office for the other victims, and to cheer their downcast spirits.

Thus, according to the ancients, evil entered into the world bringing untold misery: but Hope followed closely in its footsteps, to aid struggling humanity, and point to a happier future.

‘‘Hope rules a land for ever green:

All powers that serve the bright-eyed Queen

Are confident and gay;

Clouds at her bidding disappear;

Points she to aught? —the bliss draws near,

And Fancy smooths the way.”

Wordsworth.

During many centuries, therefore, Hope continued to be revered, although the other divinities had ceased to be worshipped.

According to another version, Pandora was sent down to man, bearing a vase in which the evil spirits were imprisoned, and on the way, seized by a fit of curiosity, raised the cover, and allowed them all to escape.

Little by little the world was peopled; and the first years of man’s existence upon earth were, as we have seen, years of unalloyed happiness. There was no occasion for labour, for the earth brought forth spontaneously all that was necessary for man’s subsistence. “Innocence, virtue, and truth prevailed; neither were there any laws to restrict men, nor judges to punish.” This time of bliss has justly borne the title of the Golden Age, and the people in Italy then throve under the wise rule of good old Saturn, or Cronus.

Unfortunately, nothing in this world is lasting; and the Golden Age was followed by another, not quite so prosperous, hence called the Silver Age, when the year was first divided into seasons, and men were obliged to toil for their daily bread.

“Succeeding times a silver age behold,

Excelling brass, but more excell’d by gold.

Then summer, autumn, winter, did appear,

And spring was but a season of the year;

The sun his annual course obliquely made,

Good days contracted, and enlarg’d the bad.

The air with sultry heats began to glow,

The wings of winds were clogg’d with ice and snow;

And shivering mortals into houses driven,

Sought shelter from the inclemency of heaven.

Those houses, then, were caves or homely sheds,

With twining osiers fenc’d, and moss their beds.

Then ploughs, for seed, the fruitful furrows broke,

And oxen labour’d first beneath the yoke.”

Ovid ( Dryden’s tr.).

Yet, in spite of these few hardships, the people were happy, far happier than their descendants during the Age of Brass, which speedily followed, when strife became customary, and differences were settled by blows.

But by far the worst of all was the Iron Age, when men’s passions knew no bounds, and they even dared refuse all homage to the immortal gods. War was waged incessantly; the earth was saturated with blood; the rights of hospitality were openly violated; and murder, rape, and theft were committed on all sides.

Jupiter had kept a close watch over men’s actions during all these years; and this evil conduct aroused his wrath to such a point, that he vowed he would annihilate the human race. But the modes of destruction were manifold, and, as he could not decide which would eventually prove most efficacious, he summoned the gods to deliberate and aid him by their counsels. The first suggestion offered, was to destroy the world by fire, kindled by Jupiter’s much dreaded thunderbolts; and the king of gods was about to put it into instant execution, when his arm was stayed by the objection that the rising flames might set fire to his own abode, and reduce its magnificence to unsightly ashes. He therefore rejected the plan as impracticable, and bade the gods devise other means of destruction.

After much delay and discussion, the immortals agreed to wash mankind off the face of the earth by a mighty deluge. The winds were instructed to gather together the rain clouds over the earth. Neptune let loose the waves of the sea, bidding them rise, overflow, and deluge the land. No sooner had the gods spoken, than the elements obeyed: the winds blew; the rain fell in torrents; lakes, seas, rivers, and oceans broke their bonds; and terrified mortals, forgetting their petty quarrels in a common impulse to flee from the death which threatened them, climbed the highest mountains, clung to uprooted trees, and even took refuge in the light skiffs they had constructed in happier days. Their efforts were all in vain, however; for the waters rose higher and higher, overtook them one after another in their ineffectual efforts to escape, closed over the homes where they might have been so happy, and drowned their last despairing cries in their seething depths.

“Now hills and vales no more distinction know,

And levell’d nature lies oppress’d below;

The most of mortals perish in the flood.”

Ovid ( Dryden’s tr.).

Deucalion and Pyrrha

The rain continued to fall, until, after many days, the waves covered all the surface of the earth except the summit of Mount Parnassus, the highest peak in Greece. On this mountain, surrounded by the ever-rising flood, stood the son of Prometheus, Deucalion, with his faithful wife Pyrrha, a daughter of Epimetheus and Pandora. From thence they, the sole survivors, viewed the universal desolation with tear-dimmed eyes.

