REPULSIVE ASPECTS OF MYTHS. supreme father of gods and men. IV. He who should be the very type CHAP. of all purity and goodness becomes the very embodiment of headstrong lust and passion, while the holiness of the lord of life and light is transferred to Apollôn and his virgin sister, Athênê. The difficulty is but slight. Zeus, the Vedic Dyaus, is but another form of Ouranos, the veiling heaven or sky; and again, as in the words of our own poet, who sings how and how Nothing in the world is single, All things by a law divine In another's being mingle, The mountains kiss high heaven, so Ouranos looked down on Gaia, and brooded over her in his deep, unfailing, life-giving love. But these are phrases which will not bear translation into the conditions of human life, without degrading the spiritual god into a being who boasts of his unbounded and shameless licence.1 35 The same process which insured this degradation insured at the Tendency to localise same time the local boundaries which were assigned to mythical mythical heroes or their mythical exploits. When the adventures of Zeus incidents. assumed something like consistency, the original meaning of his name was less and less remembered, until his birthplace was fixed in a Cretan cave, and his throne raised on a Thessalian hill. So Apollôn was born in Lykia or in Delos, and dwelt at Patara or Pytho. So Endymion had his tomb in Elis, or slept his long sleep on the hill of Latmos. So Kephalos first met Prokris on the Hymettian heights, and fell from the Leukadian cape into the Western Sea. So, as she wandered westward in search of her lost child, Têlephassa (a name which, like those of Phaethousa, Lampetiê, and Brynhild, tells its own tale), sank to sleep on the Thessalian plain in the evening. the mytho Yet although much was forgotten, and much also, it may be, lost Vitality of for ever, the form of thought which produced the old mythical poic language had not altogether died away. Showing itself sometimes in faculty. directly allegorical statement of historical fact, sometimes in similar descriptions of natural objects or of the incidents of common life, it still threw the halo of a living reality over everything of which it spoke. So the flight of Kaunos from Miletos to Lykia, and the sorrow of the sister whom he had left behind, figured the migration of colonists from the one land to the other. So in the Hesiodic 1 Mr. Tylor, Primitive Culture, i. 261, traces not only such legends, but incestuous marriages, to mythical phrases. To the instances which he gives may be added the marriage of I. BOOK Theogony, Nyx (night) is the mother of Hypnos, (sleep,) and Oneiros, (dream,) of Eris, (strife,) and Apate, (deceit,) and Mômos, (blame,) where we speak merely of sleeping and dreaming, and of evil deeds wrought in secrecy and darkness.1 Constant demand for new mythical narratives. If, again, the mythology of the Homeric poets, as handed down to us, points to an age long anterior to their own, yet the mythopoeic faculty still exerted itself, if not in the invention of myths altogether new, yet in the embellishment and expansion of the old. It was not easy to satisfy the appetite of an imaginative age which had no canon of historical criticism, and which constantly craved its fitting food. It was not easy to exhaust the vein opened in almost every mythical theme. The sun as toiling and suffering, the sky as brooding over and cherishing the earth, the light as gladdening and purifying all visible things, would suggest an infinity of details illustrating each original idea. The multiplication of miracles and marvels stimulated the desire for more; and new labours were invented for Heraklês, new loves for Zeus, as easily as their forefathers uttered the words to which the myths of Zeus and Heraklês owed their existence. The mere fact of their human personification insured the growth of innumerable fictions. If Zeus had the form and the passions of men, then the conditions of his life must be assimilated to theirs. He must have wife and children, he must have father and mother. The latter must be no less divine than himself; but as he is enthroned above them, they must belong to a dynasty which he has overthrown. Their defeat must have been preceded by a long and fierce struggle. Mighty beings of gigantic force must have fought on each side in that tremendous conflict; but the victory must belong to the side which to brute force added wise forethought and prudent counsel. Here would be the foundation for that marvellous supernatural machinery of which we have some indications in the Iliad, and which is drawn out with such careful detail in the Hesiodic