Chapter 14

between man and angels, as his song must now change to a tragic note, because vile distrust has entered Paradise. Then he describes how Satan, driven away from Eden by Gabriel, circles around the earth seven days and nights without rest, and at the end of that time re-enters Paradise, by means of an underground river and in the guise of a mist. Then, perched as a bird upon the tree of knowledge of good and evil, Satan decides to approach our first parents in the guise of a loathsome serpent and seek his revenge, although fully aware the consequences will recoil upon himself. Next, finding a serpent asleep, Satan enters it, and meanders along the paths of Paradise, hoping to find Adam and Eve apart, for he deems it will be easier to work his ends on one at a time.

Morning having come, Adam and Eve awake, and after their usual song of praise set out to attend the garden. But Eve insists that as long as they are together they allow themselves to be distracted from their labors, and proposes that they work independently until the noon hour brings them together to share their simple repast. Although reluctant at first to be parted from his beloved, Adam, hearing her exclaim he does not trust her, yields to her pleading. Thus, the serpent, ranging through the garden, perceives Eve alone among the roses, and rejoices to think he can make his first attempt upon what he rightly deems the weaker vessel. Although not without compunction, he wends his way toward her and startles her by addressing her in a human voice. When she inquires how it happens a beast can communicate with her, the serpent rejoins that, although at first speechless like other beasts, he no sooner tasted a certain fruit than he was gifted with greater knowledge than he had yet enjoyed and endowed with the power of speech. Deeming the fruit of such a tree might have equally beneficial effects upon her and make her more nearly equal to her consort, Eve longs to partake of it too, and readily follows her guide to the centre of the garden. But, when the serpent points out the forbidden tree, Eve prepares to withdraw, until the tempter assures her God's prohibition was not intended to be obeyed. He argues that, although he has tasted the fruit he continues to live and has obtained new faculties, and by this specious reasoning induces Eve to pluck and eat the fruit. As it touches her lips nature gives "signs of woe," and the guilty serpent links back into the thicket, leaving Eve to gorge upon the fruit whose taste affords her keener delight than she ever experienced before. In laudatory terms she now promises to care for the tree, and then wonders whether Adam will perceive any difference in her, and whether it will be wise to impart to him the happiness she has tasted. Although at first doubtful, Eve, fearing lest death may ensue and Adam replace her by another partner, determines to induce her husband to share this food too, for she loves Adam too dearly to live without him.

"Confirmed then I resolve, Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe: So dear I love him, that with him all deaths I could endure, without him live no life."

This decision reached, Eve hastens to Adam, and volubly explains that the tree is not what God depicted, for the serpent, having tasted of its fruit, has been endowed with eloquence so persuasive that he has induced her to taste it too. Horror-stricken, Adam wails his wife is lost; then he wonders how he will be able to exist without her, and is amazed to think she should have yielded to the very first onslaught of their foe. But, after this first outburst of grief, he vows he will share her doom and die with her. Having made a decision so flattering to Eve, he accepts the fruit which she tenders, and nature again shudders, for Adam, although not deceived, yields to temptation because of his love for Eve. No sooner have both fed upon the tree than its effects become patent, for it kindles within them the never-before-experienced sense of lust. The couple therefore emerge on the morrow from their bower, their innocence lost, and overwhelmed, for the first time in their lives, by a crushing sense of shame. Good and evil being equally well known to him, Adam reproaches his wife, wailing that never more shall they behold the face of God and suggests that they weave leaf-garments to hide their nakedness. So the first couple steal into the thicket to fashion fig-leaf girdles, which they bind about them, reviling each other for having forfeited their former happy estate.

_Book X._ Meantime, Eve's fall has been duly reported in heaven by the angelic guards, whom the Almighty reassures, saying he knew the Evil Spirit would succeed and man would fall. Then the same voice decrees that, as man has transgressed, his sentence shall be pronounced, and that the one best fitted for such a task is the Son, man's mediator Ready to do his Father's will in heaven as upon earth, the Son departs, promising to temper justice with mercy, so that God's goodness will be made manifest, and adding that the doom of the absent Satan shall also be pronounced.

Escorted to the gates of heaven by the angelic host, the Redeemer descends alone to earth, where he arrives in the garden in the cool of the evening. At his summons Adam and Eve emerge from their hiding-place, and, when Adam shamefacedly claims they hid because they were naked, his maker demonstrates how his very words convict him of guilt, and inquires whether they have eaten of the forbidden fruit. Unable to deny his transgression, Adam states he is in a quandary, for he must either accuse himself wrongfully or lay the guilt upon the wife whom it is his duty to protect. When he adds that the woman gave him the fruit whereof he did eat, the judge sternly demands whether Adam was bound to obey his consort, reminding him that woman was made subject to man and declaring that by yielding to Eve's persuasions he incurred equal guilt. Then, turning to the woman, the judge demands what she had done, and Eve, abashed, confesses the serpent beguiled her until she ate. Having thus heard both culprits, the judge pronounces sentence upon the serpent in veiled terms, for, as yet, man is not to understand what is divinely planned. Then, having disposed of the archenemy, he predicts Eve will bring forth her children in suffering and will be subject to her husband's will, ere he informs Adam that henceforth he will have to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow, for the earth will no longer bear fruit for him without labor. Having thus pronounced his judgment, the judge postpones the penalty of death indefinitely, and taking pity upon our first parents, clothes them in the skins of beasts, to enable them to bear the harsher air to which they are soon to be exposed.

Meantime Sin and Death peer forth through hell's open gateway, hoping to each some glimpse of returning Satan. Weary of waiting, Sin finally suggests to Death the folly of remaining idle, since Satan cannot fail to succeed, and proposes that they follow him over the abyss, building as they go a road to facilitate intercourse hereafter between hell and earth. This proposal charms Death, whose keen nostrils already descry the smell of mortal change, and who longs to reach earth and prey upon all living creatures. These two terrible shapes, therefore, venture out through the waste, and by making "the hard soft and the soft hard," they fashion of stone and asphalt a broad highway from the gates of hell to the confines of the newly created world.

They have barely finished this causeway when Satan--still in the likeness of an angel--comes flying toward them, for after seducing Eve he has lurked in the garden until from a safe hiding-place he heard the threefold sentence pronounced by the judge. He too does not grasp his doom, but, realizing that humanity is in his power, is hastening back to Hades to make the joyful fact known. On encountering Sin and Death, Satan congratulates them upon their engineering skill and sends them on to work their will in the world, while he speeds along the path they have made to tell the fallen angels all that has occurred. In obedience to his orders a number of these are mounting guard, but Satan, in the guise of a ministering spirit, passes through their midst unheeded, and only after entering Pandemonium allows his native majesty to shine forth. On becoming aware he is once more present, the demons welcome him with a mighty shout. Then by an impressive gesture Satan imposes silence and describes his journey, his success, and the ease with which they can pass to and fro now that Sin and Death have paved their way. To satisfy their curiosity he further depicts by what means he tempted woman, and, although he admits he was cursed as well as the fallen, does not appear dismayed. Raising their voices to applaud him, his adherents are now surprised to hear themselves hiss, and to discover they have all been transformed into snakes. Then Satan himself, in the form of a dragon, guides them to a grove near by, where they climb the trees and greedily feed on apples of Sodom, which offend their taste, a performance to be renewed yearly on the anniversary of the temptation.

Meanwhile, Sin and Death having entered Paradise,--where they are not yet allowed to touch human beings,--lay low herbs, fruit, flowers, and beasts, all of which are now their legitimate prey. Pointing out their ravages, the Almighty explains that, had man not disobeyed, these despoilers would never have preyed upon the newly created world, where they are now to have full sway until the Son hurls them back into Hades. On hearing these words, the angels praise the ways of the Almighty, which are ever just, and laud his Son as the destined restorer of mankind. While they are thus employed, the Almighty directs some of his attendants to move the sun, so as to subject the earth to alternate cold and heat, thus making winter follow summer. The planets, too, are to shed malignant influences upon the earth, whose axle is slightly turned, while violent winds cause devastation, and enmity is kindled between creatures which have hitherto lived in peace. Adam, on perceiving these changes, becomes conscious they are the effect of his transgression, and is plunged in such grief that God's order to increase and multiply seems horrible. In his grief he murmurs aloud, but, after a while, realizing he was left free to choose between good and evil, he acknowledges his punishment is just. The fact that God does not immediately visit upon him the penalty he has incurred does not, however, comfort him, because he longs for death to end his sorrows. On seeing her husband's grief, Eve now volunteers to go in quest of their judge, imploring him to visit upon her alone the penalty of sin. Her readiness to sacrifice herself touches Adam, who replies that, since they are one, they must share what awaits them. When Eve intimates that, since they are doomed, it will be well never to bear any children, Adam reminds her it is only through repentance they can appease their judge, and bids her not scorn life or its pleasures.

_Book XI._ Having reached this state of humility and repentance, our first parents are viewed compassionately by the Redeemer, who, gathering up their prayers, presents them to the Father as the first-fruits which have sprung from his mercy.

"See, Father, what first-fruits on earth are sprung From thy implanted grace in man; these sighs And prayers, which in this golden censer, mixed With incense, I thy priest before thee bring, Fruits of more pleasing savor, from thy seed Sown with contrition in his heart, than those Which his own hand, manuring all the trees Of Paradise, could have produced, ere fallen From innocence."

In reply to the touching pleas of this advocate, the heavenly Father promises the culprits shall be forgiven, provided their repentance is sincere, but insists that meantime they be ejected from Paradise. Michael and the cherubs chosen for this office are instructed to mount guard day and night, lest the fiend return to Paradise, or the human pair re-enter and partake of the tree of life and thus escape the penalty of death. But, before driving out our first parents, Michael is to reveal to Adam all that awaits his race in the future, emphasizing the promise that salvation shall come through his seed. These orders received, the archangel wends his way down to earth, where, dawn having appeared, Adam and Eve once more issue from their bower.

Night has brought some comfort, and Adam exclaims that, since the penalty of death is to be postponed, they must show their penitence by laboring hard, working henceforth side by side as contentedly as their fallen state will allow. On the way to the scene of their wonted labors they notice an eagle pursuing another bird and see wild beasts hunting one another. Besides these ominous signs Adam, descrying a bright light travelling rapidly toward them, informs Eve some message is on its way. He is not mistaken, for Michael soon emerges from this cloud of light so, while Eve hurries off to prepare for his entertainment Adam steps forward to receive him.

Clad in celestial panoply, the angel announces he has been sent to inform Adam that although the penalty of death is indefinitely postponed, he is no longer to inhabit Paradise, but is to go forth into the world and till the ground from whence he sprang. Horror-stricken at these tidings, Adam remains mute, and Eve, hearing the decree from a distance, wails aloud at the thought of leaving home. To comfort her, the angel bids her dry her tears and follow her husband, making her home wherever he abides. Then Adam wonders whether by incessant prayer and penitence the Almighty could be induced to alter his decree and let them remain in Paradise, saying he hoped to point out to his descendants the places where he met and conversed with his Maker. But Michael rejoining he will find God everywhere invites Adam to follow him to the top of a neighboring hill, explaining he has enveloped Eve in slumbers, which will hold her entranced while he reveals to Adam the earth's kingdoms and their glory.

"Know I am sent To show thee what shall come in future days To thee and to thy offspring; good with bad Expect to hear, supernal grace contending With sinfulness of men; thereby to learn True patience, and to temper joy with fear, And pious sorrow, equally inured By moderation either state to bear, Prosperous or adverse: so shalt thou lead Safest thy life, and best prepared endure Thy mortal passage when it comes. Ascend This hill; let Eve (for I have drenched her eyes) Here sleep below, while thou to foresight wakest. As once thou slept'st, while she to life was formed."

From a hill in Paradise,--after purging Adam's eyes with three drops of water from the well of life,--Michael vouchsafes him a glimpse of all that is to take place upon our earth. Thus, Cain and Abel first pass before their father's eyes, but death is so unintelligible to Adam that the angel has to explain what it means. Overwhelmed at the thought that so awful a thing has come into the world through his transgression, Adam is further horrified when the angel reveals all the suffering which will visit mankind, explaining that, since much of it will be due to evil living, it behooves Adam to observe temperance in food and drink. But he warns him that, in spite of all precautions, old age will come upon him as a precursor of death. In a panorama Adam sees all that is to occur until the Deluge, and, watching Noah construct the ark, wails because his progeny is to be destroyed by the flood. The angel, however, demonstrates that the righteous will be saved and that from them will descend a race more willing to obey God's commands. The dove and the rainbow, therefore, instil comfort into Adam's heart, as does God's promise that day and night, seedtime and harvest shall hold their course until new heavens and earth appear wherein the just shall dwell.

_Book XII._ Having depicted a world destroyed and foreshadowed a world restored, the angel shows Adam how man will migrate to a plain, where by means of bricks and bitumen an attempt will be made to erect a tower to reach heaven. When Adam expresses displeasure that one of his race should defy God, Michael assures him he rightly abhors disobedience, and comforts him by revealing how one righteous man, in whose "seed all nations shall be blest," is to be brought out of that country into the Promised Land.

Not only does the angel name Abraham, but depicts his life, the captivity in Egypt, the exodus, and the forty years in the desert. He also vouchsafes to Adam a glimpse of Moses on Mount Sinai receiving the tables of the law, and appointing the worship which the Chosen People are to offer to their Creator. When Adam wonders at the number of laws, Michael rejoins that sin has many faces, and that until blood more precious than that of the prescribed sacrifices has been shed, no suitable atonement can be made.

After describing how under the Judges and then under the Kings the people of Israel will continue their career the angel designates David as the ancestor of the Messiah, whose coming will be heralded by a star which will serve as guide to eastern sages. He adds that this Messiah will descend from the Most High by a virgin mother, that his reign will extend over all the earth, and that, by bruising the serpent's head, he will conquer Sin and Death. This promise fills Adam's heart with joy, because it partly explains the mysterious prophecy, but, when he inquires how the serpent can wound such a victor's heel, Michael rejoins that, in order to overcome Satan, the Messiah will incur the penalty of death, revealing how, after living hated and blasphemed, he will prove by his death and resurrection that Sin and Death have no lasting power over those who believe in his name. Full of joy at the promise that the Messiah will lead all ransomed souls to a happier Paradise than the one he has forfeited, Adam declares since such good is to proceed from the evil he has done he doubts whether he should repent.

Between the death of Christ and his second coming, the angel adds that the Comforter will dwell upon earth with those who love their Redeemer, helping them resist the onslaughts of Satan, and that in spite of temptation many righteous will ultimately reach heaven, to take the place of the outcast angels.

"Till the day Appear of respiration to the just, And vengeance to the wicked, at return Of him so lately promised to thy aid, The woman's Seed, obscurely then foretold, Now amplier known thy Saviour and thy Lord, Last in the clouds from heaven to be revealed In glory of the Father, to dissolve Satan with his perverted world, then raise From the conflagrant mass, purged and refined, New heavens, new earth, ages of endless date Founded in righteousness and peace and love, To bring forth fruits, joy, and eternal bliss."

These instructions finished, the angel bids Adam not seek to know any more, enjoining upon him to add deeds to knowledge, to cultivate patience, temperance, and love, promising, if he obeys, that Paradise will reign in his heart. Then pointing out that the guards placed around Eden are waving their flashing swords and that it is time to awaken Eve, he bids Adam gradually impart to her all that he has learned through angelic revelations. When they rejoin Eve, she explains how God sent her a dream which has soothed her heart and filled it with hope, making her realize that, although she has sinned and is unworthy, through her seed all shall be blessed.

Then the angel takes Adam and Eve by the hand and leads them out by the eastern gate into the world. Gazing backward, our first parents catch their last glimpse of Paradise and behold at the gate the angel with a flaming sword. Thus, hand in hand, dropping natural tears, they pass out into the world to select their place of rest, having Providence only for their guide.

PARADISE REGAINED

Having sung of Paradise Lost, Milton proposes as theme for a new epic "Paradise Regained." In it he purports to sing of "deeds heroic although in secret done" and to describe how Christ was led into the wilderness to be tempted by Satan.

_Book I._ While baptizing in the Jordan, John suddenly beheld Christ approaching, and, although he at first demurred, yielded at last to his request to baptize him too. While the Baptist was doing this, a heavenly voice proclaimed Christ Son of God. This was heard not only by John and his disciples, but also by the adversary, who, ever since the fall, had been roaming around the world, and who for years past has been closely watching the promised Redeemer in hopes of defeating his ends.

Suddenly realizing that the conflict between them is about to begin, Satan hastens back to Hades to take counsel with his crew. When all are assembled, he reminds them how long they have ruled the earth, adding that the time has come when their power may be wrested from them and the curse spoken in Eden fulfilled. He fears Jesus is the promised Messiah, owing to his miraculous birth, to the testimony of the precursor, and to the heavenly voice when he was baptized. Besides he has recognized in Christ's lineaments the imprint of the Father's glory, and avers that, unless they can counteract and defeat the Son's ends, they will forfeit all they have gained. Realizing, however, that this task is far greater than the one he undertook centuries before,--when he winged his way through chaos to discover the new world and tempt our first parents,--he volunteers to undertake it in person, and all the evil spirits applaud him. This settled, Satan departs to carry out the second temptation.

Meantime another assembly has been held in heaven, where, addressing the archangel Gabriel, the Almighty informs him he will soon see the fulfilment of the message he bore some thirty years previously to Mary. He adds that his Son, whom he has publicly recognized, is about to be tempted by Satan, who, although he failed in the case of Job, is undertaking this new task confident of success. The Almighty also predicts that Satan will again be defeated, but declares Christ is as free to yield or resist as Adam when first created, and that before sending him out to encounter Sin and Death he means to strengthen him by a sojourn in the desert. On hearing that Satan's evil plans will be frustrated, the angels burst into a hymn of triumph with which heaven resounds.

So spake the eternal Father, and all Heaven Admiring stood a space; then into hymns Burst forth, and in celestial measures moved, Circling the throne and singing, while the hand Sung with the voice; and this the argument: "Victory and triumph to the Son of God Now entering his great duel, not of arms, But to vanquish by wisdom hellish wiles. The Father knows the Son; therefore secure Ventures his filial virtue, though untried, Against whate'er may tempt, whate'er seduce, Allure, or terrify, or undermine. Be frustrate, all ye stratagems of Hell, And devilish machinations come to nought."

During this time the Son of God, after lingering three days by the Jordan, is driven by the Holy Spirit into the wilderness, where he spends his time meditating upon the great office he had undertaken as Saviour of mankind. In a grand soliloquy we hear how since early youth he has been urged onward by divine and philosophical influences, and how, realizing he was born to further truth, he has diligently studied the law of God. Thanks to these studies, our Lord at twelve could measure his learning with that of the rabbis in the temple. Ever since that time he has longed to rescue his people from the Roman yoke, to end brutality, to further all that is good, and to win all hearts to God. He recalls the stories his mother told him in regard to the annunciation, to his virgin birth, and to the Star of Bethlehem, and comments upon the fact that the precursor immediately recognized him and that a voice from heaven hailed him as the Son of God!

Although Christ realizes he has been sent into the wilderness by divine power, and that his future way lies "through many a hard assay" and may lead even to death, he does not repine. Instead he spends the forty days in the wilderness fasting, preparing himself for the great work which he is called upon to accomplish, and paying no heed to the wild beasts which prowl around him without doing him any harm.

It is only when weakness has reached its highest point and when Christ begins to hunger, that Satan approaches him in the guise of an old peasant, pathetically describing the difficulty of maintaining life in the wilderness. Then he adds that, having seen Jesus baptized in the Jordan he begs him to turn the stones around him into food, thereby relieving himself and his wretched fellow-sufferer from the pangs of hunger.

"But, if thou be the Son of God, command That out of these hard stones be made thee bread; So shalt thou save thyself and us relieve With food, whereof we wretched seldom taste."

Jesus, however, merely reproaches the tempter, rejoining, "Man shall not live by bread alone, but from the words which proceed out of the mouth of God," and explaining that he knows who Satan is and for what purpose he has been sent hither. Unable to conceal his identity any longer, the evil spirit admits he has come straight from hell, but adds that God gave him power to test Job and to punish Ahab. He argues that the Almighty, who fed the Israelites with manna and supplied Elijah with miraculous food, does not intend to starve his only Son. Then, expressing admiration for Jesus' intellect, Satan explains he is not the foe of man, since through him he has gained everything, and whom he prides himself upon having often helped by oracles and omen. In spite of these arguments, Jesus refuses to listen to him, declares his oracles have lost all power, and adds that he is sent to execute his Father's will.

"God hath now sent his living oracle Into the world to teach his final will, And sends his Spirit of truth henceforth to dwell In pious hearts, an inward oracle To all truth requisite for men to know."

Thus baffled, Satan vanishes into "thin air diffused," and night steals over the desert, where fowls seek their nests while the wild beasts begin to roam in search of food.

_Book II._ John the Baptist and his disciples, made anxious by Jesus' long absence, now begin to seek him as the prophets sought Elijah, fearing lest he too may have been caught up into heaven. Hearing Simon and Andrew wonder where he has gone and what he is doing, Mary relates the extraordinary circumstances which accompanied her Son's birth, mentioning the flight into Egypt, the return to Nazareth, and sundry other occurrences during the youth of our Lord. She declares that, ever since Gabriel's message fell upon her ear, she has been trying to prepare herself for the fulfilment of a promise then made her, and has often wondered what Simeon meant when he cried that a sword would pierce her very soul! Still, she recalls how at twelve years of age, she grieved over the loss of her Son, until she found him in the temple, when he excused himself by stating he must be about his Father's business. Ever since then Mary has patiently awaited what is to come to pass, realizing the child she bore is destined to great things.

Thus Mary pondering oft, and oft to mind Recalling what remarkably had passed Since first her salutation heard, with thoughts Meekly composed awaited fulfilling.

Satan, having hastened back to the infernal regions, reports the ill success of his first venture, and the effect his first temptation had upon our Lord. Feeling at a loss, he invites the demons to assist him with their counsel, warning them this task will prove far more difficult than that of leading Adam astray. Belial, the most dissolute spirit in hell, then proposes that Satan tempt Jesus with women, averring that the female sex possesses so many wiles that even Solomon, wisest of kings, succumbed. But Satan scornfully rejects this proposal, declaring that He whom they propose thus to tempt is far wiser than Solomon and has a much more exalted mind. Although certain Christ will prove impervious to the bait of sense, Satan surmises that, owing to a prolonged fast, he may be susceptible to the temptation of hunger, so, taking a select band of spirits, he returns to the desert to renew his attempts in a different form.

Transferring us again to the solitude, the poet describes how our Saviour passed the night dreaming of Elijah fed by the ravens and of Daniel staying his hunger with pulse Awakened at last by the song of the larks, our Lord rises from his couch on the hard ground, and, strolling into fertile valley, encounters Satan, who, superbly dressed, expresses surprise he should receive no aid in the wilderness when Hagar, the Israelites, and Elijah were all fed by divine intervention. Then Satan exhibits the wonderful banquet he has prepared, inviting Christ to partake of it; but the Son of God haughtily informs him he can obtain food whenever he wishes, and hence need not accept what he knows is offered with evil intent. Seeing our Lord cannot be assailed on the ground of appetite, Satan causes the banquet to vanish, but remains to tempt Christ with an offer of riches, artfully setting forth the power that can be acquired by their means. He adds, since Christ's mind is set on high designs, he will require greater wealth than stands at the disposal of the Son of Joseph the carpenter. But, although Satan offers to bestow vast treasures upon him, Christ rejects this proffer too, describing what noble deeds have been achieved by poor men such as Gideon, Jephtha, and David, as well as by certain Romans. He adds that riches often mislead their possessor, and so eloquently describes the drawbacks of wealth that Satan realizes it is useless to pursue this attempt.

_Book III._ Again complimenting Christ on his acumen, Satan rehearses the great deeds performed by Philip of Macedon and by Julius Caesar, who began their glorious careers earlier in life than he. Then, hoping to kindle in Jesus' heart a passion for worldly glory, Satan artfully relates that Caesar wept because he had lived so long without distinguishing himself; but our Lord quietly demonstrates the futility of earthly fame, compared to real glory, which is won only through religious patience and virtuous striving, such as was practiced by Job and Socrates. When Christ repeats he is not seeking his own glory but that of the Father who sent him, Satan reminds him God is surrounded with splendor and that it behooves his Son to strive to be like him. But Jesus rejoins that, while glory is the essential attribute of the Creator, no one else has a right to aspire to anything of the sort.

Undeterred by these checks, Satan changes his theme, and reminds Christ that, as a member of the royal family, he is not only entitled to the throne, but expected to free Judea from Roman oppression. He states that the holy temple has been defiled, that injustice has been committed, and urges that even the Maccabees resorted to arms to free their country. Although Christ insists no such mission has been appointed for him, he adds that, although his reign will never end, it will be only those who can suffer best who will be able to enjoy it.

"Who best Can suffer, best can do; best reign, who first Well hath obeyed; just trial ere I merit My exaltation without change or end."

Then, turning upon his interlocutor, Christ inquires why he is so anxious to promote the one whose rise will entail his fall? To which Satan replies that, having no hope, it little behooves him to obstruct the plans of Christ, from whose benevolence alone he expects some mitigation of his punishment, for he fancies that by speaking thus he can best induce Christ to hear him. Then, feigning to believe that Christ has refused his offers simply because he has never seen aught save Jerusalem, Satan conveys him in the twinkling of an eye to the summit of a mountain, whence, pointing eastward, he shows him all the great kingdoms of Asia. Thus, he reveals the glories of Assyria, Babylonia, and Persia,--of whose histories he gives a brief résumé,--before pointing out a large Parthian army setting out to war against the Scythians, for he hopes by this martial display to convince Christ that, in order to obtain a kingdom, he will have to resort to military force. Then he adds he can easily enlist the services of this army, with which Christ can drive the Romans out of Judea, and triumphantly reign over the land of his ancestors, whence his glory will extend far and wide, until it far surpasses all that Rome and Caesar achieved. Jesus, however, demonstrates the vanity of all military efforts, declaring his time has not yet come, but assuring him he will not be found wanting when the moment comes for him to ascend the throne, for he hopes to prove an able ruler.

Then he reminds Satan how he tempted David to take a census against God's wish, and led Israel astray, until the Ten Tribes were taken off into captivity in punishment for their idolatry. He also comments upon Satan's extraordinary anxiety to restore the very people whose foe he has always been, as he has proved time and again by leading them into idolatry, adding that God may yet restore them to their liberty and to their native land. These arguments silence even Satan, for such is ever the result when "with truth falsehood contends."

_Book IV._ With all the persistency of his kind, Satan refuses to acknowledge himself beaten, and, leading Christ to the western side of the mountain, reveals to him all the splendor of Rome, exhibiting its Capitol, Tarpeian Rock, triumphal arches, and the great roads along which hosts are journeying to the Eternal City. After thus dazzling him, Satan suggests that Christ oust Tiberius (who has no son) from the imperial throne, and make himself master not only of David's realm, but of the whole Roman Empire, establishing law and order where vice now reigns.

Although Satan eagerly proffers his aid to accomplish all this, our Lord rejoins such a position has no attraction for him, adding that, as long as the Romans were frugal, mild, and temperate, they were happy, but that, when they became avaricious and brutal, they forfeited their happiness. He adds that he has not been sent to free the Romans, but that, when his season comes to sit on David's throne, his rule will spread over the whole world and will dwell there without end.

"Know, therefore, when my season comes to sit On David's throne, it shall be like a tree Spreading and overshadowing all the earth, Or as a stone that shall to pieces dash All monarchies besides throughout the world, And of my kingdom there shall be no end: Means there shall be to this, but what the means Is not for thee to know nor me to tell."

Pretending that Christ's reluctance is due to the fact that he shrinks from the exertions necessary to obtain this boon Satan offers to bestow it freely upon him, provided he will fall down and worship him. Hearing this proposal, Christ rebukes the tempter, saying, "Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God and only him shalt serve," and reviling him for his ingratitude. To pacify his interlocutor, Satan then proposes to make him famous through wisdom, and exhibits Athens,--that celebrated centre of ancient learning--offering to make him master of all its schools of philosophy, oratory, and poetry, and thus afford him ample intellectual gratification. But Jesus rejects this offer also, after proving the vanity and insufficiency of heathen philosophy and learning, and after demonstrating that many books are a weariness to the flesh, and that none compare with those which are the proudest boast of God's Chosen People.

"However, many books, Wise men have said, are wearisome: who reads Incessantly, and to his reading brings not A spirit and judgment equal or superior (And what he brings, what needs he elsewhere seek?), Uncertain and unsettled still remains, Beep versed in books and shallow in himself, Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge; As children gathering pebbles on the shore."

Irritated by the failure of all his attempts, Satan next taunts his opponent by describing the sufferings and humiliations he will have to undergo, until, seeing this too has no effect, he suddenly bears him back to the wilderness, where he leaves him for the night, during which he sends a terrific storm to appall him. Even in sleep Jesus is haunted by dreams and spectres sent by the tempter, but at dawn all these visions disappear, the storm dies down, and a lovely morning greets him when he awakes. Once more Satan appears to warn our Lord that the dreams of the night and the horrors of the tempest were foreshadowings of what he will have to undergo. In spite of this, Christ assures him he is toiling in vain; whereupon swollen with rage, Satan confesses that ever since he heard Gabriel's announcement to the shepherds in regard to Christ's birth, he has watched him, hoping to get some hold upon him during his infancy, youth, or early manhood. He now inquires whether Christ is really his destined foe and reluctantly admits he has failed in all his endeavors to tempt him. But one last test still remains to be tried, for Satan suddenly conveys Christ to the topmost pinnacle of the Temple of Jerusalem, bidding him demonstrate his divinity by fearlessly casting himself down, since God has "given his angels charge concerning him."

Not only, does our Lord reprove the tempter, but so calmly manifests his divine power by standing erect on this dangerous point, that Satan--like all other defeated monsters, such as the Sphinx--falls howling down into the infernal regions. At the same time angels convey our Lord to a lovely valley, where they minister unto him with celestial food and celebrate his victory with a triumphal hymn, for the Son of God has successfully resisted the tempter, before whom Adam succumbed, and has thereby saved man from the penalty of his sin.

Henceforth Satan will never again dare set foot in Paradise, where Adam and his chosen descendants are to dwell secure, while the Son of Man completes the work he has been sent to do.

Thus they the Son of God, our Saviour meek, Sung victor, and from heavenly feast refreshed Brought on his way with joy; he unobserved Home to his mother's private house returned.

GERMAN EPICS

German literature begins after the great migrations (_circa_ 600), and its earliest samples are traditional songs of an epic character, like the Hildebrandslied. Owing to diversities of race and speech, there are in southern and northern Germany various epic cycles which cluster around such heroes as Ermanrich the Goth, Dietrich von Bern, Theodoric the East Goth, Attila the Hun, Gunther the Burgundian, Otfried the Langobardian, and Sigfried--perchance a Frisian, or, as some authorities claim, the famous Arminius who triumphed over the Romans.

The Hildebrandslied relates how Hildebrand, after spending thirty years in Hungary, returns to North Italy, leaving behind him a wife and infant son Hadubrand. A false rumor of Hildebrand's death reaches Hungary when Hadubrand has achieved great renown as a warrior, so, when in quest for adventure the young man meets his father, he deems him an impostor and fights with him until the poem breaks off, leaving us uncertain whether father or son was victorious. But later poets, such as Kaspar von der Rhön, give the story a happy ending, thus avoiding the tragic note struck in Sorab and Rustem (p. 410).

There existed so many of these ancient epic songs that Charlemagne undertook to collect them, but Louis I, his all too pious son, destroyed this collection on his accession to the throne, because, forsooth, these epics glorified the pagan gods his ancestors had worshipped!

Still not all the Teutonic epics are of pagan origin, for in the second period we find such works as Visions of Judgment (Muspilli), Lives of Saints, and biblical narratives like Heliant (the Saviour), Judith, the Exodus, der Krist by Otfried, and monkish-political works like the Ludwigslied, or history of the invasion of the Normans. There is also the epic of Walter von Aquitanien, which, although written in Latin, shows many traces of German origin.

In Walther von Aquitanien we have an epic of the Burgundian-Hunnish cycle written by Ekkehard of St. Gall before 973. It relates the escape of Walther von Aquitanien and his betrothed Hildegund from the court of Attila, where the young man was detained as a hostage. After describing their preparations for flight, their method of travel and camping, the poet relates how they were overtaken in the Vosges Mountains by a force led by Gunther and Hagen, who wish to secure the treasures they are carrying. Warned in time by Hildegund,--who keeps watch while he sleeps,--Walther dons his armor, and single-handed disposes of many foes. When Gunther Hagen, and Walther alone survive, although sorely disabled, peace is concluded, and the lovers resume their journey and reach Aquitania safely, where they reign happily thirty years.

In the third period "the crusades revived the epic memories of Charlemagne and Roland and of the triumphs of Alexander," thus giving birth to a Rolandslied and an Alexanderlied, as well as to endless chivalrie epics, or romances in verse and prose.

The Rolandslied--an art epic--gives the marriage and banishment of Charlemagne's sister Bertha, the birth of Roland, the manner in which he exacted tribute from his playmates to procure clothes, his first appearance in his uncle's palace, his bold seizure of meat and drink from the royal table to satisfy his mother's needs, Charlemagne's forgiveness of his sister for the sake of her spirited boy, the episode regarding the giant warrior in the Ardennes, the fight with Oliver, the ambush at Roncevaux, and end with Roland's death and the punishment of the traitor Ganelon. But later legends claim that Roland, recovering from the wounds received at Roncevaux, returned to Germany and to his fiancée Aude, who, deeming him dead, had meantime taken the veil. We next have Roland's sorrow, the construction of his hermitage at Rolandseek, [24] whence he continually overlooks the island of Nonnenwörth and the convent where his beloved is wearing her life away in prayers for his soul. This cycle concludes with Roland's death and burial on this very spot, his face still turned toward the grave where his sweetheart rests.

In the Langobardian cycle[25] also is the tale of "Rother," supposed to be Charlemagne's grandfather, one of the court epics of the Lombard cycle. In King Rother we have the abduction by Rother of the emperor's daughter, her recovery by her father, and Rother's pursuit and final reconquest of his wife. The next epic in the cycle, "Otnit," related the marriage of this king to a heathen princess, her father's gift of dragon's eggs, and the hatching of these monsters, which ultimately cause the death of Otnit and infest Teutonic lands with their progeny. Then come the legends of Hug-Dietrich and Wolf-Dietrich, which continue the Lombard cycle and pursue the adventures of Otnit to his death.

The legend of Herzog Ernst is still popular, and relates how a duke of Bavaria once made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and lived through endless thrilling adventures on the way.

The greatest of all the German epics is undoubtedly the Nibelungenlied,--of which we give a synopsis,--which is often termed the Iliad of Germany, while "Gudrun" is considered its Odyssey. This folk epic relates how Hagan, son of a king, was carried off at seven years of age by a griffin. But, before the monster or its young could devour him, the sturdy child effected his escape into the wilderness, where he grew up with chance-found companions. Rescued finally by a passing ship, these young people are threatened with slavery, but spared so sad a fate thanks to Hagan's courage. Hagan now returns home, becomes king, and has a child, whose daughter Gudrun is carried away from father and lover by a prince of Zealand. On his way home, the kidnapper is overtaken by his pursuers and wages a terrible battle on the Wülpensand, wherein he proves victorious. But the kidnapper cannot induce Gudrun to accept his attentions, although he tries hard to win her love. His mother, exasperated by this resistance finally undertakes to force Gudrun to submit by dint of hardships, and even sends her out barefoot in the snow to do the family washing. While thus engaged, Gudrun and her faithful companion are discovered by the princess' brother and lover, who arrange the dramatic rescue of the damsels, whom they marry.[26]

Next in order come the philosophic epics of Wolfram von Eschenbach, including the immortal Parzifal--which has been used by Tennyson and Wagner in their poems and opera--and the poetic tales of Gottfried of Strassburg, whose Tristan und Isolde, though unfinished, is a fine piece of work. Hartmann von der Aue is author of Erek und Enide,--the subject of Tennyson's poem,--of Der arme Heinrich,--which served as foundation for Longfellow's Golden Legend,--and of Iwein or the Knight with the Lion.

Among the Minnesingers of greatest note are Walther von der Vogelweide, Wolfram von Eschenbach, and later, when their head-quarters were at Nüremberg, Hans Sachs. Their favorite themes were court epics, dealing especially with the legends of Arthur, of the Holy Grail, and of Charles the Great. Many of these epics are embodied in the Heldenbuch, or Book of Heroes, compiled in the fifteenth century by Kaspar von der Rhön, while the Abenteuerbuch contains many of these legends as well as Der Rosengarten and König Laurin.

In the second part of the thirteenth century artificiality and vulgarity began to preponderate, provoking as counterweights didactic works such as Der Krieg auf der Wartburg. The fourteenth century saw the rise of the free cities, literary guilds, and five universities. It also marks the cultivation of political satire in such works as Reinecke Fuchs, and of narrative prose chronicles like the Lüneburger, Alsatian, and Thuringian Chronicles, which are sometimes termed prose epics. The Volksbücher also date from this time, and have preserved for us many tales which would otherwise have been lost, such as the legends of the Wandering Jew and Dr. Faustus.

The age of Reformation proved too serious for poets to indulge in any epics save new versions of Reinecke Fuchs and Der Froschmeuseler, and after the Thirty Years' War the first poem of this class really worthy of mention is Klopstock's Messias, or epic in twenty books on the life and mission of Christ and the fulfilment of the task for which he was foreordained.

Contemporary with Klopstock are many noted writers, who distinguished themselves in what is known as the classic period of German literature. This begins with Goethe's return from Italy, when he, with Schiller's aid, formed a classical school of literature in Germany.

While Schiller has given us the immortal epic drama "William Tell," Goethe produced the idyllic epic "Hermann und Dorothea," the dramatical epic "Faust," and an inimitable version of the animal epic "Reinecke Fuchs."

Wieland also was a prolific writer in many fields; inspired by the Arabian Nights, Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream, and Huon de Bordeaux, [27] he composed an allegorical epic entitled "Oberon," wherein "picture after picture is unfolded to his readers," and which has since served as a theme for musicians and painters.

Since Goethe's day Wagner has made the greatest and most picturesque use of the old German epic material, for the themes of nearly all his operas are drawn from this source.[28]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 24: See the author's "Legends of the Rhine."]

[Footnote 25: See the author's "Legends of the Middle Ages."]

[Footnote 26: Detailed accounts of "Gudrun" and several other of these subordinate epics can be found in the author's "Legends of the Middle Ages."]

[Footnote 27: See the author's "Legends of the Middle Ages."]

[Footnote 28: See the author's "Stories of the Wagner Operas."]

THE NIBELUNGENLIED[29]

The Nibelungenlied, or Song of the Nibelungs, was written about the beginning of the thirteenth century although it relates events dating back to the sixth or seventh. Some authorities claim it consists of twenty songs of various dates and origin, others that it is the work of a single author. The latter ascribe the poem to Conrad von Kürenberg, Wolfram von Eschenbach, Heinrich von Ofterdingen, or Walther von der Vogelweide. The poem is divided into thirty-nine "adventures," and contains two thousand four hundred and fifty-nine stanzas of four lines each. The action covers a period of about thirty years and is based on materials taken from the Frankish, Burgundian, Austro-Gothic, and Hunnish saga cycles.

Dietrich von Bern, one of the characters, is supposed to be Theodoric of Italy, while Etzel has been identified with Attila the Hun, and the Gunther with a king of the Burgundians who was destroyed with all his followers by the Huns in 436.

_1st Adventure._ Three Burgundian princes dwell at Worms on the Rhine, where, at the time when the poem opens their sister Kriemhild is favored by a vision wherein two eagles pursue a falcon and tear it to pieces when it seeks refuge on her breast.

A dream was dreamt by Kriemhild the virtuous and the gay, How a wild young falcon she train'd for many a day, Till two fierce eagles tore it; to her there could not be In all the world such sorrow as this perforce to see.[30]

Knowing her mother expert at interpreting dreams, Kriemhild inquires what this means, only to learn that her future spouse will be attacked by grim foes. This note of tragedy, heard already in the very beginning of the poem, is repeated at intervals until it seems like the reiterated tolling of a funeral bell. _2d Adventure._ The poem now transfers us to Xanten on the Rhine, where King Siegmund and his wife hold a tournament for the coming of age of their only son Siegfried, who distinguishes himself greatly and in whose behalf his mother lavishes rich gifts upon all present.

The gorgeous feast it lasted till the seventh day was o'er; Siegelind the wealthy did as they did of yore; She won for valiant Siegfried the hearts of young and old When for his sake among them she shower'd the ruddy gold.

_3d Adventure._ Hearing of the beauty of Kriemhild, Siegfried decides to go and woo her, taking with him only a troop of eleven men. His arrival at Worms causes a sensation, and Hagen of Tronje--a cousin of King Gunther--informs his master that this visitor once distinguished himself by slaying a dragon and that he is owner of the vast Nibelungen hoard. This treasure once belonged to two brothers, who implored Siegfried to divide it between them, a task he undertook in exchange for the sword--Balmung--which lay on top of the heap of gold. But no sooner had he made the division than the brothers mortally wounded each other and died on their heaps of gold, leaving their treasure to Siegfried, who thus became the richest man in the world.

