{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_1061/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_1061","id":"gutenberg_1061","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1061","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Folklore","Mythology"],"text":"Produced by Charles Keller\n\n\n\n\n\nMYTHS AND MYTH-MAKERS\n\nOld Tales and Superstitions Interpreted by Comparative Mythology\n\nBy John Fiske\n\n\n\n\nLa mythologie, cette science toute nouvelle, qui nous fait suivre\nles croyances de nos peres, depuis le berceau du monde jusqu'aux\nsuperstitions de nos campagnes.--EDMOND SCHERER\n\n\n\nTO MY DEAR FRIEND, WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS, IN REMEMBRANCE OF PLEASANT\nAUTUMN EVENINGS SPENT AMONG WEREWOLVES AND TROLLS AND NIXIES, I dedicate\nTHIS RECORD OF OUR ADVENTURES.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nIN publishing this somewhat rambling and unsystematic series of papers,\nin which I have endeavoured to touch briefly upon a great many of the\nmost important points in the study of mythology, I think it right to\nobserve that, in order to avoid confusing the reader with intricate\ndiscussions, I have sometimes cut the matter short, expressing myself\nwith dogmatic definiteness where a sceptical vagueness might perhaps\nhave seemed more becoming. In treating of popular legends and\nsuperstitions, the paths of inquiry are circuitous enough, and seldom\ncan we reach a satisfactory conclusion until we have travelled all the\nway around Robin Hood's barn and back again. I am sure that the reader\nwould not have thanked me for obstructing these crooked lanes with the\nthorns and brambles of philological and antiquarian discussion, to such\nan extent as perhaps to make him despair of ever reaching the high road.\nI have not attempted to review, otherwise than incidentally, the works\nof Grimm, Muller, Kuhn, Breal, Dasent, and Tylor; nor can I pretend\nto have added anything of consequence, save now and then some bit of\nexplanatory comment, to the results obtained by the labour of these\nscholars; but it has rather been my aim to present these results in such\na way as to awaken general interest in them. And accordingly, in dealing\nwith a subject which depends upon philology almost as much as astronomy\ndepends upon mathematics, I have omitted philological considerations\nwherever it has been possible to do so. Nevertheless, I believe that\nnothing has been advanced as established which is not now generally\nadmitted by scholars, and that nothing has been advanced as probable for\nwhich due evidence cannot be produced. Yet among many points which are\nproved, and many others which are probable, there must always remain\nmany other facts of which we cannot feel sure that our own explanation\nis the true one; and the student who endeavours to fathom the primitive\nthoughts of mankind, as enshrined in mythology, will do well to bear in\nmind the modest words of Jacob Grimm,--himself the greatest scholar and\nthinker who has ever dealt with this class of subjects,--\"I shall indeed\ninterpret all that I can, but I cannot interpret all that I should\nlike.\"\n\nPETERSHAM, September 6, 1872.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n     I.  THE ORIGINS OF FOLK-LORE\n\n     II. THE DESCENT OF FIRE\n\n     III. WEREWOLVES AND SWAN-MAIDENS\n\n     IV. LIGHT AND DARKNESS\n\n     V.  MYTHS OF THE BARBARIC WORLD\n\n     VI. JUVENTUS MUNDI\n\n     VII. THE PRIMEVAL GHOST-WORLD\n\n     NOTE\n\n\n\n\nMYTHS AND MYTH-MAKERS.\n\n\n\n\nI. THE ORIGINS OF FOLK-LORE.\n\nFEW mediaeval heroes are so widely known as William Tell. His exploits\nhave been celebrated by one of the greatest poets and one of the most\npopular musicians of modern times. They are doubtless familiar to\nmany who have never heard of Stauffacher or Winkelried, who are quite\nignorant of the prowess of Roland, and to whom Arthur and Lancelot, nay,\neven Charlemagne, are but empty names.\n\nNevertheless, in spite of his vast reputation, it is very likely that\nno such person as William Tell ever existed, and it is certain that the\nstory of his shooting the apple from his son's head has no historical\nvalue whatever. In spite of the wrath of unlearned but patriotic Swiss,\nespecially of those of the cicerone class, this conclusion is forced\nupon us as soon as we begin to study the legend in accordance with the\ncanons of modern historical criticism. It is useless to point to Tell's\nlime-tree, standing to-day in the centre of the market-place at Altdorf,\nor to quote for our confusion his crossbow preserved in the arsenal at\nZurich, as unimpeachable witnesses to the truth of the story. It is in\nvain that we are told, \"The bricks are alive to this day to testify to\nit; therefore, deny it not.\" These proofs are not more valid than the\nhandkerchief of St. Veronica, or the fragments of the true cross. For if\nrelics are to be received as evidence, we must needs admit the truth of\nevery miracle narrated by the Bollandists.\n\nThe earliest work which makes any allusion to the adventures of William\nTell is the chronicle of the younger Melchior Russ, written in 1482. As\nthe shooting of the apple was supposed to have taken place in 1296, this\nleaves an interval of one hundred and eighty-six years, during which\nneither a Tell, nor a William, nor the apple, nor the cruelty of\nGessler, received any mention. It may also be observed, parenthetically,\nthat the charters of Kussenach, when examined, show that no man by\nthe name of Gessler ever ruled there. The chroniclers of the fifteenth\ncentury, Faber and Hammerlin, who minutely describe the tyrannical acts\nby which the Duke of Austria goaded the Swiss to rebellion, do not\nonce mention Tell's name, or betray the slightest acquaintance with his\nexploits or with his existence. In the Zurich chronicle of 1479 he is\nnot alluded to. But we have still better negative evidence. John of\nWinterthur, one of the best chroniclers of the Middle Ages, was living\nat the time of the battle of Morgarten (1315), at which his father was\npresent. He tells us how, on the evening of that dreadful day, he saw\nDuke Leopold himself in his flight from the fatal field, half dead with\nfear. He describes, with the loving minuteness of a contemporary, all\nthe incidents of the Swiss revolution, but nowhere does he say a word\nabout William Tell. This is sufficiently conclusive. These mediaeval\nchroniclers, who never failed to go out of their way after a bit of the\nepigrammatic and marvellous, who thought far more of a pointed story\nthan of historical credibility, would never have kept silent about the\nadventures of Tell, if they had known anything about them.\n\nAfter this, it is not surprising to find that no two authors who\ndescribe the deeds of William Tell agree in the details of topography\nand chronology. Such discrepancies never fail to confront us when\nwe leave the solid ground of history and begin to deal with floating\nlegends. Yet, if the story be not historical, what could have been\nits origin? To answer this question we must considerably expand the\ndiscussion.\n\nThe first author of any celebrity who doubted the story of William Tell\nwas Guillimann, in his work on Swiss Antiquities, published in 1598.\nHe calls the story a pure fable, but, nevertheless, eating his words,\nconcludes by proclaiming his belief in it, because the tale is so\npopular! Undoubtedly he acted a wise part; for, in 1760, as we are\ntold, Uriel Freudenberger was condemned by the canton of Uri to be burnt\nalive, for publishing his opinion that the legend of Tell had a Danish\norigin. [1]\n\nThe bold heretic was substantially right, however, like so many other\nheretics, earlier and later. The Danish account of Tell is given as\nfollows, by Saxo Grammaticus:--\n\n\"A certain Palnatoki, for some time among King Harold's body-guard, had\nmade his bravery odious to very many of his fellow-soldiers by the zeal\nwith which he surpassed them in the discharge of his duty. This man\nonce, when talking tipsily over his cups, had boasted that he was so\nskilled an archer that he could hit the smallest apple placed a long way\noff on a wand at the first shot; which talk, caught up at first by the\nears of backbiters, soon came to the hearing of the king. Now, mark\nhow the wickedness of the king turned the confidence of the sire to the\nperil of the son, by commanding that this dearest pledge of his life\nshould be placed instead of the wand, with a threat that, unless the\nauthor of this promise could strike off the apple at the first flight of\nthe arrow, he should pay the penalty of his empty boasting by the loss\nof his head. The king's command forced the soldier to perform more\nthan he had promised, and what he had said, reported, by the tongues of\nslanderers, bound him to accomplish what he had NOT said. Yet did not\nhis sterling courage, though caught in the snare of slander, suffer him\nto lay aside his firmness of heart; nay, he accepted the trial the more\nreadily because it was hard. So Palnatoki warned the boy urgently when\nhe took his stand to await the coming of the hurtling arrow with calm\nears and unbent head, lest, by a slight turn of his body, he should\ndefeat the practised skill of the bowman; and, taking further counsel to\nprevent his fear, he turned away his face, lest he should be scared at\nthe sight of the weapon. Then, taking three arrows from the quiver, he\nstruck the mark given him with the first he fitted to the string.....\nBut Palnatoki, when asked by the king why he had taken more arrows from\nthe quiver, when it had been settled that he should only try the fortune\nof the bow ONCE, made answer, 'That I might avenge on thee the swerving\nof the first by the points of the rest, lest perchance my innocence\nmight have been punished, while your violence escaped scot-free.'\" [2]\n\nThis ruthless king is none other than the famous Harold Blue-tooth, and\nthe occurrence is placed by Saxo in the year 950. But the story appears\nnot only in Denmark, but in England, in Norway, in Finland and Russia,\nand in Persia, and there is some reason for supposing that it was known\nin India. In Norway we have the adventures of Pansa the Splay-footed,\nand of Hemingr, a vassal of Harold Hardrada, who invaded England in\n1066. In Iceland there is the kindred legend of Egil brother of Wayland\nSmith, the Norse Vulcan. In England there is the ballad of William of\nCloudeslee, which supplied Scott with many details of the archery scene\nin \"Ivanhoe.\" Here, says the dauntless bowman,\n\n     \"I have a sonne seven years old;\n           Hee is to me full deere;\n      I will tye him to a stake--\n           All shall see him that bee here--\n      And lay an apple upon his head,\n           And goe six paces him froe,\n      And I myself with a broad arrowe\n           Shall cleave the apple in towe.\"\n\nIn the Malleus Maleficarum a similar story is told Puncher, a famous\nmagician on the Upper Rhine. The great ethnologist Castren dug up the\nsame legend in Finland. It is common, as Dr. Dasent observes, to the\nTurks and Mongolians; \"and a legend of the wild Samoyeds, who never\nheard of Tell or saw a book in their lives relates it, chapter and\nverse, of one of their marksmen.\" Finally, in the Persian poem of\nFarid-Uddin Attar, born in 1119, we read a story of a prince who shoots\nan apple from the head of a beloved page. In all these stories, names\nand motives of course differ; but all contain the same essential\nincidents. It is always an unerring archer who, at the capricious\ncommand of a tyrant, shoots from the head of some one dear to him a\nsmall object, be it an apple, a nut, or a piece of coin. The archer\nalways provides himself with a second arrow, and, when questioned as to\nthe use he intended to make of his extra weapon, the invariable reply\nis, \"To kill thee, tyrant, had I slain my son.\" Now, when a marvellous\noccurrence is said to have happened everywhere, we may feel sure that\nit never happened anywhere. Popular fancies propagate themselves\nindefinitely, but historical events, especially the striking and\ndramatic ones, are rarely repeated. The facts here collected lead\ninevitably to the conclusion that the Tell myth was known, in its\ngeneral features, to our Aryan ancestors, before ever they left their\nprimitive dwelling-place in Central Asia.\n\nIt may, indeed, be urged that some one of these wonderful marksmen may\nreally have existed and have performed the feat recorded in the legend;\nand that his true story, carried about by hearsay tradition from one\ncountry to another and from age to age, may have formed the theme for\nall the variations above mentioned, just as the fables of La Fontaine\nwere patterned after those of AEsop and Phaedrus, and just as many of\nChaucer's tales were consciously adopted from Boccaccio. No doubt there\nhas been a good deal of borrowing and lending among the legends of\ndifferent peoples, as well as among the words of different languages;\nand possibly even some picturesque fragment of early history may have\nnow and then been carried about the world in this manner. But as the\nphilologist can with almost unerring certainty distinguish between the\nnative and the imported words in any Aryan language, by examining their\nphonetic peculiarities, so the student of popular traditions, though\nworking with far less perfect instruments, can safely assert, with\nreference to a vast number of legends, that they cannot have been\nobtained by any process of conscious borrowing. The difficulties\ninseparable from any such hypothesis will become more and more apparent\nas we proceed to examine a few other stories current in different\nportions of the Aryan domain.\n\nAs the Swiss must give up his Tell, so must the Welshman be deprived of\nhis brave dog Gellert, over whose cruel fate I confess to having shed\nmore tears than I should regard as well bestowed upon the misfortunes\nof many a human hero of romance. Every one knows how the dear old brute\nkilled the wolf which had come to devour Llewellyn's child, and how the\nprince, returning home and finding the cradle upset and the dog's mouth\ndripping blood, hastily slew his benefactor, before the cry of the child\nfrom behind the cradle and the sight of the wolf's body had rectified\nhis error. To this day the visitor to Snowdon is told the touching\nstory, and shown the place, called Beth-Gellert, [3] where the dog's\ngrave is still to be seen. Nevertheless, the story occurs in the\nfireside lore of nearly every Aryan people. Under the Gellert-form it\nstarted in the Panchatantra, a collection of Sanskrit fables; and it\nhas even been discovered in a Chinese work which dates from A. D. 668.\nUsually the hero is a dog, but sometimes a falcon, an ichneumon, an\ninsect, or even a man. In Egypt it takes the following comical shape:\n\"A Wali once smashed a pot full of herbs which a cook had prepared.\nThe exasperated cook thrashed the well-intentioned but unfortunate Wali\nwithin an inch of his life, and when he returned, exhausted with his\nefforts at belabouring the man, to examine the broken pot, he discovered\namongst the herbs a poisonous snake.\" [4] Now this story of the Wali is\nas manifestly identical with the legend of Gellert as the English word\nFATHER is with the Latin pater; but as no one would maintain that\nthe word father is in any sense derived from pater, so it would be\nimpossible to represent either the Welsh or the Egyptian legend as a\ncopy of the other. Obviously the conclusion is forced upon us that the\nstories, like the words, are related collaterally, having descended from\na common ancestral legend, or having been suggested by one and the same\nprimeval idea.\n\nClosely connected with the Gellert myth are the stories of Faithful John\nand of Rama and Luxman. In the German story, Faithful John accompanies\nthe prince, his master, on a journey in quest of a beautiful maiden,\nwhom he wishes to make his bride. As they are carrying her home across\nthe seas, Faithful John hears some crows, whose language he understands,\nforetelling three dangers impending over the prince, from which his\nfriend can save him only by sacrificing his own life. As soon as they\nland, a horse will spring toward the king, which, if he mounts it, will\nbear him away from his bride forever; but whoever shoots the horse, and\ntells the king the reason, will be turned into stone from toe to knee.\nThen, before the wedding a bridal garment will lie before the king,\nwhich, if he puts it on, will burn him like the Nessos-shirt of\nHerakles; but whoever throws the shirt into the fire and tells the\nking the reason, will be turned into stone from knee to heart. Finally,\nduring the wedding-festivities, the queen will suddenly fall in a swoon,\nand \"unless some one takes three drops of blood from her right breast\nshe will die\"; but whoever does so, and tells the king the reason, will\nbe turned into stone from head to foot. Thus forewarned, Faithful John\nsaves his master from all these dangers; but the king misinterprets\nhis motive in bleeding his wife, and orders him to be hanged. On the\nscaffold he tells his story, and while the king humbles himself in an\nagony of remorse, his noble friend is turned into stone.