Theogony. But Zeus, to whom there were children born in every land, must have his queen; and the jealousy of Hêrê against Iô, or Semelê, or Alkmene would follow as a necessary consequence. The subject might be indefinitely expanded, and each subject would of itself suggest others; but there was no fear that the poet should weary the patience of his hearers, if only his additions, whether of incident or detail, did not violate the laws of mythological credibility. Nothing must be related of Heraklês which was repugnant to the fundamental Max Müller, "Comparative Mythology," Chips from a German Workshop, ii. 64, et seq. Hence the mythical Prometheus. ARTIFICIAL MYTHS. IV. idea of his toil and suffering for a master weaker than himself; CHAP. nothing must be told of Athênê which would rather call up associations of the laughter-loving Aphroditê. 37 Transmu tation of And, finally, there would be a constant and irresistible temptation to sever historical incidents and characters from the world of reality, names and bear them into the cloudland of mythology. Round every hero historical. really who, after great promise, died in the spring-time of his life, or on whom the yoke of an unworthy tyrant lay heavy, would be grouped words and expressions which belonged to the myth of the brilliant yet quickly dying sun. The tale of Achilleus and Meleagros may be entirely mythical; but even if it be in part the story of men who really lived and suffered, that story has been so interwoven with images borrowed from the myths of a bygone age, as to conceal for ever any fragments of history which may lie beneath them.1 the mytho Northern But if the mythical phrases which gave birth to the legends of GroundHeraklês, Endymion, and Orpheus, of Phaethôn, Meleagros, and work of Bellerophontes, spoke of the daily course of the sun, there were logy of others which told of alternating seasons. For the character of Europe. mythical speech must necessarily be modified, and its very phrases suggested by the outward features and phenomena of the country. The speech of the tropics, and still more, of the happy zone which lies beyond its scorching heat, would tell rather of splendour than of gloom, of life rather than decay, of constant renovation rather than prolonged lethargy. But in the frost-bound regions of the North the speech of the people would, with a peculiar intensity of feeling, dwell on the tragedy of nature. It would speak not so much of the daily death of the sun (for the recurrence of day and night in other lands would bring no darkness to these), but of the deadly sleep of the earth, when the powers of frost and snow had vanquished the brilliant king. It would speak, not of Eôs rising from the Titan's couch, or of Hêlios sinking wearied into his golden couch behind the sea, but of treasures stolen from the earth and buried in her hidden depths beyond the sight and reach of man. It would tell of a fair maiden, wrapped in a dreamless slumber, from which the touch of one brave knight alone could rouse her; it would sing of her rescue, her betrothal, and her desertion, as the sun, who brought back the spring, forsook her for the gay and wanton summer. It would go on to frame tales of strife and jealousy, ending in the death of the bright hero; it would speak of the bride whom he has forsaken as going up to die upon his funeral pile. This woful tragedy, whose long sorrow called forth a deep and intense sympathy which we, Max Müller, "Comparative Mythology," Chips, &c., vol. ii. 112. I. BOOK perhaps, can scarcely realise, is faintly indicated in the beautiful hymn to Dêmêtêr; but winter, in the bright Hellenic land, assumed a form too fair to leave any deep impression of gloom and death on the popular mythology. The face of nature suggested there the simple tale which speaks of Persephonê as stolen away, but brought back to her mother by a covenant insuring to her a longer sojourn on the bright earth than in the shadowy kingdom of Hades. But how completely the tragedy, to which this hymn points, forms the groundwork of the Volsung myth and of the Edda into which it was expanded, to what an extent it has suggested the most minute details of the great epics of the North, Professor Max Müller has shown, with a force and clearness which leave no room for doubt.1 Like Achilleus, Sifrit or Sigurd can be wounded only in one spot, as the bright sun of summer cannot grow dim till it is pierced by the thorn of winter. Like Phoibos, who smites the dragon at Pytho, the Northern hero slays the serpent Fafnir, and wins back the treasure of the Niflungar, while he rouses Brynhild from her long slumber." This treasure is the power of