PART VI.--PRESUMPTION; OR, THE STORY OF PHAËTHON.

There was a nymph named Clymene, who had a son so handsome that he was called Phaëthon, which means in Greek, "bright, radiant, shining," like the sun. When he grew up the goddess Venus was so charmed with him that she made him the chief ruler of all her temples, and took him into such high favor that all his friends and companions were filled with envy.

One day, when Phaëthon was foolishly bragging about his own beauty and greatness, and how much he was put by a goddess above other men, one of his companions, named Epaphus, answered him, scornfully:--

"Ah! you may boast and brag, but you are a nobody after all! _My_ father was Jupiter, as everybody knows; but who was yours?"

So Phaëthon went to his mother Clymene, and said:--

"Mother, they taunt me for not being the son of a god; me, who am fit to be a god myself for my grace and beauty. Who was my father? He must at least have been some great king, to be the father of such a son as I."

"A king!" said Clymene. "Ay--and a greater than all kings! Tell them, from me, that your father is Phœbus Apollo, the god of the Sun!"

But when he went back and told his friends, "My father is Phœbus Apollo, the god of the Sun," Epaphus and the others only scorned him and laughed at him the more. "You've caught your bragging from your mother," said they. "You're _her_ son, anyhow, whoever your father may be."

When Clymene heard this, she felt terribly offended. "Then I will prove my words," said she. "Go to the Palace of the Sun and enter boldly. There you will see the Sun-god in all his glory. Demand of him to declare you to be his son openly before all the world, so that even the sons of Jupiter shall hang their heads for shame."

If Apollo had been still banished upon earth, of course Phaëthon could have found him very easily. But the nine years of banishment were over now, and the only way to find the god of the Sun was to seek him in his palace above the sky. How Phaëthon managed to get there I have never heard; but I suppose his mother was able to tell him the secret way. You may imagine the glorious and wonderful place it was--the House of the Sun, with the stars for the windows that are lighted up at night, and the clouds for curtains, and the blue sky for a garden, and the Zodiac for a carriage-drive. The sun itself, as you have heard, is the chariot of Apollo, drawn by four horses of white fire, who feed on golden grain, and are driven by the god himself round and round the world. Phaëthon entered boldly, as his mother had told him, found Apollo in all his glory, and said:--

"My mother, Clymene, says that I am your son. Is it true?"

"Certainly," said Apollo, "it is true."

"Then give me a sign," said Phaëthon, "that all may know and believe. Make me sure that I am your son."

"Tell them that _I_ say so," said Apollo. "There--don't hinder me any more. My horses are harnessed: it is time for the sun to rise."

"No," said Phaëthon, "they will only say that I brag and lie. Give me a sign for all the world to see--a sign that only a father would give to his own child."

"Very well," said Apollo, who was getting impatient at being so hindered. "Only tell me what you want me to do, and it shall be done."

"You swear it--by Styx?" said Phaëthon.

Now you must know that the Styx was a river in Hades by which the gods swore; and that an oath "by Styx" was as binding upon a god as a plain promise is upon a gentleman.

"I swear it--by Styx!" said Apollo, rather rashly, as you will see. But he was now in a very great hurry indeed.

"Then," said Phaëthon, "let _me_ drive the horses of the Sun for one whole day!"

* * * * *

This put Apollo in terrible alarm, for he knew very well that no hand, not even a god's, can drive the horses of the Sun but his own. But he had sworn by Styx--the oath that cannot be broken. All he could do was to keep the world waiting for sunrise while he showed Phaëthon how to hold the reins and the whip, and pointed out what course to take, and warned him of the dangers of the road. "But it's all of no use. You'll never do it," said he. "Give it up, while there is yet time! You know not what you do."

"Oh, but I do, though," said Phaëthon. "I know I can. There--I understand it all now, without another word." So saying, he sprang into the chariot, seized the reins, and gave the four fiery horses four lashes that sent them flying like comets through the air.