On hearing the new-comer announce he has come to challenge Gunther to a duel, the Burgundians are dismayed, but they soon succeed in disarming their guest, and finally persuade him to remain with them a year, entertaining him with games and tournaments in which Siegfried distinguished himself greatly, to the satisfaction of Kriemhild who witnesses his prowess through a latticed window.

_4th Adventure._ Toward the end of Siegfried's visit, it is reported that the kings of Saxony and Denmark are advancing with four thousand men. The dismay of the Burgundians is such that Siegfried proposes to go forth and overpower the enemy with a force of merely one thousand men. Only too glad to accept this offer, Gunther allows Siegfried to depart, and is overjoyed when the young hero comes back with two prisoner monarchs in his train. The messenger who announces Siegfried's triumph is, moreover, richly rewarded by Kriemhild, who flushes with pleasure on hearing the praise bestowed upon her hero.

_5th Adventure._ After describing the tournament held at Worms in honor of this victory, the poet tells us how Siegfried and Kriemhild met there face to face, and how they fell in love with each other at first sight.

Now went she forth, the loveliest, as forth the morning goes From misty clouds out-beaming; then all his weary woes Left him, in heart who bore her, and so, long time, had done. He saw there stately standing the fair, the peerless one.

The result was of course an immediate proposal, which Gunther was glad to accept in his sister's name.

_6th Adventure._ He bargained, however, that before Siegfried claimed his bride he should go with him to Isenland, and help him win the hand of Brunhild, the finest woman in the world. Gunther needs Siegfried's help in his wooing, because Brunhild has vowed to marry only the man who can throw a spear and stone farther than she and surpass her in jumping. Siegfried, who apparently possesses some knowledge of this lady, vainly tries to dissuade Gunther, and, when he decides to accompany him in his quest, suggests that Hagen and another knight form their train. Kriemhild provides the travellers with suitable garments, made by her own hands, and the four embark on a small vessel, in which they sail down the Rhine and out to sea, reaching Isenland only twelve days after their start. As they near this land, Siegfried strictly charges his companions to tell every one he is Gunther's vassal, and immediately begins to act as if such were indeed his real station.

_7th Adventure._ Gazing out of her window, Brunhild perceives the approaching ship, and, recognizing within it Siegfried,--who visited her realm once before,--her heart beats with joy at the thought that he has come to woo her. She is, however, amazed to see him hold Gunther's stirrup when they land, and to learn it is the king of Burgundy who sues for her hand. In her disappointment Brunhild grimly warns the new-comer that, unless he prove successful, he and his men must die.

"He must cast the stone beyond me, and after it must leap, Then with me shoot the javelin; too quick a pace you keep; Stop and awhile consider, and reckon well the cost," The warrioress made answer, "ere life and fame be lost."

Undeterred by this threat, Gunther volunteers to undergo the test, but he quails when he sees the heavy spear which Brunhild brandishes and when he perceives that twelve men stagger beneath the weight she proposes to throw. He is, however, somewhat reassured when Siegfried whispers he need but go through the motions, while his friend, concealed by the Tarncappe,--the cloak of invisibility which endows the wearer with the strength of twelve men,--will perform the required feats in his behalf.

Said he, "Off with the buckler and give it me to bear, Now, what I shall advise thee, mark with thy closest care. Be it thine to make the gestures, and mine the work to do." Glad man was then king Gunther, when he his helpmate knew.

In the first test Brunhild casts a spear with such force that both Gunther and his invisible companion stagger and nearly fall, but, just as she is about to cry victory, Siegfried sends back the spear butt-end foremost and brings her to her knees. Veiling her dismay at this first defeat, Brunhild hurls the stone to a great distance and lands beside it with a flying leap. In Gunther's place the invisible Siegfried hurls the same stone much farther than Brunhild, and seizing Gunther by his belt jumps with him to the spot where it alighted. Having thus been outdone in all three feats of strength, Brunhild no longer refuses her hand to Gunther, who appears triumphant, although his prospective bride looks strangely solemn and angry.

_8th Adventure._ Because Brunhild summons to her castle a large number of warriors, under pretext of celebrating her nuptials, Siegfried sails off unseen to the land of the Nibelungs, where he batters at his castle gate demanding admittance. As the wary dwarf guardian of the Nibelung hoard refuses to admit him, Siegfried fights him and after conquering him compels him to recognize his authority. Then he bids a thousand Nibelung warriors accompany him back to Isenland, and Brunhild, seeing this force approaching and learning from Gunther it is part of his suite, no longer dares to resist.

_9th Adventure._ The fair bride, escorted by all these men, now sails across the sea and up the Rhine. As they near Burgundy, Gunther decides to send word of their arrival, and persuades Siegfried to act as his messenger by assuring him he will earn Kriemhild's gratitude.

Said he, "Nay, gentle Siegfried, do but this journey take, Not for my sake only, but for my sister's sake. You'll oblige fair Kriemhild in this as well as me." When so implor'd was Siegfried, ready at once was he.

_10th Adventure._ Not only does Siegfried receive the fair lady's hearty thanks, but he acts as her escort when she hastens down to the bank to welcome her brother and his bride. The poem then describes the kissing, speeches, and grand tournament held to welcome Brunhild, as well as the banquet where Siegfried publicly reminds Gunther he promised him Kriemhild's hand as soon as Brunhild was won. Exclaiming this promise shall immediately be redeemed, Gunther sends for his sister, although his new wife openly wonders he should bestow her hand upon a mere vassal. Silencing his bride's objections, Gunther confers Kriemhild's hand upon Siegfried, and thus two bridal couples sit side by side at the evening meal.

The hour having come for retiring, Gunther, attempting to embrace his bride, is dismayed to find himself seized, bound fast, and hung up on a peg, where he dangles all night in spite of piteous entreaties to be set free. It is only a moment before the servants enter on the morrow that Brunhild consents to release her spouse, so when the bridegrooms appear in public, everybody notices that while Siegfried is radiant, Gunther's brow is clouded by a heavy frown. In course of the day, the King of Burgundy confides to his new brother-in-law the cause of his displeasure, whereupon Siegfried promises to don his cloud cloak that evening and compel Gunther's bride to treat her husband henceforth with due respect. True to this promise, Siegfried, unseen, follows Gunther and Brunhild into their apartment that night, and, the lights having been extinguished, wrestles with the bride until she acknowledges herself beaten. Although fancying she is yielding to Gunther, it is Siegfried who snatches her girdle and ring before leaving Gunther to reap the benefit of his victory, for Brunhild, having submitted to a man, loses her former fabulous strength. Meanwhile Siegfried returns to Kriemhild, imprudently relates how he has been occupied, and bestows upon her the girdle and ring.

_11th Adventure._ The wedding festivities finished, Siegfried returns to Xanten with his bride, who is escorted thither by her faithful henchman Ekkewart, who has vowed to follow her wherever she goes. Siegfried's parents not only receive the bride cordially, but relinquish their throne to the young couple, who live together most happily and are overjoyed at the advent of a son.

_12th Adventure._ Twelve whole years elapse ere Brunhild asks Gunther how it happens his vassal Siegfried has never yet come to Worms to do homage? Although Gunther now assures his wife Siegfried is a king in his own right, she nevertheless insists her brother-in-law and his wife should be invited to Worms, a suggestion which Gunther is only too glad to carry out.

_13th Adventure._ Overjoyed at the prospect of revisiting the scene of their courtship, Siegfried and Kriemhild return to Worms, leaving their infant son at home, but taking with them Siegfried's father who has recently lost his wife. To honor her sister-in-law, Brunhild welcomes Kriemhild with the same state that heralded her own entrance at Worms. Banquets and tournaments also take place, whereat the two queens try to outshine each other. One day, while sitting together extolling their husband's virtues, a quarrel arises, during which Brunhild curtly informs Kriemhild her husband can scarcely be as great as she pretends, seeing he is merely Gunther's vassal!

_14th Adventure._ Of course Kriemhild hotly denies this, and, when Brunhild insists, declares she will prove her husband's superiority by claiming precedence at the church door. Instigated by wrath, both ladies deck themselves magnificently and arrive simultaneously to attend mass, escorted by imposing trains. Seeing Kriemhild make a motion as if to enter first, Brunhild bids her pause, and the two ladies begin an exchange of uncomplimentary remarks. In the heat of the quarrel, Kriemhild insinuates that Brunhild granted Siegfried bridal favors, and in proof thereof exhibits Brunhild's girdle and ring! Brunhild immediately sends for Gunther, who, helpless between two angry women, summons Siegfried. Bluntly declaring wives should be kept in order, Siegfried undertakes to discipline Kriemhild, provided Gunther will reduce Brunhild to subjection, and publicly swears he never approached the Burgundian queen in any unseemly way. In spite of this public apology, Brunhild refuses to be comforted, and, as her husband utterly refuses to take active measures to avenge her, she finally prevails upon her kinsman Hagen to take up her quarrel. Under the mistaken impression that she has been grievously wronged by Siegfried, Hagen urges Gunther to attack his brother-in-law, until the weak king yields to the pressure thus brought to bear by his angry wife and kinsman.

None urged the matter further, except that Hagen still Kept ever prompting Gunther the guiltless blood to spill; Saying, that, if Siegfried perish'd, his death to him would bring The sway o'er many a kingdom. Sore mourn'd the wavering king.

_15th Adventure._ A cunning plan is now devised by Hagen whereby Siegfried is informed that the monarchs he once conquered have again risen up in rebellion. Of course Siegfried volunteers to subdue them once more, and Kriemhild, hearing he is about to start for war, expresses great anxiety for his safety. Under pretext of sympathy, Hagen inquires why Kriemhild feels any dread, seeing her husband is invulnerable, and learns the secret that Siegfried can be injured in a spot between his shoulders, because a lime-leaf, sticking fast there, prevented the dragon's blood from touching that spot.[31]

"So now I'll tell the secret, dear friend, alone to thee (For thou, I doubt not, cousin, will keep thy faith with me), Where sword may pierce my darling, and death sit on the thrust, See, in thy truth and honor how full, how firm my trust!"

Under pretext of protecting this vulnerable point, Hagen persuades Kriemhild to embroider a cross on her husband's garment over the fatal spot. Then, sure now of triumphing over this dreaded foe, he feigns the kings have sent word they will submit, and proposes that instead of fighting they all go hunting in the Odenwald.

_16th Adventure._ Troubled by strange presentiments, Kriemhild tries to prevent Siegfried from going to the chase, but, laughing at her fears, he departs joyfully, although he is never to see her again. After describing the game slain in the course of this day's hunt, the poet declares Siegfried captured a live bear and playfully let it loose in amp, to the horror of his fellow hunters. Then, feeling thirsty, Siegfried loudly began to call for drink, and, discovering that owing to a mistake the wine has been conveyed to another part of the forest, proposes that he, Gunther, and Hagen should race to a neighboring spring, undertaking to perform the feat in full armor while his companions run in light undress. Although handicapped, Siegfried arrives first, but courteously steps aside to allow Gunther to take a drink, pretending he wishes to remove his armor before quenching his thirst. But, when he, in his turn, stoops over the fountain, Hagen, after slyly removing his weapons out of his reach, steals up behind him and runs a spear into the very spot where the embroidered cross shines on his doublet. Mortally wounded, Siegfried turns, and, grasping his shield, hurls it at the traitor with such force that he dashes it to pieces.

E'en to the death though wounded, he hurl'd it with such power That the whirling buckler scatter'd wide a shower Of the most precious jewels, then straight in shivers broke. Full gladly had the warrior ta'en vengeance with that stroke.

Sinking to the ground after this effort, Siegfried expends his last breath in beseeching Gunther to watch over his wife. Gazing down at the corpse, Gunther, afraid to acknowledge so dastardly a deed, suggests they spread the report that Siegfried was slain by brigands while hunting alone in the forest. Hagen, however, proud of his feat does not intend to subscribe to this project, and plots further villainy while following the body back to Worms.

_17th Adventure._ The funeral train arriving there at midnight, Hagen directs the bearers to lay Siegfried's body at Kriemhild's door, so that she may stumble over it when she comes out at dawn on her way to mass. On perceiving that the dead body over which she has fallen is that of her beloved spouse, Kriemhild faints, while her women raise a mournful cry.

Roused from his slumbers by the terrible news, old Siegmund joins the mourners, and he and the Nibelung knights carry the body to the minster, where Kriemhild insists all those who took part in the hunt shall file past it, for she hopes thereby to detect her husband's murderer. (Mediaeval tradition averred that a dead man's wounds bled whenever his murderer drew near.) Because Siegfried's wounds drop blood at Hagen's touch, Kriemhild publicly denounces him as her husband's slayer.

It is a mighty marvel, which oft e'en now we spy, That, when the blood-stain'd murderer comes to the murder'd nigh, The wounds break out a bleeding, then too the same befell, And thus could each beholder the guilt of Hagen tell.

But, instead of showing remorse, Hagen boldly proclaims he merely did his duty when he slew the man who cast a slur upon the honor of his queen.

_18th Adventure._ Having laid his beloved son to rest, old Siegmund returns home, after vainly urging Kriemhild to leave the place where Siegfried is buried and return to her son, for, although Kriemhild's mother and brothers try to show her every mark of sympathy, Brunhild reveals no pity.

Meanwhile sat misproud Brunhild in haughtiness uncheck'd; Of Kriemhild's tears and sorrows her it nothing reck'd. She pitied not the mourner; she stoop'd not to the low. Soon Kriemhild took full vengeance, and woe repaid with woe.

_19th Adventure._ Three years elapse before Hagen suggests to Gunther that his sister send for the Nibelung hoard which was given her on her marriage. Intending to employ it to buy masses and avengers for Siegfried, Kriemhild gladly consents, and we are told twelve wagons travelled four nights and days to convey the store of gold from the Nibelung castle to the sea, whence it was carried to Kriemhild at Worms. With such a treasure at her disposal, the widowed queen proceeds to win so many adherents that Hagen, deeming this gold may prove dangerous, advises her brothers to take possession of it. No sooner have they done so than, fearing lest they may restore it to Kriemhild, Hagen buries it in the Rhine, telling none but his masters in what place it is hidden.

_20th Adventure._ Having lost his first wife, Etzel, king of Hungary, now deems it advisable to marry again and secure an heir to his realm. As no other woman seems so fitted for so exalted a station as Kriemhild, Etzel sends his chief nobleman, Rudiger, to Worms with his proposal. After tarrying a few days on the way with his wife and daughter, this ambassador hurries to Worms, where he is welcomed by Hagen, who had formerly spent several years as a hostage at Etzel's court. Rudiger having made his errand known, Gunther beseeches three days' time to ascertain his sister's wishes. Flattered by the prospect of such an alliance, Gunther hopes Kriemhild will accept Etzel's proposal, but Hagen rejoins that should she secure such powerful allies, she might in time punish them for Siegfried's death. At first the widowed Kriemhild refuses to listen to Etzel's offers, but, when Rudiger swears to her past or future ills, she suddenly announces her consent.

Then swore to her Sir Rudiger and all his knightly train To serve her ever truly, and all her rights maintain, Nor e'er of her due honors scant her in Etzel's land. Thereto gave the good margrave th' assurance of his hand.

Then thought the faithful mourner, "with such a host of friends Now the poor lonely widow may work her secret ends, Nor care for what reflections the world on her may cast. What if my lost beloved I may revenge at last?"

Then, still escorted by the faithful Ekkewart and carrying off with her the small portion of the Nibelungen treasure which she still retains, Kriemhild starts out for Hungary.

_21st Adventure._ The three Burgundian princes escort their sister to the Danube and, taking leave of her there, allow her to proceed with Rudiger to Passau, where her uncle, Bishop Pilgrin, gives her a warm welcome. Thence the travellers proceed to Rudiger's castle, where his wife and daughter entertain their future queen, who bestows upon them costly treasures. Resuming her journey, Kriemhild is now met on all sides by the ovations of her future subjects.

_22d Adventure._ When Etzel and his chief noblemen finally meet her, Kriemhild courteously kisses her future spouse, as well as the men whom he points out as worthy of such distinction. Among these is Dietrich of Bern, one of the heroes of the poem, and it is under his escort that the king and queen of Hungary proceed to Vienna, where their marriage festivities last seventeen days.

_23d Adventure._ Seven years elapse, and, although Kriemhild has a son by Etzel, she still grieves for Siegfried and continually broods over her wrongs. One day she suddenly suggests that King Etzel invite her kinsmen to Hungary, and, when he consents, gives special instructions to the bards who bear the message to make sure that Hagen accompanies her brothers.

_24th Adventure._ After fourteen days' journey the minstrels reach Worms and deliver their message. All are in favor of accepting this invitation save Hagen, who remarks that such friendliness seems suspicious. When his master retorts a guilty conscience harbors fear, Hagen stoutly avers he is ready to serve as guide, suggesting, however, that they journey fully armed, with an escort of a thousand men, so as to cope with treachery should such occur.

"Turn, while there's time for safety, turn, warriors most and least; For this, and for this only, you're bidden to the feast, That you perforce may perish in Etzel's bloody land. Whoever rideth thither, Death has he close at hand."

_25th Adventure._ Dismissed with the old queen's blessing, the Burgundians leave Brunhild and her son in charge of a steward, and set out. As they are now sole possessors of the great Nibelung hoard, the poet terms them Nibelungs in the remainder of his work. Under the guidance of Hagen, who alone knows the way, the party reaches the banks of the Danube, where, finding no vessels to ferry them across, Hagen bids them wait until he provide means of transportation. Walking down the river, he surprises three swan-maidens bathing, and by capturing their garments induces them to predict the future. Although one promises him all manner of pleasant things to recover her plumes, her companions, having secured theirs, warn Hagen that none but the priest will return safely to Burgundy, and inform him that he can secure a boat by assuring the ferry-man on the opposite bank that his name is Amalung.

Thanks to this hint, Hagen induces the ferry-man to cross the river and springs into his boat, before the man, discovering the trick, attacks him with his oar. Forced to defend himself, Hagen slays the ferry-man, takes possession of his boat, and then proceeds to convey relays of the Burgundian army across the river. During his last trip, perceiving the chaplain on board and wishing to give the lie to the swan-maidens' prophecy, Hagen flings the priest into the water; but the long ecclesiastical garments buoy up their wearer and enable him to regain the bank which he has just left, whence he makes his way back to Burgundy. On perceiving the priest's escape, Hagen realizes none of the rest will return, so grimly destroys the boat as soon as he is through with it. Then he directs his friends to ride onward, leaving him to guard their rear, for he knows the boatman's friends will pursue and attack them.

_26th Adventure._ Although Hagen's apprehensions are soon justified, the Burgundians fight so bravely that their assailants are defeated. A little farther on they find a man sleeping by the roadside, and discover it is Ekkewart, lying in wait to warn them that Kriemhild cherishes evil intentions. But, undeterred by this warning also, the Burgundians continue their journey, and visit Bishop Pilgrin and Rudiger on their way.

_27th Adventure._ While at Rudiger's,--where the ladies welcome all save Hagen with a kiss, and where the host lavishes gifts upon his guests,--Hagen suggests that a marriage be arranged between Giseler, the youngest Burgundian prince, and Rudiger's daughter. In compliance with this suggestion, a formal betrothal takes place.

Then had the bride and bridegroom within a ring to stand, For such was then the custom; a merry stripling band Encircled the fair couple, and gaz'd on them their fill, And thought the while as idly as think young people still.

This ceremony over, Rudiger prepares to guide the Burgundians to Etzel's court, where Kriemhild is rejoicing to think they will soon appear.

_28th Adventure._ So patent are Kriemhild's evil intentions, that Dietrich of Bern and his faithful henchman Hildebrand also caution the Burgundians to be on their guard. This second warning impresses the visitors, who at Hagen's suggestion announce they will retain their weapons for three days. When they arrive at the palace, Kriemhild cordially embraces her youngest brother, but refuses the same welcome to the two others, and grimly asks Hagen whether he has brought her gold. When he bluntly rejoins her treasures will remain in the Rhine until Doomsday, she abruptly turns her back upon him, and invites the rest to enter the palace, leaving their arms at the door. Thereupon Hagen announces his masters have vowed to spend the next three days in arms, a measure which Dietrich openly approves, informing Kriemhild to her very face that he is sure she means no good.

_29th Adventure._ Although the three royal brothers accompany Kriemhild into the palace, Hagen lingers at the door, and, inviting the minstrel Volker to sit on the bench beside him, confides to him his fears, entreating him to stand by him, and promising to do the same in his behalf should the need occur.

"Tell me now, friend Volker, will you stand me by, If these men of Kriemhild's would my mettle try? Show me, if you love me, faithful friend and true! And when you need my service I'll do as much for you."

On seeing her foe so close at hand, Kriemhild summons four hundred warriors, and bids them attack Hagen, for at present _he_ is the only one against whom she has sinister designs. To prove to the men that Hagen is guilty, she offers to meet and question her foe in their presence. On seeing her coming, Volker suggests they rise in token of respect, but Hagen grimly rejoins Kriemhild would merely take such politeness as a proof of weakness. Instead of rising, he therefore ostentatiously lays Siegfried's sword across his lap. After taunting Hagen with slaying her husband,--a charge he does not deny,--Kriemhild orders her men to slay him, but a single glance of his fiery eyes sends them back cringing, and the queen cannot prevail upon them to renew the attack. Seeing this, Volker and Hagen boldly join their friends in the banquet-hall, where Etzel--who is depicted as an inoffensive, unsuspicious old man--cordially bids them welcome.

_30th Adventure._ On their way to their sleeping quarters that night, the Burgundians are jostled by some Huns, who, instigated by Kriemhild, are evidently seeking to provoke a quarrel. In spite of their efforts, however, the Burgundians reach their dormitory in safety, where Hagen and Volker watch all night at the door to guard against surprise. It is well for them they do so, because at midnight Kriemhild dispatches a force to attack them, but again the Huns shrink away appalled on meeting Hagen's menacing glance.

_31st Adventure._ At dawn the Burgundians, still fully armed, march off to church, and after service proceed with the king and queen to view a tournament held in their honor. In these games Rudiger and Dietrich both refuse to take part, lest an accident should occur. Their previsions are justified, for, when Volker inadvertently slays a Hun, Kriemhild loudly clamors for vengeance, although her husband implores that peace be maintained. Fomented by Kriemhild's secret efforts, such bad feelings have arisen among the Huns against their guests, that Etzel's own brother finally undertakes to compass their death. Meantime the old king, having invited the Burgundians to a banquet, is surprised to see the princes arrive fully armed, but tries to show his friendship by promising they shall bring up his son.

_32d Adventure._ While the Burgundians are banqueting with the king of Hungary, their men are resting in the hall where they slept, under the charge of Dankwart, Hagen's brother. There they are suddenly attacked by some Huns, and, although they manage to slay most of their first assailants, the deaths they deal kindle lasting animosity in the breast of the rest of the Huns. New forces therefore press into the hall, until all the Burgundians are slain, save Dankwart, who, cutting his way through the enemy's serried ranks, rushes into the hall where his brother is feasting, and reports what has occurred.

"Be stirring, brother Hagen, you're sitting all too long. To you and God in heaven our deadly strait I plain; Yeomen and knights together lie in their quarters slain."

_33d Adventure._ No sooner has this cry reached his ear, than Hagen, whipping out his sword, cuts off the head of Etzel's child, which bounces into its mother's lap. Then, calling to his brother to prevent any escape, Hagen shears off the hand of the minstrel who invited them to Hungary, before he begins slashing right and left. Paralyzed by the sight of their headless son, Etzel and Kriemhild sit immovable on their thrones, while Hagen despatches Volker to help Dankwart guard the door, and bids his masters make use of their weapons while they may. Although the Burgundians now slay ruthlessly, mindful of the kindness shown by Dietrich and Rudiger they refrain from attacking them or their men. When these noblemen therefore beg permission to pass out safely with their friends, their request is unquestionably granted. Grasping the king and queen by the hand, Dietrich then leads them out of the hall, closely followed by Rudiger and their respective men, while the Burgundians continue the massacre until not a living foe is left in the hall.

_34th Adventure._ Weary of slaughter, the Burgundians now sit down for a moment to rest, but, finding the presence of so many corpses distasteful, they fling seven hundred victims down the steps, those who are merely wounded being killed by the fall. The Huns, who come to pick up their dead, now set up so loud and persistent a cry for revenge, that their monarch is compelled to prepare a force to oust the Burgundians from his banquet-hall. Seeing the aged monarch himself advance at the head of the troops, Hagen, who guards the door, loudly jeers at him, whereupon Kriemhild offers an immense reward to any one who will bring her his head.

_35th Adventure._ The first to try to earn this guerdon is a Dane, who not only succeeds in entering the hall but in effecting a retreat. When, emboldened by this first success, he advances a second time with a new force, he is killed as well as his men.

_36th Adventure._ After a second brief rest, the Burgundians prepare to meet a new assault directed by Kriemhild, whose wrath now involves all her kinsmen, although at first she meditated the death of Hagen alone. The murder of his child has incensed even Etzel, and the Huns plan a general massacre to avenge their slain. Although the Burgundians offer to meet Etzel's forces in fair fight provided they can return home unmolested if victorious, Kriemhild urges her husband to refuse unless Hagen is delivered up to their tender mercies. Deeming it dishonorable to forsake a companion, the Burgundians reject these terms, whereupon Kriemhild, whose fury has reached a frantic point, orders the hall set on fire.

Although the queen fancies the Burgundians will be roasted alive, the hall being built of stone offers them a place of refuge, and, as they quench in blood all the sparks that enter, they succeed in maintaining their position.

'Twas well for the Burgundians that vaulted was the roof; This was, in all their danger, the more to their behoof. Only about the windows from fire they suffer'd sore. Still, as their spirit impell'd them, themselves they bravely bore.

The intensity of the heat causes such thirst, however, that Hagen bids his companions quench that too in the blood of the slain. Thus, six hundred Burgundians are found alive when a new Hungarian force bursts into the hall.

_37th Adventure._ Having failed in this third attempt, Kriemhild reminds Rudiger of his solemn oath, and bids him redeem his promise by slaying the Burgundians. Although this nobleman pleads with the queen, offering instead to relinquish all he owns and leave her land a beggar, she insists upon his obedience to her commands. Fully armed, Rudiger, therefore, finally marches toward the hall and, arriving at the foot of the staircase, explains his position to the Burgundians. Knowing his generosity, Hagen, whose shield has been cut to pieces, begs for the one Rudiger carries, and, after receiving it, declares he will give a good account of himself before he yields. The signal for battle is then given and Rudiger and his men enter the hall, where, after many have fallen on both sides, Gernot, one of Kriemhild's brothers, and Rudiger slay each other.

_38th Adventure._ A new batch of corpses having been flung down stairs, such a lament arises among the Huns that Dietrich of Bern inquires what it may mean. On learning that Rudiger has been slain, Dietrich bids Hildebrand go and claim his corpse, but, instead of acting merely as ambassador, this warrior first bandies words with Volker and then slays him. Seeing this, Hagen drives him down the stairs, and discovers that all the Burgundians have now been slain, and that he and Gunther alone remain alive in the hall. Meantime Hildebrand having reported to Dietrich all that has occurred, this chief, hearing most of his men have perished, sallies forth to avenge them.

_39th Adventure._ On approaching the hall, Dietrich summons Hagen and Gunther to surrender, promising to use his influence to secure their safe return home; but the two Burgundians, feeling sure Kriemhild will show no mercy, refuse to yield. A duel, therefore, takes place between Dietrich and the exhausted Hagen, in the course of which, by means of a sudden feint, Dietrich seizes and binds his foe. Then, leading him to Kriemhild, he implores her to be merciful to this prisoner, while he returns to secure Gunther also.

"Fair and noble Kriemhild," thus Sir Dietrich spake, "Spare this captive warrior who full amends will make For all his past transgressions; him here in bonds you see; Revenge not on the fetter'd th' offences of the free."

While Dietrich is securing Gunther in the same way, the queen, left alone with Hagen, again demands her treasures. Hagen rejoins that, having promised never to reveal their hiding-place as long as his lords live, he cannot reveal the secret to her. Hearing this statement, Kriemhild, whose cruelty now knows no bounds, orders Gunther--her last brother--slain, and herself carries his head to Hagen, as proof there is no more reason for guarding the secret. Proudly informing her, since it now depends upon him alone, it will remain secret forever, Hagen so exasperates Kriemhild that, drawing from its scabbard the sword which once belonged to Siegfried, she hews off her prisoner's head with one revengeful stroke! Although neither her husband nor Hildebrand have been quick enough to forestall this crime, the latter is so exasperated by Kriemhild's cruelty that he now slays her in his turn.

Hildebrand the aged, fierce on Kriemhild sprung; To the death he smote her as his sword he swung. Sudden and remorseless he his wrath did wreak. What could then avail her her fearful thrilling shriek!

It is, therefore, in the presence of her corpse that Dietrich and Etzel utter the loud lament with which the Nibelungenlied closes.

There is, however, another poem called the Nibelungenklage, or the Lament of the Nibelungs, wherein Etzel, Dietrich, Hildebrand, Bishop Pilgrin, and the rest utter successive laments over the slain. Then the spoil of the Burgundians is sent back to Worms, where these lamentations are continued, each mourner reciting the deeds of the man whose fate he bewails. This poem is, however, greatly inferior to the real Nibelungenlied, and was evidently not composed by the same bard.

"'Tis more than I can tell you what afterward befell, Save that there was weeping for friends belov'd so well Knights and squires, dames and damsels, were seen lamenting all. So here I end my story. This is the Nibelungers' Fall."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 29: See the author's "Legends of the Middle Ages."]

[Footnote 30: All the quotations in this chapter are from Lettsom's translation of "The Nibelungenlied."]

[Footnote 31: See the author's "Legends of the Rhine."]

STORY OF THE HOLY GRAIL

The Anglo-Norman trouvères rightly considered the Story of the Holy Grail the central point of interest of the Arthurian cycle, or the grand climax in the legend.

So many versions of the tale have been written by poets of different nationalities and different ages--all of whom have added characteristic touches to the story--that, instead of following the text of any one particular version, a general outline of the two principal Holy Grail legends will be given here. Although all the poets do not mention the origin of the Holy Grail, or sacred vessel, a few trace its history back to the very beginning. They claim that when Lucifer stood next to the Creator, or Father, in the heavenly hierarchy, the other angels presented him with a wonderful crown, whose central jewel was a flawless emerald of unusual size.

The advent of the Son, relegating Lucifer to the third instead of the second place, occasioned his apostasy, which, as Milton explains, was followed by war in heaven and by the expulsion of the rebel angels. During his fall from the heights of heaven to the depths of hell, the emerald, dropping out of Satan's crown, fell upon earth. There it was fashioned into the cup or dish which Our Lord used during the Last Supper, and in which Joseph of Arimathea caught a few drops of blood which flowed from His side. After the Crucifixion the Jews walled Joseph alive in a prison, where he was sustained in good health and spirits by the Holy Grail, which he had taken with him. In this prison Joseph lingered until Vespasian, hearing the story of Christ's passion, sent messengers to Palestine for relics, hoping they might cure his son Titus of leprosy. Restored to health by the sight of St. Veronica's handkerchief,--which had wiped away the bloody sweat from Our Lord's brow and bore the imprint of his feature,--Titus proceeded to Jerusalem, where he summoned the Jews to produce the body of Christ. Not being able to comply, they accused Joseph of having stolen it. Thereupon Titus, continuing his investigations, found Joseph alive and well in the prison where he was supposed to have perished. Free once more, yet dreading further persecution, Joseph embarked, with his sister and brother-in-law Brons, in a vessel bound for Marseilles, the Holy Grail supplying all their needs during the journey. On landing in France, Joseph was divinely instructed to construct a table, around which he and his companions could be seated, and where the Holy Grail supplied each guest with the food he preferred. But one seat at this table, in memory of Judas, was to remain empty until a sinless man came to occupy it. A sinner, once attempting to seat himself in it, was swallowed up by the earth, and Joseph was informed that the enchanter Merlin would in time make a similar table, where a descendant of Brons would have the honor of occupying this "Siege Perilous." From Marseilles, by gradual stages, and meeting with every kind of adventure on the way, Joseph, or his descendants, conveyed the Holy Grail to Glastonbury in England, where it remained visible until people became too sinful for it to dwell any more in their midst. It was then borne off to Sarras, an island city,--presumably located in the Mediterranean,--where, according to one legend King Evelake mounted guard over the treasure.

According to another legend, a pilgrim knight laid a golden cross on the Holy Sepulchre, ardently praying for a son, whom at his birth he named Titurel and dedicated to the service of the Lord. After this Titurel had spent years in warfare against the Saracens and in doing good to the poor, an angel announced to him that he had been chosen to guard the Holy Grail, which was about to descend once more to earth, and take up its abode on Montsalvatch. This vision sufficed to send Titurel off on a quest for the Holy Mountain,--which some authorities identify with the place of the same name on the east coast of Spain,--whither he was safely led by a guiding cloud.

After ascending the steep mountain, Titurel was favored with a glimpse of the Holy Grail, and he and a number of knights--also brought thither by miraculous means--erected a marvellous temple, whose foundations were laid by the angels, who labored at the edifice while the volunteer builders were at rest. In a marvellously short time a temple of transcendent beauty was thus finished, and, as soon as it was consecrated, the Holy Grail stole down from heaven on a beam of celestial light, to abide in its midst. Titurel, king and guardian of the Holy Grail, always presided at the table around which his knights gathered, and where one and all were miraculously fed. Besides, there appeared from time to time on the edge of the sacred vase, in letters of fire, instructions bidding a knight go out into the world to defend some innocent person or right some wrong. The Knights of the Holy Grail, or Templars, as they were indifferently styled, then immediately sallied forth to fulfil this behest, which according to their vows had to be accomplished without revealing their name or origin. Once the command was that Titurel should marry, whereupon he wooed a Spanish maiden, by whom he had a son and daughter. This son, marrying in the same way, had in time two sons and three daughters, one of whom became the mother of Parzival.

Old and weary of reigning, Titurel finally resigned the care of the Holy Grail, first to his son,--who was slain in war,--and then to his grandson Amfortas. But the latter proved restless also, went out into the world, and, instead of serving the Holy Grail, lived a life of pleasure and adventure. Wounded by a thrust from a poisoned lance,--some authors claim it was the one which wounded the Saviour's side,--Amfortas sadly returned to Montsalvatch, where the mere thought of the veiled Holy Grail increased his pain by intensifying his remorse. There, one day, he read on the rim of the cup, that his wound was destined to be healed by a guileless fool, who would accidentally climb the mountain and, moved by sympathy, would inquire the cause of his suffering and thereby make it cease.

We have already mentioned the fact that Parzival was a great-grandson of Titurel; his mother, fearing he would die young, like his father, were he to become a knight, brought him up in seclusion, telling him nothing about knights, fighting, or the world. Straying in the forest one day this youth encountered a couple of knights, whom he mistook for angels, owing to their bright array, and offered to worship. The knights, however, refused his homage, and good-naturedly advised him to hasten to Arthur's court and learn to become a knight too.

Parzival now left his mother,--who died of grief,--went to court (meeting sundry adventures on the way), and there asked to be knighted. He was told, however, he must first procure a horse and armor, whereupon he followed and slew an insolent knight who defied King Arthur. But Parzival did not know how to remove the armor from his dead foe, until a passing knight obligingly showed him how it was done.

Parzival now spent a time of apprenticeship at court where he learned among other things, that a knight should never be unduly inquisitive, then went to the rescue of a persecuted and virtuous queen, whom he wooed and married. He soon left her, however, to visit his mother, of whose death he was not aware. On his way home Parzival came to a lake, where a richly dressed fisherman informed him he might find a night's lodging in the castle on the hill, where he offered to conduct him. Thus Parzival penetrated into the castle on Montsalvatch and was duly led into the banqueting hall. Awed by the splendor of his surroundings, the young candidate for knighthood silently noted that his host seemed to be suffering from a secret wound, and perceived that all the other guests were oppressed by overwhelming sadness. Then suddenly the doors opened wide, and a strange procession entered the hall, slowly circled around the table, and again passed out! In this procession marched a servant bearing a bloody lance, at the sight of which all present groaned, then came maidens carrying the stand for the Holy Grail, which was reverently brought in by Titurel's grand-daughter. The vase was, however, closely veiled, and it was only after repeated entreaties from the knights present that the host unveiled it, uttering the while heart-rending groans.

All present were now served with the food they most desired, which they ate in silence, and then the knights marched out of the hall, gazing reproachfully at Parzival, who silently wondered what all this might mean. His hunger sated, Parzival was conducted to luxurious sleeping apartments, but, when he was ready to leave on the morrow, all the castle seemed deserted, and it was only when he had crossed the drawbridge and it had been raised behind him, that a harsh voice was heard vehemently cursing him. Shortly after, on learning that a sympathetic inquiry would have dispelled the gloom in the palace, he had just left, Parzival attempted to return, but the mysterious castle was no longer to be found. Such was our hero's remorse for his sin of omission that he continued the quest for years, doing meanwhile all manner of noble and heroic deeds. In reward, he was knighted by Arthur himself, and bidden by Merlin occupy "the Siege Perilous" where his name suddenly appeared in letters of gold.

Our version of the story explains that, just as he was about to sit down in the Siege Perilous, the witch Kundrie arrived, and hotly denounced him as an unfeeling wretch, a sufficient reminder to make Parzival immediately renew his quest. Adequate penance having been done at last, and the young knight having stood every test without losing his purity, Parzival was finally allowed to atone for his unconscious fault. Once more he arrived at the castle, once more entered the banquet hall, and once more beheld the mystic procession. Strengthened by silent prayer, Parzival then asked the momentous question; whereupon Amfortas' wound was instantly healed, the aged Titurel released from the pain of living, Kundrie baptized, and Parzival unanimously hailed as future guardian of the Grail, an office he humbly yet proudly assumed.

Another legend claims that his son Lohengrin, ordered by the Holy Grail to go and defend Elsa of Brabant, received from his father a magic horn, by means of which he was to announce his safe arrival at his destination, and to summon help whenever he wished to return. Instead of riding a charger, Lohengrin was conveyed in a swan-drawn skiff to Brabant, where he found Elsa praying for a champion to defend her against Frederick of Telramund's accusation of having slain her little brother, who had mysteriously disappeared.

Lohengrin, having proved the falsity of the charge by defeating the accuser in a judicial duel, married Elsa, warning her she must never seek to discover his name or origin, under penalty of seeing him depart as suddenly as he had arrived. The machinations of Frederick of Telramund, and of his artful wife, finally drove Elsa to propound the fatal question, and, as soon as Lohengrin has sorrowfully answered it, the swan appeared and bore him away! But, as Lohengrin departed, Elsa's brother reappeared to serve as her protector.[32]

This--mostly German--version of the Grail legend--has been used by Wolfram von Eschenbach for a long and famous epic, and by Wagner for his operas Parzival and Lohengrin. In the French and particularly in the English versions of the Quest for the Holy Grail, or Sangreal, Percival is with the other knights of Arthur's Round Table when they take this vow. He seeks for it, perceives it through a veil, but never entirely achieves the quest, since that privilege is reserved for the peerless Galahad.

The versions of the Holy Grail Story of which Galahad is hero run about as follows: Galahad is the son of Launcelot and Elaine, the latter's nurse having, by means of enchantment, made her to appear as Guinevere--whom Launcelot loved. Deserted by the accidental father of her coming child, this Elaine--daughter of King Pelles--took refuge in a nunnery, where she gave birth to Galahad, whom when dying she entrusted to the nuns. Brought up by those holy women and strengthened in early infancy by frequent glimpses of the Holy Grail,--whose light was blinding to all but the perfectly pure,--Galahad reached manhood as pure as when he was born. One day Sir Launcelot and Sir Bors were summoned from Camelot to a small church near by, to act as sponsors for a young candidate for knighthood, who was presented to them by some nuns. Launcelot and Bors, having thus heard Galahad take his vows, were not surprised to see him brought into their midst on a gala day, by Merlin or by the spirit of Joseph, and to hear him warmly welcomed by Arthur. Some versions claim that Galahad, led to the Siege Perilous, found his name miraculously inscribed on it in letters of gold, and was told he alone should occupy that place at the Round Table.

According to some accounts, it was while all the knights were thus seated around Arthur's board on this occasion, that the Holy Grail suddenly appeared in their midst, its radiance so veiled by its coverings that one and all vowed--when it had disappeared--never to rest until they had beheld it unveiled. Arthur, knowing this boon would be granted only to the absolutely pure and that they were all but one sinful men in various degrees, keenly regretted they should have made a vow which would entail a hopeless quest, and would at the same time leave him bereft of the very knights who had hitherto helped him to right the wrong and keep the pagans at bay. The knights hastened to church to receive a blessing before they departed, and then went off, singly or in small groups, to seek the Holy Grail.