vegetation, which has been lulled to sleep by the mists and clouds of winter; the seeds which refuse to grow while Dêmêtêr sorrows for her child Persephonê. The desertion of Brynhild is the advance of spring into summer; and from it follows of necessity the hatred of Brynhild for Gudrun, who has stolen away the love of Sigurd. A dark doom presses heavily on him, darker and more woful than that which weighed down the toiling Heraklês; for the labour of Heraklês issued always in victory, but Sigurd must win his own wife Brynhild only to hand her over to Gunnar. The sun must deliver the bright spring, whom he had wooed and won, to the gloomy powers of cold and darkness. Gudrun only remains; but though outwardly she is fair and bright, she is of kin to the wintry beings, for the late summer is more closely allied to death than to life. Yet Gunnar, her brother, cannot rest; the wrath of the cold has been roused, and he resolves to slay the bright 1 "Comparative Mythology," p. 108, &c. The story of Sigurd and Brynhild comes up again in the legends of Ragnar and Thora, and again of Ragnar and Aslauga. Like Brynhild, Thora with the earth's treasure is guarded by a dragon whose coils encircle her castle; and only the man who slays the dragon can win her for his bride. But Ragnar Lodbrog, who so wins her, is still the son of Sigurd. Thora dies, and Ragnar at length woos the beautiful Kraka, whom, however, he is on the point of deserting for the daughter of Osten, when Kraka reveals herself as the child of Sigurd and Brynhild. See Thorpe's Northern Mythology, vol. i. pp. 108, 113. The same myth, as we might expect, forms the subject of several of theSculptured Stones" of Scotland. "The legend of a dragon holding a maiden in thrall until he is slain by a valiant knight, occurs more than once. -Burton, History of Scotland, vol. i. p. 150. HOMERIC MYTHOLOGY. 39 and beautiful Sigurd. The deed is done by Gunnar's brethren-the CHAP. cloud, the wind, and the storm; and Brynhild, filled again with her IV. early love, lies down to die with him who had forsaken her. work of Phrases similar to those which gave birth to the legends of the GroundVolsungs and the Nibelungs lie at the root of the epics to which the "HoGreek genius has imparted such wonderful consistency and beauty. meric" mythology. Yet it can scarcely be too often repeated, that these poets adopted as much of the popular mythology as suited their purpose, and no more. If casual expressions throughout these poems leave no room to doubt that they knew of wars among the heavenly beings, of the dethronement of Kronos, the good service and the hard recompense of Prometheus, and the early death of Achilleus, it appears not less manifest, that the idea of Oinônê and of her relations to Paris could not have dawned for the first time on the mind of a later age. It was no part of the poet's design to furnish a complete mythology; and the Iliad exhibits only that process of disintegration which was perpetually multiplying new tales and new beings from the old mythical language. In no instance, perhaps, is this process brought out with greater clearness than in that of Paris. This son of Priam, as leading away the beautiful Helen from the far west and hiding her through ten long years in his secret chambers, represents the dark power which steals the light from the western sky, and sustains a ten hours' conflict before he will yield her up again. Paris thus is Pani, the dark thief of the Vedic songs, who hides the bright cattle of Indra in his dismal caves; in other words, he is Vritra, the veiling enemy, and Ahi, the throttling serpent of night. Such is he in his relations to Menelaos and the children of the Sun, who come to reclaim the lost Helen. But among his own people Paris is the most prominent actor in the great drama which ends in the fall of Ilion. The night has its beauty, although, as with Kirke, with Kalypso, and with Ursula, this beauty may be a thing rather to be feared than loved. Paris, therefore, is beautiful, he is brave, and he is fated to bring ruin on his kinsfolk; for the night not less than the day slays its parents, and falls a victim to its own offspring. Like Perseus, Telephos, and others among the host of fatal children, the babe is exposed on the slopes of Ida. Nourished by a bear, he grows up beautiful in form; and if his love is sensual, so also in many myths is that of Heraklês.' If, again, after the seduction of Helen, his * The term γυναιμανής, as applied to Paris, only translates in a somewhat strengthened form a common epithet of Indra and of the black Krishna, the nocturnal sun, who, like the son of Priam, are "the lovers of the girls," |