"Hold them in--hold them hard!" cried Apollo. But Phaëthon was off, and too far off to hear.

* * * * *

Off indeed! and where? The world must have been amazed that day to see the sun rise like a rocket and go dashing about the sky, north, south, east, west--anywhere, nowhere, everywhere! Well the horses knew that it was not Apollo, their master, who plied the whip and held the reins. They took their bits between their teeth, and--bolted. They kicked a planet to bits (astronomers know where the pieces are still): they broke holes in the chariot, which we can see, and call "sun-spots," to this day: it was as if chaos were come again. At last, Phaëthon, whose own head was reeling, saw to his horror that the horses, in their mad rush, were getting nearer and nearer to the earth itself--and what would happen then? If the wheels touched the globe we live on, it would be scorched to a cinder. Nearer, nearer, nearer it came--till a last wild kick broke the traces, overturned the sun itself, and Phaëthon fell, and fell, and fell, till he fell into the sea, and was drowned. And then the horses trotted quietly home.

* * * * *

The story of Phaëthon is always taken as a warning against being conceited and self-willed. But there are some curious things about it still to be told. The Greeks fancied that the great desert of Sahara, in Africa, is the place where the earth was scorched by the sun's chariot-wheel, and that the African negroes were burned black in the same way, and have never got white again. And the poplars are Phaëthon's sisters, who wept themselves for his death into trees.

DIANA; AND THE STORY OF ORION.

You know that the fixed stars are divided into groups, called constellations. A name has been given to every constellation; and each is supposed to be like the shape of some creature or thing--such as the Great Bear, the Swan, the Cup, the Eagle, the Dragon, and so on. Most of their names were given by the Greeks, who fancied they could see in them the shapes after which they were named. We have kept the old names, and still paint the supposed figure of each constellation on the celestial globe, which is the image or map of the sky.

Now the grandest, brightest, and largest of all the constellations is named Orion. It is supposed to represent a giant, with a girdle and a sword, and is rather more like what is fancied than most of the constellations are. You are now going to read the story of Orion, and how he came to be placed among the stars. You may notice, by the way, that the planets, the sun, and the moon are named after gods and goddesses; the fixed stars after mortals who were raised to the skies.

There was once a man named Hyrieus, whose wife died, and he loved her so much, and was so overcome with grief that he vowed never to marry again. But she left him no children. And when, in course of time, he grew old, he sadly felt the want of sons and daughters to make his old age less hard and lonely.

One day it happened that Jupiter, Neptune, and Mercury (who was one of the gods, and Jupiter's chief minister and messenger) were on a visit to earth. The night fell, and they grew tired and hungry. So they wandered on to find rest and food; and, as luck would have it, they came to the cottage of Hyrieus, and asked for shelter. Hyrieus thought they were only three poor benighted travelers who had lost their way. But he was very good and charitable, so he asked them in and gave them the best fare he had--bread, roots, and wine--he himself waiting upon them, and trying to make them comfortable. He poured out a cup of wine, and offered it first to Neptune. But Neptune, instead of drinking it, rose from his seat and gave the cup to Jupiter, like a subject to a king who should be first served. You may not think there was much to notice in this; but Hyrieus noticed it, and then, looking intently upon the stranger to whom Neptune had given the cup, he was struck by a sudden religious awe that told him he was in the presence of the king and father of gods and men. He straightway fell on his knees and said:--

"I am poor and humble; but I have in my stall one ox to plough my field. I will gladly offer him up as a sacrifice for joy that Jupiter has thought me worthy to give him bread and wine."

"You are a good and pious man," said Jupiter. "Ask of us any gift you please, and it shall be yours."

"My wife is dead," said Hyrieus, "and I have vowed never to marry again. But let me have a child."

"Take the ox," said Jupiter, "and sacrifice him."