In spite of the general depravity, the lives of this couple had always been pure and virtuous; and when Jupiter saw them there alone, and remembered their piety, he decided not to include them in the general destruction, but to save their lives. He therefore bade the winds return to their cave, and the rain to cease. Neptune, in accordance with his decree, blew a resounding blast upon his conch shell to recall the wandering waves, which immediately returned within their usual bounds.

Deucalion and Pyrrha followed the receding waves step by step down the steep mountain side.

“At length the world was all restor’d to view,

But desolate, and of a sickly hue;

Nature beheld herself, and stood aghast,

A dismal desert and a silent waste.”

Ovid ( Dryden’s tr.).

As they talked upon how they should repeople the desolate earth, they came to the shrine of Delphi, which alone had been able to resist the force of the waves. There they entered to consult the wishes of the gods. Their surprise and horror were unbounded, however, when a voice exclaimed, “Depart from hence with veiled heads, and cast your mothers’ bones behind you!” To obey such a command seemed sacrilegious in the extreme; for the dead had always been held in deep veneration by the Greeks, and the desecration of a grave was considered a heinous crime, and punished accordingly. But, they reasoned, the god’s oracles can seldom be accepted in a literal sense; and Deucalion, after due thought, explained to Pyrrha what he conceived to be the meaning of this mysterious command.

“The Earth,” said he, “is the mother of all, and the stones may be considered her bones.” Husband and wife speedily decided to act upon this premise, and continued their descent, casting stones behind them. All those thrown by Deucalion were immediately changed into men, while those cast by Pyrrha became women.

Thus the earth was peopled for the second time with a blameless race of men, sent to replace the wicked beings slain by Jupiter. Deucalion and Pyrrha shortly after became the happy parents of a son named Hellen, who gave his name to all the Hellenic or Greek race; while his sons Æolus and Dorus, and grandsons Ion and Achæus, became the ancestors of the Æolian, Dorian, Ionian, and Achaian nations.

Other mythologists, in treating of the diluvian myths, state that Deucalion and Pyrrha took refuge in an ark, which, after sailing about for many days, was stranded on the top of Mount Parnassus. This version was far less popular with the Greeks, although it betrays still more plainly the common source whence all these myths are derived.

“Who does not see in drown Deucalion’s name,

When Earth her men and Sea had lost her shore,

Old Noah!”

Fletcher.

Jupiter

The Power of JupiterHis AttendantsPhilemon and BaucisThe Story of Europa

The Power of Jupiter

Jupiter, Jove, or Zeus, king of the gods, supreme ruler of the universe, the special deity of mankind, the personification of the sky and of all the phenomena of the air, and the guardian of political order and peace, was the most prominent of all the Olympian divinities: the others were obliged to submit to his will, and trembled at his all-powerful nod.

“He, whose all-conscious eyes the world behold,

The eternal Thunderer sat, enthroned in gold,

High heaven the footstool of his feet he makes,

And wide beneath him all Olympus shakes.”

“He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows,

Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod,

The stamp of fate and sanction of the god:

High heaven with trembling the dread signal took,

And all Olympus to the centre shook.”

Homer ( Pope’s tr.)

The Fates and Destiny alone dared oppose Jupiter’s sovereign will, and they continued to issue their irrevocable decrees, even after he supplanted his father and began to rule over all.

In common with all other Greek and Roman divinities, Jupiter, though immortal, was subject to pleasure, pain, grief, and anger, and a prey to all the passions which rule the hearts of men.

It was he who presided at the councils held on the top of “many-peaked Olympus,” and summoned the gods whenever he wished to discuss with them any matter of importance, or to indulge in a sumptuous repast, when they ate the celestial ambrosia and quaffed the fragrant nectar.

He is generally represented as a fine majestic figure, with long curling hair and beard, clad in flowing drapery, his redoubtable thunderbolts or sceptre in one hand, and a statue of Victory in the other. The world is his footstool; and the eagle, emblem of strength and power, is usually seen close beside him.

His Attendants

Jupiter had his own special attendants, such as Victoria, or Nice, the goddess of victory, who was ever ready to obey his slightest behest, and it is said her master loved her so dearly that he generally held an image of her in his hand.

The hundred-tongued goddess of fame, Fama, trumpet in hand, proclaimed, at his bidding, anything he wished, never questioning whether it were true or false.

“Fame than who never plague that runs

Its way more swiftly wins:

Her very motion lends her power:

She flies and waxes every hour.

At first she shrinks, and cowers for dread:

Ere long she soars on high:

Upon the ground she plants her tread,

Her forehead in the sky.”

Virgil ( Conington’s tr.).