When Galahad arrived at Arthur's court, he was fully armed, save that an empty scabbard hung by his side and that he bore no shield. Soon after his arrival, a servant breathlessly announced he had just seen a large block of stone floating down the river, into which a beautiful sword was thrust to the hilt. On hearing this, Arthur and his knights hurried down to the landing place, but, although the stone paused there, neither the king nor any of the nobles at his court were able to draw out the sword. It became evident it was intended for Galahad only, when he easily drew it out of the stone. It was then, according to this version, that the other knights pledged themselves to go in quest of the Holy Grail. Riding off alone, Galahad came to an abbey, where hung a white shield bearing a red cross, which he learned had once belonged to the king of Sarras, who was converted by Joseph's son. The red cross was drawn with blood, and was to remain undimmed for its future bearer, Galahad.

The young champion, thus completely equipped, rode off and next arrived at the enchanted Castle of the Holy Grail. There he saw Titurel, the sleeping king, and Amfortas, the acting king, before whom the Grail passed unseen because he had sinned. Silently Galahad watched the mystic procession of bleeding spear, miraculous dish or cup, and Seven-branched Candlesticks. Like Parzival he hesitated to ask any questions, and failed to achieve the Holy Grail, because, although possessing all other virtues, he could not entirely forget himself for the sake of others and thus lacked true sympathy or altruism. Thrust out of the Castle--like Parzival--he wandered through a blighted country, where he met the Loathley Damsel, who in punishment for her sins was turned loose into the world to work evil to men. She hotly reviled Galahad for not having asked the momentous question, and the youth, learning thus in what way he had been wanting, solemnly vowed to return to the castle and atone for his omission.

But meantime the enchanted Castle had vanished, and Galahad, the Champion of Purity,--whose red color he always wears,--travelled through the world, righting the wrong. He arrived thus at the gate of a castle defended by seven knights,--the Seven Deadly Sins,--with whom he struggled to such good purpose that he defeated them, and was free to enter into the Castle of the Maidens, or place where the Active Virtues have long been kept in durance vile. But, the door still being locked, Galahad was glad to receive the key proffered by an old monk, who, in the legend, personified Righteousness.

Galahad, the emblem of a pure soul, now penetrated into the castle, where the maidens blessed him for setting them free, and where he modestly received their thanks. Among these maidens was Lady Blanchefleur, Galahad's match in purity, to whom he bade farewell as soon as their nuptials were solemnized, for he realized The Quest could be achieved only by a virgin knight.

Once more Galahad rides through the world, and this time he again finds and enters into the castle of the Grail, where he once more beholds the Sacred Mysteries. His heart full of sympathy for the suffering Amfortas, he now overlooks the rules of formal politeness in his desire to help, and propounds the decisive question. Immediately a refulgent light shines forth from the veiled Grail in all its life-giving radiance, and King Amfortas, healed of his sin, and hence able to see the vessel, dies of joy, just as an angel bears the priceless treasure away from the Enchanted Castle, where it is no longer to sojourn.

Longing for the time when he too can see the Grail unveiled, Galahad remounts his milk-white steed and rides through the world, where everybody thanks him for freeing the world of the pall of darkness and sin which has rested upon the land ever since Amfortas, titulary guardian of the Holy Grail, sinned so grievously. Riding thus, Galahad comes at last to the sea, where King Solomon's ship awaits him. This vessel has been miraculously preserved for this purpose, and sent here to convey him safely to Sarras, "the spiritual place." It is the present home of the Holy Grail, which had already sojourned there after the death of Joseph of Arimathea.

The ship in which Galahad embarks is steered by an angel, one of the Guardians of the Holy Grail, and the cup it holds, although closely veiled from profane glances, casts beams of refulgent light upon Galahad and his companions Sir Percival and Sir Bors. They two, however, not being perfectly pure, cannot clearly distinguish the Grail, whose sight fills the soul of Galahad with ineffable rapture. Before long the ship arrives at Sarras, the fabulous city, where Galahad can hang up his sword and shield and take his well-earned rest, for the Quest is at last achieved! The travellers are welcomed by an old man, and, when the king of Sarras dies, the people unanimously elect Galahad their next ruler.

After governing them wisely for a year, Galahad--who prayed in King Solomon's ship that he might pass out of the world whenever he should ask it--begged for the death of the body so he might find the eternal life of the soul.

When he died, the Holy Grail, which had been piously guarded in Sarras, returned to heaven, for Galahad's work was finished on earth, as is indicated by the frescos of the Boston library, where angels guard a Golden Tree of achievement whose branches reach right up into heaven.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 32: See the author's "Stories of the Wagner Operas" and "Legends of the Rhine."]

EPICS OF THE NETHERLANDS

In searching among Dutch masterpieces of literature we find that their greatest epic is "Joannes Boetgezant," or John the Messenger of Repentance. This epic in six books, on the life of John the Baptist, was written in 1662 by Vondel, and bears many traits of resemblance to Milton's Paradise Lost.

It has been conjectured that the most famous of all the animal epics or beast fables originated in Flanders or Luxembourg, which for a time was included in the Low Countries. This epic, which has been translated into every European language and has even found its way into the Far East, has been frequently remodelled. The oldest extant MS. in Latin dates back to the eleventh or twelfth century. Among modern versions the most clever, finished, and popular is Goethe's "Reinecke Fuchs."[33]

In this poem he describes how the animals assemble at Whitsuntide to complain to their king, Noble, the Lion, about the dark deeds of Reynard the Fox. The main grievance is that of Isegrim, the Wolf, who claims Reynard blinded three of his offspring and insulted his wife. Speaking French, the Lapdog Wackerlos next pathetically describes how he was robbed of a sausage, which the Tomcat vehemently declares was his.

Having heard the depositions of the Wolf, the Dog, the Cat, the Panther, and the Hare, Noble is about to sentence the delinquent, when Grimbart, the Badger,--uncle of Reynard--rises to defend the accused. Artfully he turns the tables and winds up his plausible peroration with the statement that Reynard, repenting of all past sins, has turned hermit, and is now spending his time in fasting, alms-giving, and prayer!

Just as Noble is about to dismiss the case as non-proven, Henning the Cock appears, followed by his sons, who bear on a litter the mangled remains of a hen, strangled by Reynard, who slipped into the chicken-yard in the guise of a monk.

The king immediately dispatches Brown the Bear to Malepartus to summon Reynard to appear at court. On arriving at his destination, the Bear, although still resenting the king's recommendations to be wary, allows himself to be led to a half-split tree-trunk, within which Reynard assures him he will find stores of honey to refresh himself. Just as soon as the Bear's nose and forepaws are greedily inserted into the crack, Reynard slyly removes the wedges and decamps, leaving the Bear a prisoner and howling with pain.

His roars soon attract the peasant and his son, who beat the captive until he wrenches himself loose, at the cost of some patches of skin and of a few claws. The Bear, returning to court in this plight, is taxed with stupidity and greed, and Hintze the Cat is sent to summon Reynard to court. The Cat, hungry also, is led to a small opening in a barn which Reynard declares is swarming with mice, but where the poor Tomcat is caught in a trap, whence he escapes only after having received a beating and lost one eye.

His woful report decides the king to send Grimbart the Badger to summon his nephew to court. Reynard receives this emissary most courteously, and, on hearing the king will raze his fortress if he does not obey, sets out for court. On the way Reynard begs Grimbart to act as his confessor, and, having unburdened his conscience, does penance and receives absolution. But scarcely has this ceremony been completed when Reynard, spying some fat hens, begins to chase them, and is only with difficulty recalled to a sense of what is fitting.

On arriving at court, Reynard hypocritically regrets so many people have slandered him to the king, and tries to refute every charge. He is, however, sentenced to the gallows, but even on the road thither devises a plan to escape. Pretending regret for his past, he humbly begs the king's permission to address the spectators, and in a lengthy speech describes how he was led astray in his youth by Isegrim the Wolf. He also declares his only regret is to die before he can reveal to the king the hiding-place of a vast treasure which would enable him to outwit the plots of some rebels who are even now conspiring to kill him. The king, hearing this, immediately orders a reprieve, and, questioning the Fox in secret, learns that the conspirators are Brown the Bear, Isegrim the Wolf, and others. To reward the Fox for saving her husband's life, the queen now obtains his pardon, which Noble grants in exchange for information in regard to the treasure.

Having given these indications, the Fox sets out on a pilgrimage to Rome, escorted by the Ram and the Hare, which latter is slain as soon as they arrive at Malepartus, where Reynard wishes to bid his family farewell. After feasting upon the flesh of this victim, Reynard puts his bones into a wallet and ties it on the Ram's back, bidding him hasten back to court with this present and receive his reward! Although circumstantial evidence is enough to convict the poor Ram of murder, a few days later new complaints are made against Reynard by a Rabbit and a Crow. Noble, roused again, prepares to batter down the walls of Malepartus, and Grimbart, perceiving Reynard's peril, hurries off to give him warning.

He finds Reynard contemplating some young doves, upon which he intends to dine. On hearing what Grimbart has to say, Reynard declares it would be easy to acquit himself could he only gain the king's ear long enough to explain the real state of affairs. Then he again begs Grimbart to act as his father confessor, and, resuming his confession where he left off, makes a clean breast of all his misdeeds. Shortly after this, Reynard meets the Ape, who tells him that should he ever be in a quandary he must call for the aid of this clever ally or of his wife.

At his second appearance at court, the Fox openly regrets there are so many vile people in the world ready to accuse innocent persons, and proceeds to set all his doings in such a plausible light, that the king, instead of sentencing him again to death, allows him to settle his case by fighting a judiciary duel with the Wolf. The preparations for the duel are ludicrous because the Fox, advised by the Ape, is shaven smooth, greased until too slippery to be held, and duly strengthened by advice and potations. Blinded by the sand continually whisked into his eyes by the Fox's tail, unable to hold his all too slippery opponent, the Wolf is beaten and the Fox acquitted by the Judgment of God!

Although Noble now offers to make Reynard his privy counsellor, the Fox returns home, where his admiring wife and children welcome him rapturously.

In some versions of the tale Reynard further avenges himself by suggesting, when the king is taken ill, that he can be cured if he eats the head of a wolf just seven years old, knowing the only wolf of that age is Isegrim, who throughout the epic is fooled by the clever Fox, the hero of endless adventures which have delighted young and old for centuries.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 33: See the author's "Legends of the Middle Ages."]

SCANDINAVIAN EPICS

The different Scandinavian dialects formed but one language until about 1000 A.D., when they split up into two great groups, the East Northern including the Danish and Swedish; and the West Northern including the Icelandic, Norwegian, and Faroese. Danish literature boasts of some five hundred chivalric ballads (Kjaempeviser), on partly historical and partly mythical themes, which were composed between the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries. It was the Danish translator of the Bible who introduced his countrymen to Charlemagne and Ogier, whose legends received their finished forms at his hands. In 1555 Reynard the Fox was translated into Danish from the French, in 1663 the Heimskringla from the Icelandic, but it was in 1641 that Arrebo composed the Hexaemeron or first real Danish epic. In the nineteenth century Paludan Müller also wrote epics, which, however, are not very popular outside of his country. The runes of Sweden bear witness to the existence of sundry ancient sagas or epics which perished when Christianity was introduced into the land. In the Middle Ages, a gleeman at the court of Queen Euphemia (1303-12) composed the Euphemiaviser, or romances of chivalry done into Swedish verse. The greatest epic work of Sweden is, however, Tegner's Frithjof's Saga (1846), relating the adventures and courtship of an old Scandinavian hero, a work of which a complete synopsis is given in the author's Legends of the Middle Ages.

The élite of the Norwegians emigrated to Iceland for political reasons during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Owing to their geographical isolation and to the long winters, these people were thrown entirely on their own resources for amusement. The hours of darkness were beguiled by tales and songs, so young and old naturally delighted in the recitations of the skalds. This gave birth to an oral literature of great value, and, although many of the works of the skalds have perished, the Icelanders fortunately recovered in 1643,--after centuries of oblivion,--the Elder Edda, an eleventh-century collection of thirty-three poems on mythical and heroic subjects by Saemunt the Wise.

There is also a similar work in prose known as the Younger Edda, by Snorro Sturluson, which contains tales of Scandinavian mythology, and this writer also collected many of the old hero tales in his Heimskringla.

Many of the old sagas have been preserved in more or less perfect forms. They are generally divided into three groups, the first including sagas on historical themes, such as the Egilssaga, the Eyrbyggjasaga, the Njalssaga, the Laxdaelasaga, and the already mentioned Heimskringla.

The second, mythical, or heroic group comprises the Grettis saga and the Volsunga, the finest of all the sagas and one of the main sources of the Nibelungenlied and of Wagner's Trilogy. This epic has been wonderfully rendered in modern English by William Morris.

In the third and last group are massed together the romantic epics, translations or imitations of the Latin, French, and German epics and romances, relating to Alexander, Charlemagne, Parsival, etc. The finest saga in this group is the Gunnlaugssaga.

Norwegian literature goes back to the skald Bragi (_c._ 800), whose principal poem, Ragnarsdrapa, relates the marvellous adventures of the national hero Ragnar Lodbrog. This poem was incorporated by Snorro Sturluson in what is known as the Snorro Edda. Most of the poems in the Elder Edda are also of Norwegian origin, as well as Hvin's Haustlöng or account of a famous warrior. In the thirteenth century prose sagas were plentiful among the Danes, who took special pleasure in the Thidrekssaga (1250), or life and adventures of Dietrich von Bern; in the Karlamagnussaga, or story of Charlemagne; and in the Barlaamssaga ok Josaphats, or Hebrew tale of Barlaam and Josaphat.

Norway also possesses a rich fund of folk tales, which have been collected by Asbjörnsen, and which, having many of the qualities of prose epics, have delighted many generations.

THE VOLSUNGA SAGA[34]

The Second Part of the Edda contains the famous Volsunga Saga, or Epic of the Volsungs, which has not only given rise to the Nibelungenlied and to Wagner's famous Trilogy of operas, but also to William Morris' Sigurd the Volsung. The plot of this, the most characteristic and famous of the Scandinavian sagas, is as follows:

Volsung, a lineal descendant from Odin, built his dwelling around the trunk of a mighty oak, the Branstock, whose branches overshadowed his whole dwelling. When Signy, Volsung's only daughter, was married against her will to Siggier, king of the Goths, a one-eyed stranger (Odin) suddenly appeared among the wedding guests, and thrust a priceless sword (Balmung) deep into the bole of the homestead oak. Before departing, as abruptly as he had come, the stranger proclaimed the weapon should belong to the man who pulled it out, and prophesied that it would assure him the victory in every fight.

"Now let the man among you whose heart and hand may shift To pluck it from the oak-wood e'en take it for my gift. Then ne'er, but his own heart falter, its point and edge shall fail Until the night's beginning and the ending of the tale."[35]

Although conscious that Odin had been in their midst, Volsung courteously invited the bridegroom to try his luck first, then himself attempted to draw out the divine sword, before he bade his ten sons exert their strength in turn. Only the youngest, Sigmund, was at last able to perform the required feat, and when Siggier eagerly offered to purchase his trophy from him, he firmly refused to part with it. Full of anger at this refusal, the Goth departed on the morrow, but although Signy loyally warned her kinsmen that her husband was plotting revenge, the Volsungs accepted his invitation to visit them soon.

When Volsung and his ten sons arrived in Gothland, Signy again bade them beware of coming treachery, but all in vain. The brave Volsungs, drawn into an ambush by their wily foe, were seized and bound fast to a fallen tree in a lonely forest, where every night a wild beast devoured one of these helpless men. Closely watched by her cruel husband, Signy could lend no aid to the prisoners, but when none but Sigmund, the youngest, was left, she directed a slave to smear his face with honey. The wild beast, attracted by the sweet odor, licked the face of the last prisoner, who, thus enabled to catch its tongue between his teeth, struggled with the beast until his bonds broke and he was free!

When Siggier sent to investigate as usual the next morning, his messenger reported no prisoners were left bound to the tree and that only a heap of bones was visible. Sure his foes were all dead, Siggier ceased to watch his wife, who, stealing out into the forest to bury the remains of her kin, discovered Sigmund in a thicket, and promised to aid him to obtain his revenge. To redeem this promise she sent to her brother, one after another, two of her sons to be trained as avengers, but, as both of these children proved deficient in courage, she came to the conclusion none but a pure-blooded Volsung would meet their requirements. To secure an offspring of this strain, Signy, disguised as a gypsy, secretly visited her brother's hut, and when their child, Sinfiotli, was older, sent him to Sigmund to foster and train.

With a youthful helper whom nothing could daunt, Sigmund, after achieving sundry adventures, lay in wait in Siggier's cellar, but, warned by two of his young children that murderers were hiding behind his casks, Siggier had them seized and cast into separate cells. There he decreed they should starve to death. But, before their prison was closed, Signy cast into it a bundle of straw, wherein she had concealed Balmung, the magic sword. Thanks to this weapon, Sigmund and Sinfiotli not only hewed their way out of their separate prisons, but slew all the Goths who attempted to escape from Siggier's dwelling, which they set aflame. But, although both proposed to save Signy, she merely stepped out of the house long enough to reveal Sinfiotli's origin and bade them farewell, ere she plunged back into the flames!

And then King Siggier's roof-tree upheaved for its utmost fall, And its huge walls clashed together, and its mean and lowly things The fire of death confounded with the tokens of the kings. A sign for many people on the land of the Goths it lay, A lamp of the earth none needed, for the bright sun brought the day.

Feeling he had done his duty by avenging his father's and brothers' death, Sigmund now returned home, where in his old age he was slain in battle shortly after his marriage to a young wife. Finding him dying on the battle-field, this wife bore off the fragments of his magic sword as sole inheritance for his child, whom she hoped would prove a boy who could avenge him. One version of the story relates that to escape the pursuit of Sigmund's foes this expectant mother plunged into the woods and sought help and refuge in the smithy of Mimer, a magician as well as a blacksmith. Here she gave birth to Sigurd, who, as she died when he was born, was brought up by Mimer, who marvelled to find the boy absolutely fearless.

Another version claims that, discovered by a Viking, mourning over her dead spouse, the widow was carried off by him, and consented to become his wife on condition he would prove a good foster-father to Sigmund's child. In this home Sigurd was educated by the wisest of men, Regin, who taught him all a hero need know, and directed him how to select his wonderful steed Grane or Greyfell (a descendant of Odin's Sleipnir), from a neighboring stud.

Seeing the youth ready for adventure, Regin now told him how the gods Odin, Hoenir, and Loki, wandering upon earth in the guise of men, once slew an otter, which they carried to a neighboring hut, asking to have its meat served for their dinner. Their host, however, exclaiming they had killed his eldest son who often assumed the form of an otter, seized and bound them fast, vowing they should not be free until they gave as ransom gold enough to cover the huge otter-skin.

The gods, knowing none but a magic treasure would suffice for that, bargained for the release of Loki, who departed in quest of the dwarf Andvari, the collector of an immense hoard of gold by magic means. As the wily Andvari could not easily be found, it required all the astuteness of the god of evil to discover him in the guise of a fish at the source of the Rhine, and to catch him by means of the sea-goddess' infallible net.

Having the dwarf in his power, Loki wrung from him his huge treasure, his Helm of Dread, or cap of invisibility, and even tore from his very finger a magic ring of gold, thus incurring the dwarf's curse.

"For men a curse thou bearest: entangled in my gold, Amid my woe abideth another woe untold. Two brethren and a father, eight kings my grief shall slay; And the hearts of queens shall be broken, and their eyes shall loathe the day. Lo, how the wilderness blossoms! Lo, how the lonely lands Are waving with the harvest that fell from my gathering hands!"

Scorning this prediction, Loki hastened to the rescue of his fellow-gods; but, as the otter-skin stretched further and further, it required not only all the treasure, but even the helmet and the serpent ring of gold, to cover it and thus complete the required ransom.

The new owner of the treasure now gloated over his gold until his very nature changed, and he was transformed into a hideous dragon. One of his two remaining sons, Fafnir, entering the hut, slew the dragon before he realized it was his father, and then, fascinated by treasure and ring, bore them off to a lonely heath, where in the guise of a dragon he too mounted guard over them. This appropriation of these treasures was keenly resented by his brother Regin, who, unable to cope with the robber himself, now begged Sigurd to help him. Like Mimer in the other version of the tale, Regin was an experienced blacksmith, but, notwithstanding all his skill, Sigurd broke every blade he forged for this task. Finally the young hero hammered out of the fragments of his dead father's blade a weapon which sheared the anvil in two, and could neatly divide a number of fleeces floating down a stream.

Properly mounted and armed, Sigurd was guided by Regin to the Glittering Heath, the place where Fafnir guarded his gold. A one-eyed ferry-man (Odin) conveyed the youth across the river, advising him to dig a pit in the track the dragon had worn in his frequent trips to the river to drink. Hidden in this pit--the ferry-man explained--the youth could mortally wound the dragon while he crawled over his head.

This advice being too pertinent to be scorned, Sigurd faithfully carried out the plan and slew the dragon, whose fiery blood poured down upon him and made every part of his body invulnerable, save a tiny spot between his shoulders, where a lime-leaf stuck so closely that the dragon blood did not touch the skin.

While Sigurd was still contemplating the fallen monster, Regin joined him, and, fearing lest he might claim part of the gold, plotted to slay him. First, he bade Sigurd cut out the heart of the dragon and roast it for him, a task which the youth obediently performed, but in the course of which he stuck a burnt finger in his mouth to allay the smart. This taste of Fafnir's heart blood then and there conferred upon Sigurd the power to understand the language of some birds near by, which exclaimed that Regin was coming behind him to slay him with his own sword! Enraged at such ingratitude and treachery, Sigurd now slew Regin, and after piling up most of the treasure in a cave,--where it continued to be guarded by the dragon's corpse,--Sigurd rode away, taking with him his sword, the magic helmet, and the ring.

Still guided by the birds, Sigurd next rode up a mountain, crowned by a baleful light, which he presently discovered emanated from a fire forming a barrier of flame around a fortress. Setting spurs to his divine steed, Sigurd rode right through these flames, which then flickered and died down, and discovered in the centre of the fortress a mound, whereon lay an apparently lifeless warrior. Using his sword to cut the armor fastenings, Sigurd discovered, beneath this armor, the Valkyr or battle-maiden Brynhild, who, on recovering consciousness, hailed her return to life and light with rapture and warmly thanked her deliverer. Then the two, having fallen in love with each other at first sight, explained to each other who they were; and Sigurd, after relating his own origin and adventures, learned that Brynhild, a Valkyr, having defied Odin by saving a man he had doomed to death, had been condemned to mate with any mortal who claimed her hand. Dreading to become the prey of a coward, Brynhild implored Odin to surround her with a barrier of fire which none save a brave man could cross. Although a goddess, she admits she loves her rescuer, and gladly accepts the magic ring he tenders and promises to be his wife.

Then he set the ring on her finger and once, if ne'er again, They kissed and clung together, and their hearts were full and fain.

The hero, however, doomed to press on in quest of further adventures, soon left Brynhild in the castle where he had found her, still protected by the barrier of flame, and rode off to Burgundy, the land of the Niblungs. Here reigned Guiki, whose fair daughter Gudrun once dreamt that a falcon, after hovering for some time over her house, nestled in her bosom, which she soon beheld dyed red by its life-blood. Disturbed by this ominous dream, Gudrun visited Brynhild and besought her interpretation, only to learn she would marry a king who would in time be slain by his foes.

Shortly after this occurrence, Sigurd reached the land of the Niblungs and challenged Gunnar, brother of Gudrun, to fight. But, rather than cross swords with the slayer of a dragon, Gunnar offered the stranger his hand in friendship and sent for his sister to give him the cup of welcome. While sojourning here with the Niblungs, Sigurd distinguished himself by athletic feats and, when war broke out, by conquering their foes. These proofs of strength and daring captivated the heart of Gudrun, who, seeing Sigurd paid no attention to her, finally prevailed upon her mother to give her a love potion, which she offered to him on his return from one of his adventures.

"He laughed and took the cup: but therein with the blood of the earth Earth's hidden might was mingled, and deeds of the cold sea's birth, And things that the high gods turn from, and a tangle of strange love, Deep guile, and strong compelling, that whoso drank thereof Should remember not his longing, should cast his love away, Remembering dead desire but as night remembereth day."

No sooner has this potion been quaffed than our hero, utterly oblivious of earlier promises to Brynhild, sued for Gudrun's hand, and was promised she should be his bride if he helped Gunnar secure Brynhild.

In behalf of his future brother-in-law--whose form he assumed--Sigurd once more rode through the flames, and, although haunted by vague memories of the past, wrested from Brynhild the magic betrothal ring he had given her, and claimed her as bride. Compelled by fate to wed any man who rode through the flames to claim her, Brynhild reluctantly obeyed Sigurd--whom she did not recognize--and was duly married to Gunnar, king of the Niblungs. But, on perceiving Sigurd at his court, she vainly strove to make him remember her and his vows, and was filled with bitter resentment when she perceived his utter devotion to Gudrun, his present bride.

Meantime, although Gunnar had secured the wife he coveted, he was anything but a happy man, for Brynhild would not allow him to approach her. Sigurd, to whom he finally confided this unsatisfactory state of affairs, finally volunteered to exert his fabulous strength to reduce to obedience the rebellious bride, whom he turned over to his brother-in-law in a submissive mood, after depriving her of her girdle and ring, which he carried off as trophies and gave to Gudrun.

Brynhild's resentment, however, still smouldered, and when Gudrun, her sister-in-law, attempted to claim precedence when they were bathing in the river, she openly quarrelled with her. In the course of this dispute, Gudrun exhibited the magic ring, loudly proclaiming her husband had wooed and won Gunnar's bride! Two distinct parties now defined themselves at court, where Högni, a kinsman of the Niblungs, vehemently espoused Brynhild's cause. By some secret means--for his was a dark and tortuous mind, ever plotting evil--Högni discovered the trick of the magic potion, as well as Brynhild's previous wooing by Sigurd, and proposed to her to avenge by blood the insult she had received.

According to one version of the tale, Högni, who discovers in what spot Sigurd is vulnerable, attacks him while he is asleep in bed and runs his lance through the fatal spot. The dying Sigurd therefore has only time to bid his wife watch over their children ere he expires. By order of Gudrun, his corpse is placed on a pyre, where it is to be consumed with his wonderful weapons and horse. Just as the flames are rising, Brynhild, who does not wish to survive the man she loves, either plunges into the flames and is consumed too, or stabs herself and asks that her corpse be burned beside Sigurd's, his naked sword lying between them, and the magic ring on her finger.

"I pray thee a prayer, the last word in the world I speak, That ye bear me forth to Sigurd and the hand my hand would seek; The bale for the dead is builded, it is wrought full wide on the plain, It is raised for Earth's best Helper, and thereon is room for twain: Ye have hung the shields about it, and the Southland hangings spread, There lay me adown by Sigurd and my head beside his head: But ere ye leave us sleeping, draw his Wrath from out the sheath, And lay that Light of the Branstock and the blade that frighted Death Betwixt my side and Sigurd's, as it lay that while agone, When once in one bed together we twain were laid alone: How then when the flames flare upward may I be left behind? How then may the road he wendeth be hard for my feet to find? How then in the gates of Valhall may the door of the gleaming ring Clash to on the heel of Sigurd, as I follow on my king?"

Another version of the tale relates that Sigurd was slain by Högni while hunting in the forest, as the story runs in the Nibelungenlied. Next we are informed that the king of the Huns demanded satisfaction from Gunnar for his sister Brynhild's death, and was promised Gudrun's hand in marriage. By means of another magic potion, Sigurd's widow was induced to marry the king of the Huns, to whom she bore two sons. But, when the effect of the potion wore off, she loathed this second marriage and dreamed only of avenging Sigurd's death and of getting rid of her second spouse.

As in the Nibelungenlied, Atli invited her kin to Hungary, where they arrived after burying the golden hoard in a secret spot in the Rhine, a spot they pledged themselves never to reveal. Once more we have a ride to Hungary, but Gudrun, seeing her husband means treachery, fights by her brother's side. Throughout this battle Gunnar sustains the courage of the Niblungs by playing on his harp, but, when only he and Högni are left, they are overpowered and flung into prison. There Atli vainly tries to make them confess the hiding-place of the hoard, and, hearing Gunnar will not speak as long as Högni lives, finally orders this warrior slain and his heart brought into Gunnar's presence.

Convinced at last that the momentous secret now lies with him alone, Gunnar flatly refuses to reveal it.

Then was Gunnar silent a little, and the shout in the hall had died, And he spoke as a man awakening, and turned on Atli's pride. "Thou all-rich King of the Eastlands, e'en such a man might I be That I might utter a word, and the heart should be glad in thee, And I should live and be sorry: for I, I only am left To tell of the ransom of Odin, and the wealth from the toiler reft. Lo, once it lay in the water, hid deep adown it lay, Till the gods were grieved and lacking, and men saw it and the day: Let it lie in the water once more, let the gods be rich and in peace! But I at least in the world from the words and the babble shall cease."

In his rage Atli orders the bound prisoner cast into a pit full of venomous serpents, where, his harp being flung after him in derision, Gunnar twangs its strings with his toes until he dies. To celebrate this victory, Atli orders a magnificent banquet, where he is so overcome by his many potations that Gudrun either stabs him to death with Sigurd's sword, or sets fire to the palace and perishes with the Huns, according to different versions of the story.

A third version claims that, either cast into the sea or set adrift in a vessel in punishment for murdering Atli, Gudrun landed in Denmark, where she married the king and bore him three sons. These youths, in an attempt to avenge the death of their fair step-sister Swanhild, were stoned to death. As for Gudrun, overwhelmed by the calamities which had visited her in the course of her life, she finally committed suicide by casting herself into the flames of a huge funeral pyre.

This saga is evidently a sun myth, the blood of the final massacres and the flames of the pyre being emblems of the sunset, and the slaying of Fafnir representing the defeat of cold and darkness which have carried off the golden hoard of summer.

Ye have heard of Sigurd aforetime, how the foes of God he slew; How forth from the darksome desert the Gold of the Waters he drew; How he wakened Love on the Mountain, and wakened Brynhild the Bright, And dwelt upon Earth for a season, and shone in all men's sight. Ye have heard of the Cloudy People, and the dimming of the day, And the latter world's confusion, and Sigurd gone away; Now ye know of the Need of the Niblungs and the end of broken troth, All the death of kings and of kindreds and the Sorrow of Odin the Goth.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 34: See the author's "Myths of Northern Lands."]

[Footnote 35: All the quotations in this chapter are from Wm. Morris' "Sigurd the Volsung."]

RUSSIAN AND FINNISH EPICS

There is strong evidence that the Finns, or some closely allied race, once spread over the greater part of central Europe. The two or more million Finns who now occupy Finland, and are subject--much against their will--to the Czar, are the proud possessors of an epic poem--the Kalevala--which until last century existed only in the memory of a few peasants. Scattered parts of this poem were published in 1822 by Zacharias Topelius, and Elias Lönnrot, who patiently travelled about to collect the remainder, was the first to arrange the 22,793 verses into 50 runes or cantos. The Kalevala attracted immediate attention and has already been translated into most modern languages. Like most epics, its source is in the mythology and folk-lore of the people, and its style has been closely imitated by Longfellow in his Hiawatha. The latest English adaptation of this great epic is Baldwin's "Sampo."

Although Russian literature is rich in folk poetry and epic songs, none of the latter have been written down until lately, with the exception of the twelfth-century Song of Igor's Band. The outline of this epic is that Igor, prince of Southern Russia, after being defeated and made prisoner, effected his escape with the help of a slave. Among the fine passages in this work we note Nature's grief over the prince's capture and the lament of his faithful consort.

It was only in the nineteenth century, after Zhukovski and Batyushkoff had translated into Russian some of the world's great masterpieces, such as Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered and Homer's Odyssey, that Pushkin wrote (1820) the epic Ruslan and Lyudmila, drawing the materials therefore from Russian antiquity and from popular legends.

There are in Russia and Siberia any number of epic songs or "bylinas," dating from legendary times to the present day, which have recently been collected by Kireyevski and others, and which already fill some ten volumes. The heroes of these songs are either personifications of the forces of nature or favorite historical personages. They form great cycles, one clustering for instance around Vladimir and the ancient capital of Russia, Kiev, another around the free city of Novgorod, and a third belonging to the later Moscow period. The principal hero of many of the Russian folk tales, and of the epic songs most frequently sung by wandering bards, is Ilya Muromets, who nobly protects widows and orphans and often displays his fabulous strength by reducing mighty oaks to kindling wood with a few blows!

THE KALEVALA, OR THE LAND OF HEROES

The national epic of the Finns was rescued from oblivion by Topelius and Lönnrot, two physicians, who took it down from the mouth of the people and published it in the first half of the nineteenth century. It consists in 22,793 lines, divided into fifty runes, and is considered by a great German authority--Steinthal--as one of the four great national epics of the world.

Not only does it relate "the ever-varying contests between Finns and Laplanders," but that between Light and Darkness, Good and Evil, for in the poem the Finns personify Light and Good, while the Lapps are emblems of Darkness and Evil. The Sampo, which is mentioned in this poem, and which seems to have been some sort of a magic grist-mill, holds the same place in Finn mythology as the Golden Fleece in that of the Greeks. Many of the poems incorporated in this epic date back some three thousand years, and the epic itself is composed in alliterative verse, although it also contains rhythm of line and sound, as the following introductory lines prove.

Mastered by desire impulsive, By a mighty inward urging, I am ready now for singing, Ready to begin the chanting Of our nation's ancient folk-song Handed down from by-gone ages, In my mouth the words are melting, From my lips the tones are gliding, From my tongue they wish to hasten; When my willing teeth are parted, When my ready mouth is opened, Songs of ancient wit and wisdom Hasten from me not unwilling.[36]

The proem then invites all people to listen to legends of by-gone times and to the teachings of the wizard Wainamoinen, to admire the works of Ilmarinen and the doings of Youkahainen in the pastures of the Northland and in the meads of Kalevala. It adds that these runes were caught from the winds, the waves, and the forest branches, and have been preserved in the Northland ever since.

_Rune I._ In the first rune we are informed that Ilmater, daughter of the air, weary of floating alone in space, finally descended to the ocean, where she was rocked in the cradle of the deep seven hundred, years. She made use of this time to create, out of the eggs of a wild duck, the canopy of the heavens, and the spherical earth, with its islands, rocks, and continents. At the end of these seven hundred years, Ilmater gave birth to Wainamoinen, having waited all this time to be delivered of him, and having vainly called all living creatures to her aid. After coming into the world, this wonderful child floated about on the ocean eight years, and then drew himself up on a barren promontory to admire the sun, moon, and starry skies.

_Rune II._ After living alone for some time on this promontory or island, Wainamoinen summoned Pellerwoinen, "first-born of the plains and prairies," and bade him scatter broadcast seeds for the trees which were destined to clothe both vales and hillsides. In a twinkling of an eye, every variety of forest growth waved its branches hither and thither, and, although Wainamoinen rejoiced to see the forest, he soon discovered that the oak, the "tree of heaven," was lacking in it. Because the oak still slept within an acorn, Wainamoinen wondered how to conjure it out of its hiding-place, and, after consulting five water-maidens, called the giant Tursus out of the depths of the ocean. After burning the hay the water-maidens raked together, this giant planted in the ashes an acorn, which quickly sprouted, and whence arose a tree of such mighty proportions that its branches hid the rays of the sun and blotted out the starlight.

Terrified by what he had done, Wainamoinen wondered how to get rid of the oak, and implored his mother to send some one to help him. Immediately there rose from the sea a pygmy, armed in copper, whom Wainamoinen deemed incapable of coping with so large a tree, until the dwarf suddenly transformed himself into a giant of such proportions that four blows from his copper axe felled the oak, scattering its trunk to the east, its top to the west, its leaves to the south, and its branches to the north. The chips from the fallen oak were collected by a Northland maiden to make enchanted arrows for a magician, and the soil it overshadowed immediately began to bear vegetation of sundry kinds.

Gazing at this new growth Wainamoinen discovered every kind of seed sprouting there save barley. Soon after he found seven grains of this cereal on the sea-shore and consulted the birds how best to plant them. They advised him to fell the forests, burn the branches, and plant the barley in the land thus cleared. While obeying these directions in the main, Wainamoinen allowed the birch to stand, declaring there must be some place where the cuckoo and the eagle could build their nests. These two birds, greatly pleased by this attention, watched Wainamoinen as he sowed his seed, and heard him chant a prayer to Ukko, Father of Heaven, to send down rain to help it germinate. This prayer was answered to such, good purpose that eight days later Wainamoinen found a crop of barley ready to harvest, and heard the cuckoo's notes as it perched in the birch trees.

"Therefore I have left the birch-tree, Left the birch-tree only growing, Home for thee for joyful singing. Call thou here, O sweet-voiced cuckoo, Sing thou here from throat of velvet, Sing thou here with voice of silver, Sing the cuckoo's golden flute-notes; Call at morning, call at evening, Call within the hour of noontide, For the better growth of forests, For the ripening of the barley, For the richness of the Northland, For the joy of Kalevala."

_Rune III._ In the beautiful Land of the Heroes--Kalevala--Wainamoinen sang songs so wonderful that their fame spread northward to the land of the Lapps, and prompted Youkahainen to journey southward and challenge the "ancient minstrel" to a singing contest. In vain Youkahainen's parents strove to dissuade him from this undertaking; the bold youth harnessed his sledge and drove rapidly southward, colliding with Wainamoinen, who was also out in his sledge that day. Although Wainamoinen was modest, his opponent was boastful and boldly proposed they show their skill by singing. Invited to sing first, Wainamoinen chanted a set of commonplace axioms; but when Youkahainen imitated him, the ancient minstrel challenged his guest to sing of creation or philosophy. Although Youkahainen now claimed he and seven other primeval heroes saw how the earth was fashioned, how the sky was arched, and how the silvery moon and golden sun were set in position, Wainamoinen termed him prince of liars and averred he was not present at the creation as he claimed. This contradiction so enraged Youkahainen that he offered to fight, but, instead of accepting this challenge, Wainamoinen sang a magic song of such power that it resolved Youkahainen's sled and harness to their primitive components, and caused him to sink ever deeper into quicksands which finally rose to his very lips. Realizing his desperate plight, Youkahainen implored Wainamoinen to cease his enchantments, offering as a ransom for his life all manner of magic gifts which Wainamoinen scorned. In fact, it was only when the culprit promised him the hand of his sister Aino that the ancient minstrel reversed his spell, and not only released Youkahainen, but restored to him all his possessions.

The defeated bard now returns to Lapland, and on arriving there smashes his sledge in token of anger. His parents wonderingly question him, and, on learning he has promised his sister's hand in marriage to the magician Wainamoinen, they are delighted that she should marry so influential a man, although the maiden herself mourns because all pleasures are to be taken from her forever.

_Rune IV._ While out in the forest gathering birch shoots for brooms, this maiden soon after is seen by Wainamoinen, who bids her adorn herself for her wedding, whereupon she petulantly casts off the ornaments she wears and returns home weeping without them. When her parents inquire what this means, Aino insists she will not marry the old magician, until her mother bribes her by the offer of some wonderful treasures, bestowed by the Daughter of the Sun and Moon, and which until now have been hidden in the depths of the earth.

Although decked in these magnificent adornments, the girl wanders around the fields, wishing she were dead, for marriage has no attractions for her and she is not anxious to become an old man's bride. Stealing down to the sea-shore, she finally lays aside her garments and ornaments and swims to a neighboring rock, where she no sooner perches than it topples over, and she sinks to the bottom of the sea! There Aino perishes, and the water is formed of her blood, the fish from her flesh, the willows from her ribs, and the sea-grass from her hair! Then all nature wonders how the news of her drowning shall be conveyed to her parents, and when the bear, wolf, and fox refuse to transmit so sad a message, the sea-maidens depute the hare, threatening to roast him unless he does their bidding.

Learning her daughter has perished thus miserably, the mother of Aino recognizes that parents should not compel daughters to marry against their will.

"Listen, all ye mothers, listen, Learn from me a tale of wisdom: Never urge unwilling daughters From the dwellings of their fathers, To the bridegrooms that they love not, Not as I, inhuman mother, Drove away my lovely Aino, Fairest daughter of the Northland."

Her sorrow is such that three streams of tears flow from her eyes and, increasing as they flow, form cataracts, between which rise three pinnacles of rock, whereon grow birches, upon which cuckoos forever chant of "love, suitors, and consolation!"

_Rune V._ The news of Aino's death travels swiftly southward, and Wainamoinen, hearing that his bride has perished, is plunged in grief. When he seeks consolation from the water-maidens they bid him go out fishing. After angling for many a day, he finally secures a salmon, larger and more beautiful than any fish ever seen before. He is opening his knife to cut the salmon open, when it suddenly springs back into the deep, saying it was Aino who had come to join him but who now escapes in punishment for his cruelty. Not discouraged by this first failure, Wainamoinen fishes on, until the spirit of his mother bids him travel northward and seek a suitable wife among the Lapps.

"Take for thee a life companion From the honest homes of Suomi, One of Northland's honest daughters; She will charm thee with her sweetness, Make thee happy through her goodness, Form perfection, manners easy, Every step and movement graceful, Full of wit and good behavior, Honor to thy home and kindred."