So Hyrieus, being full of faith, sacrificed his ox, and, at the bidding of Jupiter, buried the skin. And from that skin, and out of the ground, there grew a child, who was named Orion.

* * * * *

Orion grew and grew till he became a giant, of wonderful strength and splendid beauty. He took the most loving care of Hyrieus, and was the best of sons to him. But when the old man died, Orion went out into the world to seek his fortune. And the first service he found was that of Diana, the sister of Apollo, and queen and goddess of the Moon.

Diana, however, had a great deal to do besides looking after the moon. She was three goddesses in one--a goddess of the sky, a goddess of earth, and a goddess of Hades besides. In heaven she was called Luna, whose duty is to light the world when Apollo is off duty. In Hades she was called Hecate, who, with her scepter, rules the ghosts of dead souls. And on earth her name is Diana, the queen, of forests and mountains, of wild animals and hunters. She wears a crescent on her forehead and a quiver at her back; her limbs are bare, and she holds a bow, with which she shoots as well as her brother Apollo. Just as he is called Phœbus, so she is often called Phœbe. She goes hunting all night among the hills and woods, attended by the Nymphs and Oreads, of whom she is queen. There are not so many stories about her as about the other gods and goddesses, and yet she is really the most interesting of them all, as you will see some day.

This great strange goddess had sworn never to love or marry--had sworn it by Styx, I suppose. But Orion was so beautiful and so strong and so great a hunter that she went as near to loving him as she ever did to loving any one. She had him always with her, and could never bear him to leave her. But Orion never thought of becoming the husband of a goddess, and he fell in love with a mortal princess, the daughter of Œnopion, King of Chios, an island in the Ægean Sea.

When, however, he asked the king for his daughter, Œnopion was terribly frightened at the idea of having a giant for his son-in-law. But he dared not say "No." He answered him:--

"My kingdom is overrun with terrible wild beasts. I will give my daughter to the man who kills them all." He said this, feeling sure that any man who tried to kill all the wild beasts in Chios would himself be killed.

But Orion went out, and killed all the wild beasts in no time, with his club and his sword. Then Œnopion was still more afraid of him, and said:--

"You have won my daughter. But, before you marry her, let us drink together, in honor of this joyful day."

Orion, thinking no harm, went with Œnopion to the sea-shore, where they sat down and drank together. But Œnopion (whose name means "The Wine-Drinker") knew a great deal more about what wine will do, and how to keep sober, than Orion. So before long Orion fell asleep with the strong Chian wine, which the King had invented; and when Orion was sound asleep, Œnopion put out both his eyes.

The giant awoke to find himself blind, and did not know what to do or which way to go. But at last, in the midst of his despair, he heard the sound of a blacksmith's forge. Guided by the clang, he reached the place, and prayed the blacksmith to climb up on his shoulders, and so lend him his eyes to guide him.

The blacksmith consented, and seated himself on the giant's shoulder. Then said Orion:--

"Guide me to the place where I can see the first sunbeam that rises at daybreak in the east over the sea."

Orion strode out, and the blacksmith guided him, and at last they came to the place where the earliest sunbeam first strikes upon human eyes. It struck upon Orion's, and it gave him back his sight again. Then, thanking the blacksmith, he plunged into the sea to swim back to Diana.

* * * * *

Now Apollo had long noticed his sister's affection for Orion, and was very much afraid for fear she should break her vow against love and marriage. To break an oath would be a horrible thing for a goddess to do. While Orion was away, making love and killing wild beasts in Chios, there was no fear; but now he was coming back, there was no knowing what might happen. So he thought of a trick to get rid of Orion, and he said:--

"My sister, some people say that you can shoot as well as I can. Now, of course, that is absurd."

"Why absurd?" asked Diana. "I can shoot quite as well as you."

"We will soon see that," said Apollo. "Do you see that little dark speck out there, in the sea? I wager that you won't hit it, and that I can."