\n\nIn the South Indian tale Luxman accompanies Rama, who is carrying home\nhis bride. Luxman overhears two owls talking about the perils that await\nhis master and mistress. First he saves them from being crushed by the\nfalling limb of a banyan-tree, and then he drags them away from an arch\nwhich immediately after gives way. By and by, as they rest under a tree,\nthe king falls asleep. A cobra creeps up to the queen, and Luxman kills\nit with his sword; but, as the owls had foretold, a drop of the cobra's\nblood falls on the queen's forehead. As Luxman licks off the blood,\nthe king starts up, and, thinking that his vizier is kissing his wife,\nupbraids him with his ingratitude, whereupon Luxman, through grief at\nthis unkind interpretation of his conduct, is turned into stone. [5]\n\nFor further illustration we may refer to the Norse tale of the \"Giant\nwho had no Heart in his Body,\" as related by Dr. Dasent. This burly\nmagician having turned six brothers with their wives into stone, the\nseventh brother--the crafty Boots or many-witted Odysseus of European\nfolk-lore--sets out to obtain vengeance if not reparation for the evil\ndone to his kith and kin. On the way he shows the kindness of his nature\nby rescuing from destruction a raven, a salmon, and a wolf. The grateful\nwolf carries him on his back to the giant's castle, where the lovely\nprincess whom the monster keeps in irksome bondage promises to act,\nin behalf of Boots, the part of Delilah, and to find out, if possible,\nwhere her lord keeps his heart. The giant, like the Jewish hero, finally\nsuccumbs to feminine blandishments. \"Far, far away in a lake lies an\nisland; on that island stands a church; in that church is a well; in\nthat well swims a duck; in that duck there is an egg; and in that egg\nthere lies my heart, you darling.\" Boots, thus instructed, rides on the\nwolf's back to the island; the raven flies to the top of the steeple and\ngets the church-keys; the salmon dives to the bottom of the well, and\nbrings up the egg from the place where the duck had dropped it; and\nso Boots becomes master of the situation. As he squeezes the egg,\nthe giant, in mortal terror, begs and prays for his life, which Boots\npromises to spare on condition that his brothers and their brides should\nbe released from their enchantment. But when all has been duly effected,\nthe treacherous youth squeezes the egg in two, and the giant instantly\nbursts.\n\nThe same story has lately been found in Southern India, and is published\nin Miss Frere's remarkable collection of tales entitled \"Old Deccan\nDays.\" In the Hindu version the seven daughters of a rajah, with\ntheir husbands, are transformed into stone by the great magician\nPunchkin,--all save the youngest daughter, whom Punchkin keeps shut up\nin a tower until by threats or coaxing he may prevail upon her to marry\nhim. But the captive princess leaves a son at home in the cradle, who\ngrows up to manhood unmolested, and finally undertakes the rescue of his\nfamily. After long and weary wanderings he finds his mother shut up in\nPunchkin's tower, and persuades her to play the part of the princess\nin the Norse legend. The trick is equally successful. \"Hundreds of\nthousands of miles away there lies a desolate country covered with thick\njungle. In the midst of the jungle grows a circle of palm-trees, and in\nthe centre of the circle stand six jars full of water, piled one above\nanother; below the sixth jar is a small cage which contains a little\ngreen parrot; on the life of the parrot depends my life, and if the\nparrot is killed I must die.\" [6] The young prince finds the place\nguarded by a host of dragons, but some eaglets whom he has saved from a\ndevouring serpent in the course of his journey take him on their\ncrossed wings and carry him to the place where the jars are standing. He\ninstantly overturns the jars, and seizing the parrot, obtains from the\nterrified magician full reparation. As soon as his own friends and a\nstately procession of other royal or noble victims have been set at\nliberty, he proceeds to pull the parrot to pieces. As the wings and legs\ncome away, so tumble off the arms and legs of the magician; and finally\nas the prince wrings the bird's neck, Punchkin twists his own head round\nand dies.\n\nThe story is also told in the highlands of Scotland, and some portions\nof it will be recognized by the reader as incidents in the Arabian\ntale of the Princess Parizade. The union of close correspondence in\nconception with manifest independence in the management of the details\nof these stories is striking enough, but it is a phenomenon with which\nwe become quite familiar as we proceed in the study of Aryan popular\nliterature. The legend of the Master Thief is no less remarkable than\nthat of Punchkin. In the Scandinavian tale the Thief, wishing to get\npossession of a farmer's ox, carefully hangs himself to a tree by the\nroadside. The farmer, passing by with his ox, is indeed struck by the\nsight of the dangling body, but thinks it none of his business, and\ndoes not stop to interfere. No sooner has he passed than the Thief lets\nhimself down, and running swiftly along a by-path, hangs himself with\nequal precaution to a second tree. This time the farmer is astonished\nand puzzled; but when for the third time he meets the same unwonted\nspectacle, thinking that three suicides in one morning are too much for\neasy credence, he leaves his ox and runs back to see whether the other\ntwo bodies are really where he thought he saw them. While he is framing\nhypotheses of witchcraft by which to explain the phenomenon, the Thief\ngets away with the ox. In the Hitopadesa the story receives a finer\npoint. \"A Brahman, who had vowed a sacrifice, went to the market to buy\na goat. Three thieves saw him, and wanted to get hold of the goat. They\nstationed themselves at intervals on the high road. When the Brahman,\nwho carried the goat on his back, approached the first thief, the\nthief said, 'Brahman, why do you carry a dog on your back?' The Brahman\nreplied, 'It is not a dog, it is a goat.' A little while after he was\naccosted by the second thief, who said, 'Brahman, why do you carry a dog\non your back?' The Brahman felt perplexed, put the goat down, examined\nit, took it up again, and walked on. Soon after he was stopped by the\nthird thief, who said, 'Brahman, why do you carry a dog on your back?'\nThen the Brahman was frightened, threw down the goat, and walked home to\nperform his ablutions for having touched an unclean animal. The thieves\ntook the goat and ate it.\" The adroitness of the Norse King in \"The\nThree Princesses of Whiteland\" shows but poorly in comparison with the\nkeen psychological insight and cynical sarcasm of these Hindu sharpers.\nIn the course of his travels this prince met three brothers fighting\non a lonely moor. They had been fighting for a hundred years about the\npossession of a hat, a cloak, and a pair of boots, which would make the\nwearer invisible, and convey him instantly whithersoever he might wish\nto go. The King consents to act as umpire, provided he may once try the\nvirtue of the magic garments; but once clothed in them, of course he\ndisappears, leaving the combatants to sit down and suck their thumbs.\nNow in the \"Sea of Streams of Story,\" written in the twelfth century by\nSomadeva of Cashmere, the Indian King Putraka, wandering in the Vindhya\nMountains, similarly discomfits two brothers who are quarrelling over\na pair of shoes, which are like the sandals of Hermes, and a bowl which\nhas the same virtue as Aladdin's lamp. \"Why don't you run a race for\nthem?\" suggests Putraka; and, as the two blockheads start furiously off,\nhe quietly picks up the bowl, ties on the shoes, and flies away! [7]\n\nIt is unnecessary to cite further illustrations. The tales here quoted\nare fair samples of the remarkable correspondence which holds good\nthrough all the various sections of Aryan folk-lore. The hypothesis\nof lateral diffusion, as we may call it, manifestly fails to explain\ncoincidences which are maintained on such an immense scale. It is quite\ncredible that one nation may have borrowed from another a solitary\nlegend of an archer who performs the feats of Tell and Palnatoki; but it\nis utterly incredible that ten thousand stories, constituting the entire\nmass of household mythology throughout a dozen separate nations, should\nhave been handed from one to another in this way. No one would venture\nto suggest that the old grannies of Iceland and Norway, to whom we owe\nsuch stories as the Master Thief and the Princesses of Whiteland, had\never read Somadeva or heard of the treasures of Rhampsinitos. A large\nproportion of the tales with which we are dealing were utterly unknown\nto literature until they were taken down by Grimm and Frere and\nCastren and Campbell, from the lips of ignorant peasants, nurses, or\nhouse-servants, in Germany and Hindustan, in Siberia and Scotland.\nYet, as Mr. Cox observes, these old men and women, sitting by the\nchimney-corner and somewhat timidly recounting to the literary explorer\nthe stories which they had learned in childhood from their own\nnurses and grandmas, \"reproduce the most subtle turns of thought and\nexpression, and an endless series of complicated narratives, in which\nthe order of incidents and the words of the speakers are preserved\nwith a fidelity nowhere paralleled in the oral tradition of historical\nevents. It may safely be said that no series of stories introduced\nin the form of translations from other languages could ever thus have\nfiltered down into the lowest strata of society, and thence have sprung\nup again, like Antaios, with greater energy and heightened beauty.\"\nThere is indeed no alternative for us but to admit that these fireside\ntales have been handed down from parent to child for more than a hundred\ngenerations; that the primitive Aryan cottager, as he took his evening\nmeal of yava and sipped his fermented mead, listened with his children\nto the stories of Boots and Cinderella and the Master Thief, in the days\nwhen the squat Laplander was master of Europe and the dark-skinned Sudra\nwas as yet unmolested in the Punjab. Only such community of origin\ncan explain the community in character between the stories told by the\nAryan's descendants, from the jungles of Ceylon to the highlands of\nScotland.\n\nThis conclusion essentially modifies our view of the origin and growth\nof a legend like that of William Tell. The case of the Tell legend is\nradically different from the case of the blindness of Belisarius or\nthe burning of the Alexandrian library by order of Omar. The latter are\nisolated stories or beliefs; the former is one of a family of stories or\nbeliefs. The latter are untrustworthy traditions of doubtful events; but\nin dealing with the former, we are face to face with a MYTH.\n\nWhat, then, is a myth? The theory of Euhemeros, which was so fashionable\na century ago, in the days of the Abbe Banier, has long since been so\nutterly abandoned that to refute it now is but to slay the slain. The\npeculiarity of this theory was that it cut away all the extraordinary\nfeatures of a given myth, wherein dwelt its inmost significance, and to\nthe dull and useless residuum accorded the dignity of primeval history.\nIn this way the myth was lost without compensation, and the student,\nin seeking good digestible bread, found but the hardest of pebbles.\nConsidered merely as a pretty story, the legend of the golden fruit\nwatched by the dragon in the garden of the Hesperides is not without its\nvalue. But what merit can there be in the gratuitous statement which,\ndegrading the grand Doric hero to a level with any vulgar fruit-stealer,\nmakes Herakles break a close with force and arms, and carry off a crop\nof oranges which had been guarded by mastiffs? It is still worse when\nwe come to the more homely folk-lore with which the student of mythology\nnow has to deal. The theories of Banier, which limped and stumbled\nawkwardly enough when it was only a question of Hermes and Minos and\nOdin, have fallen never to rise again since the problems of Punchkin\nand Cinderella and the Blue Belt have begun to demand solution.\nThe conclusion has been gradually forced upon the student, that the\nmarvellous portion of these old stories is no illegitimate extres-cence,\nbut was rather the pith and centre of the whole, [8] in days when there\nwas no supernatural, because it had not yet been discovered that there\nwas such a thing as nature. The religious myths of antiquity and the\nfireside legends of ancient and modern times have their common root in\nthe mental habits of primeval humanity. They are the earliest recorded\nutterances of men concerning the visible phenomena of the world into\nwhich they were born.\n\nThat prosaic and coldly rational temper with which modern men are wont\nto regard natural phenomena was in early times unknown. We have come\nto regard all events as taking place regularly, in strict conformity to\nlaw: whatever our official theories may be, we instinctively take this\nview of things. But our primitive ancestors knew nothing about laws of\nnature, nothing about physical forces, nothing about the relations of\ncause and effect, nothing about the necessary regularity of things.\nThere was a time in the history of mankind when these things had never\nbeen inquired into, and when no generalizations about them had been\nframed, tested, or established. There was no conception of an order of\nnature, and therefore no distinct conception of a supernatural order of\nthings. There was no belief in miracles as infractions of natural laws,\nbut there was a belief in the occurrence of wonderful events too mighty\nto have been brought about by ordinary means. There was an unlimited\ncapacity for believing and fancying, because fancy and belief had not\nyet been checked and headed off in various directions by established\nrules of experience. Physical science is a very late acquisition of the\nhuman mind, but we are already sufficiently imbued with it to be almost\ncompletely disabled from comprehending the thoughts of our ancestors.\n\"How Finn cosmogonists could have believed the earth and heaven to be\nmade out of a severed egg, the upper concave shell representing\nheaven, the yolk being earth, and the crystal surrounding fluid the\ncircumambient ocean, is to us incomprehensible; and yet it remains a\nfact that they did so regard them. How the Scandinavians could have\nsupposed the mountains to be the mouldering bones of a mighty Jotun,\nand the earth to be his festering flesh, we cannot conceive; yet such a\ntheory was solemnly taught and accepted. How the ancient Indians could\nregard the rain-clouds as cows with full udders milked by the winds\nof heaven is beyond our comprehension, and yet their Veda contains\nindisputable testimony to the fact that they were so regarded.\" We have\nonly to read Mr. Baring-Gould's book of \"Curious Myths,\" from which\nI have just quoted, or to dip into Mr. Thorpe's treatise on \"Northern\nMythology,\" to realize how vast is the difference between our\nstand-point and that from which, in the later Middle Ages, our immediate\nforefathers regarded things. The frightful superstition of werewolves is\na good instance. In those days it was firmly believed that men could be,\nand were in the habit of being, transformed into wolves. It was believed\nthat women might bring forth snakes or poodle-dogs. It was believed that\nif a man had his side pierced in battle, you could cure him by nursing\nthe sword which inflicted the wound. \"As late as 1600 a German writer\nwould illustrate a thunder-storm destroying a crop of corn by a picture\nof a dragon devouring the produce of the field with his flaming tongue\nand iron teeth.\"\n\nNow if such was the condition of the human intellect only three or four\ncenturies ago, what must it have been in that dark antiquity when not\neven the crudest generalizations of Greek or of Oriental science had\nbeen reached? The same mighty power of imagination which now, restrained\nand guided by scientific principles, leads us to discoveries and\ninventions, must then have wildly run riot in mythologic fictions\nwhereby to explain the phenomena of nature. Knowing nothing whatever\nof physical forces, of the blind steadiness with which a given effect\ninvariably follows its cause, the men of primeval antiquity could\ninterpret the actions of nature only after the analogy of their own\nactions. The only force they knew was the force of which they were\ndirectly conscious,--the force of will. Accordingly, they imagined all\nthe outward world to be endowed with volition, and to be directed by it.