_Rune VI._ Preparing for a journey northward, Wainamoinen bestrides his magic steed, and galloping over the plains of Kalevala crosses the Blue Sea as if it were land. The bard Youkahainen, foreseeing his coming, lies in wait for him and prepares arrows to shoot him, although his mother warns him not to attempt anything of the kind. It is the third poisoned arrow from Youkahainen's bow which strikes Wainamoinen's horse, which immediately sinks to the bottom of the sea, leaving its rider to struggle in the water some eight years. Meantime Youkahainen exults because his foe is dead, although his mother insists her son has merely brought woe upon the earth.

_Rune VII._ Instead of treading the waves, Wainamoinen swims about until an eagle--grateful because he left birch-trees for birds to perch upon--swoops down, invites him to climb upon its back, and swiftly bears him to the dismal northland Sariola. There Wainamoinen is discovered by the Maid of Beauty, who sends her mother, toothless Louhi, to invite him into the house, where she bountifully feeds him. Next Louhi promises to supply Wainamoinen with a steed to return home and to give him her daughter in marriage, provided he will forge for her the Sampo, or magic grist-mill. Although Wainamoinen cannot do this, he promises that his brother, the blacksmith Ilmarinen, shall forge it for her, and thus secures the promise of the hand of the Maid of Beauty. This bargain made, Wainamoinen drives away in a sledge provided by his hostess, who cautions him not to look up as he travels along, lest misfortune befall him.

_Rune VIII._ Instead of obeying these injunctions, Wainamoinen gazes upward on his way home, and thus discovers the Maid of Beauty, or Maiden of the Rainbow, weaving "a gold and silver air-gown." When he invites her to come with him, she pertly rejoins the birds have informed her a married woman's life is unenviable, for wives "are like dogs enchained in kennel." When Wainamoinen insists wives are queens, and begs her to listen to his wooing, she retorts when he has split a golden hair with an edgeless knife, has snared a bird's egg with an invisible snare, has peeled a sandstone, and made a whipstock from ice without leaving any shavings, she may consider his proposal.

These impossible tasks are quickly accomplished by the wizard, but, while filling the Rainbow Maiden's last order to fashion a ship out of her broken spindle--Wainamoinen accidentally cuts his knee so badly that the blood flows so fast no charm can stop it. In vain different remedies are tried, in vain Wainamoinen seeks help at sundry houses the blood continues to pour out of his wound until it looks as if he would die.

_Rune IX._ Wainamoinen finally enters a cottage where two girls dip up some of his blood, and where an old man informs him he can be healed if he will only "sing the origin of iron." Thereupon Wainamoinen chants that Ukko, Creator of Heaven, having cut air and water asunder, created three lovely maidens, whose milk, scattered over the earth, supplied iron of three different hues. He adds that Fire then caught Iron, and carried it off to its furnace, where Ilmarinen discovered a way to harden it into steel by means of venom brought to him by the bird of Hades.

This song finished, the old man checks the flow of blood, and sends his daughters to collect various herbs, out of which he manufactures a magic balsam which cures the cut immediately.

_Rune X and XI._ Wainamoinen now hastens back to Kalevala and interviews his brother Ilmarinen, who refuses to journey northward or to forge the magic Sampo. To induce the smith to do his will, Wainamoinen persuades him to climb a lofty fir-tree, on whose branches he claims to have hung the moon and the Great Bear. While Ilmarinen is up in this tree, the wizard Wainamoinen causes a violent storm to blow his brother off to the Northland, where, welcomed by Louhi, Ilmarinen sets up his forge, and after four days' arduous work produces the magic sampo.

"I will forge for thee the Sampo, Hammer thee the lid in colors, From the tips of white-swan feathers, From the milk of greatest virtue, From a single grain of barley, From the finest wool of lambkins, Since I forged the arch of heaven, Forged the air a concave cover, Ere the earth had a beginning."

The sorceress is so pleased with the Sampo--by means of which she daily grinds out treasure untold--that, after hiding it away safely in a mountain, she authorizes Ilmarinen to woo the Maid of Beauty, who assures him also she never will marry. Saddened by this refusal, Ilmarinen longs for home, whither he is wafted in Louhi's magic boat of copper.

Meanwhile Wainamoinen has been building a magic boat in which to sail northward. He is aided in this work by Lemminkainen, who, seeing the Maid of Beauty, boldly kidnaps her. But the maiden consents to be his spouse only if he will promise never to fight, a pledge he readily gives in exchange for hers to forego all village dances. These vows duly exchanged, the young couple are united, and all goes well as long as both scrupulously keep their promise.

_Rune XII._ The time comes, however, when Lemminkainen goes fishing, and during his absence his wife secretly attends a village dance. When the husband returns, his sister informs him his bride has broken her promise, whereupon Lemminkainen vows it is time he too should break his, and, harnessing his sleigh, starts off for Lapland to fight. On arriving there he enters sundry houses, and finally meets in one of them a minstrel, whose song he roughly criticises. Then, seizing the man's harp, Lemminkainen chants all sorts of spells, until all present are under their influence save a blind shepherd, whom Lemminkainen allows to go, and who hastens down to the River of Death, declaring he will there await the singer's arrival.

_Runes XIII and XIV._ Lemminkainen now asks Louhi for her second daughter, whom she refuses to give him, declaring that after deserting her first daughter he can obtain her second only by catching the wild moose ranging in the fields of Hisi (Death), by bridling his fire-breathing steed, and by killing with his first arrow the great swan swimming on the River of Death. The first two tasks, although bristling with difficulties, are safely accomplished by Lemminkainen, but when he reaches the River of Death, the blind shepherd--who is lying there in wait for him ruthlessly slays him, chops his body into pieces, and casts them into the stream.

_Rune XV._ After vainly awaiting Lemminkainen's return, his aged mother, seeing blood drip from his hair-brush, concludes evil must have befallen her son. She therefore hastens northward, and threatens to destroy Louhi's magic Sampo unless the sorceress will reveal what has become of Lemminkainen. Louhi then confesses that she sent him down to Hades to hunt the Death swan, so Lemminkainen's mother hastens down to the River of Death, only to learn her son has perished. Hastening back to the blacksmith Ilmarinen, the frantic mother beseeches him to make her a rake with a handle five hundred fathoms long, and armed with this implement begins to dredge the river. Presently she fishes out one by one the garments and various fragments of her son! Thanks to powerful incantations she restores Lemminkainen to life, speech, and motion, whereupon the youth thanks her, and graphically relates how he came to his death. But, although he is home once more, Lemminkainen is always thinking of the beautiful maiden he wooed, and he still longs to kill the swan swimming on the River of Death!

_Runes XVI and XVII._ Leaving Lemminkainen, the poem now relates how Wainamoinen built a boat, asking the God of the Forest to supply him with the necessary material for its different parts. When questioned, the trees one after another declare they are unfit for ship-building, until the oak proffers its strong trunk. Wainamoinen now constructs his vessel, but discovers he lacks three "master words" to finish it properly. After vainly seeking these words among birds and animals, he crosses the River of Death in a boat, only to find the magic formula is unknown even to the angel of Death! The words are, however, well known to Wipunen, a giant of whom he goes in quest. Prying open the monster's lips to force him to speak, Wainamoinen stumbles and accidentally falls into the huge maw and is swallowed alive. But, unwilling to remain indefinitely in the dark recesses of the giant's body, Wainamoinen soon sets up a forge in the entrails of the colossus, thus causing him such keen discomfort that the monster proposes to eject his guest, who flatly refuses to be dislodged until he learns the magic words. Having thus cleverly secured what he is seeking, Wainamoinen returns home and completes a boat, which proves self-propelling, and speedily bears him to the Northland to woo the Maiden of the Rainbow.

Thus the ancient Wainamoinen Built the boat with magic only, And with magic launched his vessel, Using not the hand to touch it, Using not the foot to move it, Using not the knee to turn it, Using nothing to propel it. Thus the third task was completed, For the hostess of Pohyola, Dowry for the Maid of Beauty Sitting on the arch of heaven, On the bow of many colors.

_Rune XVIII._ Wainamoinen's departure in the magic vessel is noted by Ilmarinen's sister, who immediately informs her brother a suitor is starting to woo the girl he covets. Jumping into his sled Ilmarinen drives off, and both suitors approach the maiden's dwelling from different points at the self-same time. Seeing them draw near, the witch Louhi bids her daughter accept the older man--because he brings a boat-load of treasures--and to refuse the empty-handed youth. But the daughter, who prefers a young bridegroom, declares that the smith who fashioned the incomparable Sampo cannot be an undesirable match. When Wainamoinen therefore lands from his ship and invites her to go sailing with him, she refuses his invitation. Heavy-hearted, Wainamoinen is obliged to return home alone, and, on arriving there, issues the wise decree that old men should never woo mere girls or attempt to rival young men.

_Rune XIX._ In his turn Ilmarinen now woos the Rainbow Maiden, and is told by Louhi that ere he can claim his bride he must plough the serpent-field of Hades, bring back from that place the Tuoni-bear safely muzzled, and catch a monster pike swimming in the River of Death Helped by the Maiden of the Rainbow, Ilmarinen accomplishes these three difficult feats, by first forging the plough, noose, and fishing eagle required.

_Runes XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, and XXIV._ Now extensive preparations are made for the marriage of Ilmarinen and the Maiden of the Rainbow. Not only is the mighty ox of Harjala slain and roasted, but beer is brewed for the first time in the Northland, and many verses are devoted to describe the processes by which this national drink was brought to its state of perfection! When at last Ilmarinen appears to take away his bride, the Rainbow Maiden seems unwilling to go, and objects that a wife is her husband's slave, and has to spend all her days in pleasing him, his father, and his mother. Although her lament is touching indeed, the bride-advisor directs her to please her new relatives, admonishes Ilmarinen to treat her kindly, and watches the two set off, the Rainbow Maiden shedding bitter tears at leaving her beloved home.

_Rune XXV._ The bride and bridegroom are next warmly welcomed by Ilmarinen's family, old Wainamoinen himself singing at their bridal feast, and again instructing the bride to be all love and submission and to expect nothing save bitterness and hardship from marriage. Having concluded his song by praising the father who built the house, the mother who keeps it, and having blessed bridegroom and bride, Wainamoinen departs for the Land of the Dead, to borrow an auger to repair his sled, which has fallen to pieces while he sang.

_Rune XXVI._ Meanwhile Lemminkainen, angry because he alone has received no invitation to the wedding banquet, decides, in spite of his mother's advice, to go forth and take his revenge. Although he has to overcome a flaming eagle, pass through a pit of fire, slay a wolf and a bear, and destroy a wall of snakes mounting guard at the entrance of Lapland before he can reach his destination, his spells and incantations safely overcome these and other dire perils. _Runes XXVII and XXVIII._ Reaching Northland at last, Lemminkainen slays the husband of Louhi, from whom he escapes before she can attack him. His mother now warns him his foes will pursue him and advises him to go to the Isle of Refuge, situated in the centre of the Tenth Ocean, and abide there for three years, pledging himself not to fight again for sixty summers.

_Rune XXIX._ We now have a description of the Isle of Refuge, where Lemminkainen tarries three whole years with the sea-maidens, who bid him a tender farewell when he sails away again. He has, however, proved neglectful toward one of them, a spinster, who curses him, vowing he will suffer many things in return for his neglect. True to her prediction, he encounters many dangers on the homeward journey, and finds his house reduced to ashes and his parents gone! But, although he mourns for them as dead, he soon discovers them hiding in the forest, to escape the fury of the Lapps.

_Rune XXX._ To punish these foes Lemminkainen now sets out for the north, taking with him Tiera, hero of the broadsword, who is to help him. Aware of his coming, Louhi bids her son Frost stop them by holding their vessel fast in the ice, but Lemminkainen trudges over the ice, hurls the Frost-God into the fire, and, somewhat discouraged, returns home.

_Runes XXXI, XXXII, and XXXIII._ During this time a slave, Kullerwoinen, the son of Evil, has been sold to Ilmarinen to serve as his shepherd. The Rainbow Maiden therefore sends him forth with her cattle, giving him a loaf of bread as sole sustenance. When the son of Evil attempts to cut this bread, he breaks his knife, for the housewife has baked a flint-stone in it. In his anger the shepherd conjures up wolves and bears, which devour the cattle, and which he drives home in their stead after dark. When the Rainbow Maiden therefore unsuspectingly tries to milk them, she is instantly devoured by these wild beasts.

_Runes XXXIV and XXXV._ Having thus effected his revenge, the Spirit of Evil hurries away to his tribe-folk, who bid him perform sundry tasks, in the course of which he crowns his evil deeds by assaulting a sister who was lost in infancy, and whom he therefore fails to recognize. On discovering the identity of her ravisher, the unhappy girl throws herself into the river, where she perishes.

_Rune XXXVI._ Forbidden by his mother to commit suicide in punishment for his crime, Kullerwoinen decides to seek death on the field of battle. Although the various members of his family see him depart without regret, his mother assures him nothing can destroy her love for her son.

"Canst not fathom love maternal, Canst not smother her affection; Bitterly I'll mourn thy downfall, I would weep if thou shouldst perish, Shouldst thou leave my race forever; I would weep in court or cabin, Sprinkle all these fields with tear-drops, Weep great rivers to the ocean, Weep to melt the snows of Northland, Make the hillocks green with weeping, Weep at morning, weep at evening, Weep three years in bitter sorrow O'er the death of Kullerwoinen!"

Kullerwoinen, armed with a magic sword, does great slaughter among his foes, and returns home only to find all his kin have perished. While he mourns their death, his mother's spirit bids him follow his watch-dog--the only living creature left him. During this strange promenade, coming to the spot where he assaulted his sister, Kullerwoinen falls upon his magic sword and dies, an episode which inspires Wainamoinen with these words of wisdom:

"If the child is not well nurtured, Is not rocked and led uprightly, Though he grow to years of manhood, Bear a strong and shapely body, He will never know discretion, Never eat the bread of honor, Never drink the cup of wisdom."

_Rune XXXVII and XXXVIII._ Meantime Ilmarinen, after grieving three months for the loss of the Rainbow Maiden, proceeds to fashion himself a wife out of gold and silver, but, as she is lifeless and unresponsive, he offers her to Wainamoinen,--who refuses her,--and travels northward once more to woo a sister of his former bride. On arriving at Louhi's house,--undeterred by many evil omens which have crossed his path,--Ilmarinen sues for a bride. Louhi reproaches him for the treatment her first daughter has undergone, but, although the second maiden refuses to follow him, he boldly carries her off by force. She is, however, so unhappy with him that the blacksmith finally changes her into a sea-gull.

"I have changed the hateful virgin To a sea-gull on the ocean; Now she calls above the waters, Screeches from the ocean-islands, On the rocks she calls and murmurs, Vainly calling for a suitor."

_Runes XXXIX, XL, and XLI._ To comfort himself, Ilmarinen concludes he would like to have the Sampo, and persuades Wainamoinen and Lemminkainen to accompany him northward to get it. This time they sail in a magic ship, which is stranded on the shoulders of a huge pike. Wainamoinen kills this fish, and from its bones and sinews fashions the first harp, an instrument so wonderful that none but he can play it, but, whenever he touches its strings, trees dance about him, wild animals crouch at his feet, and the hearts of men are filled with rapture.

All of Northland stopped and listened. Every creature in the forest, All the beasts that haunt the woodlands, On their nimble feet came bounding, Came to listen to his playing, Came to hear his songs of joyance.

The music which he makes is so touching that it draws tears even from the player's eyes, tears which drop down into the sea, where they are transformed into pearls, which are brought to him by a duck.

Gathered Wainamoinen's tear-drops From the blue sea's pebbly bottom, From the deep, pellucid waters; Brought them to the great magician, Beautifully formed and colored, Glistening in the silver sunshine, Glimmering in the golden moonlight, Many-colored as the rainbow, Fitting ornaments for heroes, Jewels for the maids of beauty. This the origin of sea-pearls And the blue-duck's beauteous plumage.

_Runes XLII and XLIII._ Having lulled the Spirits of Evil to sleep with magic music, Wainamoinen and Ilmarinen go in quest of the Sampo, which they find hidden in the bosom of a magic mountain and bear away in triumph. The spell they have laid upon all living creatures is broken only when Louhi discovers her loss and sets out in pursuit of the robbers of her treasure.

In various guises she attacks them, finally transforming herself into a huge eagle and pouncing down upon the Sampo, which she tries to bear away in her talons. But Wainamoinen fights this aggressor to such good purpose that it drops the Sampo into the sea, where it is dashed to pieces! Not only has Wainamoinen lost the Sampo,--whose fragments he collects and buries so that they may bring prosperity to his people,--but his magic harp has also fallen overboard during his fight with Louhi.

_Runes XLIV and XLV._ Wainamoinen therefore proceeds to construct a second harp from the wood of the birch, while Louhi, who has returned northward but who still owes him a grudge, sends down from the north nine fell diseases,--colic, pleurisy, fever, ulcer, plague, consumption, gout, sterility, and cancer,--all of which Wainamoinen routs by means of the vapor baths which he discovers.

_Rune XLVI._ Hearing that Wainamoinen prospers in spite of all she can do, Louhi is so disappointed that she sends a magic bear to devour him and his brother. But, hearing this monster is coming, Wainamoinen directs the blacksmith to make him a wonderful spear, with which he slays the bear, whose skin and flesh prove a boon to his people.

_Runes XLVII and XLVIII._ Still angry, Louhi steals from Wainamoinen the sun, moon, and fire, and thus all the homes in Kalevala are cold, dark, and cheerless. Gazing downward, Ukko, king of the heaven, wonders because he sees no light, and sends down a flash of lightning, which, after striking the earth, drops into the sea and is swallowed by a pike. This fiery mouthful, however, proves so uncomfortable, that the fish swims madly around until swallowed by another. Learning that the fire-ball is now in a pike, Wainamoinen fishes until he secures that greedy denizen of the deep. Opening his quarry, he seizes the lightning, which burns his fingers so badly that he drops it, until he decides to convey it to his people in the wood of an elm.

_Rune XLIX._ Although fire is thus restored to mankind, the sun and the moon are still missing. Ilmarinen therefore forges a magnificent silver moon and golden sun, in the vain hope of replacing the orbs which Louhi has stolen, and which are hidden in the cave where she once treasured the Sampo. Discovering this fact by magic means, Wainamoinen starts out in quest of sun and moon, and, by changing himself into a pike to cross the river, reaches the land of Louhi, defeats her sons, and finds the orbs he is seeking guarded by a multitude of snakes. Although Wainamoinen slays these keepers, he cannot recover the captive sun or moon until Louhi, who has meantime assumed the form of an eagle and then of a dove, sends them back to Kalevala, where their return is hailed with joy.

"Greetings to thee, Sun of fortune; Greetings to thee, Moon of good-luck; Welcome sunshine, welcome moonlight; Golden is the dawn of morning! Free art thou, O Sun of silver, Free again, O Moon beloved, As the sacred cuckoo's singing, As the ring-dove's liquid cooing. Rise, thou silver Sun, each morning, Source of light and life hereafter, Bring us daily joyful greetings, Fill our homes with peace and plenty, That our sowing, fishing, hunting, May be prospered by thy coming. Travel on thy daily journey, Let the Moon be ever with thee; Glide along thy way rejoicing, End thy journeyings in slumber; Rest at evening in the ocean, When thy daily cares have ended, To the good of all thy people, To the pleasure of Wainola, To the joy of Kalevala!"

_Rune L._ Meanwhile there had been dwelling in the Northland a happy maiden named Mariatta, who, wandering on the hillsides, once asked the cuckoo how long she would remain unmarried, and heard a magic voice bid her gather a certain berry. No sooner had she done so than the berry popped into her mouth, and soon after she bore a child, which being the offspring of a berry was to be called Flower. Because her mother indignantly cast her off, she wandered about seeking a place where she could give birth to her child. She was finally compelled to take refuge in the manger of the fiery steed of Hisi, where her infant was charitably warmed by the firesteed's breath. But once, while the mother was slumbering, the child vanished, and the mother vainly sought it until the Sun informed her she would find it sleeping among the reeds and rushes in Swamp-land.

Mariatta, child of beauty, Virgin-mother of the Northland, Straightway seeks her babe in Swamp-land, Finds him in the reeds and rushes; Takes the young child on her bosom To the dwelling of her father.

Mariatta soon discovered him there, growing in grace and beauty, but priests refused to baptize him because he was considered a wizard. When Wainamoinen sentenced the mother to death, the infant, although only two weeks old, hotly reproached him, declaring that, although guilty of many follies, his people have always forgiven him. Hearing this, Wainamoinen, justly rebuked, baptized the child, who in time grew up to be a hero and became the greatest warrior in the land.

Wainamoinen, having grown feeble with passing years, finally built for himself a copper vessel, wherein, after singing a farewell song, he sailed "out into the west," and vanished in the midst of the sunset clouds, leaving behind him as an inheritance to his people his wondrous songs.

Thus the ancient Wainamoinen, In his copper-banded vessel, Left his tribe in Kalevala, Sailing o'er the rolling billows, Sailing through the azure vapors, Sailing through the dusk of evening, Sailing to the fiery sunset, To the higher-landed regions, To the lower verge of heaven; Quickly gained the far horizon, Gained the purple-colored harbor, There his bark he firmly anchored, Rested in his boat of copper; But he left his harp of magic, Left his songs and wisdom-sayings, To the lasting joy of Suomi.

The poem concludes with an epilogue, wherein the bard declares it contains many of the folk-tales of his native country, and that as far as rhythm is concerned--

"Nature was my only teacher, Woods and waters my instructors."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 36: All the quotations in this chapter are from Crawford's translation of the "Kalevala."]

THE EPICS OF CENTRAL EUROPE AND OF THE BALKAN PENINSULA

German being talked in a large part of Switzerland and of Austria, these countries claim a great share in the Teutonic epics, many of whose episodes are located within their borders. Both the Swiss and the Austrian nations are formed, however, of various peoples, so while some of the Swiss boast of German blood and traditions, others are more closely related to the French or to the Italians. To study Swiss literature one must therefore seek its sources in German, French, and Italian books. It is, though, considered very remarkable that there exists no great Swiss epic on the deeds of William Tell, a national hero whose literary fame rests almost exclusively upon folk-tales and upon Schiller's great drama.[37]

No political division boasts of a greater mixture of races and languages than the Austro-Hungarian empire, whose literature is therefore like a many-faceted jewel. Aside from many Germans, there are within the borders of the empire large numbers of Czechs or Bohemians, who in the thirteenth century delighted in translations of the Alexandreis, of Tristram, and of other epic poems and romances, and whose first printed volume in 1468 was a reproduction of the Trojan Cycle.

There are also the Hungarians, whose literary language continued to be Latin until after the Reformation, and whose earliest epics treat of such themes as the "Life of St. Catherine of Alexandria." It was, therefore, only in the seventeenth century that Zrinyi, Gyöngyösi, Liszti, and other poets began to compose Magyar epics which roused their countrymen to rebel against their foes, the Turks. In the nineteenth century patriotism was further fostered among this people by the stirring epics of Czuczor, Petöfi (whose masterpiece is Janes Vilez), and of Vörösmarty, and then, too, were compiled the first collections of genuine Hungarian folk-tales. Among these the adventures of the national Samson (Toldi) have served as basis for Arany's modern national epic in twelve cantos.

Part of Poland being incorporated in the Austro-Hungarian empire, it cannot be amiss to mention here the fact that its literature is particularly rich in folk-tales, animal epics, apologues, religious legends, and hero tales, although none of the poetical versions of these works seem to be of sufficient weight or importance to require detailed treatment in this volume.

With the exception of ancient Greece,--whose epic literature is so rich and still exerts such an influence as to demand separate treatment,--there do not seem to be any epics of great literary value among the various races now occupying the Balkan Peninsula. Old Rumanian literature, written in the Slavic tongue, boasts a few rhymed chronicles which are sometimes termed epics, while modern Rumanian prides itself upon Joan Delaemi's locally famous Epic of the Gypsies.

In Servia one discovers ancient epic songs celebrating the great feats of national heroes and heroines, and relating particularly to the country's prolonged struggle for independence. After translating the main works of Tasso from the Italian for the benefit of his countrymen, one of their poets--Gundulitch--composed a twenty-canto epic entitled Osman, wherein he described the war between the Poles and Turks in 1621. The Servian dramatist Palmotitch later composed the Christiad, or life of Christ, and in the nineteenth century Milutinovitch wrote a Servian epic, while Mazuranie and Bogovitch penned similar poems in Croatian. As for the Bulgarians they do not seem to have any epic of note.

Turkish literature having been successively under Persian, Arabic, and French influence, has no characteristic epics, although it possesses wonderful cycles of fairy and folk-tales,--material from which excellent epics could be evolved were it handled by a poet of genius. The Asiatic part of Turkey being occupied mainly by Arabians, who profess the Mohammedan religion, it is natural that the sayings and doings of Mohammed should form no small part of their literature. The most important of these collections in regard to the Prophet were made by Al-Bukhari, Muslem, and Al-Tirmidhi.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 37: See the author's "Legends of Switzerland."]

HEBREW AND EARLY CHRISTIAN EPICS

JOB

The Book of Job ranks as "one of that group of five or six world poems that stand as universal expressions of the human spirit." For that reason it is considered the representative Hebrew epic, and, as it depicts the conflicts of a human soul, it has also been termed the "epic of the inner life."

Written after the exile,--probably in the latter part of the fourth century B.C.,--it incorporates various older poems, for the theme is thought to antedate the Exodus. In the prologue we have a description of Job, a model sheik of the land of Uz, whose righteousness wins such complete approval from God that the Almighty proudly quotes his servant before his assembled council as a perfect man. "The Adversary," Satan, now dramatically presents himself, and, when taunted by God with Job's virtues, sarcastically retorts it is easy to be good when favored with continual prosperity.

Thus challenged, and feeling sure of his subject, God allows Satan to do his worst and thus test the real worth of Job. In quick succession we now behold a once happy and prosperous man deprived of children, wealth, and health,--misfortunes so swift and dire that his friends in lengthy speeches insist he has offended God, for such trials as his can only be sent in punishment for grievous sins. The exhortations of Job's three argumentative friends, as well as of a later-comer, and of his wife, extend over a period of seven days, and cover three whole cycles; but, in spite of all they say, Job steadfastly refuses to curse God as they advise.

Unaware of the Heavenly council or of the fact that he is being tested, Job, in spite of trials and friends, patiently reiterates "The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away," and, when his wife bids him curse God and die, pathetically inquires, "What! shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?"

There are, besides, whole passages in this book where Job gives way to his overwhelming grief, these laments being evidently either fragments from another, older version of the story, or tokens that even such fortitude as his gave way under pressure of disease and of his friends' injudicious attempts at consolation. These laments exceed in pathos any other Hebrew poem, while Job's descriptions of God's power and wisdom attain to a superbly exalted strain.

Having silenced Zopher, Eliphaz, and Bildad, by assuring them he will be vindicated in heaven,--if not sooner,--Job watches them and his last friend depart, and is finally left alone. Then only, and in an epilogue, we are informed that, having thus been tried in the furnace of affliction and proved true gold, Job receives from God, as reward, a double measure of health, wealth, and descendants, so that all men may know he has not sinned and that his unshaken faith found favor in the eyes of God.

Some Jewish writers quote Ecclesiastes as their best sample of didactic epic, and others would fain rank as epics the tales of Naomi and Ruth, of Esther and Ahasuerus, and even the idyllic Song of Songs by Solomon. Early Christian writers also see in Revelations, or the Apocalypse, by St. John, the Seer of Patmos, a brilliant example of the mystical or prophetic epic.

ARABIAN AND PERSIAN EPICS

"The long caravan marches across the monotonous deserts, when the camel's steady swing bends the rider's body almost double, taught the Arab to sing rhymes." But the poems thus sung by camel-drivers are generally short and never reach epic might or length. None of those older poems now exist, and it was only when travellers applied the Syrian alphabet to the Arabic tongue in the sixth century that written records began to be kept of favorite compositions. Poets were then looked upon as wise men, or magicians, and called upon, like Balaam, in times of danger, to utter spells or incantations against the foe.

The most ancient pre-Islamic poems were written in golden ink, suspended in the Kaaba at Mecca, and are known in Arabia as the "necklace of pearls."

Many of these poems--which replace epics in the East--follow fixed rules, the author being bound to "begin by a reference to the forsaken camping grounds. Next he must lament, and pray his comrades to halt, while he calls up the memory of the dwellers who had departed in search of other encampments and fresh water springs. Then he begins to touch on love matters, bewailing the tortures to which his passion puts him, and thus attracting interest and attention to himself. He recounts his hard and toilsome journeying in the desert, dwells on the lean condition of his steed, which he lauds and describes, and finally, with the object of obtaining those proofs of generosity which were the bard's expected meed and sole support, he winds up with a panegyric of the prince or governor in whose presence the poem is recited."

Throughout the East, professional story-tellers still spend their lives travelling about and entertaining audiences in towns and tents with poems and legends, many of the latter treating of desert feuds and battles and forming part of a collection known as the Arab Days. With the founding of Bagdad by the Abbasides, Persian influence begins to make itself felt, not only in politics but in literature also, although Arabic was the sole language of the empire of the Caliphs. The greatest literary work in this literature is the famous "Arabian Nights," an anonymous collection of tales connected by a thread of narrative. Its purport is that an Eastern monarch, "to protect himself against the craft and infidelity of women resolves that the wife he chooses him every day shall be put to death before the next." Two sisters devote their lives to put an end to such massacres. The eldest, who becomes the king's wife, begs that her sister may spend the last night of her life in their room. At dawn the royal bride entertains her sister with a story which is cleverly left unfinished. Such is the sultan's curiosity to hear the end, that the bride of a night is not slain, as usual. But as soon as one tale is ended another is begun, and for one thousand and one nights the clever narrator keeps her audience of two in suspense. Most of the tales told in this collection are obviously of Persian origin, and are contained in the Hasâr Afsâna (The Thousand Tales) which was translated into Arabic in the tenth century. But some authorities claim that these stories originated in India and were brought into Persia before Alexander's conquests. These tales are so popular that they have been translated into every civilized language and are often termed prose epics.

Arabic also boasts a romance of chivalry entitled "Romance of 'Antar,'" ascribed to Al Asmai (739-831), which contains the chief events in Arab history before the advent of Mahomet and is hence often termed the Arab Iliad.

The "Romance of Beni Hilâl" and that of "Abu Zaid," which form part of a cycle of 38 legends, are popular in Egypt to this day.

THE SHAH-NAMEH, OR EPIC OF KINGS

This Persian epic was composed by the poet Abul Kasin Mansur, who sang so sweetly that his master termed him Firdusi, or Singer of Paradise, by which name he is best known, although he is also called the "Homer of the East." Mahmoud, Shah of Persia, who lived about 920 B.C., decided to have the chronicles of the land put into rhyme, and engaged Firdusi for this piece of work, promising him a thousand gold pieces for every thousand distichs he finished. Firdusi, who had long wished to build stone embankments for the river whose overflow devastated his native town, begged the king to withhold payment until the work was done.

At the end of thirty-three years, when the poem was completed, the grand vizier, after counting its sixty-thousand couplets, concluded not to pay for it in gold, and sent instead sixty thousand small pieces of silver. On receiving so inadequate a reward, Firdusi became so angry that, after distributing the money among the bearers and writing an insulting poem to the king, he fled first to Mazinderan and then to Bagdad, where he lingered until shortly before his death, when he returned to Tous. Tradition claims that the Shah; hearing he had come home,--and having meantime discovered the trickery of his minister,--immediately sent Firdusi sixty thousand pieces of gold, but that the money arrived only as his corpse was being lowered into the tomb! As the poet's daughter indignantly refused to accept this tardy atonement, another relative took the money and built the dike which Firdusi had longed to see.

We know that Persian monarchs made sundry attempts to collect the annals of their country, but these collections were scattered at the time of the Arabian conquest, so that only a few documents were brought back to Persia later on. Although the poem of Firdusi claims to be a complete history of Persia, it contains so many marvels that, were it not for its wonderful diction, it would not have survived, although he declares he has written,

"What no tide Shall ever wash away, what men Unborn shall read o'er ocean wide."[38]

The poem opens with the description of a ruler so prosperous that the Spirit of Evil sent a mighty devil (deev) to conquer him. Thanks to the effort of this demon, the king's son was slain, and, as the monarch died of grief, it was his grandson who succeeded him. During a forty-centuries reign this king gave fire to his people, taught them irrigation and agriculture, and bestowed names on all the beasts.

His son and successor taught mortals how to spin and weave, and the demons, in hopes of destroying him, imparted to him the arts of reading and writing. Next came the famous Persian hero Jemshid, who is said to have reigned seven hundred years, and to have divided the Persian nation into four classes,--priests, warriors, artisans, and husbandmen. During his reign, which is the Age of Gold of Persia, the world was divided into separate parts, and the city of Persepolis founded, where two columns of the ruined royal palace still bear the name of the monarch who instituted the national festival of Persia (Neurouz).

Having accomplished all these wonderful things, Jemshid became so conceited that he wished to be worshipped, whereupon a neighboring volcano vomited smoke and ashes and innumerable snakes infested the land. Then Prince Zohak of Arabia was sent by the Evil Spirit to drive away Jemshid and to take possession of his throne. Although at first Zohak was very virtuous, the Evil Spirit, having gotten him in his power, began to serve him in guise of a cook. Once, having succeeded in pleasing him, he begged permission as reward to kiss the king between his shoulders. But no sooner had this demon's lips touched the royal back than two black serpents sprang up there, serpents which could not be destroyed, and which could only be kept quiet by being fed with human brains.

"If life hath any charm for thee, The brains of men their food must be."

Zohak, "the Serpent King," as he is now invariably called, was therefore obliged to prey upon his subjects to satisfy the appetite of these serpents, and, as two men were required daily for that purpose during the next thousand years, the realm was sorely depopulated.

The serpents still on human brains were fed, And every day two youthful victims bled; The sword, still ready, thirsting still to strike, Warrior and slave were sacrificed alike.

Naturally, all the Persians grew to loathe their monarch, and, when the seventeenth and last child of the blacksmith Kavah was seized to feed the serpents, this man rebelled, and, raising his leathern apron as a standard, rallied the Persians around him. He then informed them that, if they would only fight beneath "the flag of Kavah,"--which is now the Persian ensign,--he would give them as king Feridoun, a son of Jemshid, born during his exile. Hearing this, the rebels went in quest of Feridoun, "the glorious," in regard to whom Zohak has been favored with sundry visions, although he had been brought up in secret, his sole nurse being a faithful cow. When this animal died at last, the grateful Feridoun made a mace of one of its big bones, and armed with that weapon, defeated Zohak, who was chained to a mountain, where he was tortured by visions of his victims for a thousand years. Meantime Feridoun occupied so justly the throne of Persia--where he reigned some five hundred years--that his realm became an earthly Paradise.

At the end of this long reign, Feridoun despatched his three sons to Arabia in quest of wives, and on their return proceeded to test their mettle by meeting them in the shape of a dragon. While the eldest son retreated, crying that a wise and prudent man never strives with dragons, the second advanced recklessly, without thinking of protecting himself. The third, however, set to work in a business-like way, not only to rescue his foolhardy brother, but to slay the dragon. On perceiving this, the father resumed his wonted form, and announced he would divide his realm into three parts, of which the best share, Iran or Persia, was bestowed upon Trij, the son who had shown both courage and prudence.

Not long after this division, the two elder brothers united to despoil the younger, but, although they succeeded in slaying him, his infant daughter was brought up by the aged Feridoun, and in due time gave birth to a son, Minuchir, destined to avenge his grandfather's death by defeating and slaying his great-uncles. Having done this, Minuchir occupied the throne, while his favorite vassal was made governor of one of the newly conquered realms. This swarthy, dark-haired man proved perfectly happy in these new estates until he heard his wife had given birth to a son with snow-white hair.

"No human being of this earth could give to such a monster birth, He must be of the demon race, though human still in form and face. If not a demon, he at least, appears a parti-colored beast."

Such an offspring seeming nothing short of a curse, the father had little Zal exposed on Mt. Alborz, where he expected he would perish in a brief space of time.

On the top of this mountain the Simurgh, or Bird of God,--a marvellous golden-feathered eagle,--had built a nest of ebony and sandal-wood, lined with spices, around which she had piled all manner of precious stones, whose glitter pleased her. Hearing the cry of a babe, this great bird swooped downward, and, fastening her talons in the child's dress, bore him safely away to her aerie, where she dropped him in the nest beside two eaglets. These little birds proved kind to the young prince, although they were able to leave their nest long before he could walk about and play with the precious stones.

It was only when Zal was about eight years old that his father suddenly realized he had committed a deadly sin, and was correspondingly relieved to learn in a dream that his child had not perished, but had been nursed by the Simurgh. Hastening to the mountain, the father besought the Bird of God to give back his son, whereupon the golden-feathered eagle, after taking affectionate leave of little Zal (upon whom she bestowed a feather which was to be cast into the fire in time of need), bore him back to his father.

"Having watched thee with fondness by day and by night, And supplied all thy wants with a mother's delight, Oh, forget not thy nurse--still be faithful to me, And my heart will be ever devoted to thee."

The father now brought up young Zal, who soon became so remarkable for strength and bravery that he promised to become the greatest warrior the world had ever known. In early manhood this youth journeyed to Kabul, where he beheld the lovely Rudaveh, who belonged to the race of the Serpent King. The arrival of a young but white-haired warrior caused such a sensation at court that the princess, who had already fallen in love with him on hearsay, became anxious to meet him.

One day, when the maidens were gathering roses near his pavilion, Zal shot a bird, which falling in their midst gave them an occasion to address him. He, too, had heard so much about the loveliness of Rudaveh, that he questioned her attendants and gave them jewels to take to her. Such gifts quickly paved the way for an interview, for Rudaveh immediately sent for Zal. On appearing beneath her window, this lover began so sweet a serenade that the princess stepped out in her balcony, where, loosening her long black braids,--which hung down to the ground,--she bade Zal use them to climb up to her. He, however, gallantly refused, for fear he should hurt her, and deftly flinging his noose upward caught it fast in a projection, and thus safely reached the balcony, where this Persian Romeo acceptably wooed his Juliet.

The royal parents, on discovering these clandestine meetings, questioned the young man, who proved his intelligence by solving six riddles, and, after giving satisfactory tokens of his other qualifications, was allowed to marry the princess, for the oracles predicted that from this union would arise a hero who would honor his native land.

Time now passed happily until the moment came when Rudaveh's life was in imminent danger. In his quandary, Zal flung the golden feather into the fire with so trembling a hand that it fell to one side so that only one edge was singed. This proved sufficient, however, to summon the faithful Simurgh, who, after rapturously caressing her nursling, whispered in his ear a magic word, which not only enabled him to save the life of his dying wife, but also assured his becoming the happy father of a stalwart son named Rustem.

This boy, stronger and handsomer than any child yet born, required no less than ten nurses, and after being weaned ate as much as five men! Such being the case, he was able, by the time he was eight years of age, to slay a mad white elephant with a single stroke of his fist. Many similar feats were performed during the boyhood of this Persian Hercules, who longed to fight when the realm was finally invaded by the Tartar chief Afrasiab and war began to devastate the land.

Loud neighed the steeds, and their resounding hoofs Shook the deep caverns of the earth; the dust Rose up in clouds and hid the azure heavens.-- Bright beamed the swords, and in that carnage wide, Blood flowed like water.

When the Persians, in their distress, implored Zal to meet and defeat this dreaded foe, the hero answered he was far too old to perform such a task, but that his son Rustem would fight in his stead. Before sending him forth, however, Zal bade Rustem select a suitable steed, and, from all those paraded before him, the youth picked out a rose-colored colt called Rakush (lightning) whom no one had ever been able to mount, although he was quite old enough to use. After lassoing and taming this wonderful steed,--which obeyed him alone,--Rustem, armed with a mace, set out to meet the foe, sent hither as he knew by the evil spirit. Then, to oppose Afrasiab, Rustem placed Kaikobad, a descendant of the old royal family, on the throne, after driving away the foe. The wise Kaikobad, who reigned peacefully one hundred years, was, however, succeeded by a very foolish son, Kaikous, who, ill satisfied with the extent of his realm, undertook to conquer Mazinderan, which was in the hands of demons, but which he had coveted ever since it had been described by a young bard who sang:

"And mark me, that untravelled man Who never saw Mazinderan And all the charms its bowers possess, Has never tasted happiness."

On hearing his master propose such a conquest, Zal vainly remonstrated, but the foolish monarch set out, and on arriving in Mazinderan was defeated by the demons, who blinded him and his army and detained them prisoners. No sooner did the news of this calamity reach Zal, than he bade Rustem go rescue the foolish monarch, adding that, although it had taken Kaikous six months to reach his destination, Rustem could get there in seven days, provided he were willing to brave great dangers.

Of course the hero selected the shorter route, and on the first day slew a wild ass, which he roasted for supper before lying down to rest. The odor of roast meat, however, attracted a lion, which would have made a meal of the sleeping Rustem, had not his brave steed fought with hoofs and teeth until he succeeded in slaying the beast of prey. Awakened only as the fight ended, Rustem reproved his horse for risking his life in this reckless way and bade him henceforth call for aid.