Close by Jupiter’s side was sometimes seen Fortuna, goddess of fortune, poised on a constantly revolving wheel, whereon she journeyed throughout the world, scattering with careless hands her numerous gifts, and lavishing with indifference her choicest smiles; while Hebe, or Juventas, the goddess of youth, was ever ready at his wish to pour out the nectar, in which the gods were wont to pledge each other.

“Hebe, honored of them all,

Ministered nectar, and from cups of gold

They pledged each other.”

Homer ( Bryant’s tr.).

Jupiter de Smyrne

But this fair goddess awkwardly tripped and fell on a solemn occasion, and was forced to resign her office. To replace her, the father of the gods was obliged to go in quest of another cup-bearer.

To facilitate his search, he assumed the form of an eagle, and winged his flight over the earth. He had not flown far, before he beheld a youth of marvelous beauty, alone on a neighboring hill. To swoop down, catch him up in his mighty talons, and bear him safely off to Olympus, was but a moment’s work; and there the kidnapped youth Ganymede, the son of a king of Troy, was carefully instructed in the duties he was called upon to perform in the future.

“And godlike Ganymede, most beautiful

Of men; the gods beheld and caught him up

To heaven, so beautiful was he, to pour

The wine to Jove, and ever dwell with them.”

Homer ( Bryant’s tr.).

Philemon and Baucis

Solicitous for the welfare of mankind, Jupiter often visited the earth, taking great care to assume some disguise which would enable him to ascertain all he wished without any risk of detection. One day he and Mercury, his special messenger and favorite among the gods, took the forms of needy belated travelers, and entered the lowly hut of a worthy old couple, Philemon and Baucis.

Eager to offer their best to the strangers, these poor people decided to kill their sole remaining goose; but their efforts to secure it were vain, and finally the persecuted fowl took refuge between Jupiter’s knees. Touched with their zeal, yet anxious to prevent the death of the confiding goose, Jupiter revealed himself to his faithful worshippers, and in gratitude for their intended sacrifice bade them ask any boon, promising by the great river Styx — the most binding and solemn oath a god could utter — to grant their request.

Contrary to the custom current in similar cases, Philemon and Baucis made a modest and judicious choice, and proffered a timid request that they might serve the gods as long as life and strength endured, and finally die together. This most reasonable wish was immediately granted; and Jupiter, moreover, changed their humble abode into a superb temple, where they could offer daily sacrifices on his altars.

“Their little shed, scarce large enough for two,

Seems, from the ground increased, in height and bulk to grow.

A stately temple shoots within the skies,

The crotches of their cot in columns rise;

The pavement polish’d marble they behold,

The gates with sculpture grac’d the spires and tiles of gold.”

Ovid ( Dryden’s tr.).

After many years of faithful service, when age had made them long for death, Philemon and Baucis were transformed into majestic oaks, which stood for many a century in front of the temple, monuments of the-love and faith which had bound the pair through life.

Although married to Juno, Jupiter often indulged in love affairs with other goddesses, and even with mortal maidens. The ancients themselves did not practice polygamy, but their gods were supposed to be able to indulge all their passions with impunity. As the personification of the sky, Jupiter, therefore, consorted at times with Juno (the Atmosphere), with Dione (Moisture), with Themis (Justice), &c., without incurring any reproach; for these marriages, in their estimation, were all symbolical.

The Story of Europa

But Juno being of a jealous disposition, Jupiter was forced to conduct his courtships with great secrecy and circumspection, and therefore generally adopted the precaution of a disguise. To win Europa, the fair daughter of Agenor, for instance, he became a bull.

“The gods themselves,

Humbling their deities to love, have taken

The shapes of beasts upon them.

Jupiter Became a bull and bellow’d.”

Shakespeare.

One day Europa was playing in her father’s meadows with her three brothers, Cadmus, Phœnix, and Cilix, when she suddenly saw a white bull coming towards her; not with fiery eyes and lowered horns, but gently, as if to express a mute request to be petted. The maiden, delighted, stroked the beast, and decked him with bright garlands of meadow-blossoms. Then, seeing him kneel, as if to invite her to mount, she lightly sprang upon his broad back, calling to her companions to follow her example; but, before they could do as she wished, the bull had risen to his feet, and galloped off towards the sea with his fair burden on his back.

Instead of turning when he saw the foam-crested waves, he plunged into the midst of them, and in a few minutes disappeared from view, so rapidly did he swim away. To reassure the frightened girl, the bull now spoke in gentle accents, bidding her dismiss all fear, for he was the great Jupiter in disguise.

“Take courage, gentle maid! nor fear the tide:

I, though near-seen a bull, am heavenly Jove:

I change my shape at will.”

Moschus ( Elton’s tr.).