\nThey personified everything,--sky, clouds, thunder, sun, moon, ocean,\nearthquake, whirlwind. [9] The comparatively enlightened Athenians of\nthe age of Perikles addressed the sky as a person, and prayed to it to\nrain upon their gardens. [10] And for calling the moon a mass of dead\nmatter, Anaxagoras came near losing his life. To the ancients the moon\nwas not a lifeless ball of stones and clods: it was the horned huntress,\nArtemis, coursing through the upper ether, or bathing herself in the\nclear lake; or it was Aphrodite, protectress of lovers, born of the\nsea-foam in the East near Cyprus. The clouds were no bodies of vaporized\nwater: they were cows with swelling udders, driven to the milking by\nHermes, the summer wind; or great sheep with moist fleeces, slain by\nthe unerring arrows of Bellerophon, the sun; or swan-maidens, flitting\nacross the firmament, Valkyries hovering over the battle-field to\nreceive the souls of falling heroes; or, again, they were mighty\nmountains piled one above another, in whose cavernous recesses the\ndivining-wand of the storm-god Thor revealed hidden treasures. The\nyellow-haired sun, Phoibos, drove westerly all day in his flaming\nchariot; or perhaps, as Meleagros, retired for a while in disgust from\nthe sight of men; wedded at eventide the violet light (Oinone, Iole),\nwhich he had forsaken in the morning; sank, as Herakles, upon a blazing\nfuneral-pyre, or, like Agamemnon, perished in a blood-stained bath; or,\nas the fish-god, Dagon, swam nightly through the subterranean waters,\nto appear eastward again at daybreak. Sometimes Phaethon, his rash,\ninexperienced son, would take the reins and drive the solar chariot too\nnear the earth, causing the fruits to perish, and the grass to wither,\nand the wells to dry up. Sometimes, too, the great all-seeing divinity,\nin his wrath at the impiety of men, would shoot down his scorching\narrows, causing pestilence to spread over the land. Still other\nconceptions clustered around the sun. Now it was the wonderful\ntreasure-house, into which no one could look and live; and again it\nwas Ixion himself, bound on the fiery wheel in punishment for violence\noffered to Here, the queen of the blue air.\n\nThis theory of ancient mythology is not only beautiful and plausible,\nit is, in its essential points, demonstrated. It stands on as firm a\nfoundation as Grimm's law in philology, or the undulatory theory in\nmolecular physics. It is philology which has here enabled us to read the\nprimitive thoughts of mankind. A large number of the names of Greek gods\nand heroes have no meaning in the Greek language; but these names occur\nalso in Sanskrit, with plain physical meanings. In the Veda we find\nZeus or Jupiter (Dyaus-pitar) meaning the sky, and Sarameias or Hermes,\nmeaning the breeze of a summer morning. We find Athene (Ahana), meaning\nthe light of daybreak; and we are thus enabled to understand why the\nGreek described her as sprung from the forehead of Zeus. There too\nwe find Helena (Sarama), the fickle twilight, whom the Panis, or\nnight-demons, who serve as the prototypes of the Hellenic Paris, strive\nto seduce from her allegiance to the solar monarch. Even Achilleus\n(Aharyu) again confronts us, with his captive Briseis (Brisaya's\noffspring); and the fierce Kerberos (Carvara) barks on Vedic ground in\nstrict conformity to the laws of phonetics. [11] Now, when the Hindu\ntalked about Father Dyaus, or the sleek kine of Siva, he thought of the\npersonified sky and clouds; he had not outgrown the primitive mental\nhabits of the race. But the Greek, in whose language these physical\nmeanings were lost, had long before the Homeric epoch come to regard\nZeus and Hermes, Athene, Helena, Paris, and Achilleus, as mere persons,\nand in most cases the originals of his myths were completely forgotten.\nIn the Vedas the Trojan War is carried on in the sky, between the bright\ndeities and the demons of night; but the Greek poet, influenced perhaps\nby some dim historical tradition, has located the contest on the shore\nof the Hellespont, and in his mind the actors, though superhuman, are\nstill completely anthropomorphic. Of the true origin of his epic story\nhe knew as little as Euhemeros, or Lord Bacon, or the Abbe Banier.\n\nAfter these illustrations, we shall run no risk of being misunderstood\nwhen we define a myth as, in its origin, an explanation, by the\nuncivilized mind, of some natural phenomenon; not an allegory, not an\nesoteric symbol,--for the ingenuity is wasted which strives to detect in\nmyths the remnants of a refined primeval science,--but an explanation.\nPrimitive men had no profound science to perpetuate by means of\nallegory, nor were they such sorry pedants as to talk in riddles when\nplain language would serve their purpose. Their minds, we may be sure,\nworked like our own, and when they spoke of the far-darting sun-god,\nthey meant just what they said, save that where we propound a scientific\ntheorem, they constructed a myth. [12] A thing is said to be explained\nwhen it is classified with other things with which we are already\nacquainted. That is the only kind of explanation of which the highest\nscience is capable. We explain the origin, progress, and ending of a\nthunder-storm, when we classify the phenomena presented by it along with\nother more familiar phenomena of vaporization and condensation. But the\nprimitive man explained the same thing to his own satisfaction when he\nhad classified it along with the well-known phenomena of human volition,\nby constructing a theory of a great black dragon pierced by the unerring\narrows of a heavenly archer. We consider the nature of the stars to\na certain extent explained when they are classified as suns; but the\nMohammedan compiler of the \"Mishkat-ul-Ma'sabih\" was content to explain\nthem as missiles useful for stoning the Devil! Now, as soon as the old\nGreek, forgetting the source of his conception, began to talk of a human\nOidipous slaying a leonine Sphinx, and as soon as the Mussulman began,\nif he ever did, to tell his children how the Devil once got a good\npelting with golden bullets, then both the one and the other were\ntalking pure mythology.\n\nWe are justified, accordingly, in distinguishing between a myth and\na legend. Though the words are etymologically parallel, and though in\nordinary discourse we may use them interchangeably, yet when strict\naccuracy is required, it is well to keep them separate. And it is\nperhaps needless, save for the sake of completeness, to say that\nboth are to be distinguished from stories which have been designedly\nfabricated. The distinction may occasionally be subtle, but is usually\nbroad enough. Thus, the story that Philip II. murdered his wife\nElizabeth, is a misrepresentation; but the story that the same Elizabeth\nwas culpably enamoured of her step-son Don Carlos, is a legend. The\nstory that Queen Eleanor saved the life of her husband, Edward I., by\nsucking a wound made in his arm by a poisoned arrow, is a legend; but\nthe story that Hercules killed a great robber, Cacus, who had stolen his\ncattle, conceals a physical meaning, and is a myth. While a legend is\nusually confined to one or two localities, and is told of not more than\none or two persons, it is characteristic of a myth that it is spread,\nin one form or another, over a large part of the earth, the leading\nincidents remaining constant, while the names and often the motives\nvary with each locality. This is partly due to the immense antiquity\nof myths, dating as they do from a period when many nations, now widely\nseparated, had not yet ceased to form one people. Thus many elements of\nthe myth of the Trojan War are to be found in the Rig-Veda; and the myth\nof St. George and the Dragon is found in all the Aryan nations. But we\nmust not always infer that myths have a common descent, merely because\nthey resemble each other. We must remember that the proceedings of the\nuncultivated mind are more or less alike in all latitudes, and that\nthe same phenomenon might in various places independently give rise to\nsimilar stories. [13] The myth of Jack and the Beanstalk is found not\nonly among people of Aryan descent, but also among the Zulus of South\nAfrica, and again among the American Indians. Whenever we can trace a\nstory in this way from one end of the world to the other, or through a\nwhole family of kindred nations, we are pretty safe in assuming that we\nare dealing with a true myth, and not with a mere legend.\n\nApplying these considerations to the Tell myth, we at once obtain a\nvalid explanation of its origin. The conception of infallible skill\nin archery, which underlies such a great variety of myths and popular\nfairy-tales, is originally derived from the inevitable victory of the\nsun over his enemies, the demons of night, winter, and tempest. Arrows\nand spears which never miss their mark, swords from whose blow no armour\ncan protect, are invariably the weapons of solar divinities or heroes.\nThe shafts of Bellerophon never fail to slay the black demon of the\nrain-cloud, and the bolt of Phoibos Chrysaor deals sure destruction\nto the serpent of winter. Odysseus, warring against the impious\nnight-heroes, who have endeavoured throughout ten long years or hours of\ndarkness to seduce from her allegiance his twilight-bride, the weaver\nof the never-finished web of violet clouds,--Odysseus, stripped of\nhis beggar's raiment and endowed with fresh youth and beauty by the\ndawn-goddess, Athene, engages in no doubtful conflict as he raises the\nbow which none but himself can bend. Nor is there less virtue in the\nspear of Achilleus, in the swords of Perseus and Sigurd, in Roland's\nstout blade Durandal, or in the brand Excalibur, with which Sir Bedivere\nwas so loath to part. All these are solar weapons, and so, too, are\nthe arrows of Tell and Palnatoki, Egil and Hemingr, and William of\nCloudeslee, whose surname proclaims him an inhabitant of the Phaiakian\nland. William Tell, whether of Cloudland or of Altdorf, is the last\nreflection of the beneficent divinity of daytime and summer, constrained\nfor a while to obey the caprice of the powers of cold and darkness, as\nApollo served Laomedon, and Herakles did the bidding of Eurystheus.\nHis solar character is well preserved, even in the sequel of the Swiss\nlegend, in which he appears no less skilful as a steersman than as an\narcher, and in which, after traversing, like Dagon, the tempestuous sea\nof night, he leaps at daybreak in regained freedom upon the land, and\nstrikes down the oppressor who has held him in bondage.\n\nBut the sun, though ever victorious in open contest with his enemies,\nis nevertheless not invulnerable. At times he succumbs to treachery,\nis bound by the frost-giants, or slain by the demons of darkness. The\npoisoned shirt of the cloud-fiend Nessos is fatal even to the mighty\nHerakles, and the prowess of Siegfried at last fails to save him from\nthe craft of Hagen. In Achilleus and Meleagros we see the unhappy solar\nhero doomed to toil for the profit of others, and to be cut off by an\nuntimely death. The more fortunate Odysseus, who lives to a ripe old\nage, and triumphs again and again over all the powers of darkness, must\nnevertheless yield to the craving desire to visit new cities and look\nupon new works of strange men, until at last he is swallowed up in the\nwestern sea. That the unrivalled navigator of the celestial ocean should\ndisappear beneath the western waves is as intelligible as it is that the\nhorned Venus or Astarte should rise from the sea in the far east. It is\nperhaps less obvious that winter should be so frequently symbolized as a\nthorn or sharp instrument. Achilleus dies by an arrow-wound in the\nheel; the thigh of Adonis is pierced by the boar's tusk, while Odysseus\nescapes with an ugly scar, which afterwards secures his recognition by\nhis old servant, the dawn-nymph Eurykleia; Sigurd is slain by a thorn,\nand Balder by a sharp sprig of mistletoe; and in the myth of the\nSleeping Beauty, the earth-goddess sinks into her long winter sleep when\npricked by the point of the spindle. In her cosmic palace, all is locked\nin icy repose, naught thriving save the ivy which defies the cold, until\nthe kiss of the golden-haired sun-god reawakens life and activity.\n\nThe wintry sleep of nature is symbolized in innumerable stories of\nspell-bound maidens and fair-featured youths, saints, martyrs, and\nheroes. Sometimes it is the sun, sometimes the earth, that is supposed\nto slumber. Among the American Indians the sun-god Michabo is said to\nsleep through the winter months; and at the time of the falling leaves,\nby way of composing himself for his nap, he fills his great pipe and\ndivinely smokes; the blue clouds, gently floating over the landscape,\nfill the air with the haze of Indian summer. In the Greek myth the\nshepherd Endymion preserves his freshness in a perennial slumber. The\nGerman Siegfried, pierced by the thorn of winter, is sleeping until\nhe shall be again called forth to fight. In Switzerland, by the\nVierwald-stattersee, three Tells are awaiting the hour when their\ncountry shall again need to be delivered from the oppressor. Charlemagne\nis reposing in the Untersberg, sword in hand, waiting for the coming of\nAntichrist; Olger Danske similarly dreams away his time in Avallon; and\nin a lofty mountain in Thuringia, the great Emperor Yrederic Barbarossa\nslumbers with his knights around him, until the time comes for him to\nsally forth and raise Germany to the first rank among the kingdoms of\nthe world. The same story is told of Olaf Tryggvesson, of Don Sebastian\nof Portugal, and of the Moorish King Boabdil. The Seven Sleepers of\nEphesus, having taken refuge in a cave from the persecutions of the\nheathen Decius, slept one hundred and sixty-four years, and awoke to\nfind a Christian emperor on the throne. The monk of Hildesheim, in the\nlegend so beautifully rendered by Longfellow, doubting how with God\na thousand years ago could be as yesterday, listened three minutes\nentranced by the singing of a bird in the forest, and found, on waking\nfrom his revery, that a thousand years had flown. To the same family of\nlegends belong the notion that St. John is sleeping at Ephesus until the\nlast days of the world; the myth of the enchanter Merlin, spell-bound by\nVivien; the story of the Cretan philosopher Epimenides, who dozed away\nfifty-seven years in a cave; and Rip Van Winkle's nap in the Catskills.\n[14]\n\nWe might go on almost indefinitely citing household tales of wonderful\nsleepers; but, on the principle of the association of opposites, we\nare here reminded of sundry cases of marvellous life and wakefulness,\nillustrated in the Wandering Jew; the dancers of Kolbeck; Joseph of\nArimathaea with the Holy Grail; the Wild Huntsman who to all eternity\nchases the red deer; the Captain of the Phantom Ship; the classic\nTithonos; and the Man in the Moon.\n\nThe lunar spots have afforded a rich subject for the play of human\nfancy. Plutarch wrote a treatise on them, but the myth-makers had been\nbefore him. \"Every one,\" says Mr. Baring-Gould, \"knows that the moon\nis inhabited by a man with a bundle of sticks on his back, who has been\nexiled thither for many centuries, and who is so far off that he is\nbeyond the reach of death. He has once visited this earth, if the\nnursery rhyme is to be credited when it asserts that\n\n     'The Man in the Moon\n      Came down too soon\n      And asked his way to Norwich';\n\nbut whether he ever reached that city the same authority does not\nstate.\" Dante calls him Cain; Chaucer has him put up there as a\npunishment for theft, and gives him a thorn-bush to carry; Shakespeare\nalso loads him with the thorns, but by way of compensation gives him a\ndog for a companion. Ordinarily, however, his offence is stated to have\nbeen, not stealing, but Sabbath-breaking,--an idea derived from the Old\nTestament. Like the man mentioned in the Book of Numbers, he is caught\ngathering sticks on the Sabbath; and, as an example to mankind, he is\ncondemned to stand forever in the moon, with his bundle on his back.\nInstead of a dog, one German version places with him a woman, whose\ncrime was churning butter on Sunday. She carries her butter-tub; and\nthis brings us to Mother Goose again:--\n\n     \"Jack and Jill went up the hill\n     To get a pail of water.\n     Jack fell down and broke his crown,\n     And Jill came tumbling after.\"\n\nThis may read like mere nonsense; but there is a point of view from\nwhich it may be safely said that there is very little absolute nonsense\nin the world. The story of Jack and Jill is a venerable one. In\nIcelandic mythology we read that Jack and Jill were two children whom\nthe moon once kidnapped and carried up to heaven. They had been drawing\nwater in a bucket, which they were carrying by means of a pole placed\nacross their shoulders; and in this attitude they have stood to the\npresent day in the moon. Even now this explanation of the moon-spots\nis to be heard from the mouths of Swedish peasants. They fall away one\nafter the other, as the moon wanes, and their water-pail symbolizes the\nsupposed connection of the moon with rain-storms. Other forms of the\nmyth occur in Sanskrit.\n\nThe moon-goddess, or Aphrodite, of the ancient Germans, was called\nHorsel, or Ursula, who figures in Christian mediaeval mythology as a\npersecuted saint, attended by a troop of eleven thousand virgins,\nwho all suffer martyrdom as they journey from England to Cologne. The\nmeaning of the myth is obvious. In German mythology, England is the\nPhaiakian land of clouds and phantoms; the succubus, leaving her lover\nbefore daybreak, excuses herself on the plea that \"her mother is calling\nher in England.\" [15] The companions of Ursula are the pure stars, who\nleave the cloudland and suffer martyrdom as they approach the regions\nof day. In the Christian tradition, Ursula is the pure Artemis; but,\nin accordance with her ancient character, she is likewise the sensual\nAphrodite, who haunts the Venusberg; and this brings us to the story of\nTannhauser.