"Oh, Rakush, why so thoughtless grown To fight a lion thus alone? For had it been thy fate to bleed And not thy foe, O gallant steed! How could thy master have conveyed His helm, and battle-axe, and blade, Unaided to Mazinderan? Why didst thou fail to give the alarm, And save thyself from chance of harm, By neighing loudly in my ear? But, though thy bold heart knows no fear, From such unwise exploits refrain Nor try a lion's strength again."

During the second day's journey, Rustem was saved from perishing of thirst by following a stray ram to a mountain stream; and on the third night, having forbidden his horse to attack any foe without warning him, Rustem was twice awakened by the loud neighing of Rakush, who had seen an eighty-yard long dragon draw near. Each time he neighed, however, the dragon disappeared, so Rustem, seeing nought, reproved his horse for breaking his rest. The third time, however, he caught a glimpse of the dragon's fiery eyes, so, attacking him, he slew him, thanks to the help of his horse. The fourth day was signalized by other marvellous adventures, and on the fifth, while journeying through the land of magic, Rustem was met by a sorceress, who tried to win him by many wiles. Although he accepted the banquet and cup of wine she tendered, he no sooner bade her quaff it in the name of God, than she was forced to resume her fiendish form, whereupon he slew her.

On the sixth day, Rustem, forced to ride through a land where the sun never shone, allowed his intelligent steed to guide him, and thus safely reached on the seventh a land of plenty and light, where he lay down to rest. There, while he was sleeping, the people of Mazinderan captured his wonderful steed. But, following the traces of his struggling horse, Rustem, by dint of great exertions, made them give back Rakush, and forced them to guide him to the cave where the White Demon was detaining his fellow-countrymen prisoners.

In front of this cave Rustem found an array of demons, and, after conquering them all, forced his way into the Persian hell, whence he rescued his companions, whose sight he restored by trickling the blood of the White Demon into their sightless eyes.

Having thus earned the title of "champion of the world," Rustem escorted the stupid king home, but this monarch, not satisfied with this blunder, committed one folly after another. We are told that he even undertook to fly, his special make of aeroplane being a carpet borne by four starving eagles, fastened to the four corners of its frame, and frantically striving to reach a piece of meat fixed temptingly above and ahead of them.

Time and again the foolish monarch Kaikous was rescued by the efforts of Rustem, who, in the course of his wanderings, finally came to the court of a king, whose daughter, loving him by hearsay, had his horse stolen from him. When Rustem angrily demanded the return of his steed, the monarch assured him he should have Rakush on the morrow. But that night the beautiful princess, Tamineh, stole into Rustem's room, and, after waking him, promised he should have his horse provided he would marry her. Charmed by her beauty and grace, Rustem readily consented, and found such attractions in his bride that he lingered by her side for some time.

The moment came, however, when the foolish monarch required Rustem's services, and, as Tamineh was not able at that time to bear the long journey, Rustem bade her a fond farewell, leaving an onyx bracelet bearing the image of the Simurgh, with which he bade her deck their expected child. In due time the lovely princess gave birth to a beautiful boy, whom she called Sorab (sunshine), but, fearing lest Rustem should take him away to train him as a warrior, she sent word to him that she had given birth to a daughter. Girls being of minor importance in Persia, Rustem inquired no further about this child, and was kept so busy serving his monarch that he never once visited his wife while his son was growing up.

For a long time Tamineh jealously guarded the secret of Sorab's birth, fearing lest her young son would want to go forth and do battle too. But when she could no longer keep him home, she told him the story of her wooing:

"Listen, my child, and you shall hear Of the wondrous love of a maiden dear For a mighty warrior, the pride of his day Who loved, and married, and rode away, For this is the romance of Rustem."

The lad, who had always cherished a romantic admiration for Rustem, was overjoyed to learn his origin, and departed only after being reminded that he must never fight his father, although about to help the Tartars in a war against Persia. Sorab was doing so because everybody was tired of the foolish king, who was to be overthrown, so that Rustem could be placed on the throne in his stead. To make sure her son should not fail to recognize his father, Tamineh sent with him two faithful servants who had known Rustem well when he came to woo her.

Meantime Afrasiab, chief of the Tartars, delighted to have Sorab's aid against Persia, cautioned all his warriors not to tell the youth, should his father appear in the opposite army, for he slyly hoped "the young lion would kill the old one," and felt sure that, were he only rid of father and son, he would be able to rule over Persia himself.

In the course of this war young Sorab met with many adventures, fighting once against an Amazon, who by trickery managed to escape from him. However, Sorab kept hoping the time would come when he and his father would meet face to face, and, whenever a fray was about to take place, he always bade his companions scan the ranks of the foe to make sure that Rustem was not there.[39]

Meantime the foolish king, having gotten the worst in the war, had sent for Rustem, who, for reconnoitring purposes, entered the Tartar camp as a spy. There he beheld Sorab, and could not help admiring the young warrior, of whose many brave exploits he had already heard. While thus sneaking about the enemy's tent, Rustem was discovered by the two servants whom Tamineh had placed by her son's side, both of whom he killed before they could give the alarm. Thus, when Sorab and Rustem finally came face to face, there was no one at hand to point out the son to the father or inform the son of his close relationship to his antagonist. After the war had raged for some time, Sorab challenged the Persians to a single fight, for he was anxious to distinguish himself, knowing that should he win a great triumph his father would hear of it, and inquire the origin of the youth of whom such tales were told:

"Come then, hear now, and grant me what I ask. Let the two armies rest to-day; but I Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords To meet me, man to man: If I prevail, Rustum will surely hear it; if I fall-- Old man, the dead need no one, claim no kin. Dim is the rumor of a common fight, Where host meets host, and many names are sunk; But of a single combat fame speaks clear."[40]

Such was the reputation of Sorab, however, that none of the Persians dared encounter him, and urged Rustem to undertake this task himself. Fearing lest so youthful an opponent should withdraw if he heard the name of his antagonist, or that he should pride himself too greatly on the honor done him, Rustem went into battle in disguise.

On seeing a stalwart old warrior approach, Sorab felt strangely moved, and, running to meet him, begged to know his name, for he had a premonition that this was Rustem. The father, too, seized by a peculiar feeling of tenderness for this youth, commented to himself that had he a male descendant he would fain have had him look like Sorab, and therefore tried to make him withdraw his challenge. Notwithstanding Sorab's eager inquiries, Rustem obstinately refused to divulge his name, and, seeing his opponent would not desist, bade him begin the fight without further ado.

And then he turned and sternly spake aloud,-- "Rise! wherefore dost thou vainly question thus Of Rustum? I am here whom thou hast called By challenge forth; make good thy vaunt, or yield! Is it with Rustum only thou wouldst fight? Rash boy, men look on Rustum's face, and flee! For well I know, that did great Rustum stand Before thy face this day, and were revealed, There would be then no talk of fighting more."

For three consecutive days the battle raged, father and son proving of equal strength and skill. But, although Sorab once overthrew Rustem, he generously stepped aside and allowed the aged warrior to recover his footing. Several times, also, the young man proposed that they sheathe their swords, for his heart continued to be attracted to his opponent, who, fighting down similar emotions, always taunted his antagonist into renewing the fight.

He spoke; and Sohrab kindled at his taunts, And he too drew his sword; at once they rushed Together, as two eagles on one prey Come rushing down together from the clouds, One from the east, one from the west; their skulls Dashed with a clang together, and a din Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters Make often in the forest's heart at morn, Of hewing axes, crashing trees,--such blows Rustum and Sohrab on each other hailed.

It was only on the fifth day that Rustem, forgetting everything in the excitement of the moment, met his foe with his usual war cry, "Rustem, Rustem." The mere sound of so beloved a name so paralyzed Sorab, that, instead of meeting this onslaught, he sank beneath his father's blow. Then he gasped that, although dying, his adversary could not pride himself upon having fairly won the victory, for nothing short of his father's name could have disarmed him thus!

"But that belovèd name unnerved my arm,-- That name, and something, I confess, in thee, Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield Fall; and thy spear transfixed an unarmed foe. And now thou boastest, and insult'st my fate. But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear: The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death! My father, whom I seek through all the world, He shall avenge my death, and punish thee!"

On hearing these words, Rustem anxiously demanded explanation, only to learn that the man he had mortally wounded was his own son, as was only too surely proved by the bracelet decorated with the Simurgh which Sorab exhibited.

It was that griffin which of old reared Zal, Rustum's great father, whom they left to die, A helpless babe, among the rocks; Him that kind creature found, and reared, and loved; Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign.

Not only did broken-hearted Rustem hang over his dying son in speechless grief, but the steed Rakush wept bitter tears over the youth who had so longed to bestride him.

And awe fell on both the hosts, When they saw Rustum's grief; and Ruksh, the horse, With his head bowing to the ground, and mane Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute woe First to the one, then to the other, moved His head, as if inquiring what their grief Might mean; and from his dark compassionate eyes, The big warm tears rolled down and caked the sand.

In hopes of saving his son, Rustem vainly implored the foolish monarch to bestow upon him a drop of some magic ointment he owned. But Sorab expired without this aid in Rustem's arms, and the broken-hearted father burned his remains on a pyre. Then he conveyed to his home Sorab's ashes, and sent the young hero's riderless steed back to his poor mother, who died of grief.

We are told that the foolish king proved so fortunate as to have a noble and generous son named Siawush, of whom he became so jealous that the youth had to leave home and was brought up by Rustem. The step-mother, who had so poisoned his father's mind against him, plotted Siawush's death as soon as he returned to court, by accusing him of making love to her. In anger the father decreed that Siawush should submit to the test of fire, so huge furnaces were lighted, through which the young man rode unharmed, the Angel of Pity and the spirit of his dead mother standing on either side of him to guard him from injury. Because the step-mother had wrongfully accused Siawush, she too was condemned to pass through the fire, but her step-son, knowing she could never stand such an ordeal, pleaded successfully in her behalf.

Not daring to remain at his father's court, this young prince withdrew among the Tartars, where he married Afrasiab's daughter. But such were his qualities and noble deeds, that his wicked father-in-law became jealous enough of him to slay him. He did not, however, succeed in exterminating the race, for a kind-hearted nobleman, Piran-Wisa, secreted Siawush's little son, and entrusted him to a goat-herd to bring up. When Afrasiab discovered a few years later that this child was still living, he planned to put him to death, until the nobleman assured him the child was an idiot and would, therefore, never work him any harm. Only half convinced, Afrasiab sent for the youth, Kai-Khosrau, who, duly instructed by his protector, returned such crazy answers to his grandfather's questions, that Afrasiab felt satisfied he was an idiot indeed.

This young prince, having attained manhood, led a rebellion so successfully that he not only dethroned his grandfather, Afrasiab, but also recovered his hereditary throne of Persia. There he reigned for many years, at the end of which he became so anxious to leave this world, that he prayed the good god (Ormudz) to receive him in his bosom. In a dream this divinity informed the king that, as soon as his affairs were in order and his successor named, his wish would be granted. Kai-Khosrau, therefore, made all his arrangements, and set out on the journey to the next world, bidding his friends not try to accompany him, for the road would be too hard for them to travel. In spite of these injunctions, a few faithful followers went with him, until they reached a place where the cold was so intense that they all froze to death, and thus left him to continue alone the journey from whence he never returned.

And not a trace was left behind, And not a dimple on the wave; All sought, but sought in vain, to find The spot which proved Kai-Khosrau's grave.

The successor which Kai-Khosrau had chosen proved a just ruler until he became jealous of his own son, Isfendiyar, who was also a great warrior, and who, like Rustem, accomplished seven great works. He, too, overcame demons, wolves, lions, enchanters, dragons, and unchained elements, and on one occasion proceeded to rescue two of his sisters, who were detained captives in the fortress of Arjasp, a demon king. Knowing he could not enter this stronghold by force, Isfendiyar penetrated into it in the guise of a merchant, having hidden in his chests a number of soldiers, who were to help him when the right moment came. Thanks to their aid and to the fact that he began by intoxicating his foe, Isfendiyar triumphed.

The time came, however, when Isfendiyar was ordered by his father to bring Rustem to court in chains. This task proved most distasteful to the prince, who, on approaching Rustem, explained that he was not a free agent. Because the old hero obstinately refused to be manacled, the two warriors began fighting, and at the end of the day Rustem and his steed were so severely wounded that Isfendiyar felt sure they would not be able to renew the fight on the morrow.

It happened, however, that the aged Zal, on seeing his wounded son, remembered his partly burned feather, and promptly cast it into the fire. Immediately the Simurgh appeared, and with one touch of her golden wings healed the horse, and used her clever beak to draw the lance out of Rustem's side. Having thus healed her nursling's son, the Simurgh vanished, leaving Rustem and his steed in such good condition that they were able to renew the battle on the morrow. This time, Isfendiyar perished beneath Rustem's blows, exclaiming that the hero was not to blame for his death and that he fell victim to his father's hate. In token of forgiveness, he begged Rustem to bring up his son, a wish which was piously carried out by the brave warrior as long as he lived.

Because it had been written in the stars that "he who slew Isfendiyar would die miserably," Rustem was somewhat prepared for his tragic fate. It seems his young half-brother finally became so jealous of him that he plotted to kill him by digging seven pits lined with swords and spears. These were hidden in a road along which Rustem had to travel when he came in the king's name to claim tribute. Falling into the first pit, Rustem set his spurs to Rakush's sides; and the brave steed, although wounded, leaped out of this trap, only to tumble into a second and third. From pit to pit Rustem and his dauntless horse landed at the bottom of the seventh, fainting from their many wounds.

The treacherous step-brother now drew cautiously near to ascertain whether Rustem were dead, whereupon our hero begged for his bow and arrows, declaring he wished to ward off the wild beasts as long as he remained alive. The unsuspecting brother, therefore, flung the desired weapons down into the pit, but no sooner were they within reach, than Rustem fitted an arrow to the string, casting such a baleful look at his step-brother that this coward hastened to take refuge behind a tree. No obstacle could, however, balk the righteously angry Rustem, who sent his arrow straight through the trunk into his brother's heart, thus punishing the murderer for his dastardly trick. Then, returning thanks for having been allowed to avenge his wrongs, Rustem breathed his last beside his faithful steed.

On hearing his son had perished, Zal sent an army to lay Kabul waste, and, having recovered the corpses of Rustem and of his steed, laid them piously to rest in a magnificent tomb in Seistan.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 38: All the quotations in this article taken from the Shah-Nameh are from Champeon's translation.]

[Footnote 39: It is this part of the story which Matthew Arnold rendered so ably in his "Sohrab and Rustum," one of his best-known poems.]

[Footnote 40: All the quotations in regard to this episode are from Matthew Arnold's "Sohrab and Rustum."]

INDIAN EPICS

Besides the two great classical epics (Mahàkavyas)--the Mahabharata and the Ramayana--Indian literature claims eighteen Puranas, each of which bears a distinctive title. These Puranas treat mainly of "ancient legendary lore," and contain many tales of gods and sages, as well as descriptions of the Hindu world, with Mount Meru as its centre, and also of the deluge.

Many of the incidents of the two great epics inspired later poets to compose what are known as kavyas, or court epics. Six of these by Bahrtruhari are termed Great Court Epics (Mahàkavyas), and another, by the poet Açvaghosha, describing the doings of Buddha at length, was translated, into Chinese between 414 and 421 A.D. The Golden Age for the court epics (which were written from 200 B.C. to 1100 A.D.) was during the sixth century of our era.

In the fifth century A.D. the poet Kalidasa composed a nineteen-canto epic, entitled Raghuvamça, wherein he related at length the life of Rama, as well as of Rama's ancestors and of his twenty-four successors. This poem abounds in striking similes, as does also the same poet's Kumarasambhava or Birth and Wooing of the War God Siva. There are, however, sundry cantos in all these poems which are too erotic to meet with favor among modern readers. Kalidasa is also the author of an epic in Prakrit, wherein he sings of the building of the bridge between India and Ceylon and of the death of Ravana.

We are told that the Ramayana inspired the greatest poet of Mediaeval India, Tulsi Das, to compose the Ram Charit Manas, an epic wherein he gives a somewhat shorter and very popular version of Rama's adventures. This work still serves as a sort of Bible for a hundred million of the people of northern India.

The poet Kaviraja (c. 800 A.D.) composed an epic wherein he combines the Ramayana and Mahabharata into one single poem. This is a Hindu _tour de force_, for we are told that "the composition is so arranged that by the use of ambiguous words and phrases the story of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata is told at one and the same time. The same words, according to the sense in which they are understood, narrate the events of each epic."

THE RAMAYANA

This Hindu epic, an older poem than the Mahabharata, was composed in Sanscrit some five hundred years before our era, and is contained in seven books, aggregating twenty-four thousand verses. It is often termed "the Odyssey of the East," and relates events which are said to have occurred between two thousand and nine hundred B.C. The poem is generally attributed to Válmikí, a hermit on the bank of the Ganges, who, seeing one bird of a happy pair slain, made use of a strange metre in relating the occurrence to Brahma. This god immediately bade him employ the same in narrating the adventures of Rama, one of the seven incarnations of the god Vishnu.

"Praise to Válmikí, bird of charming song, Who mounts on Poesy's sublimest spray, And sweetly sings with accents clear and strong Rama, aye Rama, in his deathless lay."[41]

The poem opens with a description of the ancient city of Ayodhya (Oude), beautifully situated on the banks of a river and ruled by a childless rajah.

In by-gone ages built and planned By sainted Manu's princely hand, Imperial seat! her walls extend Twelve measured leagues from end to end; Three in width, from side to side With square and palace beautified. Her gates at even distance stand, Her ample roads are wisely planned. Right glorious is her royal street, Where streams allay her dust and heat. On level ground in even row Her houses rise in goodly show. Terrace and palace, arch and gate The queenly city decorate. High are her ramparts, strong and vast, By ways at even distance passed, With circling moat both deep and wide, And store of weapons fortified.

This monarch (Dasaratha), a descendant of the moon, was sixty thousand years old when the story begins. Although his reign had already extended over a period of nine thousand years,--during which his people had enjoyed such prosperity that it is known as the Age of Gold,--the king, still childless in spite of having seven hundred and fifty concubines, decided to offer a great horse sacrifice (asvatmedha) in hopes of obtaining a son, to celebrate his funeral rites and thereby enable him to enter heaven.

In order to perform the ceremony properly, a horse had to be turned out to wander at will for a year, constantly watched by a band of priests, who prevented any one laying a hand upon him, for, once touched, the animal was unfit to be offered up to the gods. This horse sacrifice having been duly performed, the happy rajah was informed by the gods that four sons would uphold his line, provided he and three of his wives quaffed the magic drink they gave him.

Having thus granted the rajah's prayer, the lesser gods implored their chief Indra to rid them of the demons sent by Ravana, the Satan of the Hindus. This evil spirit, by standing on his head in the midst of five fires ten thousand years in succession, had secured from Brahma a promise that no god, demon, or genius should slay him. By this extraordinary feat he had also obtained nine extra heads with a full complement of eyes, ears, and noses, hands and arms. Mindful of his promise, Brahma was at a loss to grant this request until he remembered he had never guaranteed Ravana should not be attacked by man or monkey. He, therefore, decided to beg Vishnu to enter the body of a man and conquer this terrible foe, while the lesser gods helped him in the guise of monkeys.

"One only way I find To slay this fiend of evil mind. He prayed me once his life to guard From demon, god, and heavenly bard, And spirits of the earth and air, And I, consenting, heard his prayer. But the proud giant in his scorn Recked not of man of woman born; None else may take his life away And only man the fiend can slay."

At Brahma's request, Vishnu not only consented to become man, but elected to enter the body of the rajah's oldest son--one of the four children obtained in answer to prayer. Meantime he charged his fellow gods diligently to beget helpers for him, so they proceeded to produce innumerable monkeys. The poem next informs us that Rama, son of the Rajah's favorite wife, being a god,--an incarnation of Vishnu,--came into the world with jewelled crown and brandishing four arms, but that, at his parents' request, he concealed these divine attributes, assumed a purely human form, and cried lustily like a babe. Two other wives of the rajah, having received lesser portions of the divine beverage, gave birth to three sons (Bharata, Lakshmana, and Satrughna), and the news that four heirs had arrived in the palace caused great rejoicings in the realm.

These four princes grew up in the most promising fashion, Rama in particular developing every virtue, and showing even in childhood marked ability as an archer. Such was his proficiency in athletic sports that a hermit besought him, at sixteen, to rid his forest of the demons which were making life miserable for him and his kin. To enable Rama to triumph over these foes, the hermit bestowed upon him divine weapons, assuring him they would never fail him.

"And armed with these, beyond a doubt, Shall Rama put those fiends to rout."

The hermit also beguiled the weariness of their long journey to the forest by relating to Rama the story of the Ganges, the sacred stream of India. We are told that a virtuous king, being childless, betook himself to the Himalayas, where, after spending a hundred years in austerities, Brahma announced he should have one son by one of his wives and sixty thousand by the other, adding that his consorts might choose whether to bear one offspring or many. Given the first choice, the favorite wife elected to be the mother of the son destined to continue the royal race, while the other brought into the world a gourd, wherein a hermit discovered the germs of sixty thousand brave sons, all of whom, thanks to his care, grew up to perform wonders in behalf of their father and brother.

On one occasion, a horse chosen for sacrifice having been stolen, the father despatched these sixty thousand braves in quest of it, and, as they were not able to discover any traces of it on earth, bade them dig down to hell. Not only did they obey, but continued their search until they struck in turn the four elephants on whose backs the Hindus claim our earth peacefully reposes. Here the diggers disturbed the meditations of some god, who, in his anger, burned them up. The poor father, anxious to purify the ashes of his dead sons, learned he would never be able to do so until the Ganges--a river of heaven--was brought down to earth. By dint of penance and prayer, the bereaved parent induced Vishnu to permit this stream--which until then had only flowed in heaven--to descend to earth, warning the king that the river, in coming down, would destroy the world unless some means were found to stem the force of its current. Our clever rajah obviated this difficulty by persuading the god Siva to receive the cataract on the top of his head, where the sacred waters, after threading their way through his thick locks, were divided into the seven streams which feed the sacred springs of India. Thus safely brought to earth, the Ganges penetrated to hell, where it purified the ashes of the sixty thousand martyrs, and ever since then its waters have been supposed to possess miraculous powers.

For sin and stain were banished thence, By the sweet river's influence.

The hermit also told how the gods procured the Water of Life (Amrita) by churning the ocean, saying they used Mount Meru as a dasher, and a huge serpent as the rope whereby to twirl it around.

Led by this hermit, Rama not only slew the ravaging monsters, but went on to take part in a tournament, where King Janak offered his daughter, Sita, in marriage to any archer who would span a bow he had obtained from Siva. On arriving at the place where this test was to be made, Rama saw the huge bow brought forth on a chariot drawn by five thousand men, and, although no one else had even been able to raise it, took it up and bent it until it broke with a crack which terrified all present. By this feat young Rama won the hand of Sita, a beautiful princess, whom her father turned up from the soil while ploughing one day, and who is hence the Hindu personification of Spring.

The wedding of Rama and Sita was honored by the presence of both kings, and Rama's three brothers were made as happy as he by receiving the hands of three of Sita's sisters, the father telling each bridegroom:

"A faithful wife, most blest is she, And as thy shade will follow thee."

When the four bridal couples returned to Oude, Rama's father decided to name his eldest son assistant king, and therefore gave orders to prepare for the ceremony. The mere rumor that Rama was about to be crowned aroused the jealousy of the king's youngest wife (Kaikeyi), who, instigated by an evil-minded, hunch-backed maid, sent for her aged spouse and reminded him how once, when he was ill, he had promised in return for her care to grant any two boons she asked. The infatuated monarch, seeing her grief, rashly renewed this promise, swearing to keep it by Rama's head.

As some wild elephant who tries To soothe his consort as she lies Struck by the hunter's venomed dart, So the great king, disturbed in heart, Strove with soft hand and fond caress To soothe his darling queen's distress, And in his love addressed with sighs The lady of the lotus eyes.

Hearing him confirm his former oath, the favorite wife bade him banish his heir to the forest for fourteen years and appoint her son as viceroy in his brother's stead. In vain the old king pleaded; the favorite wife insisted so vehemently that when morning dawned the bewildered old rajah sent for Rama to ask his advice. Although this prince fully expected to be crowned that day, he was far too virtuous not to perceive that a promise must be kept at any cost, so without a murmur he prepared to go to the forest of Dandaka and dwell there in hermit garb fourteen years.

"The orders of my sire," he cried, "My will shall ne'er oppose: I follow still, whate'er betide, The path which duty shows."

His first duty, however, was to return to his palace to inform his wife that they must part; but, on hearing what had occurred, Sita piteously begged to share his fate, although he eloquently described the hardships to which she would be exposed should she venture to accompany him. Her wifely devotion was, however, proof against all he could urge, for she declared with tears there was no happiness for her save at his side.

"With thee is heaven, where'er the spot; Each place is hell where thou are not."

Hearing this declaration, Rama finally consented to take her with him, and, bidding farewell to father and mother, left the city, accompanied by his wife and favorite brother (Lakshman) and escorted by his mourning subjects.

His father, broken-hearted at parting with his favorite son, took to his bed, which he was never to leave again confiding to Rama's mother that he was being sorely punished for a sin of his youth. It seems that, while out hunting one night, hearing a gurgle by a stream, and fancying some wild beast was there drinking, he let fly a shaft, which only too surely reached its goal. Startled by a human cry, the rajah rushed down to the river, only to discover that he had mortally wounded a youth who had come down to draw water for his blind parents.

"Then in the dusk I heard the sound of gurgling water; Quickly I took my bow, and, aiming toward the sound, shot off the dart. A cry of mortal agony came from the spot,--a human voice Was heard, and a poor hermit's son fell pierced and bleeding in the stream."

Before dying this lad implored his slayer to hasten back to the hermitage with water, as the old people were longing for a drink. On hearing footsteps, the blind parents peevishly reproached their son for tarrying, and, when the unfortunate murderer tried to explain what had occurred, cursed him vehemently, declaring he would some day experience the loss of a son. It was, therefore, in fulfilment of this curse that the old rajah died thirteen days after Rama's departure.

Meantime the banished prince, riding in one of his father's chariots, had reached the junction of the Jumna and Ganges, where he spent the first night of his exile beneath a banyan on the banks of the sacred stream. There he built a raft, by means of which he crossed to the other side, and from there sadly watched his faithful subjects wending homeward. Then he plunged into the forest, arranging that Sita should always tread its narrow paths between him and his brother, to make sure no harm befall her.

The Indian poet now favors us with a wonderful description of the tropical forest, with its huge trees, brilliant flowers, strange birds and monkeys, all of which gives the reader a vivid impression of the color, beauty, perfume, and luxuriance of the tropics.

On rocky heights beside the way And lofty trees with blossoms gay; And streamlets running fair and fast, The royal youths and Sita passed.

The exiles, wandering thus in single file, finally arrived at Citra-kuta, where they joined a colony of hermits and built a rustic booth, where they dwelt happily for some time. One day the rumor of a coming host roused their curiosity, and Lakshman, descrying a long procession from the top of a high tree, excitedly warned Rama that his brother was probably coming to annihilate them.

Rama, who always ascribes good motives to every one, now declares it is impossible this should be true, and feels sure his brother is coming for some affectionate purpose. Greeting Bharata kindly, therefore, he soon discovers his previsions are correct, for the young prince, after announcing his father's death, implores Rama to return and reign over Oude. Not only does he protest he will never supplant his senior, but reviles his mother for having compelled her husband to drive Rama into exile.

Although all present unite in his entreaties, Rama, too virtuous to break a promise, decides to remain in the forest the allotted fourteen years and resume his regal state only at the end of that time. He adds that during his banishment he will live in such a fashion that his exile will prove a blessing to his people.

"Many a blessing yet will spring From banished Rama's wanderings."

This decided, Rama urges his brother to act meanwhile as vice-regent; whereupon Bharata, taking Rama's golden sandals, proclaims they alone shall occupy the throne beneath the royal umbrella, although he consents to rule in his brother's name. This settled, the gorgeous procession slowly wends its way back to Oude, where for fourteen years every one does homage to Rama's golden sandals!

Meantime life in the hermitage continues its peaceful course, the royal ascetics being disturbed only by the demons (Rakshasas) who haunt the forest and try to injure the hermits, simply because they are good. Sita is perfectly happy in this humble home because she enjoys the constant presence of her husband, who, taking her one day to visit an aged female ascetic, implores this woman to bestow a boon upon his faithful spouse. The old woman then and there endowed Sita with eternal youth and beauty, declaring that no matter what hardships she encounters, she will always be as dainty and young as at present.

One of the female demons finally becomes so anxious to win Rama's love, that she disguises herself as a beautiful creature in hopes of fascinating him. Angry because all her efforts fail, she next tries to injure Sita, whereupon Rama, by cutting off her nose and ears, forces her to resume her usual shape. In her anger this demon bids her brothers avenge her wrongs, whereupon fourteen fiends attack Rama, who, having slain them all, is almost immediately afterward forced to face thousands of demons. He defeats them single-handed, while his brother watches over Sita, hidden in a neighboring cave.

Such a trifle as the massacre of twenty-one thousand of his fiends in three hours' time, naturally enrages Ravana, whose abode is in Ceylon, in a golden palace which has such high walls that no one can peep over them. This king of demons, who is also called the "Courage of the Three Worlds," has the power of increasing his stature until he can reach up to the stars with his score of arms. Owing to his ten heads, his appearance is terrifying, especially as his eyebrows are composed of live black snakes which writhe around continually. No sooner does his sister appear before him, reporting she has been mutilated by Rama, who has besides slain hosts of his subjects, than Ravana swears revenge, adding he will first kidnap Sita, for his sister's description of her matchless charms has fired his imagination.

In his golden chariot Ravana, therefore, flies to the forest, where he bids his sister change herself into a wonderful deer, and in that shape lure Rama away, so he can abduct Sita. The three hermits are, therefore, calmly seated before their hut when a deer darts past, exhibiting so unusual a pelt that Sita, fired with the desire to possess it, urges Rama to pursue it. To gratify this whim, Rama starts out to track this game, calling to his brother to mount guard over his wife during his absence. Lured farther and farther away from home, Rama finally brings down his quarry, which, in falling, calls for help in a voice so exactly like his own that his brother, hearing the despairing accent, is torn between the desire to rush to his rescue and the necessity of remaining to protect Sita. But the little wife, sure her husband is in danger, so vehemently urges her brother-in-law to leave her that he finally dashes off. A moment later Sita sees an old hermit draw near to ask alms. While she is entertaining this holy guest, he frightens her by suddenly announcing that he is Ravana, king of the demons. As Sita resists all his advances, Ravana, suddenly resuming his wonted shape, snatches her up in his arms and whisks her off in his flying chariot. Notwithstanding the rapidity of his course, the king of the vultures, seeing them dart through the air and hoping to rescue the frantic Sita, attacks Ravana, only to fall mortally wounded to earth. Because Sita--the personification of vegetation--has now been abducted by the demon,--who typifies winter,--the whole earth shows signs of mourning, and the two brothers hurry back to the hut, their hearts filled with nameless apprehensions.

Like streamlet in the winter frost, The glory of her lilies lost. With leafy tears the sad trees wept As a wild wind their branches swept. Mourned bird and deer; and every flower Drooped fainting round the lovely bower. The sylvan deities had fled The spot where all the light was dead.

Reaching their hermitage and finding their worst fears justified, both brothers set out in quest of Sita, and soon come across the dying vulture, who reports what he has seen, and bids them, after burning his body, find the monkey king, Sugriva, who will aid them. After piously fulfilling the brave vulture's last wishes, Rama and his brother visit the monkey monarch, who reports that, as the demon flew over his head, Sita flung down a few of her ornaments, begging that they be taken to Rama. An alliance is now concluded between Rama and Sugriva, and, as each party pledges himself to help the other, Rama begins by slaying the brother and chief foe of the monkey king, who in his turn undertakes to trace Sita.

To discover where she may be, Hanuman, the monkey general, sets out, and, following Sita's traces, discovers she has been carried to Ceylon. But, on arriving at the southern point of the Indian peninsula and finding some two hundred miles of water between him and this island, Hanuman, son of the god of the winds, transforms himself into a huge ape, and in that shape takes a flying leap from the top of Mount Mandara (the fabled centre of the earth) to the top of Mount Sabula, which overlooks the capital of Ceylon. Then, reconnoitring from this point, the monkey general perceives that Ravana's palace is so closely guarded that he can only steal into it in the guise of a cat. Prowling through the royal premises, he searches for Sita until he finally discovers her in a secluded garden, bitterly mourning for her spouse.

In spite of the fact that she has already been some time in the demon's power, Ravana has not yet succeeded in winning her affections, and dares not force her lest he incur the wrath of the gods. It is evident, however, that his patience is worn nearly threadbare, for Hanuman overhears him threaten to chop Sita to pieces unless she will yield to his wishes and become his wife within the next two months.

"My cooks shall mince thy limbs with steel And serve thee for my morning meal."

When Sita is left alone, Hanuman, in the guise of a tiny monkey, climbs down to her side, exhibits Rama's ring, which he has brought as a token, and receives from her in return a jewel, after he has assured her that she will soon be delivered.

About to leave Ceylon to report what he has seen, it occurs to the monkey general to do some damage to the foe. In the guise of an immense baboon, he therefore destroys a grove of mango trees, an act of vandalism which so infuriates Ravana that he orders the miscreant seized and fire tied to his tail! But no sooner has the fire been set than the monkey general, suddenly transforming himself into a tiny ape, slips out of his bonds, and scrambling up on the palace roof sets it on fire as well as all the houses in Lanka, his flaming tail serving as a torch.

As earth with fervent heat will glow When comes her final overthrow; From gate to gate, from court to spire, Proud Lanka was one blaze of fire, And every headland, rock, and bay Shone bright a hundred leagues away!

Then, satisfied with the damage he has done, Hanuman hastens back to the sea-shore, whence by another prodigious leap he lands in India, to inform Rama and Sugriva (the monkey king) of the success of his expedition.

A huge monkey army now sets out under Rama's guidance, but general and warriors are equally dismayed on reaching the sea to find an unsurmountable obstacle between them and their goal. In answer to Rama's fervent prayers, however, the god of the sea, rising from the waves, promises that any materials cast into his waters will be held in place, to form a bridge whereby they can cross to Ceylon. All the monkeys now bring stones and tree trunks which they hurl into the sea, where, thanks to the efforts of the Hindu architect Nala, they are welded together and form a magic bridge. It is by means of this causeway that Rama invades Ceylon, and, when Ravana hears the foe is approaching, he musters an army, of which the poem gives a wonderful description. Then begins the dire combat wherein Rama and his forces finally prove victorious, and wherein our hero, after slaying Ravana's son, fights with the demon himself, whose heads he proceeds to cut off. He is justly dismayed, however, to see they have the power of springing up again as soon as hewn, until remembering at last his magic bow, he makes such good use of it that he annihilates the demon, whose numerous wives wail as he falls.

Although many of Rama's adherents have perished in battle, he now proceeds to call them back to life, and graciously receives the praise they bestow upon him for having rid the world of demons.

Soft from celestial minstrels came The sound of music and acclaim; Soft, fresh and cool, a rising breeze Brought odors from the heavenly trees; And, ravishing the sight and smell, A wondrous rain of blossoms fell; And voices breathed round Reghu's son, "Champion of gods, well done, well done."

It is only then that Rama consents to see Sita, who, thanks to her gift of eternal beauty, is still so lovely that all present are awed. But, instead of embracing her, Rama coldly declares that, although he crossed the seas for her sake and slew her foes, she is no longer worthy to dwell in his sight since she has been an inmate of Ravana's harem. In vain Sita urges that she has been faithful throughout. Rama refuses to credit her purity; so the poor little wife, preferring death to disgrace, begs permission to die on a funeral pyre. Even then her stern husband shows no signs of relenting, but allows her to enter a fierce fire, whence the god of the flames bears her out unharmed, and restores her to her husband, declaring that, as her chastity has withstood this fiery test, he can receive her without compunction.

She ceased and, fearless to the last, Within the flames' wild fury passed.

By this time the prescribed fourteen years of exile are finished, so husband and wife set out for home, crossing the ocean bridge in Ravana's magic car, and flying all over India, of which the poet gives a wonderful panoramic description. Rama's return to Oude is joyfully welcomed by his brother, who proudly shows him the golden sandals which have occupied the throne all this time.

Rama's reign proves an Age of Gold for India, but, although all seem happy, some doubt lingers in regard to the propriety of Sita's return. When a famine finally devastates the land, one of the ministers assures Rama this scourge is due to the fact that he has taken back a guilty wife. Rama, therefore, banishes the faithful Sita, who returns to the forest and to the protection of the hermits, where she gives birth to twin sons, Kusa and Lava, the destined singers of Válmikí's wonderful song. These youths are, however, brought up in the forest in total ignorance of their august descent.

Twenty years have passed since Rama repudiated his wife, when he decides to offer a horse sacrifice. But, the steed he selects having been captured by two young men, Rama angrily orders them put to death. As the victims resist all efforts to seize them, the king in person goes forth to capture them. On approaching near enough, he haughtily demands their names and origin, whereupon the youths rejoin their mother is Sita and their tutor Válmikí, but that they do not know their father's name. These words reveal to Rama that he is face to face with his own sons, but, although he rejoices, he still finds it difficult to believe Sita can have been faithful. He, therefore, avers that before reinstating her she will have to undergo a second trial by fire; but Sita, who no longer feels any desire to belong to so heartless a spouse, flatly refuses to accompany him, until Válmikí informs her it is a wife's duty to obey.

Still wearing the crown of eternal youth and beauty, Sita now appears before Rama, in whose presence she implores the earth to open and receive her, thus proving that she has ever been true to her marriage vows and saving her from further suffering. A moment later the king and his court see the earth heave and open, and behold the goddess of the earth, who, taking Sita by the hand, announces she is about to convey her to realms of eternal bliss. Then Sita and the goddess disappear, the earth closes once more, and the gods chant the praises of the faithful wife, showering flowers upon Rama, who grovels on the ground in his agony. A broken-hearted man, he then returns to his palace with his two sons, the first to sing this poem, whose verses are so sacred that those who listen to a few of them are forgiven many sins, while those who hear the whole epic are sure to achieve Paradise.

He shall be From every sin and blemish free: Whoever reads the saving strain, With all his kin the heavens shall gain.

Because the poem is so sacred, its author enjoined upon the youths to recite it often, a task they faithfully performed as long as they lived, and which other bards have continued until to-day in all parts of India.

Recite ye this heroic song In tranquil shades where sages throng; Recite it where the good resort, In lowly home and royal court.

We are told besides that--

As long as mountain ranges stand And rivers flow upon the earth, So long will this Ramayana Survive upon the lips of men.

Rama is finally visited by the God of Time, who offers him the choice of remaining on earth or returning to heaven. When he wisely choses the latter alternative, Rama is bidden bathe in sacred waters, and thence is translated to the better world.

From this poem Tulsi Das has composed a play known as the "Ram Charit Manas," which serves as Bible to a hundred million worshippers in northern India, and is always played at the yearly festivals in the presence of countless admirers.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 41: The quotations in this chapter are taken from Griffeth's translation and from Romesh Dutt's.]

THE MAHABHARATA

The longest poem in existence is composed in Sanscrit, and, although begun before the Ramayana, it was completed only about one hundred years after. It consists of some two hundred and twenty thousand lines, divided into eighteen sections (parvans), each of which forms a large volume. Although the whole work has never been translated into English verse, many portions of it have been reproduced both in verse and prose.

The Hindus consider this one of their most sacred books, attribute its authorship to Vyasa, and claim that the reading of a small portion of it will obliterate sin, while the perusal of the whole will insure heavenly bliss. Its name signifies "the great war," and its historical kernel,--including one-fifth of the whole work,--consists of an account of an eighteen days' battle (in the thirteenth or fourteenth century B.C.) between rival tribes. The poem is, besides, a general repository of the mythological, legendary, and philosophical lore of the Hindus, and reached its present state of development only by degrees and at the end of several centuries.

Bharata, the real founder of the principal Indian dynasty, is so famous a character, that the Hindus often designate their whole country as "the land of Bharata." We are told that Rajah Dushyanta, a descendant of the Moon, while hunting one day beheld the beautiful Sakuntala, daughter of a sage, whom he persuaded to consent to a clandestine marriage. But, after a short time, the bridegroom departed, leaving his bride a ring as a pledge of his troth.

Absorbed in thoughts of her absent lover, Sakuntala once failed to notice the approach of a sage, who cursed her, saying she should be forgotten by the man she loved, but who relenting after a while declared this curse would be annulled when her husband beheld his ring.

Some time after this, on the way to rejoin her spouse to inform him she was about to become a mother, Sakuntala, while bathing in a sacred pool, accidentally dropped this ring. On appearing without it before Dushyanta, he sternly denied all acquaintance with her and ordered her driven out into the jungle, where she soon gave birth to their son Bharata.