"We _will_ see," said Diana. So she drew her bow and shot her arrow at the little dark speck, that seemed dancing on the waves miles and miles away. To hit it seemed impossible. But Diana's arrow went true. The speck was hit--it sank, and rose no more.

It was the head of Orion, who was swimming back to Diana. She had been tricked into killing him with an arrow from her own bow. All she could do was to place him among the stars.

* * * * *

So her vow was kept; and from that time she never allowed herself to be seen by a man. Women may see her; but if men see her, they go mad or die. There is a terrible story of a hunter named Actæon, who once happened to catch a glimpse of her as she was bathing in a pool. She instantly turned him into a stag, so that his own dogs fell upon him and killed him. And another time, when she saw a shepherd named Endymion on Mount Latmos, and could not help wishing to kiss him for his beauty, she covered herself with clouds as she stooped, and threw him into a deep sleep, so that he might not see her face, or know that he had been kissed by the moon. Only from that hour he became a poet and a prophet, full of strange fancies; and it is said that every man becomes a madman or a poet who goes to sleep in the moonlight on the top of a hill. Diana comes and kisses him in his dreams.

MINERVA; OR, WISDOM.

One day Jupiter had a very bad headache. He had never had one before, so he did not know what it was or what to do. One god recommended one thing and another proposed another, and Jupiter tried them all; but the more things he tried the worse the headache grew. At last he said:--

"I can't stand this any more. Vulcan, bring your great sledge-hammer and split open my skull. Kill or cure."

Vulcan brought his sledge-hammer and split open Jupiter's skull with a single blow. And out there came a fine, full-grown goddess, clad in complete armor from head to foot, armed with a spear and shield, and with beautiful large blue eyes. She was Minerva (or, in Greek, Athene), the Wisdom that comes from Jupiter's brain, and makes it ache sometimes.

Minerva was wonderfully good as well as wonderfully wise: not that there is much difference between goodness and wisdom. She is the only goddess, or god either, who never did a foolish, an unkind, or a wrong thing. By the way, though, she once took it into her head that she could play the flute, and the gods laughed at her; but when she looked into a brook and saw what ugly faces she made when she played, she knew at once what made the gods laugh, laughed at herself, threw the flute away, and never played it again; so she was even wise enough not to be vain, or to think she could do well what she did badly.

The only bad thing about good people is that there are so few good stories to tell of them. She was Jupiter's favorite daughter, and no wonder; and she was the only one of all the gods and goddesses whom he allowed to use his thunder. She was the only one he could trust, I suppose. She was rather too fond of fighting, considering that she was a lady, but she was as good at her needle as her sword. She was so good at spinning, that a woman named Arachne, who was the best spinner and seamstress in the world, hanged herself in despair because she could not spin a web so neatly and finely as Minerva. The goddess turned her into a spider, who is still the finest spinner in the world, next to Minerva alone.

Once the people of Attica wanted a name for their capital, which they had just been building. They asked the gods, and the gods in council decreed that the new city should be named by the god who should give the most useful new present to mankind. Neptune struck the earth with his trident, and out sprang the horse, and nobody thought that his gift could be beaten. But Minerva planted the olive, which is the plant of peace. So the gods gave the honor of naming the new city to Minerva, because the emblem of peace is better than the horse, who is the emblem of war. The name she gave was from her own--Athenæ; and the city is called Athens to this day. The Athenians always paid their chief worship to their goddess-godmother.

* * * * *

Minerva was very handsome, but rather manly-looking for a goddess, and grave; her most famous feature was her blue eyes. "The Blue-eyed Maid" is one of her most usual titles in poetry. She wore a large helmet with waving plumes; in one hand she held a spear; on her left arm she carried the shield on which was the head of the Gorgon Medusa, with living snakes darting from it. But sometimes she carried a distaff instead of a spear. The olive was of course sacred to her, and her favorite bird is the owl, who is always called the Bird of Wisdom.

VENUS.