\n\nThe Horselberg, or mountain of Venus, lies in Thuringia, between\nEisenach and Gotha. High up on its slope yawns a cavern, the\nHorselloch, or cave of Venus within which is heard a muffled roar, as\nof subterranean water. From this cave, in old times, the frightened\ninhabitants of the neighbouring valley would hear at night wild moans\nand cries issuing, mingled with peals of demon-like laughter. Here it\nwas believed that Venus held her court; \"and there were not a few who\ndeclared that they had seen fair forms of female beauty beckoning them\nfrom the mouth of the chasm.\" [16] Tannhauser was a Frankish knight and\nfamous minnesinger, who, travelling at twilight past the Horselberg,\n\"saw a white glimmering figure of matchless beauty standing before him\nand beckoning him to her.\" Leaving his horse, he went up to meet her,\nwhom he knew to be none other than Venus. He descended to her palace\nin the heart of the mountain, and there passed seven years in careless\nrevelry. Then, stricken with remorse and yearning for another glimpse\nof the pure light of day, he called in agony upon the Virgin Mother, who\ntook compassion on him and released him. He sought a village church, and\nto priest after priest confessed his sin, without obtaining absolution,\nuntil finally he had recourse to the Pope. But the holy father,\nhorrified at the enormity of his misdoing, declared that guilt such as\nhis could never be remitted sooner should the staff in his hand grow\ngreen and blossom. \"Then Tannhauser, full of despair and with his soul\ndarkened, went away, and returned to the only asylum open to him, the\nVenusberg. But lo! three days after he had gone, Pope Urban discovered\nthat his pastoral staff had put forth buds and had burst into flower.\nThen he sent messengers after Tannhauser, and they reached the Horsel\nvale to hear that a wayworn man, with haggard brow and bowed head, had\njust entered the Horselloch. Since then Tannhauser has not been seen.\"\n(p. 201.)\n\nAs Mr. Baring-Gould rightly observes, this sad legend, in its\nChristianized form, is doubtless descriptive of the struggle between\nthe new and the old faiths. The knightly Tannhauser, satiated with\npagan sensuality, turns to Christianity for relief, but, repelled by\nthe hypocrisy, pride, and lack of sympathy of its ministers, gives up in\ndespair, and returns to drown his anxieties in his old debauchery.\n\nBut this is not the primitive form of the myth, which recurs in the\nfolk-lore of every people of Aryan descent. Who, indeed, can read it\nwithout being at once reminded of Thomas of Erceldoune (or Horsel-hill),\nentranced by the sorceress of the Eilden; of the nightly visits of Numa\nto the grove of the nymph Egeria; of Odysseus held captive by the Lady\nKalypso; and, last but not least, of the delightful Arabian tale of\nPrince Ahmed and the Peri Banou? On his westward journey, Odysseus is\nensnared and kept in temporary bondage by the amorous nymph of darkness,\nKalypso (kalnptw, to veil or cover). So the zone of the moon-goddess\nAphrodite inveigles all-seeing Zeus to treacherous slumber on Mount\nIda; and by a similar sorcery Tasso's great hero is lulled in unseemly\nidleness in Armida's golden paradise, at the western verge of the world.\nThe disappearance of Tannhauser behind the moonlit cliff, lured by Venus\nUrsula, the pale goddess of night, is a precisely parallel circumstance.\n\nBut solar and lunar phenomena are by no means the only sources of\npopular mythology. Opposite my writing-table hangs a quaint German\npicture, illustrating Goethe's ballad of the Erlking, in which the whole\nwild pathos of the story is compressed into one supreme moment; we see\nthe fearful, half-gliding rush of the Erlking, his long, spectral arms\noutstretched to grasp the child, the frantic gallop of the horse, the\nalarmed father clasping his darling to his bosom in convulsive embrace,\nthe siren-like elves hovering overhead, to lure the little soul with\ntheir weird harps. There can be no better illustration than is furnished\nby this terrible scene of the magic power of mythology to invest the\nsimplest physical phenomena with the most intense human interest; for\nthe true significance of the whole picture is contained in the father's\naddress to his child,\n\n     \"Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind;\n      In durren Blattern sauselt der Wind.\"\n\nThe story of the Piper of Hamelin, well known in the version of Robert\nBrowning, leads to the same conclusion. In 1284 the good people of\nHamelin could obtain no rest, night or day, by reason of the direful\nhost of rats which infested their town. One day came a strange man in a\nbunting-suit, and offered for five hundred guilders to rid the town of\nthe vermin. The people agreed: whereupon the man took out a pipe and\npiped, and instantly all the rats in town, in an army which blackened\nthe face of the earth, came forth from their haunts, and followed the\npiper until he piped them to the river Weser, where they alls jumped\nin and were drowned. But as soon as the torment was gone, the townsfolk\nrefused to pay the piper on the ground that he was evidently a wizard.\nHe went away, vowing vengeance, and on St. John's day reappeared, and\nputting his pipe to his mouth blew a different air. Whereat all the\nlittle, plump, rosy-cheeked, golden-haired children came merrily running\nafter him, their parents standing aghast, not knowing what to do,\nwhile he led them up a hill in the neighbourhood. A door opened in the\nmountain-side, through which he led them in, and they never were seen\nagain; save one lame boy, who hobbled not fast enough to get in before\nthe door shut, and who lamented for the rest of his life that he had not\nbeen able to share the rare luck of his comrades. In the street through\nwhich this procession passed no music was ever afterwards allowed to be\nplayed. For a long time the town dated its public documents from this\nfearful calamity, and many authorities have treated it as an historical\nevent. [17] Similar stories are told of other towns in Germany, and,\nstrange to say, in remote Abyssinia also. Wesleyan peasants in England\nbelieve that angels pipe to children who are about to die; and in\nScandinavia, youths are said to have been enticed away by the songs of\nelf-maidens. In Greece, the sirens by their magic lay allured voyagers\nto destruction; and Orpheus caused the trees and dumb beasts to follow\nhim. Here we reach the explanation. For Orpheus is the wind sighing\nthrough untold acres of pine forest. \"The piper is no other than the\nwind, and the ancients held that in the wind were the souls of the\ndead.\" To this day the English peasantry believe that they hear the wail\nof the spirits of unbaptized children, as the gale sweeps past their\ncottage doors. The Greek Hermes resulted from the fusion of two deities.\nHe is the sun and also the wind; and in the latter capacity he bears\naway the souls of the dead. So the Norse Odin, who like Hermes fillfils\na double function, is supposed to rush at night over the tree-tops,\n\"accompanied by the scudding train of brave men's spirits.\" And readers\nof recent French literature cannot fail to remember Erokmann-Chatrian's\nterrible story of the wild huntsman Vittikab, and how he sped through\nthe forest, carrying away a young girl's soul.\n\nThus, as Tannhauser is the Northern Ulysses, so is Goethe's Erlking none\nother than the Piper of Hamelin. And the piper, in turn, is the classic\nHermes or Orpheus, the counterpart of the Finnish Wainamoinen and the\nSanskrit Gunadhya. His wonderful pipe is the horn of Oberon, the lyre of\nApollo (who, like the piper, was a rat-killer), the harp stolen by\nJack when he climbed the bean-stalk to the ogre's castle. [18] And the\nfather, in Goethe's ballad, is no more than right when he assures his\nchild that the siren voice which tempts him is but the rustle of the\nwind among the dried leaves; for from such a simple class of phenomena\narose this entire family of charming legends.\n\nBut why does the piper, who is a leader of souls (Psychopompos), also\ndraw rats after him? In answering this we shall have occasion to note\nthat the ancients by no means shared that curious prejudice against the\nbrute creation which is indulged in by modern anti-Darwinians. In many\ncountries, rats and mice have been regarded as sacred animals; but in\nGermany they were thought to represent the human soul. One story out of\na hundred must suffice to illustrate this. \"In Thuringia, at Saalfeld, a\nservant-girl fell asleep whilst her companions were shelling nuts. They\nobserved a little red mouse creep from her mouth and run out of the\nwindow. One of the fellows present shook the sleeper, but could not wake\nher, so he moved her to another place. Presently the mouse ran back to\nthe former place and dashed about, seeking the girl; not finding her,\nit vanished; at the same moment the girl died.\" [19] This completes the\nexplanation of the piper, and it also furnishes the key to the horrible\nstory of Bishop Hatto.\n\nThis wicked prelate lived on the bank of the Rhine, in the middle of\nwhich stream he possessed a tower, now pointed out to travellers as the\nMouse Tower. In the year 970 there was a dreadful famine, and people\ncame from far and near craving sustenance out of the Bishop's ample and\nwell-filled granaries. Well, he told them all to go into the barn, and\nwhen they had got in there, as many as could stand, he set fire to the\nbarn and burnt them all up, and went home to eat a merry supper. But\nwhen he arose next morning, he heard that an army of rats had eaten all\nthe corn in his granaries, and was now advancing to storm the palace.\nLooking from his window, he saw the roads and fields dark with them,\nas they came with fell purpose straight toward his mansion. In frenzied\nterror he took his boat and rowed out to the tower in the river. But it\nwas of no use: down into the water marched the rats, and swam across,\nand scaled the walls, and gnawed through the stones, and came swarming\nin about the shrieking Bishop, and ate him up, flesh, bones, and all.\nNow, bearing in mind what was said above, there can be no doubt that\nthese rats were the souls of those whom the Bishop had murdered. There\nare many versions of the story in different Teutonic countries, and\nin some of them the avenging rats or mice issue directly, by a strange\nmetamorphosis, from the corpses of the victims. St. Gertrude, moreover,\nthe heathen Holda, was symbolized as a mouse, and was said Go lead an\narmy of mice; she was the receiver of children's souls. Odin, also, in\nhis character of a Psychopompos, was followed by a host of rats. [20]\n\nAs the souls of the departed are symbolized as rats, so is the\npsychopomp himself often figured as a dog. Sarameias, the Vedic\ncounterpart of Hermes and Odin, sometimes appears invested with canine\nattributes; and countless other examples go to show that by the early\nAryan mind the howling wind was conceived as a great dog or wolf. As the\nfearful beast was heard speeding by the windows or over the house-top,\nthe inmates trembled, for none knew but his own soul might forthwith be\nrequired of him. Hence, to this day, among ignorant people, the howling\nof a dog under the window is supposed to portend a death in the family.\nIt is the fleet greyhound of Hermes, come to escort the soul to the\nriver Styx. [21]\n\nBut the wind-god is not always so terrible. Nothing can be more\ntransparent than the phraseology of the Homeric Hymn, in which Hermes is\ndescribed as acquiring the strength of a giant while yet a babe in the\ncradle, as sallying out and stealing the cattle (clouds) of Apollo,\nand driving them helter-skelter in various directions, then as crawling\nthrough the keyhole, and with a mocking laugh shrinking into his cradle.\nHe is the Master Thief, who can steal the burgomaster's horse from under\nhim and his wife's mantle from off her back, the prototype not only of\nthe crafty architect of Rhampsinitos, but even of the ungrateful slave\nwho robs Sancho of his mule in the Sierra Morena. He furnishes in part\nthe conceptions of Boots and Reynard; he is the prototype of Paul Pry\nand peeping Tom of Coventry; and in virtue of his ability to contract or\nexpand himself at pleasure, he is both the Devil in the Norse Tale, [22]\nwhom the lad persuades to enter a walnut, and the Arabian Efreet, whom\nthe fisherman releases from the bottle.\n\nThe very interesting series of myths and popular superstitions suggested\nby the storm-cloud and the lightning must be reserved for a future\noccasion. When carefully examined, they will richly illustrate the\nconclusion which is the result of the present inquiry, that the\nmarvellous tales and quaint superstitions current in every Aryan\nhousehold have a common origin with the classic legends of gods and\nheroes, which formerly were alone thought worthy of the student's\nserious attention. These stories--some of them familiar to us in\ninfancy, others the delight of our maturer years--constitute the debris,\nor alluvium, brought down by the stream of tradition from the distant\nhighlands of ancient mythology.\n\nSeptember, 1870.\n\n\n\n\nII. THE DESCENT OF FIRE.\n\nIN the course of my last summer's vacation, which was spent at a small\ninland village, I came upon an unexpected illustration of the tenacity\nwith which conceptions descended from prehistoric antiquity have now\nand then kept their hold upon life. While sitting one evening under the\ntrees by the roadside, my attention was called to the unusual conduct of\nhalf a dozen men and boys who were standing opposite. An elderly man\nwas moving slowly up and down the road, holding with both hands a forked\ntwig of hazel, shaped like the letter Y inverted. With his palms turned\nupward, he held in each hand a branch of the twig in such a way that the\nshank pointed upward; but every few moments, as he halted over a certain\nspot, the twig would gradually bend downwards until it had assumed the\nlikeness of a Y in its natural position, where it would remain pointing\nto something in the ground beneath. One by one the bystanders proceeded\nto try the experiment, but with no variation in the result. Something in\nthe ground seemed to fascinate the bit of hazel, for it could not pass\nover that spot without bending down and pointing to it.\n\nMy thoughts reverted at once to Jacques Aymar and Dousterswivel, as\nI perceived that these men were engaged in sorcery. During the long\ndrought more than half the wells in the village had become dry, and here\nwas an attempt to make good the loss by the aid of the god Thor. These\nmen were seeking water with a divining-rod. Here, alive before my eyes,\nwas a superstitious observance, which I had supposed long since dead and\nforgotten by all men except students interested in mythology.\n\nAs I crossed the road to take part in the ceremony a farmer's boy came\nup, stoutly affirming his incredulity,\n\nand offering to show the company how he could carry the rod motionless\nacross the charmed spot. But when he came to take the weird twig he\ntrembled with an ill-defined feeling of insecurity as to the soundness\nof his conclusions, and when he stood over the supposed rivulet the rod\nbent in spite of him,--as was not so very strange. For, with all his\nvague scepticism, the honest lad had not, and could not be supposed to\nhave, the foi scientifique of which Littre speaks. [23]\n\nHereupon I requested leave to try the rod; but something in my manner\nseemed at once to excite the suspicion and scorn of the sorcerer. \"Yes,\ntake it,\" said he, with uncalled-for vehemence, \"but you can't stop it;\nthere's water below here, and you can't help its bending, if you break\nyour back trying to hold it.\" So he gave me the twig, and awaited, with\na smile which was meant to express withering sarcasm, the discomfiture\nof the supposed scoffer. But when I proceeded to walk four or five times\nacross the mysterious place, the rod pointing steadfastly toward the\nzenith all the while, our friend became grave and began to philosophize.\n\"Well,\" said he, \"you see, your temperament is peculiar; the conditions\nain't favourable in your case; there are some people who never can work\nthese things. But there's water below here, for all that, as you'll\nfind, if you dig for it; there's nothing like a hazel-rod for finding\nout water.\"\n\nVery true: there are some persons who never can make such things work;\nwho somehow always encounter \"unfavourable conditions\" when they wish\nto test the marvellous powers of a clairvoyant; who never can make\n\"Planchette\" move in conformity to the requirements of any known\nalphabet; who never see ghosts, and never have \"presentiments,\" save\nsuch as are obviously due to association of ideas. The ill-success of\nthese persons is commonly ascribed to their lack of faith; but, in the\nmajority of cases, it might be more truly referred to the strength of\ntheir faith,--faith in the constancy of nature, and in the adequacy\nof ordinary human experience as interpreted by science. [24] La foi\nscientifique is an excellent preventive against that obscure, though not\nuncommon, kind of self-deception which enables wooden tripods to write\nand tables to tip and hazel-twigs to twist upside-down, without the\nconscious intervention of the performer. It was this kind of faith, no\ndoubt, which caused the discomfiture of Jacques Aymar on his visit to\nParis, [25] and which has in late years prevented persons from obtaining\nthe handsome prize offered by the French Academy for the first authentic\ncase of clairvoyance.