The lad was about six years old when a fisherman found in the stomach of a fish the lost ring, which he carried to the rajah. On beholding this token, Dushyanta, remembering all, hastened to seek poor Sakuntala, whom he discovered in the jungle, watching her boy fearlessly play with lion cubs. Proud of such a son, the rajah bore his family home; and Bharata, after having a long reign, gave birth to Hastin, founder of Hastinapur, a city on the bank of the Ganges about sixty miles from the modern Delhi.

A grandson of this Hastin married the Goddess of the Ganges,--who was doing penance on earth,--and their children were animated by the souls of deities condemned for a time to assume human form. In order to enable these fellow-gods to return to heaven as soon as possible, Ganga undertook to drown each of her babies soon after birth, provided the gods would pledge themselves to endow one of her descendants with their strength, and would allow him to live, if not to perpetuate his species.

After seeing seven of his children cast into the water without daring to object, the rajah, although he knew his goddess-wife would leave him if he found fault with anything she did, protested so vehemently against the similar disposal of his eighth son that his wife disappeared with the child. But a few years later this son, Bhishma, the terrible, having grown up, was restored to his father.

To comfort himself for the loss of his first wife, the king now married the beautiful daughter of a fisherman, solemnly promising her son should succeed him, for Bhishma voluntarily relinquished all right to the throne and took a vow to remain celibate. The new wife's main attraction seems to have been a sweet odor, bestowed by a saint, who restored her virginity after she had borne him a son named Vyasa, the author of this poem.

By the Rajah the fishermaid now had two sons, one of whom was slain at the end of a three years' fight, while the other began his reign under the wise regency of Bhishma. When it was time for his royal step-brother to marry, Bhishma sent him to a Bride's Choice (Swayamvara), where three lovely princesses were to be awarded to the victor. Without waiting to win them fairly, the young prince kidnapped all three, and, when the disappointed suitors pursued him, Bhishma held them at bay by shooting ten thousand arrows at once, and thus enabled his step-brother and brides to escape.

Although thus provided with three royal wives, our prince was soon deserted by one of them and was never fortunate enough to have children by the two others. After he had died, custom required that his nearest kinsman should raise issue for him, so,--owing to Bhishma's vow,--Vyasa, who was fabulously ugly, undertook to visit the two widows. One of them, catching a glimpse of him, bore him a blind son (Dhritarashtra), while the other was so frightened that she bore a son of such pale complexion that he was known as Pandu, the White.

Neither of these youths being deemed perfect enough to represent properly the royal race, Vyasa announced he would pay the widows another visit, but this time they hired a slave to take their place, so it was she who brought into the world Vidura, God of Justice. Because one prince was blind and the other the offspring of a slave, the third was set upon his throne by his uncle Bhishma, who in due time provided him with two lovely wives.

With these the monarch withdrew to the Himalayas to spend his honeymoon, and while there proved unfortunate enough to wound a couple of deer who were hermits in disguise. In dying they predicted he would perish in the arms of one of his wives, whereupon Pandu decided to refrain from all intercourse with them, graciously allowing them instead to bear him five sons by five different gods. These youth, known in the poem as the sons of Pandu, the Pandavs (or the Pandavas), are the main heroes of India. As a prediction made by an ascetic was bound to come true, the king, momentarily forgetting the baleful curse, died in the embrace of his second wife, who, in token of grief, was burned with his remains, this being the earliest mention of a suttee.

Meantime the blind prince had married a lady to whom a famous ascetic had promised she should be mother to one hundred sons! All these came into the world at one birth, in the shape of a lump of flesh, which the ascetic divided into one hundred and one pieces, each of which was enclosed in a pot of rarefied butter, where these germs gradually developed into one hundred sons and one daughter.

As long as Pandu sojourned in the Himalayas, the blind prince reigned in his stead, but when he died, his surviving widow brought to the capital (Hastinapur) her five divine sons, the Pandavs. There the blind uncle had them brought up with their cousins, the hundred Kurus (or Kauravas), with whom, however, they were never able to live in perfect peace. Once, as the result of a boyish quarrel, a Kuru flung Bhima, one of the Pandavs, into the Ganges, where, instead of sinking, this hero was inoculated by serpent-bites with the strength of ten thousand elephants before he returned to his wonted place at home.

The young princes, who had all been trained to fight by their tutor, Drona, and who had already given sundry proofs of their proficiency in arms, were finally invited by the blind monarch to give a public exhibition of their skill. The poem gives us a lengthy description of this tournament, expatiating on the flower-decked booths reserved for the principal spectators, and dilating particularly on the fact that the blind monarch, unable to see with, his own eyes, made some one sit beside him to describe all that was going on.

After the preliminary sacrifice offered by the tutor, the skill of the princes, as archers, was tested on foot, on horseback, in howdahs, and in chariots; then they indulged in mock fights with swords and bucklers, closely watched by Drona, who pronounced his favorite Arjuna, the third Pandav, the finest athlete ever seen.

Still the princes shook their weapons, drove the deep resounding car, Or on steed or tusker mounted waged the glorious mimic war! Mighty sword and ample buckler, ponderous mace the princes wield, Brightly gleam their lightning rapiers as they range the listed field, Brave and fearless is their action, and their movements quick and light, Skilled and true the thrust and parry of their weapons flaming bright![42]

Thereupon, from the ranks of the spectators, emerged Karna, son of a charioteer, who challenged Arjuna to fight with him, but the prince refused on the score that they were not of equal rank. Still a legend assures us that Karna was a child of the Sun-god, set afloat by his mother on the river Jumna, whence this Hindu Moses, floating down into the Ganges, was rescued and brought up by the charioteer, his reputed father. Meantime the four Pandav brothers were greatly elated by the eulogy bestowed upon their brother, but their jealous cousins became so enraged that, when the time came for the youths to face each other in club exercises, the sham battle degenerated into an earnest fight.

With ponderous mace they waged the daring fight. As for a tender mate two rival elephants Engage in frantic fury, so the youths Encountered, and amidst the rapid sphere Of fire their whirling weapons clashing wove Their persons vanished from the anxious eye. Still more and more incensed their combat grew, And life hung doubtful on the desperate conflict; With awe the crowd beheld the fierce encounter And amidst hope and fear suspended tossed, Like ocean shaken by conflicting winds.

Seeing this, the horrified tutor separated the contestants, whom he soon after sent off separately to war against a neighboring rajah. In this conflict the one hundred Kurus were badly worsted, while the five Pandavs scored a brilliant triumph. They also subdued sundry other kings, thereby so rousing the jealous hatred of their uncle and cousins that these finally began to plot their death. The five Pandavs and their mother were therefore invited to a feast in a neighboring city (Allahabad), where the Kurus arranged they should be burned alive in their booth. But, duly warned by the God of Justice, the Pandavs had an underground passage dug from their hut to the forest, by means of which they escaped, little suspecting that a beggar woman and her five children--who had sought refuge in the empty hut--would be burned to death there in their stead.

Disguised as Brahmans, the five brothers and their mother now dwelt for a time in the jungle, where they proceeded to slay some demons, to marry others, and to perform sundry astounding feats of strength. We are told, for instance, that whenever the mother and brothers were tired, the strongest of the Pandavs, Bhima, carried them all with the utmost ease.

While in the jungle they were visited by their grandfather Vyasa, who bade them attend the Bride's Choice of Draupadi, daughter of a neighboring king, who--Minerva-like--came into the world full grown.

Human mother never bore her, human bosom never fed, From the altar sprang the maiden who some prince will wed!

She was so beautiful that her father decided the suitor she favored would have to prove himself worthy of her by spanning a bow which no one as yet had been able to bend, and by sending an arrow through a rapidly revolving wheel into the eye of a gold fish stationed beyond it.

Owing to the extreme loveliness of Draupadi, many rajahs flocked to the tournament to compete for her hand, and the five Pandavs betook themselves thither in Brahman garb. After the preliminary exercises, the beautiful princess--to whom all her suitors had been duly named--gave the signal for the contest to begin. The mere sight of the huge bow proved enough to decide several of the contestants to withdraw, but a few determined to risk all in hopes of obtaining Draupadi's hand. No man, however, proved able to bend the bow until Arjuna stepped forward, begging permission to try his luck. While the rajahs were protesting that no Brahman should compete, this Pandav spanned the bow and sent five successive shafts straight to the goal, amid the loud acclamations of all present.

He grasped the ponderous weapon in his hand And with one vigorous effort braced the string. Quickly the shafts were aimed and swiftly they flew; The mark fell pierced; a shout of victory Rang through the vast arena; from the sky Garlands of flowers crowned the hero's head, Ten thousand fluttering scarfs waved in the air, And drum and trumpet sounded forth his triumph.

The beautiful princess, captivated by the goodly appearance of this suitor, immediately hung around his neck the crown of flowers, although the defeated rajahs muttered a mere Brahman should not aspire to the hand of a princess. In fact, had not his four brothers, aided by Krishna (a divine suitor), stood beside him, and had not the king insisted there should be no fracas, the young winner might have had a hard time. Then, as the princess seemed perfectly willing, the wedding was celebrated, and the five brothers returned to the humble hut where they lived on alms, calling out to their mother that they had won a prize! On hearing these tidings, the mother--without knowing what the prize was--rejoined, "Share it among you," an injunction which settled for good and all that Draupadi should be common wife to all five. But the legend adds that this came to pass mainly because the maiden had prayed five times for a husband, and that the gods were answering each of her prayers separately!

Shortly after this fivefold marriage,--which assured the Pandavs a royal ally,--Bhishma persuaded the blind rajah--who had meantime discovered his nephews were not dead--to give them one half of his realm. Taking up their abode there, the Pandavs built the city of Indraprastha (Delhi) on the banks of the Jumna, before they decided that the eldest among them (Yudhishthira) should be king, the others humbly serving as his escort wherever he went.

One day this eldest Pandav went to visit the eldest Kuru, a proficient gambler, with whom he played until he had lost realm, brothers, wife, and freedom! But, when the victor undertook to take forcible possession of the fair Draupadi, and publicly stripped her of her garments, the gods, in pity, supplied her with one layer of vesture after another, so that the brutal Kuru was not able to shame her as he wished. Furious to see the treatment their common wife was undergoing at the victor's hands, the five Pandavs made grim threats, and raised such a protest that the blind uncle, interfering, sent them off to the forest with their wife for twelve years. He also decreed that, during the thirteenth, all must serve in some menial capacity, with the proviso that, if discovered by their cousins, they should never regain their realm.

"'Tis no fault of thine, fair princess! fallen to this servile state, Wife and son rule not their actions, others rule their hapless fate! Thy Yudhishthir sold his birthright, sold thee at the impious play, And the wife falls with the husband, and her duty--to obey!"

During the twelve years which the Pandavs spent in the forest, with the beautiful and faithful Draupadi (who was once carried away by a demon but rescued by one of her spouses), they met with sundry adventures. Not only did they clear the jungle, rescue from cannibals the jealous cousins who came to humiliate them, and perform other astounding feats, but they were entertained by tales told by Vyasa, among which are a quaint account of the Deluge, of the descent of the Ganges, a recitation of the Ramayana, and the romance of Nala and of Savitri, of which brief sketches are given at the end of this article. All this material is contained in the "Forest Book," the third and longest parvan of the Mahabharata, wherein we also find a curious account of Arjuna's voluntary exile because he entered into Draupadi's presence when one of his brothers was with her! To atone for this crime, Arjuna underwent a series of austerities on the Himalayas, in reward for which his father Indra took him up to heaven, whence he brought back sundry weapons, among which we note Siva's miraculous bow.

Meantime his four brothers and Draupadi had undertaken pious pilgrimages to all the sacred waters of India, and had learned sundry useful trades and arts, before they, too, visited the Himalayas. There Arjuna joined them in Indra's chariot, and led them to the top of a mountain, whence they beheld the glittering palace of Kuvera, God of Wealth.

After the twelve years' sojourn in the jungle were ended, the Pandavs, thanks to divine aid, entered the service of a neighboring king as teachers of dice and music, as charioteer, cook, cow-herd, and maid. There the five men and their wife remained for a whole year, without being discovered by their enemies, and, toward the end of their sojourn, rendered so signal a service to their master that he offered his daughter in marriage to Arjuna. Although this prince virtuously refused to accept her for himself, he bestowed her upon a son begotten during his exile when he indulged in sundry romantic adventures.

Having completed their penance, the Pandavs returned home, to demand of the Kurus the surrender of their realm. As these greedy cousins refused to relinquish their authority, both parties prepared for war. Seeing the Kurus had ten allies, the Pandavs became anxious to secure some too. The most powerful person in the region being the rajah Krishna, one of the Kurus hastened to his palace to bespeak his aid, and, finding him asleep, seated himself at the head of the bed. A moment later one of the Pandavs arrived, and modestly placed himself at the foot of the sleeping monarch's couch. On awakening, Krishna, of course, saw the Pandav first, but, after listening impartially to both petitioners, informed them that one party should have the benefit of his advice and the other the aid of his one hundred million soldiers. The greedy Kuru immediately bespoke the use of the army, while the Pandav was only too glad to secure the advice of Krishna (an embodiment of all the gods), who throughout the war acted as Arjuna's charioteer.

All preparations finished, the Great War (Mahabharata) began, the two families pitted against each other meeting on the plain of Kurukshetra (the modern Panipat) where the battle was fought. After many speeches, and after erecting fortifications which bristled with defences and were liberally stocked with jars of scorpions, hot oil, and missiles, the two parties drew up rules of battle, which neither was to infringe under penalty of incurring the world's execration.

Even nature now showed by unmistakable signs that a terrible conflict was about to take place, and when the two armies--which the Hindus claim numbered several billion men--came face to face, Krishna delayed the fight long enough to recite with Arjuna a dialogue of eighteen cantos called the Bhagavad-gita, or Divine Song, which contains a complete system of Indian religious philosophy.

The Pandavs, having besought the aid of the monkeys, were informed they would derive great benefit by bearing a monkey banner, so it was armed with this standard that they marched on to victory.

The sons of Pandu marked the coming storm And swift arrayed their force. The chief divine And Arjuna at the king's request Raised in the van the ape-emblazoned banner, The host's conducting star, the guiding light That cheered the bravest heart, and as it swept The air, it warmed each breast with martial fires.

Throughout the war the Pandav forces were directed by the same general, but their opponents had four. A moment after the first collision, the sky was filled with whistling arrows, while the air resounded with the neighing of horses and the roaring of elephants; the plain shook, and clouds of dust, dimming the light of the sun, formed a heavy pall, beneath which Pandavs and Kurus struggled in deadly fight. This frightful conflict lasted eighteen days, the battle always stopping at sunset, to enable the combatants to recover their strength.

And ever and anon the thunder roared, And angry lightnings flashed across the gloom, Or blazing meteors fearful shot to earth. Regardless of these awful signs, the chiefs Pressed on to mutual slaughter, and the peal Of shouting hosts commingling shook the world.

The Kurus' general, Bhishma, fell on the tenth day,--after a terrible fight with Arjuna,--riddled with so many arrows that his body could not touch the ground. Although mortally wounded, he lay in this state, his head supported by three arrows, for fifty-eight days, and was thus able to bestow good advice on those who came to consult him.

Darker grew the gloomy midnight, and the princes went their way; On his bed of pointed arrows, Bhishma lone and dying lay.

He was succeeded as leader of the Kurus by the tutor Drona, who during his five days' generalship proved almost invincible. But, some one suggesting that his courage would evaporate should he hear his son was dead, a cry arose in the Pandav ranks that Aswathaman had perished! Unable to credit this news, Drona called to the eldest Pandav--who was strictly truthful--to know whether it was so, and heard him rejoin it was true in regard to the elephant by that name, but not of the man.

Said Yudhishthir: "Lordly tusker, Aswathaman named, is dead;" Drona heard but half the accents, feebly dropped his sinking head!

The poor father, who heard only a small part of the sentence--the remainder being drowned by the sound of the trumpets--lost all courage, and allowed himself to be slain without further resistance.

The whole poem bristles with thrilling hand-to-hand conflicts, the three greatest during the eighteen days' battle being between Karna and the eldest Pandav, between the eldest Kuru and Bhima, and between Karna and Arjuna. During the first sixteen days of battle, countless men were slain, including Arjuna's son by one of his many wives. Although the fighting had hitherto invariably ceased at sunset, darkness on the seventeenth day failed to check the fury of the fighters, so when the moon refused to afford them light they kindled torches in order to find each other. It was therefore midnight before the exhausted combatants dropped down on the battle-field, pillowing their heads on their horses and elephants to snatch a brief rest so as to be able to renew the war of extermination on the morrow.

On the eighteenth day--the last of the Great War--the soil showed red with blood and was so thickly strewn with corpses that there was no room to move. Although the Kurus again charged boldly, all but three were slain by the enemies' golden maces. In fact, the fight of the day proved so fierce that only eleven men remained alive of the billions which, according to the poem, took part in the fight. But during that night the three remaining Kurus stole into the Pandav camp, killed the five sons which Draupadi had born to her five husbands, carried off their heads, and laid them at the feet of the mortally wounded eldest Kuru, who fancied at first his cousins had been slain. The battle ending from sheer lack of combatants, the eldest Pandav ordered solemn funeral rites, which are duly described in the poem.

Pious rites are due to foemen and to friends and kinsmen slain, None shall lack a fitting funeral, none shall perish on the plain.

Then, no one being there to dispute it, he took possession of the realm, always dutifully according precedence to his blind uncle, who deeply mourned his fallen sons.

Wishing to govern wisely, the eldest Pandav sought the wounded general, Bhishma,--who still lay on his arrowy bed in the battle-field,--and who, having given him rules for wise government, breathed his last in the presence of this Pandav, who saw his spirit rise from his divided skull and mount to the skies "like a bright star." The body was then covered with flowers and borne down to the Ganges, where, after it had been purified by the sacred waters, it was duly burned.

The new king's mind was, however, so continually haunted by the horrors of the great battle-field that, hoping to find relief, he decided to perform a horse sacrifice. Many chapters of the poem are taken up in relating the twelve adventures of this steed, which was accompanied everywhere by Arjuna, who had to wage many a fight to retain possession of the sacred animal and prevent any hand being laid upon him. Then we have a full description of the seventeen ceremonies pertaining to this strange rite.

Victor of a hundred battles, Arjun bent his homeward way, Following still the sacred charger free to wander as it may, Strolling minstrels to Yudhishthir spake of the returning steed, Spake of Arjun wending homeward with the victor's crown of meed.

Next we learn that the blind king, still mourning the death of his sons, retired to the bank of the Ganges, where he and his wife spent their last years listening to the monotonous ripple of the sacred waters. Fifteen years after the great battle, the five Pandavs and Draupadi came to visit him, and, after sitting for a while on the banks of the sacred stream, bathed in its waters as Vyasa advised them. While doing so they saw the wraiths of all their kinsmen slain in the Great Battle rise from the boiling waters, and passed the night in conversation with them, although these spirits vanished at dawn into thin air. But the widows of the slain then obtained permission to drown themselves in the Ganges, in order to join their beloved husbands beyond the tomb.

"These and other mighty warriors, in the earthly battle slain, By their valor and their virtue walk the bright ethereal plain! They have cast their mortal bodies, crossed the radiant gate of heaven, For to win celestial mansions unto mortals it is given! Let them strive by kindly action, gentle speech, endurance long, Brighter life and holier future unto sons of men belong!"

Then the Pandav brothers and their wife took leave of the blind king, whom they were destined never to see again, for some two years later a terrible jungle fire consumed both cottage and inmates. This death was viewed by the Pandavs as a bad omen, as was also the destruction of Krishna's capital because his people drank too much wine. Krishna himself was slain by accident, while a hurricane or tidal wave sweeping over the "city of Drunkenness" wiped it off the face of the earth.

Having found life a tragedy of sorrow, the eldest Pandav, after reigning thirty-six years, decided to abdicate in favor of Arjuna's grandson, and to start on a pilgrimage for Mount Meru, or Indra's heaven. As the Hindu universe consists of seven concentric rings, each of which is separated by a liquid from the next continent, he had to cross successive oceans of salt water, sugar-cane juice, wine, clarified butter, curdled milk, sweet milk, and fresh water. In the very centre of these alternate rings of land and liquid rises Mount Meru to a height of sixty-four thousand miles, crowned by the Hindu heaven, toward which the Pandav was to wend his way. But, although all their subjects would fain have gone with them, the five brothers, Draupadi, and a faithful dog set out alone in single file, "to accomplish their union with the infinite."

Then the high-minded sons of Pandu and the noble Draupadi Roamed onward, fasting, with their faces toward the east; their hearts Yearning for union with the Infinite, bent on abandonment Of worldly things.

* * * * *

And by degrees they reached the briny sea; They reached the northern region and beheld with heaven-aspiring hearts The mighty mountain Himavat. Beyond its lofty peak they passed Toward a sea of sand, and saw at last the rocky Meru, king Of mountains. As with eager steps they hastened on, their souls intent On union with the Eternal, Draupadi lost hold of her high hope, And faltering fell upon the earth. --_Edwin Arnold._

Thus during this toilsome journey, one by one fell, never to rise again, until presently only two of the brothers and the dog were left. The eldest Pandav, who had marched on without heeding the rest, now explained to his companion how Draupadi sinned through excessive love for her husbands, and that his fallen brothers were victims of pride, vanity, and falsehood. He further predicted that the speaker himself would fall, owing to selfishness, a prediction which was soon verified, leaving the eldest Pandav alone with his dog.

On arriving, Indra bade this hero enter heaven, assuring him the other spirits had preceded him thither, but warning him that he alone could be admitted there in bodily form. When the Pandav begged that his dog might enter too, Indra indignantly rejoined that heaven was no place for animals, and inquired why the Pandav made more fuss about a four-legged companion than about his wife and brothers. Thereupon the Pandav returned he had no power to bring the others back to life, but considered it cowardly to abandon a faithful living creature. The dog, listening intently to this dialogue, now resumed his proper form,--for it seems he was the king's father in a former birth,--and, having become human once more, he too was allowed to enter Paradise.

Straight as he spoke, brightly great Indra smiled, Vanished the hound, and in its stead stood there, The lord of death and justice, Dharma's self. --_Edwin Arnold._

Beneath a golden canopy, seated on jewelled thrones, the Pandav found his blind uncle and cousins, but failed to discern any trace of his brothers or Draupadi. He, therefore, refusing to remain, begged Indra's permission to share their fate in hell; so a radiant messenger was sent to guide him along a road paved with upturned razor edges, which passed through a dense forest whose leaves were thorns and swords. Along this frightful road the Pandav toiled, with cut and mangled feet, until he reached the place of burning, where he beheld Draupadi and his brothers writhing in the flames. Unable to rescue them, the Rajah determined to share their fate, so bade his heavenly guide return to Paradise without him. This, however, proved the last test to which his great heart was to be subjected, for no sooner had he expressed a generous determination to share his kinsmen's lot, than he was told to bathe in the Ganges and all would be well. He had no sooner done so than the heavens opened above him, allowing him to perceive, amid undying flowers, the fair Draupadi and his four brothers, who, thanks to his unselfishness, had been rescued from hell.

The grandson of Arjuna reigned at Hastinapur until he died of a snake-bite, and his son instituted snake sacrifices, where this epic was recited by a bard who learned it from the mouth of Vyasa. There is also a continuation of the poem in three sections called the Harivamça, which relates that Krishna is an incarnation of Vishnu, and describes his exploits and the future doom of the world.

THE STORY OF THE DELUGE

The detached stories in the Mahabharata are a quaint account of the Deluge, where we learn that an ascetic stood for ten thousand years on one leg, before a small fish implored him to save him from the big ones in the stream. This ascetic placed the petitioner first in an earthen vessel of water, then in a tank, then in the Ganges, "the favorite spouse of the ocean," and finally in the sea, for this fish rapidly outgrew each receptacle. On reaching the ocean, the fish informed the ascetic, _with a smile_, that the dissolution of the earth was near. He also bade him build an ark provided with a long rope, told him to enter in it with seven other sages and seeds of every kind, and promised to appear as a horned fish to save him from destruction. When the flood came, the horned fish, seizing the rope, dragged the ark to the top of the Himalayas, where it rested securely. There it declared, "I am Brahma who saved you," and directed the ascetic, aided by his learned companions, to recreate everything by means of the seeds.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 42: The long line quotations are from the translation of Romesh Dutt, those in short lines from Griffeth's.]

THE STORY OF NALA AND DAMAYANTI

The romantic story of Nala and Damayanti was told to comfort the eldest Pandav for losing all he had while dicing. It seems that once, while hunting, Nala released a golden bird, because it promised to win for him the affections of Princess Damayanti. Pleased with this prospect, Nala let the bird go, and watched it fly in the direction of Damayanti's palace. There the bird, caught by the princess, praised Nala so eloquently that Damayanti fell in love with him, and, in order to meet him, announced she was about to hold a Bride's Choice. On his way to this tournament, Nala met four gods, all anxious to marry the beautiful princess, and they, after obtaining his promise to execute their wishes, bade him steal unseen into the palace and bid the princess choose one of them as a spouse.

The broken-hearted Nala, forced to sue for the gods, made known their request to Damayanti, who declared she didn't intend to marry any one but himself, as she meant to announce publicly at the Bride's Choice on the morrow.

"Yet I see a way of refuge--'tis a blameless way, O king; Whence no sin to thee, O rajah,--may by any chance arise. Thou, O noblest of all mortals--and the gods by Indra led, Come and enter in together--where the Swayembara meets; Then will I, before the presence--of the guardians of the world, Name thee, lord of men! my husband--nor to thee may blame accrue."

She was, however, sorely embarrassed on arriving there, to find five Nalas before her, for each of the gods had assumed the form of the young prince after the latter had reported what Damayanti had said. Unable to distinguish between the gods and her lover, Damayanti prayed so fervently that she was able to discern that four of her suitors gazed at her with unwinking eyes, exuded no perspiration, and cast no shadow, while the fifth betrayed all these infallible signs of mortality. She, therefore, selected the real Nala, upon whom the four gods bestowed invaluable gifts, including absolute control over fire and water.

The young couple were perfectly happy for some time, although a wicked demon (Kali)--who had arrived too late at the Bride's Choice--was determined to trouble their bliss. He therefore watched husband and wife in hopes of finding an opportunity to injure them, but it was only in the twelfth year of their marriage that Nala omitted the wonted ablutions before saying his prayers. This enabled the demon to enter his heart and inspire him with such a passion for gambling that he soon lost all he possessed.

His wife, seeing her remonstrances vain, finally ordered a charioteer to convey her children to her father's, and they had barely gone when Nala came out of the gambling hall, having nothing left but a garment apiece for himself and his wife. So the faithful Damayanti followed him out of the city into the forest, the winner having proclaimed that no help should be given to the exiled king or queen. Almost starving, Nala, hoping to catch some birds which alighted near him, flung over them as a net his only garment. These birds, having been sent by the demon to rob him of his last possession, flew away with the cloth, calling out to him that they were winged dice sent by Kali.

Over them his single garment--spreading light, he wrapped them round: Up that single garment bearing--to the air they sprang away; And the birds above him hovering--thus in human accents spake, Naked as they saw him standing--on the earth, and sad, and lone: "Lo, we are the dice, to spoil thee--thus descended, foolish king! While thou hadst a single garment--all our joy was incomplete."

Husband and wife now wander on, until one night Nala, arising softly, cut his wife's sole garment in two, and, wrapping himself in part of it, forsook her during her sleep, persuading himself that if left alone she would return to her father and enjoy comfort. The poem gives a touching description of the husband's grief at parting with his sleeping wife, of her frenzy on awakening, and of her pathetic appeals for her husband to return.

Then we follow Damayanti in her wanderings through the forest in quest of the missing Nala, and see how she joins a company of hermits, who predict that her sorrows will not last forever before they vanish, for they are spirits sent to comfort her. Next she joins a merchant caravan, which, while camping, is surprised by wild elephants, which trample the people to death and cause a panic. The merchants fancy this calamity has visited them because they showed compassion to Damayanti, whom they now deem a demon and wish to tear to pieces. She, however, has fled at the approach of the wild elephants, and again wanders alone through the forest, until she finally comes to a town, where, seeing her wan and distracted appearance, the people follow her hooting.

The queen-mother, looking over the battlements of her palace and seeing this poor waif, takes compassion upon her, and, after giving her refreshments, questions her in regard to her origin. Damayanti simply vouchsafes the information that her husband has lost all through dicing, and volunteers to serve the rani, provided she is never expected to eat the food left by others or to wait upon men.

Before she had been there very long, however, her father sends Brahmans in every direction to try and find his missing daughter and son-in-law, and some of these suspect the rani's maid is the lady they are seeking. When they inform the rani of this fact, she declares, if Damayanti is her niece, she can easily be recognized, as she was born with a peculiar mole between her eyebrows. She, therefore, bids her handmaid wash off the ashes which defile her in token of grief, and thus discovers the birth-mole proving her identity.

Damayanti now returns to her father and to her children, but doesn't cease to mourn the absence of her spouse. She, too, sends Brahmans in all directions, singing "Where is the one who, after stealing half of his wife's garment, abandoned her in the jungle?" Meantime Nala has saved from the fire a serpent, which by biting him has transformed him into a dwarf, bidding him at the same time enter the service of a neighboring rajah as charioteer, and promising that after a certain time the serpent poison will drive the demon Kali out of his system. Obeying these injunctions, Nala becomes the charioteer of a neighboring rajah, and while with him hears a Brahman sing the song which Damayanti taught him. He answers it by another, excusing the husband for having forsaken his wife, and, when the Brahman reports this to Damayanti, she rightly concludes her Nala is at this rajah's court.

She, therefore, sends back the Brahman with a message to the effect that she is about to hold a second Bride's Choice, and the rajah, anxious to secure her hand, asks his charioteer whether he can convey him to the place in due time? Nala undertakes to drive his master five hundred miles in one day, and is so clever a charioteer that he actually performs the feat, even though he stops on the way to verify his master's knowledge of figures by counting the leaves and fruit on the branch of a tree. Finding the rajah has accurately guessed them at a glance, Nala begs him, in return for his services as charioteer, to teach him the science of numbers, so that when he dices again he can be sure to win.

On arriving at the court of Damayanti's father, Nala is summoned into the presence of his wife, who, although she does not recognize him in his new form, insists he must be her spouse, for no one else can drive as he does or has the power which he displays over fire and water. At this moment the sway of the demon ends, and Nala, restored to his wonted form, rapturously embraces his wife and children.

Even as thus the wind was speaking,--flowers fall showering all around: And the gods sweet music sounded--on the zephyr floating light.

Then, thanks to his new skill in dicing, Nala recovers all he has lost, and is able to spend the rest of his life in peace and happiness with the faithful Damayanti.

THE STORY OF SAVITRI AND SATYAVAN

Once upon a time a king, mourning because he was childless, spent many years fasting and praying in hopes that offspring would be granted him. One day the goddess of the sun rose out of his sacrificial fire to promise him a daughter, more beauteous than any maiden ever seen before. The king rejoiced, and, when this child was born, every one declared little Savitri the prettiest maiden ever seen. As she grew up she became more and more beautiful, until all the surrounding kings longed to marry her, but dared not propose. Seeing this, her father conferred upon her the right to select her own spouse, and the princess began to travel from court to court inspecting all the marriageable princes. One day, in the course of these wanderings, she paused beneath a banyan tree, where a blind old hermit had taken up his abode. He was just telling the princess that he dwelt there with his wife and son, when a young man appeared, bringing wood for the sacrifice. This youth was Satyavan, his son, who was duly astonished to behold a lovely princess.

On returning home, Savitri informed her father her choice was made, for she had decided to marry the hermit's son! This news appalled the king, because the prime minister assured him Satyavan--although son of a banished king--was doomed to die at the end of the year.

Knowing the unenviable lot of a Hindu widow, the king implored Savitri to choose another mate, but the girl refused, insisting she would rather live one year with Satyavan than spend a long life with any one else!

But Savitri replied: "Once falls a heritage; once a maid yields Her maidenhood; once doth a father say, 'Choose, I abide thy choice.' These three things done, Are done forever. Be my prince to live A year, or many years; be he so great As Narada hath said, or less than this; Once have I chosen him, and choose not twice: My heart resolved, my mouth hath spoken it, My hand shall execute;--this is my mind!" --_Edwin Arnold._

So the marriage took place, and, because the hermit and his son had vowed to remain in the jungle until reinstated in their realm, the princess dwelt in their humble hut, laying aside her princely garments and wearing the rough clothes hermits affect.

In spite of poverty, this little family dwelt happily beneath the huge banyan tree, the princess rigidly keeping the secret that her husband had but a year to live. Time passed all too swiftly, however, and as the year drew toward an end the little wife grew strangely pale and still, fasted constantly, and spent most of her time praying that the doom of death might be averted. When the fatal day drew near, she was so weak and faint she could hardly stand; but, when Satyavan announced he was going out into the forest to cut wood, she begged to accompany him, although he objected the way was far too rough and hard for her tender feet. By dint of coaxing, however, Savitri obtained his consent; so hand in hand she passed with her husband through the tropical woods.

While Satyavan was felling a tree, he suddenly reeled and fell at her feet, fainting. In a moment Savitri was bending over him, holding his head in her lap and eagerly trying to recall life in his veins. While doing so, she suddenly became aware of Yama, God of Death, with blood-red clothes, cruel eyes, and the long black noose, with which he snares the soul and draws it out of the body. In spite of Savitri's pleading, he now drew out Satyavan's soul and started off with his prize, leaving the youthful body pale and cold on the ground.

With that the gloomy god fitted his noose, And forced forth from the prince the soul of him-- Subtile, a thumb in length--which being reft, Breath stayed, blood stopped, the body's grace was gone, And all life's warmth to stony coldness turned. Then, binding it, the Silent Presence bore Satyavan's soul away toward the South. --_Edwin Arnold._

But the little wife, instead of staying with the corpse, followed Yama, imploring him not to bear off her husband's soul! Turning around, Yama sternly bade her go back, as no human mortal could tread the road he was following, and reminding her that it was her duty to perform her husband's funeral rites. She, however, insisting that wherever Satyavan's soul went she would go too, painfully followed the king of death, until in pity he promised to grant her anything she wished, save her husband's soul. Thereupon Savitri begged that her blind father-in-law might recover sight and kingdom, boons which Yama immediately granted, telling Savitri to go and inform her father-in-law so, for the way he had to tread was long and dark.

Weak and weary as she was, Savitri nevertheless persisted in following Yama, until he again turned, declaring he would grant any boon, save her husband's life, to comfort her. The little wife now begged her father might have princely sons, knowing he had long desired an heir. This favor, too, was granted, before Yama bade her go back to light and life; but Savitri still insisted that was impossible, and that as long as she lived she must follow her beloved!

Darkness now settled down on the forest, and although the road was rough and thorny Savitri stumbled on and on, following the sound of Yama's footsteps although she could no longer see him. Finally he turned into a gloomy cavern, but she plodded on, until she so excited his compassion that he promised her one more boon, again stipulating it should not be the soul he held in his hand. When Savitri begged for children,--sons of Satyavan,--Yama smiled and granted her prayer, thinking he would now surely be rid of her at last. But Savitri followed him on into the depths of the cavern, although owls and bats made the place hideous with their cries. Hearing her footsteps still behind him, Yama tried to frighten her away, but she, grasping the hand which held her husband's soul, laid her tear-wet cheek against it, thereby so touching the god's heart that he exclaimed, "Ask anything thou wilt and it shall be thine."

Noticing this time that he made no reservation, Savitri joyfully exclaimed she wished neither wealth nor power, but only her beloved spouse! Conquered by such devotion, Death relinquished into her keeping Satyavan's soul, and promised they should live happy together and have many sons.

After securing this inestimable boon, Savitri hastened out of the cave and back into the woods, where she found the lifeless corpse of her husband just where she had left it, and proceeded to woo it back to life. Before long warmth and consciousness returned to Satyavan, who went home with Savitri, with whom he lived happy ever after, for all the boons Yama had promised were duly granted.

"Adieu, great God!" She took the soul, No bigger than the human thumb, And running swift, soon reached her goal, Where lay the body stark and dumb. She lifted it with eager hands And as before, when he expired, She placed the head upon the bands That bound her breast, which hope new fired, And which alternate rose and fell; Then placed his soul upon his heart, Whence like a bee it found its cell, And lo, he woke with sudden start! His breath came low at first, then deep, With an unquiet look he gazed, As one awakening from a sleep, Wholly bewildered and amazed.

--_Miss Toru Dutt._

CHINESE AND JAPANESE POETRY

WHITE ASTER

Epics as they are understood in Europe do not exist in either China or Japan, although orientals claim that name for poems which we would term idyls.

A romantic tale, which passes as an epic in both countries, was written in Chinese verse by Professor Inouye, and has been rendered in classical Japanese by Naobumi Ochiai. It is entitled "The Lay of the Pious Maiden Shirakiku," which is The White Aster.

The first canto opens with an exquisite description of an autumn sunset and of the leaves falling from the trees at the foot of Mount Aso. Then we hear a temple bell ringing in a distant grove, and see a timid maiden steal out weeping from a hut in the extremity of the village to gaze anxiously in the direction of the volcano, for her father left her three days before to go hunting and has not returned. Poor little White Aster fears some harm may have befallen her sire, and, although she creeps back into the hut and kindles a fire to make tea, her heads turns at every sound in the hope that her father has come back at last. Stealing out once more only to see wild geese fly past and the rain-clouds drift across the heavens, White Aster shudders and feels impelled to start in quest of the missing man. She, therefore, dons a straw cloak and red bamboo hat, and, although night will soon fall, steals down the village street, across the marsh, and begins to climb the mountain.

Here the steep path winds with a swift ascent Toward the summit:--the long grass that grew In tufts upon the slopes, shrivelled and dry, Lay dead upon her path;--hushed was the voice Of the blithe chafers.--Only sable night Yawned threatening from the vale.

While she is searching, the rain ceases and the clouds part, but no trace of her missing father does she find. Light has gone and darkness has already invaded the solitude, when White Aster descries a faint red gleam through the trees and hears the droning voice of a priest chanting his prayers. Going in the direction of light and sound, White Aster soon approaches a ruined temple, standing in the midst of a grove of cypress and camphor trees, amid bleached bones and mouldering graves overhung by weeping-willows.

Her light footfall on the broken steps, falling upon the ear of the recluse, makes him fancy some demon is coming to tempt him, so seizing a light he thrusts it out of the door, tremblingly bidding the "fox ghost" begone. In the East foxes being spirits of evil and having the power to assume any form they wish, the priest naturally takes what seems a little maiden for a demon. But, when he catches a glimpse of White Aster's lovely innocent face and hears her touching explanation, he utterly changes his opinion, muttering that she must belong to some noble family, since her eyebrows are like twin "half-moons."

"'Tis clear she comes of noble family: Her eyebrows are as twin half-moons: her hair Lies on her snowy temples, like a cloud: In charm of form she ranks with Sishih's self, That pearl of loveliness, the Chinese Helen."

Taking his visitor gently by the hand, he leads her into the sanctuary, where he seats her at Buddha's feet, before inquiring who she is and what she is doing at night in the wilderness. White Aster timidly explains that, although born in one of the southern islands and cradled in a rich home, the pleasant tenor of her life was suddenly interrupted by the outbreak of war. Her home sacked and destroyed, she and her mother barely escaped with their lives. Taking refuge near a ruined temple, they erected a booth to shelter them, where the girl who had always been lapped in luxury had to perform all kinds of menial tasks. But even under such circumstances her life proved pleasant compared to what she suffered when news came that her father had rebelled against the king, and that he and his adherents had been crushed in the war. No poppy-draught could enable the two poor women to forget such terrible tidings, and it is no wonder the poor mother pined away.

As the stream Flows to the sea and nevermore returns, So ebbed and ebbed her life. I cannot tell What in those days I suffered. Nature's self Seemed to be mourning with me, for the breeze Of Autumn breathed its last, and as it died The vesper-bell from yonder village pealed A requiem o'er my mother. Thus she died, But dead yet lives--for, ever, face and form, She stands before my eyes; and in my ears I ever seem to hear her loving voice, Speaking as in the days when, strict and kind, She taught me household lore,--in all a mother.

Having carefully tended her mother to the end, poor little White Aster lived alone, until one day her father suddenly appeared, having found at last a way to escape and rejoin them. He was, however, broken-hearted on learning of his wife's death, and, hoping to comfort him, White Aster paid him all manner of filial attentions. She could not, however, restore happiness or peace to the bereaved man, who, besides mourning his wife, keenly regretted the absence of his son Akitoshi, whom he had driven from home in anger when the youth proved wild and overbearing.

During this artless narrative the recluse had exhibited signs of deep emotion, and, when White Aster mentioned the name of her brother, he clasped his hands over his face as if to conceal its expression. After listening to her tale in silence, he kindly bade White Aster tarry there until sunrise, assuring her it would not be safe for her to wander in the mountain by night. Little White Aster, therefore slept at Buddha's feet, shivering with cold, for her garments were far too thin to protect her from the keen mountain air. As she slept she dreamt of her father, whose wraith appeared to her, explaining that a false step had hurled him down into a ravine, whence he has vainly been trying to escape for three days past!