\n\nBut our village friend, though perhaps constructively right in his\nphilosophizing, was certainly very defective in his acquaintance with\nthe time-honoured art of rhabdomancy. Had he extended his inquiries so\nas to cover the field of Indo-European tradition, he would have learned\nthat the mountain-ash, the mistletoe, the white and black thorn, the\nHindu asvattha, and several other woods, are quite as efficient as the\nhazel for the purpose of detecting water in times of drought; and in due\ncourse of time he would have perceived that the divining-rod itself\nis but one among a large class of things to which popular belief has\nascribed, along with other talismanic properties, the power of opening\nthe ground or cleaving rocks, in order to reveal hidden treasures.\nLeaving him in peace, then, with his bit of forked hazel, to seek for\ncooling springs in some future thirsty season, let us endeavour to\nelucidate the origin of this curious superstition.\n\nThe detection of subterranean water is by no means the only use to\nwhich the divining-rod has been put. Among the ancient Frisians it was\nregularly used for the detection of criminals; and the reputation of\nJacques Aymar was won by his discovery of the perpetrator of a horrible\nmurder at Lyons. Throughout Europe it has been used from time immemorial\nby miners for ascertaining the position of veins of metal; and in the\ndays when talents were wrapped in napkins and buried in the field,\ninstead of being exposed to the risks of financial speculation, the\ndivining-rod was employed by persons covetous of their neighbours'\nwealth. If Boulatruelle had lived in the sixteenth century, he would\nhave taken a forked stick of hazel when he went to search for the buried\ntreasures of Jean Valjean. It has also been applied to the cure of\ndisease, and has been kept in households, like a wizard's charm, to\ninsure general good-fortune and immunity from disaster.\n\nAs we follow the conception further into the elf-land of popular\ntradition, we come upon a rod which not only points out the situation of\nhidden treasure, but even splits open the ground and reveals the mineral\nwealth contained therein. In German legend, \"a shepherd, who was driving\nhis flock over the Ilsenstein, having stopped to rest, leaning on his\nstaff, the mountain suddenly opened, for there was a springwort in his\nstaff without his knowing it, and the princess [Ilse] stood before him.\nShe bade him follow her, and when he was inside the mountain she told\nhim to take as much gold as he pleased. The shepherd filled all his\npockets, and was going away, when the princess called after him, 'Forget\nnot the best.' So, thinking she meant that he had not taken enough,\nhe filled his hat also; but what she meant was his staff with the\nspringwort, which he had laid against the wall as soon as he stepped\nin. But now, just as he was going out at the opening, the rock suddenly\nslammed together and cut him in two.\" [26]\n\nHere the rod derives its marvellous properties from the enclosed\nspringwort, but in many cases a leaf or flower is itself competent to\nopen the hillside. The little blue flower, forget-me-not, about which\nso many sentimental associations have clustered, owes its name to the\nlegends told of its talismanic virtues. [27] A man, travelling on a\nlonely mountain, picks up a little blue flower and sticks it in his hat.\nForthwith an iron door opens, showing up a lighted passage-way, through\nwhich the man advances into a magnificent hall, where rubies and\ndiamonds and all other kinds of gems are lying piled in great heaps on\nthe floor. As he eagerly fills his pockets his hat drops from his head,\nand when he turns to go out the little flower calls after him, \"Forget\nme not!\" He turns back and looks around, but is too bewildered with his\ngood fortune to think of his bare head or of the luck-flower which he\nhas let fall. He selects several more of the finest jewels he can\nfind, and again starts to go out; but as he passes through the door the\nmountain closes amid the crashing of thunder, and cuts off one of his\nheels. Alone, in the gloom of the forest, he searches in vain for the\nmysterious door: it has disappeared forever, and the traveller goes on\nhis way, thankful, let us hope, that he has fared no worse.\n\nSometimes it is a white lady, like the Princess Ilse, who invites the\nfinder of the luck-flower to help himself to her treasures, and who\nutters the enigmatical warning. The mountain where the event occurred\nmay be found almost anywhere in Germany, and one just like it stood in\nPersia, in the golden prime of Haroun Alraschid. In the story of the\nForty Thieves, the mere name of the plant sesame serves as a talisman to\nopen and shut the secret door which leads into the robbers' cavern; and\nwhen the avaricious Cassim Baba, absorbed in the contemplation of the\nbags of gold and bales of rich merchandise, forgets the magic formula,\nhe meets no better fate than the shepherd of the Ilsenstein. In the\nstory of Prince Ahmed, it is an enchanted arrow which guides the young\nadventurer through the hillside to the grotto of the Peri Banou. In\nthe tale of Baba Abdallah, it is an ointment rubbed on the eyelid which\nreveals at a single glance all the treasures hidden in the bowels of the\nearth.\n\nThe ancient Romans also had their rock-breaking plant, called Saxifraga,\nor \"sassafras.\" And the further we penetrate into this charmed circle\nof traditions the more evident does it appear that the power of cleaving\nrocks or shattering hard substances enters, as a primitive element, into\nthe conception of these treasure-showing talismans. Mr. Baring-Gould\nhas given an excellent account of the rabbinical legends concerning the\nwonderful schamir, by the aid of which Solomon was said to have built\nhis temple. From Asmodeus, prince of the Jann, Benaiah, the son of\nJehoiada, wrested the secret of a worm no bigger than a barley-corn,\nwhich could split the hardest substance. This worm was called schamir.\n\"If Solomon desired to possess himself of the worm, he must find the\nnest of the moor-hen, and cover it with a plate of glass, so that the\nmother bird could not get at her young without breaking the glass. She\nwould seek schamir for the purpose, and the worm must be obtained from\nher.\" As the Jewish king did need the worm in order to hew the stones\nfor that temple which was to be built without sound of hammer, or axe,\nor any tool of iron, [28] he sent Benaiah to obtain it. According to\nanother account, schamir was a mystic stone which enabled Solomon to\npenetrate the earth in search of mineral wealth. Directed by a Jinni,\nthe wise king covered a raven's eggs with a plate of crystal, and thus\nobtained schamir which the bird brought in order to break the plate.\n[29]\n\nIn these traditions, which may possibly be of Aryan descent, due to the\nprolonged intercourse between the Jews and the Persians, a new feature\nis added to those before enumerated: the rock-splitting talisman is\nalways found in the possession of a bird. The same feature in the myth\nreappears on Aryan soil. The springwort, whose marvellous powers we have\nnoticed in the case of the Ilsenstein shepherd, is obtained, according\nto Pliny, by stopping up the hole in a tree where a woodpecker keeps its\nyoung. The bird flies away, and presently returns with the springwort,\nwhich it applies to the plug, causing it to shoot out with a loud\nexplosion. The same account is given in German folk-lore. Elsewhere,\nas in Iceland, Normandy, and ancient Greece, the bird is an eagle, a\nswallow, an ostrich, or a hoopoe.\n\nIn the Icelandic and Pomeranian myths the schamir, or \"raven-stone,\"\nalso renders its possessor invisible,--a property which it shares with\none of the treasure-finding plants, the fern. [30] In this respect\nit resembles the ring of Gyges, as in its divining and rock-splitting\nqualities it resembles that other ring which the African magrician gave\nto Aladdin, to enable him to descend into the cavern where stood the\nwonderful lamp.\n\nAccording to one North German tradition, the luck-flower also will make\nits finder invisible at pleasure. But, as the myth shrewdly adds, it is\nabsolutely essential that the flower be found by accident: he who seeks\nfor it never finds it! Thus all cavils are skilfully forestalled,\neven if not satisfactorily disposed of. The same kind of reasoning is\nfavoured by our modern dealers in mystery: somehow the \"conditions\"\nalways are askew whenever a scientific observer wishes to test their\npretensions.\n\nIn the North of Europe schamir appears strangely and grotesquely\nmetamorphosed. The hand of a man that has been hanged, when dried and\nprepared with certain weird unguents and set on fire, is known as the\nHand of Glory; and as it not only bursts open all safe-locks, but also\nlulls to sleep all persons within the circle of its influence, it is of\ncourse invaluable to thieves and burglars. I quote the following story\nfrom Thorpe's \"Northern Mythology\": \"Two fellows once came to Huy, who\npretended to be exceedingly fatigued, and when they had supped would\nnot retire to a sleeping-room, but begged their host would allow them\nto take a nap on the hearth. But the maid-servant, who did not like the\nlooks of the two guests, remained by the kitchen door and peeped through\na chink, when she saw that one of them drew a thief's hand from his\npocket, the fingers of which, after having rubbed them with an ointment,\nhe lighted, and they all burned except one. Again they held this finger\nto the fire, but still it would not burn, at which they appeared much\nsurprised, and one said, 'There must surely be some one in the house\nwho is not yet asleep.' They then hung the hand with its four burning\nfingers by the chimney, and went out to call their associates. But the\nmaid followed them instantly and made the door fast, then ran up stairs,\nwhere the landlord slept, that she might wake him, but was unable,\nnotwithstanding all her shaking and calling. In the mean time the\nthieves had returned and were endeavouring to enter the house by a\nwindow, but the maid cast them down from the ladder. They then took a\ndifferent course, and would have forced an entrance, had it not occurred\nto the maid that the burning fingers might probably be the cause of her\nmaster's profound sleep. Impressed with this idea she ran to the kitchen\nand blew them out, when the master and his men-servants instantly\nawoke, and soon drove away the robbers.\" The same event is said to have\noccurred at Stainmore in England; and Torquermada relates of Mexican\nthieves that they carry with them the left hand of a woman who has died\nin her first childbed, before which talisman all bolts yield and all\nopposition is benumbed. In 1831 \"some Irish thieves attempted to commit\na robbery on the estate of Mr. Naper, of Loughcrew, county Meath. They\nentered the house armed with a dead man's hand with a lighted candle in\nit, believing in the superstitious notion that a candle placed in a dead\nman's hand will not be seen by any but those by whom it is used; and\nalso that if a candle in a dead hand be introduced into a house, it will\nprevent those who may be asleep from awaking. The inmates, however, were\nalarmed, and the robbers fled, leaving the hand behind them.\" [31]\n\nIn the Middle Ages the hand of glory was used, just like the\ndivining-rod, for the detection of buried treasures.\n\nHere, then, we have a large and motley group of objects--the forked\nrod of ash or hazel, the springwort and the luck-flower, leaves,\nworms, stones, rings, and dead men's hands--which are for the most part\ncompetent to open the way into cavernous rocks, and which all agree\nin pointing out hidden wealth. We find, moreover, that many of these\ncharmed objects are carried about by birds, and that some of them\npossess, in addition to their generic properties, the specific power of\nbenumbing people's senses. What, now, is the common origin of this whole\ngroup of superstitions? And since mythology has been shown to be the\nresult of primeval attempts to explain the phenomena of nature, what\nnatural phenomenon could ever have given rise to so many seemingly\nwanton conceptions? Hopeless as the problem may at first sight seem, it\nhas nevertheless been solved. In his great treatise on \"The Descent\nof Fire,\" Dr. Kuhn has shown that all these legends and traditions are\ndescended from primitive myths explanatory of the lightning and the\nstorm-cloud. [32]\n\nTo us, who are nourished from childhood on the truths revealed by\nscience, the sky is known to be merely an optical appearance due to the\npartial absorption of the solar rays in passing through a thick stratum\nof atmospheric air; the clouds are known to be large masses of watery\nvapour, which descend in rain-drops when sufficiently condensed; and\nthe lightning is known to be a flash of light accompanying an electric\ndischarge. But these conceptions are extremely recondite, and have been\nattained only through centuries of philosophizing and after careful\nobservation and laborious experiment. To the untaught mind of a child or\nof an uncivilized man, it seems far more natural and plausible to regard\nthe sky as a solid dome of blue crystal, the clouds as snowy mountains,\nor perhaps even as giants or angels, the lightning as a flashing dart or\na fiery serpent. In point of fact, we find that the conceptions actually\nentertained are often far more grotesque than these. I can recollect\nonce framing the hypothesis that the flaming clouds of sunset were\ntransient apparitions, vouchsafed us by way of warning, of that burning\nCalvinistic hell with which my childish imagination had been unwisely\nterrified; [33] and I have known of a four-year-old boy who thought that\nthe snowy clouds of noonday were the white robes of the angels hung out\nto dry in the sun. [34] My little daughter is anxious to know whether\nit is necessary to take a balloon in order to get to the place where\nGod lives, or whether the same end can be accomplished by going to the\nhorizon and crawling up the sky; [35] the Mohammedan of old was working\nat the same problem when he called the rainbow the bridge Es-Sirat, over\nwhich souls must pass on their way to heaven. According to the ancient\nJew, the sky was a solid plate, hammered out by the gods, and spread\nover the earth in order to keep up the ocean overhead; [36] but the\nplate was full of little windows, which were opened whenever it became\nnecessary to let the rain come through. [37] With equal plausibility\nthe Greek represented the rainy sky as a sieve in which the daughters\nof Danaos were vainly trying to draw water; while to the Hindu the\nrain-clouds were celestial cattle milked by the wind-god. In primitive\nAryan lore, the sky itself was a blue sea, and the clouds were ships\nsailing over it; and an English legend tells how one of these ships\nonce caught its anchor on a gravestone in the churchyard, to the great\nastonishment of the people who were coming out of church. Charon's\nferry-boat was one of these vessels, and another was Odin's golden ship,\nin which the souls of slain heroes were conveyed to Valhalla. Hence it\nwas once the Scandinavian practice to bury the dead in boats; and in\nAltmark a penny is still placed in the mouth of the corpse, that it may\nhave the means of paying its fare to the ghostly ferryman. [38] In such\na vessel drifted the Lady of Shalott on her fatal voyage; and of similar\nnature was the dusky barge, \"dark as a funeral-scarf from stem to\nstern,\" in which Arthur was received by the black-hooded queens. [39]\n\nBut the fact that a natural phenomenon was explained in one way did not\nhinder it from being explained in a dozen other ways. The fact that the\nsun was generally regarded as an all-conquering hero did not prevent\nits being called an egg, an apple, or a frog squatting on the waters, or\nIxion's wheel, or the eye of Polyphemos, or the stone of Sisyphos, which\nwas no sooner pushed to the zenith than it rolled down to the horizon.\nSo the sky was not only a crystal dome, or a celestial ocean, but it was\nalso the Aleian land through which Bellerophon wandered, the country of\nthe Lotos-eaters, or again the realm of the Graiai beyond the twilight;\nand finally it was personified and worshipped as Dyaus or Varuna, the\nVedic prototypes of the Greek Zeus and Ouranos. The clouds, too, had\nmany other representatives besides ships and cows. In a future paper it\nwill be shown that they were sometimes regarded as angels or houris; at\npresent it more nearly concerns us to know that they appear, throughout\nall Aryan mythology, under the form of birds. It used to be a matter of\nhopeless wonder to me that Aladdin's innocent request for a roc's egg\nto hang in the dome of his palace should have been regarded as a crime\nworthy of punishment by the loss of the wonderful lamp; the obscurest\npart of the whole affair being perhaps the Jinni's passionate allusion\nto the egg as his master: \"Wretch! dost thou command me to bring thee\nmy master, and hang him up in the midst of this vaulted dome?\" But the\nincident is to some extent cleared of its mystery when we learn that\nthe roc's egg is the bright sun, and that the roc itself is the rushing\nstorm-cloud which, in the tale of Sindbad, haunts the sparkling starry\nfirmament, symbolized as a valley of diamonds. [40] According to one\nArabic authority, the length of its wings is ten thousand fathoms. But\nin European tradition it dwindles from these huge dimensions to the size\nof an eagle, a raven, or a woodpecker. Among the birds enumerated by\nKuhn and others as representing the storm-cloud are likewise the wren\nor \"kinglet\" (French roitelet); the owl, sacred to Athene; the cuckoo,\nstork, and sparrow; and the red-breasted robin, whose name Robert was\noriginally an epithet of the lightning-god Thor. In certain parts of\nFrance it is still believed that the robbing of a wren's nest will\nrender the culprit liable to be struck by lightning. The same belief was\nformerly entertained in Teutonic countries with respect to the robin;\nand I suppose that from this superstition is descended the prevalent\nnotion, which I often encountered in childhood, that there is something\npeculiarly wicked in killing robins.\n\nNow, as the raven or woodpecker, in the various myths of schamir, is the\ndark storm-cloud, so the rock-splitting worm or plant or pebble which\nthe bird carries in its beak and lets fall to the ground is nothing more\nor less than the flash of lightning carried and dropped by the cloud.\n\"If the cloud was supposed to be a great bird, the lightnings were\nregarded as writhing worms or serpents in its beak. These fiery\nserpents, elikiai gram-moeidws feromenoi, are believed in to this day by\nthe Canadian Indians, who call the thunder their hissing.\" [41]\n\nBut these are not the only mythical conceptions which are to be found\nwrapped up in the various myths of schamir and the divining-rod. The\npersons who told these stories were not weaving ingenious allegories\nabout thunder-storms; they were telling stories, or giving utterance\nto superstitions, of which the original meaning was forgotten. The old\ngrannies who, along with a stoical indifference to the fate of quails\nand partridges, used to impress upon me the wickedness of killing\nrobins, did not add that I should be struck by lightning if I failed to\nheed their admonitions. They had never heard that the robin was the bird\nof Thor; they merely rehearsed the remnant of the superstition which\nhad survived to their own times, while the essential part of it had long\nsince faded from recollection. The reason for regarding a robin's\nlife as more sacred than a partridge's had been forgotten; but it left\nbehind, as was natural, a vague recognition of that mythical sanctity.\nThe primitive meaning of a myth fades away as inevitably as the\nprimitive meaning of a word or phrase; and the rabbins who told of a\nworm which shatters rocks no more thought of the writhing thunderbolts\nthan the modern reader thinks of oyster-shells when he sees the word\nostracism, or consciously breathes a prayer as he writes the phrase good\nbye. It is only in its callow infancy that the full force of a myth is\nfelt, and its period of luxuriant development dates from the time when\nits physical significance is lost or obscured. It was because the Greek\nhad forgotten that Zeus meant the bright sky, that he could make him\nking over an anthropomorphic Olympos. The Hindu Dyaus, who carried his\nsignificance in his name as plainly as the Greek Helios, never attained\nsuch an exalted position; he yielded to deities of less obvious\npedigree, such as Brahma and Vishnu.\n\nSince, therefore, the myth-tellers recounted merely the wonderful\nstories which their own nurses and grandmas had told them, and had no\nintention of weaving subtle allegories or wrapping up a physical\ntruth in mystic emblems, it follows that they were not bound to\navoid incongruities or to preserve a philosophical symmetry in their\nnarratives. In the great majority of complex myths, no such symmetry is\nto be found. A score of different mythical conceptions would get wrought\ninto the same story, and the attempt to pull them apart and construct a\nsingle harmonious system of conceptions out of the pieces must often end\nin ingenious absurdity. If Odysseus is unquestionably the sun, so is the\neye of Polyphemos, which Odysseus puts out. [42] But the Greek poet knew\nnothing of the incongruity, for he was thinking only of a superhuman\nhero freeing himself from a giant cannibal; he knew nothing of Sanskrit,\nor of comparative mythology, and the sources of his myths were as\ncompletely hidden from his view as the sources of the Nile.\n\nWe need not be surprised, then, to find that in one version of the\nschamir-myth the cloud is the bird which carries the worm, while in\nanother version the cloud is the rock or mountain which the talisman\ncleaves open; nor need we wonder at it, if we find stories in which the\ntwo conceptions are mingled together without regard to an incongruity\nwhich in the mind of the myth-teller no longer exists. [43]\n\nIn early Aryan mythology there is nothing by which the clouds are\nmore frequently represented than by rocks or mountains. Such were the\nSymplegades, which, charmed by the harp of the wind-god Orpheus, parted\nto make way for the talking ship Argo, with its crew of solar heroes.\n[44] Such, too, were the mountains Ossa and Pelion, which the giants\npiled up one upon another in their impious assault upon Zeus, the lord\nof the bright sky. As Mr. Baring-Gould observes: \"The ancient Aryan had\nthe same name for cloud and mountain. To him the piles of vapour on the\nhorizon were so like Alpine ranges, that he had but one word whereby to\ndesignate both. [45] These great mountains of heaven were opened by the\nlightning. In the sudden flash he beheld the dazzling splendour within,\nbut only for a moment, and then, with a crash, the celestial rocks\nclosed again. Believing these vaporous piles to contain resplendent\ntreasures of which partial glimpse was obtained by mortals in a\nmomentary gleam, tales were speedily formed, relating the adventures of\nsome who had succeeded in entering these treasure-mountains.\"\n\nThis sudden flash is the smiting of the cloud-rock by the arrow of\nAhmed, the resistless hammer of Thor, the spear of Odin, the trident\nof Poseidon, or the rod of Hermes. The forked streak of light is the\narchetype of the divining-rod in its oldest form,--that in which it\nnot only indicates the hidden treasures, but, like the staff of the\nIlsenstein shepherd, bursts open the enchanted crypt and reveals them\nto the astonished wayfarer. Hence the one thing essential to the\ndivining-rod, from whatever tree it be chosen, is that it shall be\nforked.\n\nIt is not difficult to comprehend the reasons which led the ancients\nto speak of the lightning as a worm, serpent, trident, arrow, or forked\nwand; but when we inquire why it was sometimes symbolized as a flower or\nleaf; or when we seek to ascertain why certain trees, such as the ash,\nhazel, white-thorn, and mistletoe, were supposed to be in a certain\nsense embodiments of it, we are entering upon a subject too complicated\nto be satisfactorily treated within the limits of the present paper. It\nhas been said that the point of resemblance between a cow and a comet,\nthat both have tails, was quite enough for the primitive word-maker: it\nwas certainly enough for the primitive myth-teller. [46] Sometimes the\npinnate shape of a leaf, the forking of a branch, the tri-cleft corolla,\nor even the red colour of a flower, seems to have been sufficient to\ndetermine the association of ideas. The Hindu commentators of the Veda\ncertainly lay great stress on the fact that the palasa, one of their\nlightning-trees, is trident-leaved. The mistletoe branch is forked, like\na wish-bone, [47] and so is the stem which bears the forget-me-not or\nwild scorpion grass. So too the leaves of the Hindu ficus religiosa\nresemble long spear-heads. [48] But in many cases it is impossible\nfor us to determine with confidence the reasons which may have guided\nprimitive men in their choice of talismanic plants. In the case of some\nof these stories, it would no doubt be wasting ingenuity to attempt to\nassign a mythical origin for each point of detail. The ointment of the\ndervise, for instance, in the Arabian tale, has probably no special\nmythical significance, but was rather suggested by the exigencies of the\nstory, in an age when the old mythologies were so far disintegrated and\nmingled together that any one talisman would serve as well as another\nthe purposes of the narrator. But the lightning-plants of Indo-European\nfolk-lore cannot be thus summarily disposed of; for however difficult it\nmay be for us to perceive any connection between them and the celestial\nphenomena which they represent, the myths concerning them are so\nnumerous and explicit as to render it certain that some such connection\nwas imagined by the myth-makers. The superstition concerning the hand\nof glory is not so hard to interpret. In the mythology of the Finns, the\nstorm-cloud is a black man with a bright copper hand; and in Hindustan,\nIndra Savitar, the deity who slays the demon of the cloud, is\ngolden-handed. The selection of the hand of a man who has been hanged\nis probably due to the superstition which regarded the storm-god Odin\nas peculiarly the lord of the gallows. The man who is raised upon the\ngallows is placed directly in the track of the wild huntsman, who comes\nwith his hounds to carry off the victim; and hence the notion, which,\naccording to Mr. Kelly, is \"very common in Germany and not extinct in\nEngland,\" that every suicide by hanging is followed by a storm.\n\nThe paths of comparative mythology are devious, but we have now pursued\nthem long enough I believe, to have arrived at a tolerably clear\nunderstanding of the original nature of the divining-rod. Its power of\nrevealing treasures has been sufficiently explained; and its affinity\nfor water results so obviously from the character of the lightning-myth\nas to need no further comment. But its power of detecting criminals\nstill remains to be accounted for.\n\nIn Greek mythology, the being which detects and punishes crime is the\nErinys, the prototype of the Latin Fury, figured by late writers as a\nhorrible monster with serpent locks. But this is a degradation of the\noriginal conception. The name Erinys did not originally mean Fury, and\nit cannot be explained from Greek sources alone. It appears in Sanskrit\nas Saranyu, a word which signifies the light of morning creeping over\nthe sky. And thus we are led to the startling conclusion that, as the\nlight of morning reveals the evil deeds done under the cover of night,\nso the lovely Dawn, or Erinys, came to be regarded under one aspect\nas the terrible detector and avenger of iniquity. Yet startling as the\nconclusion is, it is based on established laws of phonetic change, and\ncannot be gainsaid.\n\nBut what has the avenging daybreak to do with the lightning and the\ndivining-rod? To the modern mind the association is not an obvious one:\nin antiquity it was otherwise. Myths of the daybreak and myths of\nthe lightning often resemble each other so closely that, except by a\ndelicate philological analysis, it is difficult to distinguish the one\nfrom the other. The reason is obvious. In each case the phenomenon to be\nexplained is the struggle between the day-god and one of the demons\nof darkness. There is essentially no distinction to the mind of the\nprimitive man between the Panis, who steal Indra's bright cows and\nkeep them in a dark cavern all night, and the throttling snake Ahi or\nEchidna, who imprisons the waters in the stronghold of the thunder-cloud\nand covers the earth with a short-lived darkness. And so the poisoned\narrows of Bellerophon, which slay the storm-dragon, differ in no\nessential respect from the shafts with which Odysseus slaughters the\nnight-demons who have for ten long hours beset his mansion. Thus the\ndivining-rod, representing as it does the weapon of the god of day,\ncomes legitimately enough by its function of detecting and avenging\ncrime.\n\nBut the lightning not only reveals strange treasures and gives water to\nthe thirsty land and makes plain what is doing under cover of darkness;\nit also sometimes kills, benumbs, or paralyzes. Thus the head of the\nGorgon Medusa turns into stone those who look upon it. Thus the ointment\nof the dervise, in the tale of Baba Abdallah, not only reveals all the\ntreasures of the earth, but instantly thereafter blinds the unhappy man\nwho tests its powers. And thus the hand of glory, which bursts open bars\nand bolts, benumbs also those who happen to be near it. Indeed, few of\nthe favoured mortals who were allowed to visit the caverns opened by\nsesame or the luck-flower, escaped without disaster. The monkish tale of\n\"The Clerk and the Image,\" in which the primeval mythical features are\ncuriously distorted, well illustrates this point.\n\nIn the city of Rome there formerly stood an image with its right hand\nextended and on its forefinger the words \"strike here.\" Many wise men\npuzzled in vain over the meaning of the inscription; but at last a\ncertain priest observed that whenever the sun shone on the figure, the\nshadow of the finger was discernible on the ground at a little distance\nfrom the statue. Having marked the spot, he waited until midnight, and\nthen began to dig. At last his spade struck upon something hard. It\nwas a trap-door, below which a flight of marble steps descended into a\nspacious hall, where many men were sitting in solemn silence amid piles\nof gold and diamonds and long rows of enamelled vases. Beyond this he\nfound another room, a gynaecium filled with beautiful women reclining\non richly embroidered sofas; yet here, too, all was profound silence.\nA superb banqueting-hall next met his astonished gaze; then a silent\nkitchen; then granaries loaded with forage; then a stable crowded\nwith motionless horses. The whole place was brilliantly lighted by a\ncarbuncle which was suspended in one corner of the reception-room; and\nopposite stood an archer, with his bow and arrow raised, in the act of\ntaking aim at the jewel. As the priest passed back through this hall, he\nsaw a diamond-hilted knife lying on a marble table; and wishing to carry\naway something wherewith to accredit his story, he reached out his\nhand to take it; but no sooner had he touched it than all was dark. The\narcher had shot with his arrow, the bright jewel was shivered into a\nthousand pieces, the staircase had fled, and the priest found himself\nburied alive. [49]\n\nUsually, however, though the lightning is wont to strike dead, with its\nbasilisk glance, those who rashly enter its mysterious caverns, it is\nregarded rather as a benefactor than as a destroyer. The feelings with\nwhich the myth-making age contemplated the thunder-shower as it\nrevived the earth paralyzed by a long drought, are shown in the myth of\nOidipous. The Sphinx, whose name signifies \"the one who binds,\" is the\ndemon who sits on the cloud-rock and imprisons the rain, muttering, dark\nsayings which none but the all-knowing sun may understand. The flash\nof solar light which causes the monster to fling herself down from the\ncliff with a fearful roar, restores the land to prosperity. But besides\nthis, the association of the thunder-storm with the approach of summer\nhas produced many myths in which the lightning is symbolized as the\nlife-renewing wand of the victorious sun-god. Hence the use of the\ndivining-rod in the cure of disease; and hence the large family of\nschamir-myths in which the dead are restored to life by leaves or herbs.\nIn Grimm's tale of the \"Three Snake Leaves,\" a prince is buried alive\n(like Sindbad) with his dead wife, and seeing a snake approaching her\nbody, he cuts it in three pieces. Presently another snake, crawling from\nthe corner, saw the other lying dead, and going, away soon returned\nwith three green leaves in its mouth; then laying the parts of the body\ntogether so as to join, it put one leaf on each wound, and the dead\nsnake was alive again. The prince, applying the leaves to his wife's\nbody, restores her also to life.\" [50] In the Greek story, told by\nAElian and Apollodoros, Polyidos is shut up with the corpse of Glaukos,\nwhich he is ordered to restore to life. He kills a dragon which is\napproaching the body, but is presently astonished at seeing another\ndragon come with a blade of grass and place it upon its dead companion,\nwhich instantly rises from the ground. Polyidos takes the same blade of\ngrass, and with it resuscitates Glaukos. The same incident occurs in the\nHindu story of Panch Phul Ranee, and in Fouque's \"Sir Elidoc,\" which is\nfounded on a Breton legend.\n\nWe need not wonder, then, at the extraordinary therapeutic\nproperties which are in all Aryan folk-lore ascribed to the\nvarious lightning-plants. In Sweden sanitary amulets are made of\nmistletoe-twigs, and the plant is supposed to be a specific against\nepilepsy and an antidote for poisons. In Cornwall children are passed\nthrough holes in ash-trees in order to cure them of hernia. Ash rods are\nused in some parts of England for the cure of diseased sheep, cows, and\nhorses; and in particular they are supposed to neutralize the venom\nof serpents. The notion that snakes are afraid of an ash-tree is not\nextinct even in the United States. The other day I was told, not by an\nold granny, but by a man fairly educated and endowed with a very unusual\namount of good common-sense, that a rattlesnake will sooner go through\nfire than creep over ash leaves or into the shadow of an ash-tree.