The second canto opens with a description of a beautiful red dawn, and of the gradual awakening of the birds, whose songs finally rouse the little maiden, who again sets off on her quest.

Now the red dawn had tipped the mountain-tops, And birds, awaking, peered from out their nests, To greet the day with strains of matin joy; The while, the moon's pale sickle, silver white, Fading away, sunk in the western sky. Clear was the air and cloudless, save the mists That rolled in waves upon the mountain-tops. Or crept along the gullies.

Skirting the trunks of mighty trees, stealing beneath whispering pines, White Aster threads different parts of the solitude, where she encounters deer and other timid game, seeking some trace of her father. She is so intent on this quest that she does not mark two dark forms which gradually creep nearer to her. These are robbers, who finally pounce upon White Aster and drag her into their rocky den, little heeding her tears or prayers; and, although the maiden cries for help, echo alone reiterates her desperate calls.

The brigands' lair is beneath an overhanging cliff, where they have erected a miserable booth, whose broken thatch has to be supplemented by the dense foliage of the ginkgo tree overshadowing it. In front of this hut runs a brawling stream, while the rocks all around are hung with heavy curtains of ivy, which add to the gloom and dampness of the place.

Here the sun Ne'er visits with his parting rays at eve, But all is gloom and silence save the cry Of some belated bird that wakes the night.

Having brought their prisoner safely into this den, the robbers proceed to eat and drink, dispensing with chopsticks, so wolfish is their hunger. Meantime they roughly jeer at their captive, who sits helpless before them, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. Having satisfied their first imperious craving for food and drink, the brigands proceed to taunt their prisoner, until the captain, producing a koto or harp, bids her with savage threats make music, as they like to be merry.

"Sit you down, And let us hear your skill; for I do swear That, if you hesitate, then with this sword I'll cut you into bits and give your flesh To yonder noisy crows. Mark well my words."

So proficient is our little maiden on this instrument, that her slender fingers draw from the cords such wonderful sounds that all living creatures are spellbound. Even the robbers remain quiet while it lasts, and are so entranced that they fail to hear the steps of a stranger, stealing near the hut armed with sword and spear. Seeing White Aster in the brigands' power, this stranger bursts open the door and pounces upon the robbers, several of whom he slays after a desperate conflict. One of their number, however, manages to escape, and it is only when the fight is over that White Aster--who has covered her face with her hands--discovers that her rescuer is the kind-hearted recluse. He now informs her that, deeming it unsafe for her to thread the wilderness alone, he had soon followed her, intending to tell her he is her long-lost brother! Then he explains how, after being banished from home, he entered the service of a learned man, with whom he began to study, and that, perceiving at last the wickedness of his ways, he made up his mind to reform. But, although he immediately hastened home to beg his parents' forgiveness, he arrived there only to find his native town in ruins. Unable to secure any information in regard to his kin, he then became a recluse, and it was only because shame and emotion prevented his speaking that he had not immediately told White Aster who he was.

Much then my spirit fought against itself, Wishing to tell my name and welcome you, My long-lost sister: but false shame forbade And kept my mouth tight closed.

His tale ended, the recluse and his small sister leave the robbers' den, and steal hand in hand through the dusk, the forest's silence being broken only by the shrill cries of bands of monkeys. They are just about to emerge from this dark ravine, when the robber who managed to escape suddenly pounces upon the priest, determined to slay him so as to avenge his dead comrades. Another terrible fight ensues, which so frightens poor little White Aster that she runs off, losing her way in the darkness, and is not able to return to her brother's side in spite of all her efforts.

The third canto tells how, after wandering around all night, White Aster finally emerges at dawn on the top of a cliff, at whose base nestles a tiny village, with one of the wonted shrines. Making her way down to this place, White Aster kneels in prayer, but her attitude is so weary that an old peasant, passing by, takes pity upon her and invites her to join his daughter in their little cottage. White Aster thus becomes an inmate of this rustic home, where she spends the next few years, her beauty increasing every day, until her fame spreads all over the land. Hearing of her unparalleled loveliness, the governor finally decides to marry her, although she is far beneath him in rank, and sends a matrimonial agent to bargain for her hand. The old rustic, awed by the prospect of so brilliant an alliance, consents without consulting White Aster, and he and the agent pick out in the calendar a propitious day for the wedding.

When the agent has departed, the old man informs his guest how he has promised her hand in marriage, adding that she has no choice and must consent. But White Aster exclaims that her mother, on her way to the temple one day, heard a strange sound in the churchyard. There she discovered, amongst the flowers, a tiny abandoned girl, whom she adopted, giving her the name of the blossoms around her.

"Once," she said, "Ere morn had scarce begun to dawn, I went To worship at the temple: as I passed Through the churchyard 'twixt rows of gravestones hoar, And blooming white chrysanthemums, I heard The piteous wailing of a little child. Which following, I found, amidst the flowers, A fair young child with crimson-mouthing lips And fresh soft cheek--a veritable gem. I took it as a gift that Buddha sent As guerdon of my faith, and brought it up As my own child, to be my husband's joy And mine: and, as I found thee couched Amidst white-blooming asters, I named thee White Aster in memorial of the day."

The little maiden adds that her adopted mother made her promise never to marry any one save her so-called brother, and declares she is bound in honor to respect this maternal wish. The governor, anxious to secure this beautiful bride, meantime sends the agent hurrying back with a chest full of gifts, the acceptance of which will make the bargain binding. So the clever agent proceeds to exhibit tokens, which so dazzle the old peasant that he greedily accepts them all, while admiring neighbors gape at them in wonder.

Poor little White Aster, perceiving it will be impossible to resist the pressure brought to bear upon her, steals out of the peasant's house at midnight, and, making her way across damp fields to the river, climbs up on the high bridge, whence she intends to fling herself into the rushing waters. She pauses, however, to utter a final prayer, and, closing her eyes, is about to spring when a hand grasps her and a glad voice exclaims she is safe! Turning around, White Aster's wondering eyes rest upon the recluse, who ever since he escaped from the brigand's clutches has vainly been seeking her everywhere. He declares they shall never part again and tenderly leads her home, where she is overjoyed to find her father, who still mourns her absence.

Thankful for the return of his child, the father relates how, having fallen into a ravine,--where he found water and berries in plenty,--he vainly tried to scale the rocks, to escape from its depths and return home. All his efforts having proved vain, he was almost ready to give up in despair, when a band of monkeys appeared at the top of the cliff and by grimaces and sounds showed him how to climb out by means of the hanging vines. Trusting to these weak supports, the father scaled the rocks, but on arriving at the summit was surprised to discover no trace of the monkeys who had taught him how to escape. He remembered, however, that while hunting one day he had aimed at a mother monkey and her babe, but had not injured them because the poor mother had made such distressing sounds of despair. He adds it was probably in reward for this act of mercy that the monkeys saved his life.

"I spared her life; And she, in turn, seeing my sorry plight, Cried to me from the rocks, and showed the way To flee from certain death."

Thus, this epic ends with a neat little moral, and with the comforting assurance that White Aster, her father, and husband lived happy ever afterward.

AMERICAN EPICS

When Europeans first landed on this continent, they found it occupied by various tribes of Indians, speaking--it is estimated--some six hundred different languages or dialects. At first no systematic effort could be made to discover the religion or traditions of the native Americans, but little by little we have learned that they boasted a rich folk-lore, and that their nature-myths and hero-tales were recited by the fireside from generation to generation. Because there were tribes in different degrees of evolution between savagery and the rudimentary stages of civilization, there are more or less rude myths and folk-tales in the samples with which we have thus become familiar.

Among the more advanced tribes, Indian folk-lore bears the imprint of a weirdly poetical turn of mind, and ideas are often vividly and picturesquely expressed by nature similes. Some of this folk-lore is embodied in hymns, or what have also been termed nature-epics, which are now being carefully preserved for future study by professional collectors of folk-lore. Aside from a few very interesting creation myths and stories of the Indian gods, there is a whole fund of nature legends of which we have a characteristic sample in Bayard Taylor's Mon-da-min, or Creation of the Maize, and also in the group of legends welded into a harmonious whole by Longfellow in the "American-Indian epic" Hiawatha.

The early European settlers found so many material obstacles to overcome, that they had no leisure for the cultivation of literature. Aside from letters, diaries, and reports, therefore, no early colonial literature exists. But, with the founding of the first colleges in America,--Harvard, Yale, William and Mary, the College of New Jersey, and King's College (now Columbia),--and with the introduction of the printing press, the American literary era may be said to begin.

The Puritans, being utterly devoid of aesthetic taste, considered all save religious poetry sinful in the extreme; so it was not until the middle of the seventeenth century that Fame could trumpet abroad the advent of "the Tenth Muse," or "the Morning Star of American Poetry," in the person of Anne Bradstreet! Among her poems--which no one ever reads nowadays--is "An Exact Epitome of the Three First Monarchies, viz., the Assyrian, Persian, and Grecian, and the Beginning of the Roman Commonwealth to the End of their Last King," a work which some authorities rank as the first American epic (1650). This was soon (1662) followed by Michael Wigglesworth's "Day of Doom," or "Poetical Description of the Great and Last Judgement," wherein the author, giving free play to his imagination, crammed so many horrors that it afforded ghastly entertainment for hosts of young Puritans while it passed through its nine successive editions in this country and two in England. Although devoid of real poetic merit, this work never failed to give perusers "the creeps," as the following sample will sufficiently prove:

Then might you hear them rend and tear The air with their outcries; The hideous noise of their sad voice Ascendant to the skies. They wring their hands, their caitiff hands, And gnash their teeth for terror; They cry, they roar, for anguish sore, And gnaw their tongue for horror. But get away without delay; Christ pities not your cry; Depart to hell, there may you yell And roar eternally.

The Revolutionary epoch gave birth to sundry epic ballads--such as Francis Hopkinson's Battle of the Kegs and Major André's Cow Chase--and "to three epics, each of them almost as long as the Iliad, which no one now reads, and in which one vainly seeks a touch of nature or a bit of genuine poetry." This enormous mass of verse includes Trumbull's burlesque epic, McFingal (1782), a work so popular in its day that collectors possess samples of no less than thirty pirated editions. Although favorably compared to Butler's Hudibras, and "one of the Revolutionary forces," this poem--a satire on the Tories--has left few traces in our language, aside from the familiar quotation:

A thief ne'er felt the halter draw With good opinion of the law.

The second epic of this period is Timothy Dwight's "Conquest of Canaan" in eleven books, and the third Barlow's "Columbiad." The latter interminable work was based on the poet's pompous Vision of Columbus, which roused great admiration when it appear (1807). While professing to relate the memorable voyage of Columbus in a grandly heroic strain, the Columbiad introduces all manner of mythical and fantastic personages and events. In spite of its writer's learning and imagination, this voluminous epic fell quite flat when published, and there are now very few persons who have accomplished the feat of reading it all the way through. Still, it contains passages not without merit, as the following lines prove:

Long on the deep the mists of morning lay, Then rose, revealing, as they rolled away, Half-circling hills, whose everlasting woods Sweep with their sable skirts the shadowy floods: And say, when all, to holy transport given, Embraced and wept as at the gates of Heaven, When one and all of us, repentant, ran, And, on our faces, blessed the wondrous man: Say, was I then deceived, or from the skies Burst on my ear seraphic harmonies? "Glory to God!" unnumbered voices sung: "Glory to God!" the vales and mountains rang. Voices that hailed Creation's primal morn, And to the shepherds sung a Saviour born. Slowly, bare-headed, through the surf we bore The sacred cross, and, kneeling, kissed the shore. 'But what a scene was there? Nymphs of romance, Youths graceful as the Fawn, with eager glance, Spring from the glades, and down the alleys peep, Then headlong rush, bounding from steep to steep, And clap their hands, exclaiming as they run, "Come and behold the Children of the Sun!"

Not content with an epic apiece, Barlow and Trumbull, with several other "Hartford wits," joined forces in composing the Anarchiad, which exercised considerable influence on the politics of its time.

In 1819 appeared Washington Irving's Sketch-Book, which contains the two classics, Legend of the Sleepy Hollow, and Rip Van Winkle, which are sometimes quoted as inimitable samples of local epics in prose. Cooper's Leather-stocking series of novels, including the Deerslayer, The Last of the Mohicans, The Pathfinder, The Pioneers, and The Prairie, are also often designated as "prose epics of the Indian as he was in Cooper's imagination," while some of his sea-stories, such as The Pirate, have been dubbed "epics of the sea." Bryant, first-born of our famous group of nineteenth-century American poets, made use of many of the Indian myths and legends in his verse. But he rendered his greatest service to epic poetry by his translations of the Iliad and the Odyssey, accomplished when already eighty years of age.

There are sundry famous American heroic odes or poems which contain epic lines, such as Halleck's Marco Bozzaris, Dana's Buccaneers, Lowell's Vision of Sir Launfal, and Biglow Papers, Whittier's Mogg Megone, Holmes's Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill Battle, Taylor's Amram's Wooing, Emerson's Concord Hymn, etc., etc. Then, too, some critics rank as prose epics Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter, Poe's Fall of the House of Usher, Hale's Man Without a Country, Bret Harte's Luck of Roaring Camp, Helen Hunt Jackson's Ramona, etc., etc.

It is, however, Longfellow, America's most popular poet, who has written the nearest approach to a real epic, and the poems most likely to live, in his Wreck of the Hesperus, Skeleton in Armor, Golden Legend, Hiawatha, Tales of a Wayside Inn, Courtship of Miles Standish, and Evangeline, besides translating Dante's grand epic The Divine Comedy.

In Longfellow's Wreck of the Hesperus we have a miniature nautical epic, in the Skeleton in Armor our only epic relating to the Norse discovery, in the Golden Legend, and in many of the Tales of a Wayside Inn, happy adaptations of mediaeval epics or romances.

Hiawatha, often termed "the Indian Edda," is written in the metre of the old Finnish Kalevala, and contains the essence of many Indian legends, together with charming descriptions of the woods, the waters, and their furry, feathered, and finny denizens. Every one has followed entranced the career of Hiawatha, from birth to childhood and boyhood, watched with awe his painful initiation to manhood and with tender sympathy his idyllic wooing of Minnehaha and their characteristic wedding festivities. Innumerable youthful hearts have swelled at his anguish during the Famine, and countless tears have silently dropped at the death of the sweet little Indian squaw. After connecting this Indian legend with the coming of the White Man from the East, the poet, knowing the Red man had to withdraw before the new-comer skilfully made use of a sun-myth, and allowed us to witness Hiawatha's departure, full of allegorical significance:

Thus departed Hiawatha, Hiawatha the Beloved, In the glory of the sunset, In the purple mists of evening, To the regions of the home-wind, Of the Northwest-wind Keewaydin, To the Islands of the Blessed, To the kingdom of Ponemah, To the land of the Hereafter!

The Courtship of Miles Standish brings us to the time of the Pilgrim's settlement in the New World and has inspired many painters.

The next poem, which some authorities consider Longfellow's masterpiece, is connected with another historical event, of a later date, the conquest of Acadia by the English. It is a matter of history that in 1755 the peaceful French farmers of Acadia, without adequate notice or proper regard for family ties, were hurried aboard waiting British vessels and arbitrarily deported to various ports, where they were turned adrift to join the scattered members of their families and earn their living as best they could. The outline of the story of Evangeline, and of her long, faithful search for her lover Gabriel, is too well known to need mention. There are besides few who cannot vividly recall the reunion of the long-parted lovers just as Gabriel's life is about to end. All through this hopeless search we are vouchsafed enchanting descriptions of places and people, and fascinating glimpses of scenery in various sections of our country, visiting in imagination the bayous of the South and the primeval forests, drifting along the great rivers, and revelling in the beauties of nature so exquisitely delineated for our pleasure. But, as is fitting in regard to the theme, an atmosphere of gentle melancholy hovers over the whole poem and holds the listener in thrall long as its musical verses fall upon the ear.

Still stands the forest primeval; but under the shade of its branches Dwells another race, with other customs and language. Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom.

In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still busy; Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun, And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story, While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

INDEX OF NAMES

A

Abbasides, 398 Abdiel, 298, 299 Abduction of Persephone, 64 Abel, 142, 311 Abeniaf, 116, 118 Abenteuerbuch, 326 Abraham, 311 Abstinence, 263 Abul Kasin Mansur, 398 Abu Zaid, 398 Acadia, 468 Achan, 170 Achates, 64-66 Acheron, 141 Achilleis, 63, 69 Achilles, 17, 19, 21, 22, 25, 27, 28, 30-40, 42, 46, 53, 61, 88, 143, 269 Acrasia, 264, 265, 267-269 Active Virtues, 354 Açvaghosha, 415 Adam, 142, 179, 186, 293-298, 302-313, 317, 322 Adamastor, 134, 135 Adonais, 221 Adone, 139 Adonis, 139 Adrian V., Pope, 170 Adventurous Band, 202, 204 Adversary, 292, 395 Aegistheus, 43 Aeneas, 23, 25-27, 37, 64-74, 76-80, 142, 146 Aeneid, 63, 64-80, 83, 108 Aeolus, 50, 51, 64 Aeschere, 226 Aesculapius, 258 Aethiopia, 17 Aetna, Mt., 70 Afrasiab, 404, 408, 412 Africa, 64, 65, 116, 120, 126, 194 African, 71 Agamemnon, 18, 21, 26, 29-33, 36, 42, 53, 178 Age of Gold, 400, 417, 429 Agias of Troezene, 18 Agnani, 170 Agnello, 154 Ahab, 316 Ahasuerus, 394, 396 Aino, 377, 378 Aix, 87, 99 Aix la Chapelle, 99 Ajax, 18, 24, 28, 29, 31, 33-35, 53, 61 Akitoshi, 458 Aladine, 199, 200-202, 206, 213 Alamanni, 139 Alaric, 84 Al Asmai, 398 Alastor, 221 Alba, 283 Alba Longa, 64 Alban, 80 Albany, Duke of, 193 Albion's England, 220 Alborz, Mt., 402 Al-Bukhari, 394 Alcazar, 120 Alcinous, 46, 47, 55 Alcocer, 115 Alda, 89 Alethes, 201 Alexander, 19, 63, 107, 148, 218, 219, 233, 324, 361, 398 Alexanderlied, 324 Alexandra, 19 Alexandreid, 83 Alexandras, 392 Alexandria, 20 Alfonso, 111-113, 115, 116, 119-124 Alfonso V., 133 Alfred, King, 222 Aliscans, 81 Allah, 200 Allahabad, 436 Allan a Dale, 247-249, 251, 254 Allemaine, 100 Almesbury, 242 Alonzo, 132 Alphonso the Brave, 132 Alphonsos, 131 Alpine fog, 169 Alps, 233 Alsatian Chronicle, 327 Al-Tirmidhi, 394 Alvar Fanez, 109, 113, 118, 119, 123 Amadis de Gaule, 107, 127, 221 Amalung, 339 Amata, 79, 80 Amazons, 18, 199, 269, 281, 408 Ambrosius, Aurelianus, 230 America, 464 American Epics, 464-467 American-Indian Epic, 464 Americans, 464 Amfortas, 349, 351, 353-355 Aminta, 197 Amis et Amiles, 82, 83 Amoret, 273-278 Amram's Wooing, 467 Amrita, 420 Ananias, 154 Anarchiad, 467 Anastasius, Pope, 147 Anchises, 23, 68, 69, 72, 74 Ancient Mariner, 221 André, Major, 465 Andreas, 218 Andrew, 316 Andromache, 27, 28, 38 Andvari, 365 Aneurin, 216 Angel of Absolution, 165 Angel of Pity, 411 Angelica, 190-194, 196 Angels, 177, 187 Anglo-Norman, 229, 346 Anglo-Saxon, 222 Anlaf, 217 Anna, 70, 71 Anna, St., 188 Annales, 63 Annunciation, 166 Antaeus, 156 Antenora, 157 Antinous, 44, 57, 59, 60 Antioch, 83, 198, 207 Apocalypse, 396 Apollo, 18, 21, 25, 28, 28, 33, 34, 38, 39, 60, 177 Apollonius Rhodius, 20 Apollonius of Tyre, 218 Apostle of India, 136 Aquinas, St. Thomas of, 179, 180 Aquitania, 324 Arab, 397 Arab Days, 397 Arabia, 397, 401 Arabian and Persian Epics, 397-414 Arabian Conquest, 399 Arabian Nights, 327, 398 Arabians, 394 Arabian Tales, 394 Arabic, 393, 397, 398 Arab Iliad, 398 Arab Literature, 394 Arachne, 167 Aragon, 109, 125, 126 Arany, 393 Archangels, 177, 178, 187 Archimago, 256, 259-261, 264, 267 Arctinus of Miletus, 17, 18 Arden, 190, 191 Ardennes, 324 Argalio, 190 Argantes, 201, 204-206, 208 Argenti, 145 Argentina, 108 Argonautica, 20, 63, 139 Ariolant, 193 Ariosto, 85, 138, 189, 192, 197, 220 Aristotle, 218 Arjasp, 413 Arjuna, 435, 437, 439-444, 446 Ark, 166 Armida, 203, 204, 206, 207, 210-213 Arminius, 323 Armorica, 216 Arno, 168 Arnold, Edwin, 452 Arnold, Matthew, 221, 230, 408 Arrebo, 360 Artegall, Sir, 269, 270, 275, 276, 279, 280-284 Arthur, 82, 107, 137, 216, 218-220, 229-235, 239, 241, 242, 261, 281-283, 285, 286, 326, 349, 351-353 Arthur a Bland, 247 Arthuriana, 230 Arthurian Cycle, 216, 229-243, 346 Arthurian Legend, 219, 221, 222, 240 Arthurian Romances, 127 Asbjörnsen, 362 Ascanius, 66 Asia, 21, 75, 319 Asiatic, 394 Aso, Mt., 456 Assyria, 319 Assyrian, 465 Astolat, 236 Astolfo, 190, 194, 195, 196 Asvatmedha, 417 Aswathaman, 441, 442 Athens, 321 Atli, 370, 371 Attila, 323, 324, 328 Atridae, 18 Aucassin, 82,101-106 Aucassin et Nicolette, 82, 101-106 Aude, 99, 324 Augustan Age, 63 Augustine, St., 188 Augustus, 74 Aulis, 21 Auracana, 108 Aurora, 36, 44, 200 Austria, 392 Austriada, 108 Austrian, 392 Austro-Gothic, 328 Austro-Hungarian Empire, 392, 393 Automedon, 35 Avalon, Isle of, 242 Avarchide, 189 Avarice, 257 Ave Maria, 178 Awe, 282 Ayodhya, 416 Azevedo, 108

B

Babylonia, 319 Bacchus, 129, 130, 135 Bactrachomyomachia, 20 Badajoz, 131 Bagdad, 399 Balaam, 397 Baldwin, 372 Balin and Balan, 240 Balkan Peninsula, 392, 393 Ballads of Robin Hood, 220 Balmung, 329, 362, 363 Baptist, John The, 213, 316 Bards, 214 Barlaam, 361 Barlaamssaga ok Josaphats, 361 Barlow, 466, 467 Barons' Wars, The, 220 Battle of Frogs and Mice, 20 Battle of the Kegs, 465 Battle of Maldon, 217 Batyushkoff, 372 Bavaria, 100, 192, 325 Bavieca, 120, 126 Beatrice, 133, 140, 147, 164, 168, 173-189 Bedevere, 229, 241, 242 Beelzebub, 289, 291, 298 Belacqua, 163 Belgard, 288 Beige, 282, 283 Belgium, 214, 282 Belgrade, 196 Belial, 290, 317 Belisarius, 138, 179 Bellicent, 82 Bellona, 26 Bellum Punicum, 63 Belphebe, 277, 278 Benedict, St., 184, 188 Benoit de St. Maur, 19, 219, 230 Beowulf, 217, 222-229 Béranger, Raymond, 179, 206 Bern (Verona), 323 Bernard, St., 188 Bernardo del Carpio, 107 Berni, 85, 138 Bertha, 324 Bertrand de Born, 155 Besançon, 92 Bethlehem, 315 Beves of Hamdoun, 317 Bhagavad-gita, 440 Bharata, 418, 423, 431, 432 Bhartruhari, 415 Bhima, 434, 436, 442 Bhishma, 433, 434, 438, 441, 443 Biaucaire, Count of, 102, 104-106 Bible, 217, 360, 415 Biglow Papers, 467 Bildad, 396 Bira, 101 Bird of God, 402 Blanchefleur, Lady, 354 Blatant Beast, 278, 283-288 Blaye, 99 Blue Sea, 378 Boccaccio, 138 Bodleian Library, 84 Bogovitch, 393 Bohemians, 392 Boiardo, 85, 138, 189, 192, 197 Boniface, Pope, 152, 170 Book of the Dun Cow, 215 Book of Heroes, 326 Book of Leinster, 215 Book of Taliessin, 216 Bordeaux, 99 Born, Bertrand de, 155 Bornier, 85 Bors, 229, 355 Bors, Sir, 352 Bosphorus, 186 Boston Library, 355 Bower of Bliss, 264, 268 Brabant, 351 Bradamant, 192, 196 Bradstreet, Anne, 465 Braggadocchio, 280 Bragi, 361 Brahma, 416-419, 447 Brahfans, 436, 437, 450 Bramimonde, 101 Branstock, 362, 369 Brengwain, 239 Breton, 100 Breton Cycle, 82 Briareus, 167 Bridal of Triermain, The, 221 Bride's Choice, 436, 447, 448, 450 Britain, 84, 216, 218, 219, 231, 232 British, 214, 267, 469 British Isles, 214 British Museum, 222 Britomart, 269, 270, 273-276, 279, 281 Brittany, 193, 216, 241 Broceliande, 241 Brons, 347, 348 Brown the Bear, 357-359 Brunetto, Sir, 149 Brunhild, 330-334, 337, 339 Brut, 218, 220 Brutus, 84, 139 Bryant, 467 Bryhtnoth's Death, 217 Brynhild, 367-371 Buccaneers, 467 Buddha, 415, 457, 458 Bulgarians, 196, 197, 393 Buonaventura, St., 180 Buovo d'Antona, 137 Burgos, 112, 114, 119 Burgundian, 127, 323, 328, 329, 334, 338-344 Burgundian-Hunnish Cycle, 324 Burgundy, 331-333, 339, 340, 367 Busirane, 273, 274 Butler, 466 Bylinas, 372 Byron, 221 Byrsa, 65

C

Cabra, 110 Cacciaguida, 182. Cacus, 154 Caecilius, 171 Caedmon, 217 Caesar, 65, 318, 320 Caiaphas, 154 Cain, 223, 311 Caina, 157 Calahorra, 109 Calespine, Sir, 285, 287 Calicut, 135 Calidore, Sir, 283-285, 287, 288 Caliphs, 398 Callisthenes, 19 Calypso, 40, 44, 45 Camelot, 235, 241, 352 Camilla, 76, 79, 142 Camoëns, Luis de, 127, 128, 136 Campeador, 110, 126 Can Grande, 182 Canterbury, 232 Canterbury Tales, 138, 220 Capaneus, 149 Cape of Good Hope, 134 Cape of Tempests, 134 Capitol, 320 Care, 266 Carlemaine, 85, 100 Carleon, 234, 241 Carthage, 65, 71, 106 Carthaginians, 70-72 Cary, 140 Casella, 161 Cassandra, 67, 68 Cassius, 159 Castile, 108, 110, 112, 116, 131 Castilian, 115 Castle of the Maidens, 354 Catalogue of Beotian Heroines, 20 Cathay, 190, 191 Cato, 160, 161 Cattle of Cooly, 215 Celestine V., Pope, 141 Celt, 214 Celtic, 214, 215, 217 Centenera, 108 Central Europe, 392 Cerberus, 143, 284 Cervantes, 107 Ceuta, 133 Ceylon, 415, 424, 426-428 Champion of Purity, 354 Chancery, 265 Chanson de geste, 81, 82 Chanson de Roland, 81-101 Chaos, 290-293, 302 Chapelain, 84 Charity, 165, 174, 183, 262 Charlemagne, 81, 82, 85-90, 92, 94-100, 127, 137, 183, 189, 190, 192, 193, 195, 196, 218, 323-325, 360, 361 Charles the Great (see Charlemagne), 326 Charles Martel, 179 Charon, 73, 141 Charybdis, 53, 54, 70 Chastity, 269 Chateaubriand, 84 Chaucer, 220 Chernubles, 91 Cherubim, 177, 184, 187 Chimera, 284 China, 456 Chinese, 415, 456 Chiron, 147 Chivalry, 261 Chosen People, 311, 321 Chrestien de Troyes, 82, 219 Christ, 81, 142, 145, 147, 154, 169, 178, 179, 181, 183, 184, 186, 188, 213, 293, 301, 312-315, 318-322, 327, 347, 393, 465 Christabel, 221 Christiad, 393 Christian Church, 174 Christian Epic, 64 Christian Era, 179 Christianity, 64, 81, 214, 360 Christians, 107, 178, 183, 191, 195, 198-200, 203, 205-208, 210-212, 217 Chrysa, 21 Church, 176 Ciacco, 144 Cid, the, 107, 108-146, 221 Cimmerian Shore, 52 Circassia, 192 Circassian, 205 Circe, 18, 51-54, 74 Citra-Kuta, 423 Civil Wars, 220 Claudianus, 64 Cleopatra, 143 Cloelia, 76 Clorinda, 199-202, 204-206, 208, 209 Clovis, 84 Clytemnestra, 43 Cocles, 76 Coimbra, 110, 127 Colada, 115, 122 Coleridge, 221 Colin Clout, 287 College of New Jersey, 464 Cologne, 92 Columbia, 464 Columbiad, 466 Columbus, 210 Combat des Trente, 84 Combel, 275 Comforter, 312 Concord Hymn, 467 Conington, 65 Conquest of Canaan, 466 Conrad von Kürenberg, 328 Constance, 230, 231 Constantine, 183, 230 Contemplation, 262 Cooper, 467 Cordova, 86 Coridon, 287, 288 Corineus, 219 Corneille, 107 Cornwall, 216, 237, 239 Corpes Woods, 124 Cortes, 123, 124 Courage, 259 Court Epics, 415 Courtesy, 283 Courtship of Miles Standish, 467, 468 Cow Chase, 465 Cowley, Abraham, 220 Crassus, 170 Crawford, 374 Creacion del Munde, 108 Creation of the Maize, 464 Crete, 69, 73, 149 Crist, 217 Croatian, 393 Cronica rimada, 107 Cross, 212 Crucifixions, 347 Crusade, 198, 199, 208 Crusade epics, 83 Crusaders, 198, 201-204, 206, 208, 209, 212, 213 Cuchulaind, 215 Cumae, 73, 146 Cumaean Sibyl, 70 Cunizza, 180 Cupid, 66, 286 Curse of Kehama, 221 Cycle of Brittany, 82 Cycle of France, 81 Cyclops, 36, 48-50, 70 Cyllenius, 61 Cymbeline, 219 Cymochles, 265 Cynewulf, 217 Cypria, 17 Cyprian Iliad, 63 Czechs, 392 Czuczor, 392

D

Daedalus, 73, 179 Dagobert, 85 Dalian Frogaell, 215 Damascus, 203, 206 Damayanti, 447-451 Damian, 184 Dana, 467 Dandaka, 421 Danes, 227, 343 Danger, 84 Daniel, 171, 217, 318 Daniel, Samuel, 220 Danish, 217, 360 Dankwart, 342, 343 Dante, 137-189 Danube, 338, 339 Dasaratha, 417 Dauphin, 19 David, 166, 183, 220, 312, 318, 320 Davideis, 220 Day of Doom, 465 Dead Sea, 207 Death, 34, 291, 307, 308, 312, 314, 381, 382 Decameron, 138 Deceit, 265, 266 Deerslayer, 467 Deev, 400 Defense of Guinevere, 221 Delhi, 432, 438 Delos, 69 Deluge, 311, 439, 447 Demodocus, 46 Denmark, 222-225, 329, 371 Destiny, 195 Detraction, 283 Dharma, 446 Dhritarashtra, 433 Diana, 172 Diaz, 134 Dido, 65-67, 70-72, 74, 143, 170 Dietrich von Bern, 323, 328, 338, 340-343, 345, 346, 361 Diomedes, 25, 26, 29-33, 155 Dionysius, 148 Dis, 72, 145, 146, 159 Discord, 31, 75, 76, 193, 194 Disdain, 286 Divina Commedia, 137, 139-189 Divine Comedy, 139-189, 467 Divine Essence, 177 Divine Majesty, 188 Divine Song, 440 Doctors of the Church, 174 Doctor Patience, 262 Dog of Montargis, 83 Dolon, 31 Dominations, 177, 183, 187 Dominic, St., 180 Don Garcia, 109, 110 Don Gomez, 108 Don John, 133 Don Juan, 221 Don Pedro, 132 Don Quixote, 107 Don Ramon, 115 Don Sancho, 110, 111 Doomsday, 341 Dragontine, 191 Draupadi, 436-439, 442, 443, 445, 446 Drayton, 220 Drepanum, 70, 72, 74 Drona, 434, 435, 441, 442 Druidic cult, 214 Drunkenness, 444 Dryden, 220 Dublin, 255 Dudon, 202 Duessa, 257-259, 261, 264, 282 Du Guesclin, 84 Dumby, 124 Dunstan, St., 250 Durendal, 90, 91, 96, 97 Durindana, 90, 91 Dushyanta, 431, 432 Dutch, 356 Dwight, Timothy, 466

E

Eagle, 183 Early Christian Epics, 395 Earthly Paradise, The, 221 Easter Day, 145 Ebro, 98 Ebuda, 193 Ecclesiastes, 396 Ector, Sir, 232, 234, 242 Edda, 215, 361, 362 Eden, 165, 186, 210, 294, 303, 314 Edward, 199 Egas Moniz, 131 Egilssaga, 361 Eginhart, 85 Egypt, 18, 43, 44, 161, 201, 204, 207, 289, 290, 317, 398 Egyptian, 19, 211, 212 Ekkehard, 324 Ekkewart, 333, 338, 340 Elaine, 229, 236, 352 Elder Edda, 361 Eleanor, Queen, 250, 251 Eleanora, 132 Elene, 218 Eleonora, 197 Elijah, 316, 317, 318 Eliphaz, 396 Elizabeth, 255, 281 Eljubarota, 133 Ellen, 247, 248 Elsa of Brabant, 351, 352 Elysian Fields, 44, 72, 741 Emerson, 467 Emmanuel, 133 Emmet, Prior of, 249 Empire, 176, 183 Empyrean, 176, 187 Enchanted Castle, 355 Endymion, 221 Enfances de Godefroi, 83 England, 192, 214, 217-220, 222, 230-232, 348, 465 English, 217, 243 Enid, 229 Ennius, 63 Enoch Arden, 222 Envy, 283 Eoiae, 20 Ephialtes, 156 Epic of Commerce, 128 Epic of the Gypsies, 393 Epic of Hades, 221 Epic of Kings, 398 Epics of the Netherlands, 356-359 Epic of Patriotism, 128 Epic Poetry, 17 Epic of the Volsungs, 362-371 Epigoni, 19 Epirus, 69 Epopée galante, 221 Erato, 75 Erec et Enide, 82 Ermanrich the Goth, 323 Erminia, 202, 205, 212 Ernst, Herzog, 325 Error, 256 Erse Poetry, 215 Erzilla, 108 Esau, 179 Eschenbach, Wolfram von, 219, 230, 326, 328, 352 Esther, 394, 396 Eternal City, 320 Eternal Rose, 187 Etruria, 76, 79 Etruscan, 76, 78 Ettarre, 229 Etzel, 328, 337-344, 346 Eugammon of Cyrene, 18 Eunoe, 174 Euphemia, Queen, 360 Euphemiaviser, 360 Europe, 127, 133, 137, 194, 198, 230, 372 European, 137, 216, 356 Europeans, 464 Euryalus, 77 Eurycleia, 42, 58 Eustace, 204 Evander, 76 Evangeline, 467, 469 Evangelists, 174 Eve, 188, 294-297, 302-310 Evelake, 348 Evil Pits, 151 Exact Epitome of the three first Monarchies, etc., 465 Excalibure, 283, 241, 242 Exodus, 217, 323, 395 Eyrbyggjasaga, 361

F

Faerie Queene, 220, 255-288 Fafnir, 365, 366, 371 Fairy Queen, 261, 269 Faith, 165, 174, 183, 185, 262 Faithlessness, 257 Fame, 465 Famine, 468 Famine Tower, 157 Far East, 356 Farinata, 146 Faroese, 360 Fata Morgana, 194 Fate, 75, 77, 78 Fates, 170, 195 Faust, 327 Faustus, Dr., 327 Felez Munos, 122 Fénelon, 19, 84 Fennian, 215 Feridoun, 401, 402 Fernando, 132 Fernan Gonzales, 107 Ferrando, King, 108, 110 Ferrara, 192, 197, 211 Ferrau, 190, 191, 192 Fiance (bishop), 215 Fidessa, 257, 258 Fingal, 215 Finland, 372 Finn, 215 Finnish, 468 Finnish Epics, 372 Finns, 372, 373 Finnsburgh, 217, 225 Firdusi, 398, 399 First Crusade, 197 Fixed Stars, 176, 184 Flamença, 81 Flanders, 356 Florence, 140, 144, 146, 154, 163, 168, 182, 197 Florentine, 144 Flores and Blancheflour, 219 Florimell, Lady, 271, 272, 275, 276, 278, 280 Flourdelis, 283 Folco, 180 Folengo, 138 Force, 266 Forese, 171, 172, 177 Forest Book, 439 Fortiguerra, 139, 197 Fortitude, 160 Fortunate Isles, 210 Fortune, 144 Fountain of Youth, 83 Fountains Abbey, 250 Four sons of Aymon, 219 France, 84, 86, 88, 89, 92, 97, 99, 107, 127, 140, 191, 193, 214, 219, 283, 347 Francesca da Rimini, 143 Franciade, 84 Francis of Assisi, St., 180, 188 Franciscans, 180 Francus, 84 Frankish, 328 Franks, 84, 88, 89, 90, 100 Fraud, 266 Frederick II., 137, 148 Frederick of Telramund, 351 French, 85, 87, 89, 90, 170, 392, 393 French Classic, 18 French Epics, 81-106 Frenchmen, 94, 95, 96, 98, 99, 100 Friendship, 275 Frisian, 323 Frithjof Saga, 360 Froschmeuseler, Der, 327 Frost God, 385 Furies, 75 Furor, 265

G

Gabriel, St., 100, 101, 114, 181, 188, 198, 295, 296, 303, 314, 317, 322, 469 Gaelic Literature, 215 Galahad, 229, 236, 352, 353, 354, 355 Galland, 394 Gallicia, 110, 112 Gamelyn, Tale of, 220 Gan (Ganelon), 100 Ganelon, 81, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 92, 98, 99, 100, 324 Ganga, 432 Ganges, 133, 416, 419, 422, 432, 434, 435, 439, 443, 444, 446, 447 Ganymede, 165 Garcia Ordonez de Montalvo, 108 Garden of Eden, 174 Gareth and Lynette, 229, 240 Garin le Lorrain, 81 Gascony, 89 Gaucher, 230 Gawain, 229 Geats, 227, 229 Gemini, 184 Genesis, 217 Geoffrey of Monmouth, 216, 218, 219, 230 George of Merry England, St., 262 Georgos, 255, 260, 262, 264 Geraint and Enid, 229, 240 Gérard de Roussillon, 83 Gerbert, 230 Gereones, 282, 283 German, 392 German Epics, 323 German Literature, 327 Germany, 84, 214, 323, 325 Gernando, 204 Gernot, 344 Gerusalemme, 138 Gerusalemme, Conquistata, 138 Gerusalemme Distrutta, 139 Gerusalemme Liberata, 197 Geryon, 150, 151 Gherardeschi, Count Ugolino de, 157-158 Ghibelline, 146, 179 Giants, Battle of the, 64 Gibraltar, Strait of, 128, 186, 194, 210 Gideon, 318 Gildas, 218, 219, 230 Gil Diaz, 126 Gildippe, 199, 213 Ginevra, 193 Giovanna, 165 Girone il Cortese, 139 Giseler, 340 Glastonbury, 242, 348 Glauce, 269 Gleemen, 214, 360 Glittering Heath, 366 Gloriana, 255, 256, 262, 267, 269, 279, 283, 288 Gluttony, 257 Goa, 128 Goddess of Discord, 20 Goddess of Fame, 71 God of Death, 453 God of the Forest, 382 God of Sleep, 33 God of Time, 431 Godfrey of Bouillon, 138, 183, 198, 199, 201-204, 206, 207-213 Goethe, 84, 85, 327, 356 Golden Age, 107, 108, 415 Golden Fleece, 151, 268, 373 Golden Legend, 326, 467, 468 Golden Tree, 355 Gomorrah, 173 Good and Evil, 373 Gorgon, 146 Gorlois, 229, 231, 232 Goth, 323, 362, 371 Gothland, 363 Goths, 138, 362, 363, 364 Gottfried von Strassburg, 230 Gouvernail, 237 Graces, 287 Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill Battle, 467 Grane, 364 Grantorto, 283 Great War, 440, 442, 444 Grecian, 463 Greece, 20, 24, 29, 36, 290, 393 Greek Epics, 17-62 Greek Literature, 17, 63 Greeks, 21, 25, 28-37, 39, 40, 42, 43, 47, 48, 51, 54, 66, 67, 68, 70, 73, 196, 214, 373 Grendel, 223-227, 229 Grettissaga, 361 Greyfell, 364 Griffeth, 416, 435 Grimbart, the Badger, 356-359 Guardians of the Holy Grail, 355 Gudrun, 325, 326, 367-371 Guelf Party, 140 Guelfs, 146, 150, 179 Guillaumey Charlotte, 216 Guido, 146 Guild, 367 Guillaurae d'Orange, 81 Guimaraens, 131 Guinevere, 229, 233-236, 242, 352 Guinicelli, 137 Gundulitch, 393 Gunnar, 367-371 Gunnlaugssaga, 361 Gunther, 323, 324, 328-337, 345 Guy of Warwick, 217 Guyle, 282 Guyon, Sir, 263-270, 280 Gyöngyösi, 392