\nExactly the same statement is made by Piny, who adds that if you draw\na circle with an ash rod around the spot of ground on which a snake\nis lying, the animal must die of starvation, being as effectually\nimprisoned as Ugolino in the dungeon at Pisa. In Cornwall it is believed\nthat a blow from an ash stick will instantly kill any serpent. The ash\nshares this virtue with the hazel and fern. A Swedish peasant will tell\nyou that snakes may be deprived of their venom by a touch with a hazel\nwand; and when an ancient Greek had occasion to make his bed in the\nwoods, he selected fern leaves if possible, in the belief that the smell\nof them would drive away poisonous animals. [51]\n\nBut the beneficent character of the lightning appears still more clearly\nin another class of myths. To the primitive man the shaft of light\ncoming down from heaven was typical of the original descent of fire for\nthe benefit and improvement of the human race. The Sioux Indians account\nfor the origin of fire by a myth of unmistakable kinship; they say that\n\"their first ancestor obtained his fire from the sparks which a friendly\npanther struck from the rocks as he scampered up a stony hill.\" [52]\nThis panther is obviously the counterpart of the Aryan bird which\ndrops schamir. But the Aryan imagination hit upon a far more remarkable\nconception. The ancient Hindus obtained fire by a process similar to\nthat employed by Count Rumford in his experiments on the generation of\nheat by friction. They first wound a couple of cords around a pointed\nstick in such a way that the unwinding of the one would wind up the\nother, and then, placing the point of the stick against a circular disk\nof wood, twirled it rapidly by alternate pulls on the two strings. This\ninstrument is called a chark, and is still used in South Africa, [53]\nin Australia, in Sumatra, and among the Veddahs of Ceylon. The Russians\nfound it in Kamtchatka; and it was formerly employed in America, from\nLabrador to the Straits of Magellan. [54] The Hindus churned milk by\na similar process; [55] and in order to explain the thunder-storm, a\nSanskrit poem tells how \"once upon a time the Devas, or gods, and their\nopponents, the Asuras, made a truce, and joined together in churning\nthe ocean to procure amrita, the drink of immortality. They took Mount\nMandara for a churning-stick, and, wrapping the great serpent Sesha\nround it for a rope, they made the mountain spin round to and fro, the\nDevas pulling at the serpent's tail, and the Asuras at its head.\" [56]\nIn this myth the churning-stick, with its flying serpent-cords, is\nthe lightning, and the armrita, or drink of immortality, is simply the\nrain-water, which in Aryan folk-lore possesses the same healing virtues\nas the lightning. \"In Sclavonic myths it is the water of life which\nrestores the dead earth, a water brought by a bird from the depths of a\ngloomy cave.\" [57] It is the celestial soma or mead which Indra loves\nto drink; it is the ambrosial nectar of the Olympian gods; it is the\ncharmed water which in the Arabian Nights restores to human shape\nthe victims of wicked sorcerers; and it is the elixir of life which\nmediaeval philosophers tried to discover, and in quest of which Ponce de\nLeon traversed the wilds of Florida. [58]\n\n\"Jacky's next proceeding was to get some dry sticks and wood, and\nprepare a fire, which, to George's astonishment, he lighted thus. He got\na block of wood, in the middle of which he made a hole; then he cut and\npointed a long stick, and inserting the point into the block, worked\nit round between his palms for some time and with increasing rapidity.\nPresently there came a smell of burning wood, and soon after it burst\ninto a flame at the point of contact. Jacky cut slices of shark and\nroasted them.\"--Reade, Never too Late to Mend, chap. xxxviii.\n\nThe most interesting point in this Hindu myth is the name of the peaked\nmountain Mandara, or Manthara, which the gods and devils took for their\nchurning-stick. The word means \"a churning-stick,\" and it appears also,\nwith a prefixed preposition, in the name of the fire-drill, pramantha.\nNow Kuhn has proved that this name, pramantha, is etymologically\nidentical with Prometheus, the name of the beneficent Titan, who stole\nfire from heaven and bestowed it upon mankind as the richest of boons.\nThis sublime personage was originally nothing but the celestial drill\nwhich churns fire out of the clouds; but the Greeks had so entirely\nforgotten his origin that they interpreted his name as meaning \"the one\nwho thinks beforehand,\" and accredited him with a brother, Epimetheus,\nor \"the one who thinks too late.\" The Greeks had adopted another name,\ntrypanon, for their fire-drill, and thus the primitive character of\nPrometheus became obscured.\n\nI have said above that it was regarded as absolutely essential that\nthe divining-rod should be forked. To this rule, however, there was one\nexception, and if any further evidence be needed to convince the\nmost sceptical that the divining-rod is nothing but a symbol of\nthe lightning, that exception will furnish such evidence. For this\nexceptional kind of divining-rod was made of a pointed stick rotating\nin a block of wood, and it was the presence of hidden water or treasure\nwhich was supposed to excite the rotatory motion.\n\nIn the myths relating to Prometheus, the lightning-god appears as the\noriginator of civilization, sometimes as the creator of the human race,\nand always as its friend, [59] suffering in its behalf the most fearful\ntortures at the hands of the jealous Zeus. In one story he creates man\nby making a clay image and infusing into it a spark of the fire which he\nhad brought from heaven; in another story he is himself the first man.\nIn the Peloponnesian myth Phoroneus, who is Prometheus under another\nname, is the first man, and his mother was an ash-tree. In Norse\nmythology, also, the gods were said to have made the first man out of\nthe ash-tree Yggdrasil. The association of the heavenly fire with\nthe life-giving forces of nature is very common in the myths of both\nhemispheres, and in view of the facts already cited it need not surprise\nus. Hence the Hindu Agni and the Norse Thor were patrons of marriage,\nand in Norway, the most lucky day on which to be married is still\nsupposed to be Thursday, which in old times was the day of the\nfire-god. [60] Hence the lightning-plants have divers virtues in\nmatters pertaining to marriage. The Romans made their wedding torches\nof whitethorn; hazel-nuts are still used all over Europe in divinations\nrelating to the future lover or sweetheart; [61] and under a mistletoe\nbough it is allowable for a gentleman to kiss a lady. A vast number of\nkindred superstitions are described by Mr. Kelly, to whom I am indebted\nfor many of these examples. [62]\n\nThus we reach at last the completed conception of the divining-rod, or\nas it is called in this sense the wish-rod, with its kindred talismans,\nfrom Aladdin's lamp and the purse of Bedreddin Hassan, to the Sangreal,\nthe philosopher's stone, and the goblets of Oberon and Tristram. These\nsymbols of the reproductive energies of nature, which give to the\npossessor every good and perfect gift, illustrate the uncurbed belief in\nthe power of wish which the ancient man shared with modern children. In\nthe Norse story of Frodi's quern, the myth assumes a whimsical shape.\nThe prose Edda tells of a primeval age of gold, when everybody had\nwhatever he wanted. This was because the giant Frodi had a mill which\nground out peace and plenty and abundance of gold withal, so that it lay\nabout the roads like pebbles. Through the inexcusable avarice of\nFrodi, this wonderful implement was lost to the world. For he kept his\nmaid-servants working at the mill until they got out of patience, and\nbegan to make it grind out hatred and war. Then came a mighty sea-rover\nby night and slew Frodi and carried away the maids and the quern. When\nhe got well out to sea, he told them to grind out salt, and so they did\nwith a vengeance. They ground the ship full of salt and sank it, and so\nthe quern was lost forever, but the sea remains salt unto this day.\n\nMr. Kelly rightly identifies Frodi with the sun-god Fro or Freyr, and\nobserves that the magic mill is only another form of the fire-churn, or\nchark. According to another version the quern is still grinding away\nand keeping the sea salt, and over the place where it lies there is a\nprodigious whirlpool or maelstrom which sucks down ships.\n\nIn its completed shape, the lightning-wand is the caduceus, or rod of\nHermes. I observed, in the preceding paper, that in the Greek conception\nof Hermes there have been fused together the attributes of two deities\nwho were originally distinct. The Hermes of the Homeric Hymn is a\nwind-god; but the later Hermes Agoraios, the patron of gymnasia, the\nmutilation of whose statues caused such terrible excitement in Athens\nduring the Peloponnesian War, is a very different personage. He is\na fire-god, invested with many solar attributes, and represents the\nquickening forces of nature. In this capacity the invention of fire was\nascribed to him as well as to Prometheus; he was said to be the friend\nof mankind, and was surnamed Ploutodotes, or \"the giver of wealth.\"\n\nThe Norse wind-god Odin has in like manner acquired several of the\nattributes of Freyr and Thor. [63] His lightning-spear, which is\nborrowed from Thor, appears by a comical metamorphosis as a wish-rod\nwhich will administer a sound thrashing to the enemies of its possessor.\nHaving cut a hazel stick, you have only to lay down an old coat, name\nyour intended victim, wish he was there, and whack away: he will howl\nwith pain at every blow. This wonderful cudgel appears in Dasent's tale\nof \"The Lad who went to the North Wind,\" with which we may conclude\nthis discussion. The story is told, with little variation, in Hindustan,\nGermany, and Scandinavia.\n\nThe North Wind, representing the mischievous Hermes, once blew away a\npoor woman's meal. So her boy went to the North Wind and demanded his\nrights for the meal his mother had lost. \"I have n't got your meal,\"\nsaid the Wind, \"but here's a tablecloth which will cover itself with an\nexcellent dinner whenever you tell it to.\" So the lad took the cloth and\nstarted for home. At nightfall he stopped at an inn, spread his cloth\non the table, and ordered it to cover itself with good things, and so\nit did. But the landlord, who thought it would be money in his pocket\nto have such a cloth, stole it after the boy had gone to bed, and\nsubstituted another just like it in appearance. Next day the boy went\nhome in great glee to show off for his mother's astonishment what the\nNorth Wind had given him, but all the dinner he got that day was what\nthe old woman cooked for him. In his despair he went back to the North\nWind and called him a liar, and again demanded his rights for the meal\nhe had lost. \"I have n't got your meal,\" said the Wind, \"but here's a\nram which will drop money out of its fleece whenever you tell it to.\" So\nthe lad travelled home, stopping over night at the same inn, and when he\ngot home he found himself with a ram which did n't drop coins out of its\nfleece. A third time he visited the North Wind, and obtained a bag with\na stick in it which, at the word of command, would jump out of the bag\nand lay on until told to stop. Guessing how matters stood as to his\ncloth and ram, he turned in at the same tavern, and going to a bench lay\ndown as if to sleep. The landlord thought that a stick carried about in\na bag must be worth something, and so he stole quietly up to the bag,\nmeaning to get the stick out and change it. But just as he got within\nwhacking distance, the boy gave the word, and out jumped the stick\nand beat the thief until he promised to give back the ram and the\ntablecloth. And so the boy got his rights for the meal which the North\nWind had blown away. October, 1870.\n\n\n\n\nIII. WEREWOLVES AND SWAN-MAIDENS.\n\nIT is related by Ovid that Lykaon, king of Arkadia, once invited Zeus\nto dinner, and served up for him a dish of human flesh, in order to test\nthe god's omniscience. But the trick miserably failed, and the impious\nmonarch received the punishment which his crime had merited. He was\ntransformed into a wolf, that he might henceforth feed upon the viands\nwith which he had dared to pollute the table of the king of Olympos.\nFrom that time forth, according to Pliny, a noble Arkadian was each\nyear, on the festival of Zeus Lykaios, led to the margin of a certain\nlake. Hanging his clothes upon a tree, he then plunged into the water\nand became a wolf. For the space of nine years he roamed about the\nadjacent woods, and then, if he had not tasted human flesh during all\nthis time, he was allowed to swim back to the place where his clothes\nwere hanging, put them on, and return to his natural form. It is further\nrelated of a certain Demainetos, that, having once been present at\na human sacrifice to Zeus Lykaios, he ate of the flesh, and was\ntransformed into a wolf for a term of ten years. [64]\n\nThese and other similar mythical germs were developed by the mediaeval\nimagination into the horrible superstition of werewolves.\n\nA werewolf, or loup-garou [65] was a person who had the power of\ntransforming himself into a wolf, being endowed, while in the lupine\nstate, with the intelligence of a man, the ferocity of a wolf, and the\nirresistible strength of a demon. The ancients believed in the existence\nof such persons; but in the Middle Ages the metamorphosis was supposed\nto be a phenomenon of daily occurrence, and even at the present day,\nin secluded portions of Europe, the superstition is still cherished\nby peasants. The belief, moreover, is supported by a vast amount\nof evidence, which can neither be argued nor pooh-poohed into\ninsignificance. It is the business of the comparative mythologist to\ntrace the pedigree of the ideas from which such a conception may have\nsprung; while to the critical historian belongs the task of ascertaining\nand classifying the actual facts which this particular conception was\nused to interpret.\n\nThe mediaeval belief in werewolves is especially adapted to illustrate\nthe complicated manner in which divers mythical conceptions and\nmisunderstood natural occurrences will combine to generate a\nlong-enduring superstition. Mr. Cox, indeed, would have us believe that\nthe whole notion arose from an unintentional play upon words; but\nthe careful survey of the field, which has been taken by Hertz and\nBaring-Gould, leads to the conclusion that many other circumstances\nhave been at work. The delusion, though doubtless purely mythical in its\norigin, nevertheless presents in its developed state a curious mixture\nof mythical and historical elements.\n\nWith regard to the Arkadian legend, taken by itself, Mr. Cox is probably\nright. The story seems to belong to that large class of myths which have\nbeen devised in order to explain the meaning of equivocal words whose\ntrue significance has been forgotten. The epithet Lykaios, as applied to\nZeus, had originally no reference to wolves: it means \"the bright one,\"\nand gave rise to lycanthropic legends only because of the similarity\nin sound between the names for \"wolf\" and \"brightness.\" Aryan mythology\nfurnishes numerous other instances of this confusion. The solar deity,\nPhoibos Lykegenes, was originally the \"offspring of light\"; but popular\netymology made a kind of werewolf of him by interpreting his name as\nthe \"wolf-born.\" The name of the hero Autolykos means simply the\n\"self-luminous\"; but it was more frequently interpreted as meaning \"a\nvery wolf,\" in allusion to the supposed character of its possessor.\nBazra, the name of the citadel of Carthage, was the Punic word for\n\"fortress\"; but the Greeks confounded it with byrsa, \"a hide,\" and hence\nthe story of the ox-hides cut into strips by Dido in order to measure\nthe area of the place to be fortified. The old theory that the Irish\nwere Phoenicians had a similar origin. The name Fena, used to designate\nthe old Scoti or Irish, is the plural of Fion, \"fair,\" seen in the\nname of the hero Fion Gall, or \"Fingal\"; but the monkish chroniclers\nidentified Fena with phoinix, whence arose the myth; and by a like\nmisunderstanding of the epithet Miledh, or \"warrior,\" applied to Fion by\nthe Gaelic bards, there was generated a mythical hero, Milesius, and the\nsoubriquet \"Milesian,\" colloquially employed in speaking of the Irish.\n[66] So the Franks explained the name of the town Daras, in Mesopotamia,\nby the story that the Emperor Justinian once addressed the chief\nmagistrate with the exclamation, daras, \"thou shalt give\": [67] the\nGreek chronicler, Malalas, who spells the name Doras, informs us\nwith equal complacency that it was the place where Alexander overcame\nCodomannus with dorn, \"the spear.\" A certain passage in the Alps is\ncalled Scaletta, from its resemblance to a staircase; but according to a\nlocal tradition it owes its name to the bleaching skeletons of a\ncompany of Moors who were destroyed there in the eighth century, while\nattempting to penetrate into Northern Italy. The name of Antwerp denotes\nthe town built at a \"wharf\"; but it sounds very much like the Flemish\nhandt werpen, \"hand-throwing\": \"hence arose the legend of the giant\nwho cut of the hands of those who passed his castle without paying him\nblack-mail, and threw them into the Scheldt.