H

Hades, 53, 61, 72, 73, 141, 144, 145, 147, 149, 160, 161, 256, 258, 308, 380, 382, 383 Hadubrand, 323 Hagan, 325 Hagar, 318 Hagen, 324, 329-345 Hale, 467 Hall, 223 Halleck, 467 Haman, 169 Hanuman, 426, 427 Hardré, 82 Harivamça, 446 Harjala, 384 Harpies, 69, 75, 148 Harte, Bret, 467 Hartford, 467 Hartmann von der Aue, 219, 230, 326 Harvard, 464 Hasâr Afsâna, 398 Hastin, 432 Hastinapur, 432, 434 Hastings, 85 Hauteclaire, 91 Havelock the Dane, 217 Hawthorne, 467 Heavenly Wisdom, 174 Hebrew, 361 Hebrew Epics, 395 Hector, 17, 23, 24, 26-30, 32-35, 37-40, 67, 69, 74, 142 Heimskringla, 360, 361 Heinrich, Der Arme, 326 Heinrich von Ofterdingen, 328 Heldenbuch, 326 Helen, 17, 20, 21, 24, 25, 27, 29, 43, 44, 56, 78, 143, 457 Helena, 218 Helenus, 69, 70 Heliant, 323 Heliodorus, 170 Hell, 315 Helm of Dread, 365 Hemans, Mrs., 131-132 Hengist, 231 Henning the Cock, 357 Henriade, La, 84 Henriqueiada, 127 Henry, 127 Henry II. of England, 155, 243, 244, 251 Henry IV., of France, 383 Heorot, 223, 225, 227 Heracles, 19 Hercules, 18, 76, 147, 155, 404 Hereford, Bishop of, 249, 251 Heresy, 256 Hermann und Dorothea, 327 Hesiod, 19 Hesperia, 68, 69 Hexaemeron, 360 Hezekiah, 183 Hiawatha, 372, 464, 467, 468 Hieronymo, _see_ Jerome, 119 Higelac, 224 Highlands, 215 Hildebrand, 323, 340, 345, 346 Hildebrandslied, 323 Hildegund, 324 Himalayas, 419, 434, 439, 447 Himavat, 445 Hindu, 415, 416, 419, 431, 435, 440, 444, 452 Hintze the Cat, 357 Hisi, 381, 390 Historia Britonum, 218 History of Britain, 218 Hoenir, 364 Högni, 369, 370 Holiness, 256 Holmes, 467 Holy City, 201 Holy Grail, 127, 216, 229, 230, 234, 236 Holy Grail, Story of, 346-355 Holy Mountain, 348 Holy Sepulchre, 199, 213, 348 Homer, 17, 18, 20, 21, 40, 142, 372, 399 Homer of the East, 399 Homeric, 299 Homeric Battle, 26 Homeward Voyage, 18 Hope, 84, 165, 174, 183, 185, 262 Hopkinson, Francis, 465 Horace, 142 Horn, King, 217 Horsa, 231 Hostius, 63 House of Usher, 467 Hrothgar, 222-227 Hudibras, 466 Hug-Dietrich, 325 Hugues Capet, 83, 170 Hunnish, 328 Hun, 323, 328, 341-345, 370, 371 Hungarian, 392, 393 Hungary, 179, 323, 337, 338, 342, 343, 370 Hunt, Leigh, 221 Huntington, Earl of, 254, 255 Huon de Bordeaux, 83, 219, 327 Hvin Haustlöng, 361 Hyperion, 221 Hypocrisy, 256

I

Icarus, 151 Iceland, 360 Icelandic, 360 Ida, Mt., 29, 149 Idleness, 257 Idle Sea, 265 Idylls of the King, 222 Igerne, 229, 231, 232 Igor, 372 Ilia, 64 Iliad, 17, 19, 20-40, 63, 83, 139, 155, 221, 325, 398, 465, 467 Ilion, 40 Ilion Persis, 18 Ilmarinen, 374, 379, 380-386, 389 Ilmater, 374 Ilya Muromets, 373 Impha, 101 India, 127-129, 133, 135, 398, 415, 419, 429, 431, 434, 439 Indian, 130, 136, 427, 430, 467 Indian Edda, 468 Indian Epics, 415-455 Indian Literature, 415 Indian Myths, 467 Indian Peninsula, 426 Indians, 464 Indra, 439, 444, 445, 446. Indraprastha, 438 Indus, 133 Inez de Castro, the Fair, 131-132 Infantes of Carrion, 120-125 Infantes de Lara, 107, 108 Infernal Regions, 159 Inferno, Dante's, 139-160, 164, 184 Inouye, 456 Inquisition, 282 I Promessi Sposi, 139 Iran, 401 Ireland, 214, 218, 237, 238, 279, 283 Irena, 279, 283 Iris, 23, 24, 39, 40 Irish, 214, 215 Irish Channel, 239 Irus, 57, 72 Irving, Washington, 467 Isabella, 221 Isegrim the Wolf, 356-359 Isenland, 330, 332 Iseult, Queen, and Princess, 237-240 Iseult of Brittany, 240 Iseult of Cornwall, 240 Iseult of the White Hands, 240 Isfendiyar, 412, 413 Isidro, St., 116 Isis, 281 Islamic, 397 Isle of Avalon, 242 Isle of Joy, 136 Isle of Refuge, 385 Ismarus, 47 Ismeno, 199 Isolde, 326 Israel, 161, 312, 320 Israelites, 316, 318 Istria, 63 Isumbras, Sir, 220 Italia Liberate, 138 Italian, 80, 137-139, 189, 206, 392, 393 Italian Epics, 137-213 Italy, 64, 70, 71, 74, 78, 137, 138, 197, 323, 328 Ithaca, 40, 41, 45, 50, 62, 155 Ithacan, 55, 62 Ithuriel, 295 Iulus, 66, 68, 71, 75, 76, 78 Ivain le Chevalier au Lion, 82 Iwein, 326

J

Jackson, Helen Hunt, 467 Jacob, 179 James, St., 185 Janak, 420 Janes Vilez, 393 Janus, 76 Japan, 456 Japanese Poetry, 456 Jason, 20, 151 Javanese, 129 Jemshid, 400, 401 Jephthah, 178, 318 Jerome, Bishop, 116, 119, 126 Jerusalem, 139, 198, 201-203, 205-207, 210-213, 319, 322, 325 Jerusalem Delivered, 197, 198, 372 Jesus, 214, 316, 317, 318, 320, 321 Jewish Heroine, 394 Jews, 114, 119, 178, 347 Joan of Arc, 221 Joan Delaemi, 893 Joannes Boetgezant, 356 Job, 314, 316, 318, 395, 396 John, the Baptist, 171, 188, 213, 316, 356 John, King, 254 John Little, 244 John the Messenger of Repentance, 356 John, St., 174, 185, 186, 195, 234 John II., 133 Jongleurs, 107 Jordan, 213, 315, 316 Josaphat, 361 Joseph, 156, 318, 348, 353 Joseph of Arimathea, 347, 355 Joshua, 180, 183 Jove, 156, 184 Joyeuse, 98 Joyless, 258 Joyous Garde, 236, 241 Judas, 157, 159, 347 Judea, 319 Judecca, 159 Judges, 312 Judgment, 183 Judgment of God, 359 Judith, 188, 323 Juglares, 107 Juliana, 217 Juliet, 403 Julius Caesar, 63, 318 Jumna, 435, 438 Juno, 20, 22, 26, 30, 33, 35, 64, 68, 70, 71, 72, 75, 76, 78, 80 Jupiter, 17, 20, 22, 25, 26, 29-34, 36, 40, 44, 45, 62, 64, 65, 71, 77, 78, 80, 129, 149, 176, 183 Jupiter Ammon, 19 Justice, 160, 279, 433 Justice, Champion of, 269 Justinian, 178, 179 Juturna, 80 Juvencus, 64

K

Kaaba, 397 Kabul, 403, 414 Kaikeyi, 420 Kaikobad, 404, 405 Kaikous, 405, 407 Kai-Khosrau, 412 Kalevala, 372, 373-391, 468 Kali, 448, 449, 450 Kalidasa, 415 Karl, 87-90, 99, 101 Karlamagnussaga, 361 Karna, 435, 442 Kaspar von der Rhön, 323, 326 Kauravas, 434 Kavah, 401 Kaviraja, 415 Kavyas, 415 Kay, Sir, 232 Keats, 221 Keewaydin, 468 Kiev, 373 King's Cottage, 464 Kireyevski, 372 Kirk Lee, 254 Kjaempeviser, 360 Klopstock, 327 Knight of the Cart, 235 Knight of the Red Cross, 256, 258 Knight with the Lion, 326 Knights of the Holy Grail, 348 Knights of the Bound Table, 82 Knight's Tale, The, 220 Knot de Provence, 230 König Laurin, 326 Krieg auf der Wartburg, Der, 326 Kriemhild, 328-330, 332-338, 340-346 Krishna, 437, 440, 444, 446 Krist, 323 Kullerwoinen, 385, 386 Kumarasambhava, 415 Kundrie, 351 Kurvenal, 237 Kurukshetra, 440 Kurus, 434, 436, 438-442 Kusa, 429 Kuvera, 439

L

Labyrinth, 73 Lady of the Lake, 221, 233, 234, 241 Lady of Sorrows, 234 Laertes, 41, 56, 61, 62 Laestrigonians, 51 Laexdaelasaga, 361 Laisses, 85 Lake Avernus, 72, 73 Lakshmana, 418, 422, 423 Lalla Rookh, 221 Lament of the Nibelungs, 346 Lancelot, 242 Lancelot du Lac, 218 Land of the Dead, 384 Land of Heroes, 373-391 Lang, Andrew, 101 Langobardian, 323, 325 Lanka, 427 Lapland, 377, 381, 384 Laplanders, 373 Lapps, 373, 376, 378, 385 Laocoon, 18, 67 Last Judgment, 465 Last of the Mohicans, 467 Last Supper, 347 Latin Epics, 63-80 Latin Literature, 63 Latins, 75, 80, 85, 137, 138, 160, 392 Latinus, 75, 76, 79 Latium, 72, 73, 80, 164 Launcelot du Lac, 82, 143, 229, 234-236, 242, 352 Laurin, 326 Lausus, 76, 78 Lava, 429 Lavinia, 75, 79, 80, 169 Lawlessness, 260 Lay of the Pious Maiden Shirakiku, 456 Lechery, 257 Lawrence, St., 178 Layamon, 218, 219, 230 Lay of the Last Minstrel, 221 Lays of Ancient Rome, 221 Lazarus, St., 109 Lea, 173 Lear, King, 219 Leather Stocking Tales, 467 Leda, 20 Légende des Siècles, 84 Legend of the Sleepy Hollow, 467 Leicester, 261 Lemminkainen, 381, 382, 384, 385 Leon, 110, 112 Lethe, 174, 175 Lettsom, 328 Leucothea, 45 Libyan, 66 Life and Death of Jason, 221 Life of Christ, 64 Life of St. Catherine of Alexandria, 392 Light and Darkness, 373 Lincoln, 244, 245, 253 Lisbon, 127-129, 136 Liszti, 392 Little Iliad, 18 Little John, 244-255 Lives of Saints, 323 Livius Andronicus, 63 Llywarch Hen, 216 Loathley Damsel, 354 Lockhart, 221 Locksley, 243 Lohengrin, 351, 352 Loki, 364, 365 Lombards, 189, 325 Lombardy, 182 London, 244, 255 Longfellow, 326, 372, 464, 467, 468 Lönnrot, Elias, 372, 373 Lord, The, 108 Lotus-eaters, 48 Louhi, 379-383, 385, 388, 389 Louis, 100 Louis I., 323 Louis XIV., 19, 394 Love, 273 Low Countries, 356 Lowell, 467 Lucan, 63, 142 Lucia, St., 140, 165, 166, 188 Lucifer, 139, 157, 296, 298, 299, 347 Lucifera, Queen, 257 Lucius Varius Rufus, 63 Luck of Roaring Camp, 467 Lucretia, 142 Lucretius, 63 Ludwigslied, 323 Luke, St., 174 Lüneburger Chronicle, 327 Lusiad, 127-136, 139 Lusitanians, 129, 135, 136 Luxembourg, 356 Lycia, 34 Lycophron, 19 Lynette, 229 Lyonnesse, Tristram of, 284

M

Mab, Queen, 215 Mabinogion, 216 Macaire, 83 Macao, 128 Macaulay, 221 Maccabees, 183, 319 Macedo, de, 127 Macedon, 318 Macpherson (James), 215, 218 Madagascar, 129 Madeira, 134 Madoc, 221 Magdalen, 180 Magnetic Rock, 268 Magyar Epic, 392 Mahabharata, 415, 416, 431-455 Mahàkavyas, 415 Mahmoud, 399 Mahomet, 135, 155, 398 Maid Marian, 251 Maid of Beauty, 379, 381, 383 Maiden of the Rainbow, 379, 383-386 Malbecco, 273 Malebolge, 151, 154, 155 Malebouche, 84 Malepartus, 358 Malgigi, 191 Malory, 230, 240 Mammon, 265, 268, 290 Mandara, Mt., 426 Mandricar, 194 Manessier, 230 Manfred, 162, 221 Manlius, 76 Manto, 152 Mantua, 152, 164 Manu, 416 Man Without a Country, 467 Manzoni, 139 Marches of Brittany, 85 Marco Bozzaris, 467 Marco Polo, 137 Mariatta, 390 Marie de France, 82, 219, 230 Marinell, 271, 278, 280 Marinus, 139 Mark, King of Cornwall, 237-240 Marmion, 221 Mars, 25, 26, 65, 77, 129, 130, 176, 182 Marseilles, 194, 347, 348 Marsile, 85-90, 98, 99 Martin Antolinez, 114, 119 Martyrs, Les, 84 Mary, Queen of Scots, 257, 282 Mary Stuart, 220 Mary, Virgin, 140, 165, 172, 181, 297, 314, 316, 317 Mathilda, Queen, 199 Matière de Rome la grand, 83 Matilda, Countess, 174, 175 Matter of France, 218 Maur, Benoit de St., 19, 219, 230 Mauritania, 134 Mazinderan, 399, 405, 406 Mazuranie, 393 McFingal, 465 Mecca, 397 Medea, 151 Mediaeval India, 415 Medina, 115 Mediterranean, 348 Medusa, 146 Medway, 278 Melchisedec, 179 Melesigenes, 17 Melibee, 287, 288 Melinda, 130, 135 Menelaus, 18, 20-26, 31, 35, 41, 43, 44, 56 Meneses, 127 Mentor, 42, 43 Mercilla, 281, 282 Mercury, 44, 52, 61, 65, 71, 129, 130, 176, 178, 179 Merlin, 82, 216, 218, 229-234, 240, 241, 261, 269, 347, 351, 352 Merlin and Vivien, 229 Meru, Mt., 415, 420, 444, 445 Mezentius, 76, 78 Messenian Strait, 53 Messiah, 299, 301, 312 Messias, 327 Michael, 144, 193, 206, 291, 295, 299, 300, 309-312 Michael's Mount, St., 92 Mickle, 130 Midas, 170 Midsummer Night's Dream, 219, 327 Milton, 139, 217, 288, 290, 292, 294, 313, 347, 356 Milutinovitch, 393 Mimer, 364, 365 Minerva, 20, 22, 23, 25-28, 30, 31, 37, 38, 41, 42, 44, 45, 46, 55-59, 61, 62, 68, 436 Minnehaha, 468 Minnesingers, 326 Minos, 74, 142, 156 Minotaur, 147 Minuchir, 402 Mirth, 265 Mogg Megone, 467 Mohammed, 394 Mohammedan, 394 Moloch, 290, 300 Mombaça, 130, 135 Monçaide, 135, 136 Mon-da-min, 464 Montereggion, 156 Montjoie, 90 Montsalvatch, 348-350 Moon, 176 Moore, 221 Moors, 94, 95, 107-117, 119, 120, 122, 125, 128, 130, 133, 135 Mordred, 82, 241 Morgana the Fay, 233, 242 Morgante Maggiore, 138 Morning Star of American Poetry, 465 Moro Exposito, El, 108 Morocco, 117 Morolt, 237, 238 Morpheus, 256 Morris, William and Lewis, 221, 361 Moscow, 373 Moses, 188, 311, 435 Morte d'Arthur, 240 Mozambic, 135 Mucius Scevola, 178 Muiredhach, 215 Müller, Paludan, 360 Muslem, 394 Muspilli, 323 Mycenae, 42, 44 Myrden, 216 Mystic Rose, 188

N

Naevius, 63 Naimes, Duke, 86, 89, 97 Nala, 428, 439, 447-451 Namus, see Naimes, 192 Naobumi Ochiai, 456 Naomi, 396 Naples, 162, 198 Nausicaa, 45, 46 Navarre, 112, 125, 126, 153 Nazareth, 317 Nectanebus, 19 Nennius, 218, 219, 230 Nepenthe, 43 Neptune, 29, 32, 33, 37, 45, 50, 52, 64, 68, 72, 135 Nessus, 147 Nestor, 22, 23, 26, 29, 30-33, 41-43, 56 Netherlands, 356 Neurouz, 400 New Jerusalem, 262 Nibelungen hoard, 329, 332, 338, 339 Nibelungenklage, 346 Nibelungenlied, 325,328-346, 361, 362,370 Nibelungs, 332, 336, 337, 339, 367-369 Nicaea, 198, 206 Nicholas III., Pope, 152 Nicolette, 101-106 Night, 290, 292 Nimrod, 156, 167 Nimue, 233 Niobe, 167 Niphates, 293 Nisus, 77 Njalssaga, 361 Noah, 142, 311 Noble, the Lion, 356-359 Noman, 49, 50 Nonnenwörth, 325 Norman, 84, 100, 323 Norman Conquest, 218 Norse Discovery, 468 Northland, 374, 375, 378, 383-385, 390 Norway, 204, 361 Northumbrian, 222 Norwegian, 360, 361 Nostroi, 18 Nottingham, 243, 245, 252, 253 Novgorod, 373 Nüremberg, 326 Nymue, 233

O

Oberon, 327 Oblivion, 196 Odenwald, 335 Odin, 222, 362, 364, 366, 367, 370, 371 Odyssey, 17, 18, 40-62, 63, 83, 139, 325, 372, 416, 467 Oechalia, 19 Oedipus, 19 Ogier, 360 Ogier le Danois, 81 Ogygia, 45, 55 O'Hagan, John, 85 Oisianic Poems, 215 Oisin, 215 Olifant, 92, 99 Olindo, 200, 201 Oliver, 86, 89, 90-94, 96, 98, 196, 324 Olives, Mt., 208 Olympian, 26, 77 Olympus, 22, 26, 29, 34, 40, 64, 130 Olympus, Mt., 25, 36, 44, 129 On the Nature of Things, 63 Orestes, 18, 53 Orgoglio, 259, 261 Oriental Princess, 189 O Oriente, 127 Ore, 193 Order, 282 Orlandino, 138 Orlando, 138, 183, 190-192, 194-196 Orlando Furioso, 138, 189 Orlando Innamorato, 138, 189 Orlandos, The, 189-197 Ormsby, 113 Ormudz, 412 Os Lusiades, 127-129 Osman, 393 Ossian, 215 Otfried, 323 Otnit, 325 Oude, 416, 420, 423, 424, 429 Ourique, 131 Ovid, 142

P

Padua, 197 Palamon and Arcite, 220 Palestine, 211, 290, 347 Palinurus, 72 Palladium, 18 Pallas, 26, 41, 45, 76, 78, 79, 80 Palmerina D'Inglaterra, 127, 221 Palmotitch, 393 Pandavas, 434, 445 Pandavs, 434-447 Pandemonium, 291 Pandu, 433, 434 Panipat, 440 Paolo, 143 Papal Chair, 174 Paradise, 90, 97, 140, 141, 173, 176-189, 205, 294-296, 302-304, 308-311, 313, 322, 401, 430, 446 Paradise Lost, 139, 217, 288-313, 356 Paradise Regained, 213-222 Paridell, Sir, 272, 273 Paris, 17, 18, 20-25, 27-29, 33, 38, 143 Paris City, 192, 197 Parthian, 319 Parvans, 431 Parzifal, 326, 349-354, 361 Pasiphae, 173 Passau, 338 Pastorella, 287, 288 Pathfinder, 467 Patrick, St., 214, 215 Patroclus, 30, 32-36, 39, 42 Paul, St., 174 Peccata (P.), 166-172 Peirian, 175 Peleus, 17, 20, 21, 40 Pelleas and Ettarre, 229, 240 Pelles, 236, 352 Pellerwoinen, 374 Pellias, 234 Penelope, 18, 40-42, 44, 56, 58, 60-62 Pelican, 185 Penthesilea, 18 Perceval, 82, 229 Percival, 352, 355 Perfect One, The, 113, 115 Pergamus, 26 Pericles, 218 Pero Mudo, 124 Persepolis, 400 Persia, 125, 319, 398, 399, 401, 407, 408, 412 Persian, 393, 398, 465 Persian Consort, 394 Persian Epic, 398 Persians, 401 Peter the Cruel, 132 Peter the Hermit, 198, 208 Peter, St., 125, 126, 166, 185, 186, 188 Peter Damian, St., 184 Petöfi, 392 Petrarch, 138 Phaeacia, 45, 55 Phaeacian, 45, 47, 53, 55 Phaedria, 265, 268 Phaeton, 151 Pharos, 44 Pharsalia, 63 Philip II., 282 Philip IV. of France, 170 Philip of Macedon, 318 Philips, Stephen, 222 Philoctetes, 18 Philosophy, 169 Phlegethon, 147 Phlegyas, 145 Phoebus, 60 Piccarda, 172, 177 Pilgrim, 468 Pilgrin, Bishop, 338, 340, 316 Pioneers, 467 Piran-Wisa, 412 Pirate, 467 Pisa, 157 Pisistratus, 17 Plautus, 171 Pleasure, 264 Pluto, 61 Plutus, 144 Poe, 467 Poema del Cid, 107-126 Pohyola, 383 Poland, 393 Polar Star, 134 Poles, 393 Polyolbion, 220 Polyphemus, 48-50 Pompey, 63 Ponemah, 468 Pope, 21, 41, 110, 220 Portugade, 128 Portugal, 112, 127, 129, 131, 133, 135, 136 Portuguese, 129, 130, 131, 133, 135, 136 Portuguese Epics, 127-136 Portuguese Literature, 127 Pot of Basil, 221 Poverty, 180 Powers, 177, 180, 187 Prairie, 467 Prakrit, 415 Pramnian, 51 Priam, 18, 23, 24, 29, 37, 39, 40, 68, 84, 218 Pride, 257 Primum Mobile, 186 Prince Arthur, 261, 267, 269, 270, 271, 277, 278 Princedoms, 177, 179, 187 Priscilla, 285 Prometheus Unbound, 221 Promised Land, 311 Prophet, 394 Prose Epic, 243 Proteus, 44, 278 Provençal, 137, 180 Provence, 216 Providence, 313 Prudence, 160, 174, 263 Ptolomea, 158 Publius Terentius Varro, 63 Pucelle, La, 84 Pulci, 85, 138, 189 Punic War, 63 Purana, 415 Purgatory, 137, 140, 141, 160-176, 184 Purgatory, Mt., 160, 161 Puritans, 465 Pushkin, 372 Pygmalion, 170 Pyle, Howard, 230, 243 Pylos, 42 Pyrenees, 85, 87, 99

Q

Quatre Fils d'Aymon, Les, 81, 82 Queen Mab, 215 Queen of Heaven, 185, 188 Queen of Night, 258 Quest for the Holy Grail, 107, 218, 230, 239, 240, 241, 352, 354, 355 Quest of the Sangreall, 222 Quiloa, 129, 135 Quintus Curtius, 63 Quintus Smyrnaeus, 19

R

Rachel, 173, 188 Radigonde, 281, 286 Raghuvamça, 415 Ragnar Lodbrog, 361 Ragnarsdrapa, 361 Rahab, 180 Rakshasas, 424 Rakush, 404-407, 411, 414 Rama, 415, 416, 418-431 Ramayana, 415, 416-431, 439 Ram Charit Manas, 415, 431 Ramona, 467 Raoul de Cambrai, 81 Raphael, St., 297, 298, 300-303 Rape of the Lock, 221 Ravana, 415, 417, 424-429 Raymond Béranger, 179, 206 Rebecca, 188 Red Cross Knight, 256-264, 270 Redeemer, 213, 214, 306, 309 Red Handed, 264 Reformation, 327 Regin, 364, 365, 366 Reinecke Fuchs, 327, 356-359 Religion, 262 Renaud de Montauban, 190, 199 Renaissance, 138 Revelations, 174, 396 Revolt of Islam, The, 221 Revolutionary, 466 Reynard the Fox, 137, 356-359, 360 Rhapsodist, 17 Rhesus, 31 Rhine, 214, 328, 329, 330, 332, 337, 341, 365 Rhodes, 20 Ricciardetto, 139, 197 Richard Coeur de Lion, 219 Richard, King, 251, 252, 253 Richard of the Lee, Sir, 249 Righteousness, 354 Rinaldo, 138, 190-194, 196, 197, 199, 204, 206, 207, 209-211, 213 Rip van Winkle, 467 River God, 37 River of Death, 381-384 Robert de Borron, 230 Robert of Naples, 179 Robin Hood, 243-255 Roderick, the Last of the Goths, 221 Rodomont, 192, 194, 195, 197 Rodrigo Diaz de Bivar (the Cid), 108, 109, 110, 113, 115, 117 Rogero, 192-196 Roland, 84-100, 107, 138, 156, 189, 216, 324, 325 Roland Insane, 138 Rolandseek, 325 Rolandslied, 324 Romance of Beni Hilâl, 398 Romagna, 155 Roman, 63, 131, 315, 319 Roman Commonwealth, 465 Roman d'Alexandre, 19, 83 Roman d'Aventure, 221 Roman de la Rose, 84, 137 Roman de Rou, 84 Roman de Thèbes, 83 Roman de Troie, 19, 83 Roman du Renard, 83 Roman Empire, 320 Roman History, 179 Roman Literature, 64 Romance of Antar, 398 Romans, 64, 214, 320, 323 Rome, 63, 65, 74, 76, 80, 140, 149, 168, 169, 174, 197, 198, 320 Romeo, 403 Romesh Dutt, 416, 435 Romulus, 65, 74 Roncesvalles, 87 Roncevaux, 87, 89, 91, 98, 156, 324 Ronsard, 84 Rose, 177, 187 Rosengarten, Der, 326 Rother, 325 Round Table, 107, 216, 229, 234, 239, 241 Rudaveh, 403, 404 Ruddy Main, 264 Rudiger, 337, 338, 340, 342-345 Rufo, 108 Rufus, 63 Ruksh, 411 Rumanian Literature, 393 Ruslan and Lyudmila, 372 Russia, 372, 373 Russian Epics, 372, 373 Rustem, 404-411, 413, 414 Rustum, 409, 411 Ruth, 188, 396 Rutules, 76, 77 Ryenee, 269

S

Saavedra, 108 Sabines, 76, 179 Sabula, Mt., 426 Samson, 393 Sachs, Hans, 326 Sack of Troy, 18 Sacred Mysteries, 354 Sacripant, 192 Saemunt the Wise, 361 St. Gall, 324 Sakuntala, 431-432 Saladin, 199 Salem, 201 Salisbury Plain, 231 Salve Regina, 164 Sampo, 372, 373, 379, 380, 381, 383, 388, 389 Sanchos, 131 Sanglier, Sir, 279 Sangreal, 352 Sanhedrim, 154 San Pedro de Cardena, 114, 119, 126 Sanscrit, 431 Sansfoi, 257, 258 Sansjoi, 258 Sansloi, 260 Santarem, 128 Sapia, 168 Saracens 85-87, 89-91, 94, 96-100, 105, 194-196, 202, 279, 282, 348 Saragossa, 85, 87, 89, 96, 98, 99, 115 Sarah, 188 Sarpedon, 33, 34 Sarras, 229, 348, 353, 355 Satan, 144, 159, 160, 230, 288-301, 303, 304, 306, 307, 308, 312-322, 347, 395, 417 Satrughna, 418 Saturn, 75, 176, 184 Satyavan, 451-454 Satyrane, Sir, 260, 261, 272, 273, 275 Saul, 167 Saviour, 315 Savitri, 439, 451-454 Saxon, 222, 231 Saxony, 329 Scandinavian, 360-362 Scandinavian Epics, 360-391 Scarlet Letter, 467 Scarlet, Will, 247, 251, 254 Scean Gate, 27, 28, 32 Schiller, 85, 327, 392 Scorn, 286 Scotch, 215 Scotland, 192, 214, 215 Scots, 214, 257 Scott, 221 Scriptures, 217 Scudamore, Sir, 273-276 Scudéri, 84 Scyldings, 226 Scylla, 53, 54, 70 Scythian, 319 Sea of Gluttony, 265 Sebastian, 129 Seer of Patmos, 896 Seistan, 414 Semele, 184 Semiramis, 143 Seraphim, 177, 186 Serena, Lady, 285, 286, 287 Serpent King, 400, 403 Servia, 393 Servian, 393 Sette Giornate del Mundo Creato, 138 Seven Branched Candlestick, 353 Seven Deadly Sins, 354 Seven Kings before Thèbes, 19 Severin, St., 99 Seville, 118, 133 Shah-Nameh, 398-414 Shah of Persia, 399 Shakespeare, 83, 219, 327 Shakespeariana, 230 Shelley, 221 Sheriff, 243, 245, 246, 249, 252 Sherwood Forest, 248, 250, 254 Shield of Heracles, 19 Siawush, 411, 412 Siberia, 372 Sibyl, 73, 74, 146 Sicily, 70, 137, 162 Sidney, Sir Philip, 283 Siege Perilous, 234, 241, 348, 351, 352 Siegfried, 329-338, 341, 345 Siegmund, 329, 337 Siennese, 168 Sigfried, 323 Siggier, 362, 363 Sigmund, 225, 362, 363, 364 Signy, 362-364 Sigurd, 364-371 Sigurd the Volsung, 362-371 Silence, 193 Silius Italicus, 63 Simeon, 317 Simon, 316 Simurgh, 402, 404, 407, 410, 413 Sin, 291, 307, 308, 312, 314 Sinai, Mt., 311 Sinfiotli, 363, 364 Singer of Paradise, 398 Sinon, 18, 67, 156 Sirens, 53, 54, 136, 169 Sishih, 457 Sita, 420-430 Siva, 415, 419, 420, 439 Skalds, 361 Sketch Book, 467 Skeleton in Armor, 467 Skiold, 222 Slander, 84, 278, 283 Sleep, 33, 34, 266 Sleipnir, 364 Snorro Edda, 361 Snorro Sturleson, 361 Socrates, 318 Sodom, 173, 308 Sofonisba, 138 Soldan, 281, 282 Solomon, 181, 279, 317, 355 Solon, 179 Solyman, 206, 207, 213 Somnus, 38 Son of God, 292, 293, 301, 302 Song of Igor's Band, 372 Song of Songs, 396 Song of the Crusade Against the Albigenses, 83 Song of the Nibelungs, 328 Song of Roland, 84-101, 189 Son of Man, 230 Sophronia, 200, 201 Sorab, 407-411 Sorab and Rustem, 323 Sordello, 137, 164, 165 Sorlin, St., 84 Sorrento, 197 Southern Cross, 134, 160 Southey, 221 Spain, 85-89, 96-99, 107, 108, 125, 127, 133, 191, 282, 348 Spanish, 349 Spanish Ballads, 221 Spanish Literature, 107 Spanish Epics, 107-126 Sparta, 21, 43, 44 Spartan, 24 Spenser, 139, 220, 255, 287 Sphinx, 322 Spirit of Evil, 385, 388 Spirit of Solitude, 221 Spirit of the Cape, 134 Spiritual Pride, 261 Squire of Dames, 272, 273, 275 Squire of Low Degree, 220 Star of Bethlehem, 315 Stasimus of Cyprus, 17 Statius, 63, 170, 171, 172, 174, 176 Steinthal, 373 Stentor, 26 Stephen, 169 Story of Apollonius of Tyre, 218 Story of Bimini, 221 Strage degl' Innocenti, La, 139 Stupidity, 259 Stately, Will, 245 Sugriva, 426, 427 Stygian Lake, 77 Styx, 145, 146 Sun, 52, 54, 176, 180 Suomi, 378, 391 Superstition, 259 Suttee, 434 Swamp-land, 390 Swanhild, 371 Swan Road, 224 Swayamvara, 433, 448 Sweden, 222, 360 Swedish, 360 Swinburne, 221, 230 Swiss, 392 Switzerland, 214, 392 Sylvia, 76 Syrian, 203, 397

T

Tagus, 121 Taillefer, 85 Tales for Children, 216 Tales of a Wayside Inn, 467 Taliessin, 216 Talus, 279, 281-283 Tamineh, 407, 408 Tancred, 199, 202, 204, 205, 206, 208, 209, 212 Tantalus, 266 Tarncappe, 331 Tarpeian Rock, 320 Tartar, 404, 408, 412 Tartarus, 29, 53, 74, 291, 296, 299 Tasso, 138, 197, 198, 372, 393 Taylor, Bayard, 464 Tebar, 115 Tegner, 360 Telegonia, 18 Telegonus, 18 Telemachia, 18 Telemachus, 18, 41-44, 55-60, 84 Télémaque, 18, 84 Tell, William, 327, 392 Temperance, 160, 263 Templars, 348 Temple, 169, 213, 322 Tennyson, 221, 230, 235, 236, 240, 326 Tenth Muse, 465 Tenth Ocean, 385 Ten Tribes, 320 Terence, 171 Testament, 178 Teucer, 30, 34, 74 Teutonic, 217, 323, 325, 392 Thais, 151 Thalaba, 221 Thames, 278 Thebais, 19, 63, 83 Theban Cycle, 19 Thèbes, 63, 149 Theodoric, 323, 328 Theogony, 19 Théroulde, 84, 101 Thersites, 23 Theseus, 147 Thesprotia, 18 Thessaly, 20 The Thousand Tales, 398 Thetis, 17, 20, 21, 22, 35, 36 Thidrekssaga, 361 Thirty Years' War, 327 Thomas, St., 136, 180, 181 Thomas Aquinas, St., 180 Thousand and One Nights, 394 Thracian, 69 Thrones, 177, 184, 187 Thuringian Chronicle, 327 Tiber, 73, 75, 76, 77, 78, 168 Tiberius, 320 Tiera, 385 Timias, 261, 277, 278, 285, 286 Tintagel, Castle of, 241 Tiresias, 52, 53, 61 Titan, 135 Titurel, 348, 349, 350, 351, 353 Titus, 347 Tizona, 122 Tobosa, 110 Toldi, 393 Toledo, 111, 112, 116, 123 Topelius, Zacharias, 372, 373 Topsy-Turvy Land, 105 Torelore, 105 Tories, 466 Toro, 110 Torquato Tasso, 138, 197, 198, 372, 393 Tortosa, 198 Toru Dutt, 455 Tous, 399 Trajan, 166 Tramtris, 237 Trask, Mrs., 222 Triamond, 275 Trij, 402 Trinacria, 52, 53, 54 Trinity, 177 Trissino, 138 Tristan, 82, 107, 143 Tristan and Isolde, 326 Tristram, 238, 239, 240, 284, 285, 392 Tristram and Iseult, 220, 221, 237 Triune Divinity, 186 Troilus and Cressida, 220 Trojan, 24, 30, 31, 64-67, 69, 72, 77, 80, 84, 183 Trojan Cycle, 17, 392 Trojans, 18, 21, 26-30, 32-35, 37, 39, 47, 69, 70, 71, 73, 75-79, 156 Trojan War, 74, 220 Tronje, 329 Troubadours, 81 Trouvères, 81, 229, 346 Troy, 19, 20, 22-24, 27-29, 33, 34, 36, 40-43, 47, 53, 63, 64-66, 68, 84, 137, 218, 219 Trumbull, 465, 467 Truth, 169, 256 Tuck, Friar, 248, 249 Tudela, 83 Tulsi Das, 415, 431 Tuoni-bear, 384 Turkey, 394 Turkish Literature, 393 Turks, 392, 393 Turnus, 75-80 Turoldus, 84 Turpin, Archbishop, 90-92, 95, 96, 98 Turpine, Sir, 281, 286 Tursus, 375 Tydides, 31 Tyre, 65, 218 Tyrian, 65, 71

U

Ugolino de' Gherardeschi, Count, 157-158 Ukko, 375, 380, 389 Ulster, 215 Ulysses, 18, 23, 24, 30-33, 40-62, 70, 84, 155, 169, 222 Una, 256, 257, 259-263 Under King Constantine, 222 Uriel, 293-295, 300 Usk, 234 Uther, 229, 232 Uther and Igerne, 229, 231 Uther Pendragon, 231, 232, 234 Uz, 395

V

Valhall, 369 Valence, Count of, 102 Valencia, 116-126 Valerius Flaccus, 63 Valkyr, 367 Valley of Roncevaux, 87, 89, 91, 98 Vallombroso 194, 289 Válmikí, 416, 429, 430 Varro, 63, 171 Vasco da Gama, 127-136 Veillantif, 88 Vellido Dolfos, 111 Velasco, 108 Venice, 137, 152 Venus, 20, 23-26, 39, 64, 65, 66, 68, 70, 76, 78, 80, 129, 130, 135, 136, 139, 176, 179 Veronica, St., 347 Vespasian, 347 Vestal, 64 Victor Hugo, 84 Victorian, 221 Vidura, 433 Vienna, 338 Viking, 217, 364 Virgil, 63, 64, 140-160 Virgin, 185, 188, 199 Viriagus, 131 Virtues, 177, 182, 187 Vishnu, 416, 417, 418, 419, 446 Vision of Columbus, 466 Vision of Sir Launfal, 467 Visions of Judgment, 323 Vivien, 101, 229, 241 Vladimir, 373 Vogelweide, 326, 328 Volker, 341, 342, 343, 345 Volksbücher, 327 Volscian, 76, 77 Volsung, 362, 363, 364 Volsunga, 361 Volsunga Saga, 362-371 Voltaire, 84 Vondel, 356 Vörösmarty, 393 Vortigern, 229, 230, 231 Vosges Mountains, 324 Vulcan, 22, 35, 36, 47, 76 Vyasa, 431, 433, 436, 444, 446, 449

W

Wace, 84, 218, 219 Wackerlos the Lapdog, 356 Wagner, 230, 327, 352, 362 Wagner's Trilogy, 361 Wainamoinen, 374-384, 386, 388-391 Wainola, 390 Waldhere, 217 Wales, 214, 216, 218 Walter of Aquitaine, 217 Walter Map, 218 Walther von Aquitanien, 323, 324 Walther von der Vogelweide, 326, 328 Wandering Jew, 327 Warner, William, 220 War of the Roses, 220 War of Troy, 17 Water of Life, 420 Wealth, 265, 439 Wealtheow, 225 Weber, 83 Welsh, 216, 240 West, 214 Western Asia, 392 Western Europe, 394 Western Sea, 160 Westwood, Thomas, 222 White Aster, 456-463 White Demon, 406 White Man, 468 Whitsuntide, 356 Whittier, 467 Wieland, 83, 327 Wigglesworth, Michael, 465 Wiglaf, 228 Wipunen, 382 Wissant Bay, 92 Wolf-Dietrich, 325 Wolfram von Eschenbach, 219, 230, 326, 328, 352 Wonders of the East, 218 Worms, 328, 329, 330, 333, 336, 337, 339, 346 Wrath, 257 Wreck of the Hesperus, 467 Wulfstan, 218 Wülpensand, 326

X

Xanten, 329, 333 Xanthus River, 37 Xerxes, 179 Ximena, 107, 108, 114, 116, 120, 126

Y

Yale, 464 Yama, 453, 454 Youkahainen, 374, 376-379 Younger Edda, 361 Yudhishthira, 438, 442, 443

Z

Zal, 402-405, 411, 413, 414 Zamorin, 135, 136 Zamorra, 110, 111, 112 Zealand, 325 Zephon, 295, 296 Zeus, 22 Zhukovski, 372 Zohak, 400, 401 Zopher, 396 Zrinyi, 392