\" [68] In the myth of Bishop\nHatto, related in a previous paper, the Mause-thurm is a corruption of\nmaut-thurm; it means \"customs-tower,\" and has nothing to do with mice\nor rats. Doubtless this etymology was the cause of the floating myth\ngetting fastened to this particular place; that it did not give rise\nto the myth itself is shown by the existence of the same tale in other\nplaces. Somewhere in England there is a place called Chateau Vert; the\npeasantry have corrupted it into Shotover, and say that it has\nborne that name ever since Little John shot over a high hill in the\nneighbourhood. [69] Latium means \"the flat land\"; but, according to\nVirgil, it is the place where Saturn once hid (latuisset) from the wrath\nof his usurping son Jupiter. [70]\n\nIt was in this way that the constellation of the Great Bear received\nits name. The Greek word arktos, answering to the Sanskrit riksha, meant\noriginally any bright object, and was applied to the bear--for what\nreason it would not be easy to state--and to that constellation which\nwas most conspicuous in the latitude of the early home of the Aryans.\nWhen the Greeks had long forgotten why these stars were called arktoi,\nthey symbolized them as a Great Bear fixed in the sky. So that, as\nMax Muller observes, \"the name of the Arctic regions rests on a\nmisunderstanding of a name framed thousands of years ago in Central\nAsia, and the surprise with which many a thoughtful observer has looked\nat these seven bright stars, wondering why they were ever called the\nBear, is removed by a reference to the early annals of human speech.\"\nAmong the Algonquins the sun-god Michabo was represented as a hare, his\nname being compounded of michi, \"great,\" and wabos, \"a hare\"; yet wabos\nalso meant \"white,\" so that the god was doubtless originally called\nsimply \"the Great White One.\" The same naive process has made bears of\nthe Arkadians, whose name, like that of the Lykians, merely signified\nthat they were \"children of light\"; and the metamorphosis of Kallisto,\nmother of Arkas, into a bear, and of Lykaon into a wolf, rests\napparently upon no other foundation than an erroneous etymology.\nOriginally Lykaon was neither man nor wolf; he was but another form of\nPhoibos Lykegenes, the light-born sun, and, as Mr. Cox has shown, his\nlegend is but a variation of that of Tantalos, who in time of drought\noffers to Zeus the flesh of his own offspring, the withered fruits, and\nis punished for his impiety.\n\nIt seems to me, however, that this explanation, though valid as far\nas it goes, is inadequate to explain all the features of the werewolf\nsuperstition, or to account for its presence in all Aryan countries and\namong many peoples who are not of Aryan origin. There can be no doubt\nthat the myth-makers transformed Lykaon into a wolf because of his\nunlucky name; because what really meant \"bright man\" seemed to them\nto mean \"wolf-man\"; but it has by no means been proved that a similar\nequivocation occurred in the case of all the primitive Aryan werewolves,\nnor has it been shown to be probable that among each people the\nbeing with the uncanny name got thus accidentally confounded with the\nparticular beast most dreaded by that people. Etymology alone does not\nexplain the fact that while Gaul has been the favourite haunt of the\nman-wolf, Scandinavia has been preferred by the man-bear, and Hindustan\nby the man-tiger. To account for such a widespread phenomenon we must\nseek a more general cause.\n\nNothing is more strikingly characteristic of primitive thinking than the\nclose community of nature which it assumes between man and brute. The\ndoctrine of metempsychosis, which is found in some shape or other all\nover the world, implies a fundamental identity between the two; the\nHindu is taught to respect the flocks browsing in the meadow, and will\non no account lift his hand against a cow, for who knows but it may\nhe his own grandmother? The recent researches of Mr. M`Lennan and Mr.\nHerbert Spencer have served to connect this feeling with the primeval\nworship of ancestors and with the savage customs of totemism. [71]\n\nThe worship of ancestors seems to have been every where the oldest\nsystematized form of fetichistic religion. The reverence paid to the\nchieftain of the tribe while living was continued and exaggerated after\nhis death The uncivilized man is everywhere incapable of grasping\nthe idea of death as it is apprehended by civilized people. He cannot\nunderstand that a man should pass away so as to be no longer capable of\ncommunicating with his fellows. The image of his dead chief or comrade\nremains in his mind, and the savage's philosophic realism far surpasses\nthat of the most extravagant mediaeval schoolmen; to him the persistence\nof the idea implies the persistence of the reality. The dead man,\naccordingly, is not really dead; he has thrown off his body like a husk,\nyet still retains his old appearance, and often shows himself to his old\nfriends, especially after nightfall. He is no doubt possessed of more\nextensive powers than before his transformation, [72] and may very\nlikely have a share in regulating the weather, granting or withholding\nrain. Therefore, argues the uncivilized mind, he is to be cajoled and\npropitiated more sedulously now than before his strange transformation.\n\nThis kind of worship still maintains a languid existence as the state\nreligion of China, and it still exists as a portion of Brahmanism; but\nin the Vedic religion it is to be seen in all its vigour and in all\nits naive simplicity. According to the ancient Aryan, the pitris, or\n\"Fathers\" (Lat. patres), live in the sky along with Yama, the great\noriginal Pitri of mankind. This first man came down from heaven in the\nlightning, and back to heaven both himself and all his offspring must\nhave gone. There they distribute light unto men below, and they shine\nthemselves as stars; and hence the Christianized German peasant, fifty\ncenturies later, tells his children that the stars are angels' eyes, and\nthe English cottager impresses it on the youthful mind that it is wicked\nto point at the stars, though why he cannot tell. But the Pitris are not\nstars only, nor do they content themselves with idly looking down on\nthe affairs of men, after the fashion of the laissez-faire divinities of\nLucretius. They are, on the contrary, very busy with the weather;\nthey send rain, thunder, and lightning; and they especially delight\nin rushing over the housetops in a great gale of wind, led on by their\nchief, the mysterious huntsman, Hermes or Odin.\n\nIt has been elsewhere shown that the howling dog, or wish-hound of\nHermes, whose appearance under the windows of a sick person is such\nan alarming portent, is merely the tempest personified. Throughout\nall Aryan mythology the souls of the dead are supposed to ride on the\nnight-wind, with their howling dogs, gathering into their throng the\nsouls of those just dying as they pass by their houses. [73] Sometimes\nthe whole complex conception is wrapped up in the notion of a single\ndog, the messenger of the god of shades, who comes to summon the\ndeparting soul. Sometimes, instead of a dog, we have a great ravening\nwolf who comes to devour its victim and extinguish the sunlight of life,\nas that old wolf of the tribe of Fenrir devoured little Red Riding-Hood\nwith her robe of scarlet twilight. [74] Thus we arrive at a true\nwerewolf myth. The storm-wind, or howling Rakshasa of Hindu folk-lore,\nis \"a great misshapen giant with red beard and red hair, with pointed\nprotruding teeth, ready to lacerate and devour human flesh; his body is\ncovered with coarse, bristling hair, his huge mouth is open, he looks\nfrom side to side as he walks, lusting after the flesh and blood of men,\nto satisfy his raging hunger and quench his consuming thirst. Towards\nnightfall his strength increases manifold; he can change his shape at\nwill; he haunts the woods, and roams howling through the jungle.\" [75]\n\nNow if the storm-wind is a host of Pitris, or one great Pitri who\nappears as a fearful giant, and is also a pack of wolves or wish-hounds,\nor a single savage dog or wolf, the inference is obvious to the\nmythopoeic mind that men may become wolves, at least after death. And to\nthe uncivilized thinker this inference is strengthened, as Mr. Spencer\nhas shown, by evidence registered on his own tribal totem or heraldic\nemblem. The bears and lions and leopards of heraldry are the degenerate\ndescendants of the totem of savagery which designated the tribe by a\nbeast-symbol. To the untutored mind there is everything in a name; and\nthe descendant of Brown Bear or Yellow Tiger or Silver Hyaena cannot be\npronounced unfaithful to his own style of philosophizing, if he regards\nhis ancestors, who career about his hut in the darkness of night,\nas belonging to whatever order of beasts his totem associations may\nsuggest.\n\nThus we not only see a ray of light thrown on the subject of\nmetempsychosis, but we get a glimpse of the curious process by which\nthe intensely realistic mind of antiquity arrived at the notion that\nmen could be transformed into beasts. For the belief that the soul\ncan temporarily quit the body during lifetime has been universally\nentertained; and from the conception of wolf-like ghosts it was but a\nshort step to the conception of corporeal werewolves. In the Middle Ages\nthe phenomena of trance and catalepsy were cited in proof of the theory\nthat the soul can leave the body and afterwards return to it. Hence it\nwas very difficult for a person accused of witchcraft to prove an alibi;\nfor to any amount of evidence showing that the body was innocently\nreposing at home and in bed, the rejoinder was obvious that the soul may\nnevertheless have been in attendance at the witches' Sabbath or busied\nin maiming a neighbour's cattle. According to one mediaeval notion, the\nsoul of the werewolf quit its human body, which remained in a trance\nuntil its return. [76]\n\nThe mythological basis of the werewolf superstition is now, I believe,\nsufficiently indicated. The belief, however, did not reach its complete\ndevelopment, or acquire its most horrible features, until the pagan\nhabits of thought which had originated it were modified by contact\nwith Christian theology. To the ancient there was nothing necessarily\ndiabolical in the transformation of a man into a beast. But\nChristianity, which retained such a host of pagan conceptions under such\nstrange disguises, which degraded the \"All-father\" Odin into the ogre\nof the castle to which Jack climbed on his bean-stalk, and which blended\nthe beneficent lightning-god Thor and the mischievous Hermes and the\nfaun-like Pan into the grotesque Teutonic Devil, did not fail to impart\na new and fearful character to the belief in werewolves. Lycanthropy\nbecame regarded as a species of witchcraft; the werewolf was supposed\nto have obtained his peculiar powers through the favour or connivance\nof the Devil; and hundreds of persons were burned alive or broken on\nthe wheel for having availed themselves of the privilege of\nbeast-metamorphosis. The superstition, thus widely extended and greatly\nintensified, was confirmed by many singular phenomena which cannot\nbe omitted from any thorough discussion of the nature and causes of\nlycanthropy.\n\nThe first of these phenomena is the Berserker insanity, characteristic\nof Scandinavia, but not unknown in other countries. In times when\nkilling one's enemies often formed a part of the necessary business of\nlife, persons were frequently found who killed for the mere love of the\nthing; with whom slaughter was an end desirable in itself, not merely\na means to a desirable end. What the miser is in an age which worships\nmammon, such was the Berserker in an age when the current idea of heaven\nwas that of a place where people could hack each other to pieces through\nall eternity, and when the man who refused a challenge was punished with\nconfiscation of his estates. With these Northmen, in the ninth century,\nthe chief business and amusement in life was to set sail for some\npleasant country, like Spain or France, and make all the coasts and\nnavigable rivers hideous with rapine and massacre. When at home, in the\nintervals between their freebooting expeditions, they were liable to\nbecome possessed by a strange homicidal madness, during which they would\narray themselves in the skins of wolves or bears, and sally forth by\nnight to crack the backbones, smash the skulls, and sometimes to drink\nwith fiendish glee the blood of unwary travellers or loiterers. These\nfits of madness were usually followed by periods of utter exhaustion and\nnervous depression. [77]\n\nSuch, according to the unanimous testimony of historians, was the\ncelebrated \"Berserker rage,\" not peculiar to the Northland, although\nthere most conspicuously manifested. Taking now a step in advance, we\nfind that in comparatively civilized countries there have been many\ncases of monstrous homicidal insanity. The two most celebrated cases,\namong those collected by Mr. Baring-Gould, are those of the Marechal\nde Retz, in 1440, and of Elizabeth, a Hungarian countess, in the\nseventeenth century. The Countess Elizabeth enticed young girls into\nher palace on divers pretexts, and then coolly murdered them, for the\npurpose of bathing in their blood. The spectacle of human suffering\nbecame at last such a delight to her, that she would apply with her\nown hands the most excruciating tortures, relishing the shrieks of her\nvictims as the epicure relishes each sip of his old Chateau Margaux.\nIn this way she is said to have murdered six hundred and fifty\npersons before her evil career was brought to an end; though, when one\nrecollects the famous men in buckram and the notorious trio of crows,\none is inclined to strike off a cipher, and regard sixty-five as a\nsufficiently imposing and far less improbable number. But the case of\nthe Marechal de Retz is still more frightful. A marshal of France, a\nscholarly man, a patriot, and a man of holy life, he became suddenly\npossessed by an uncontrollable desire to murder children. During seven\nyears he continued to inveigle little boys and girls into his castle,\nat the rate of about TWO EACH WEEK, (?) and then put them to death in\nvarious ways, that he might witness their agonies and bathe in their\nblood; experiencing after each occasion the most dreadful remorse,\nbut led on by an irresistible craving to repeat the crime. When this\nunparalleled iniquity was finally brought to light, the castle was found\nto contain bins full of children's bones. The horrible details of the\ntrial are to be found in the histories of France by Michelet and Martin.\n\nGoing a step further, we find cases in which the propensity to murder\nhas been accompanied by cannibalism. In 1598 a tailor of Chalons was\nsentenced by the parliament of Paris to be burned alive for lycanthropy.\n\"This wretched man had decoyed children into his shop, or attacked them\nin the gloaming when they strayed in the woods, had torn them with his\nteeth and killed them, after which he seems calmly to have dressed their\nflesh as ordinary meat, and to have eaten it with a great relish. The\nnumber of little innocents whom he destroyed is unknown. A whole caskful\nof bones was discovered in his house.\" [78] About 1850 a beggar in the\nvillage of Polomyia, in Galicia, was proved to have killed and eaten\nfourteen children. A house had one day caught fire and burnt to the\nground, roasting one of the inmates, who was unable to escape. The\nbeggar passed by soon after, and, as he was suffering from excessive\nhunger, could not resist the temptation of making a meal off the charred\nbody. From that moment he was tormented by a craving for human flesh.\nHe met a little orphan girl, about nine years old, and giving her a\npinchbeck ring told her to seek for others like it under a tree in the\nneighbouring wood. She was slain, carried to the beggar's hovel, and\neaten. In the course of three years thirteen other children mysteriously\ndisappeared, but no one knew whom to suspect. At last an innkeeper\nmissed a pair of ducks, and having no good opinion of this beggar's\nhonesty, went unexpectedly to his cabin, burst suddenly in at the door,\nand to his horror found him in the act of hiding under his cloak a\nsevered head; a bowl of fresh blood stood under the oven, and pieces of\na thigh were cooking over the fire. [79]\n\nThis occurred only about twenty years ago, and the criminal, though\nruled by an insane appetite, is not known to have been subject to any\nmental delusion. But there have been a great many similar cases, in\nwhich the homicidal or cannibal craving has been accompanied by genuine\nhallucination. Forms of insanity in which the afflicted persons imagine\nthemselves to be brute animals are not perhaps very common, but they are\nnot unknown. I once knew a poor demented old man who believed himself\nto be a horse, and would stand by the hour together before a manger,\nnibbling hay, or deluding himself with the presence of so doing. Many\nof the cannibals whose cases are related by Mr. Baring-Gould, in\nhis chapter of horrors, actually believed themselves to have been\ntransformed into wolves or other wild animals. Jean Grenier was a boy of\nthirteen, partially idiotic, and of strongly marked canine physiognomy;\nhis jaws were large and projected forward, and his canine teeth were\nunnaturally long, so as to protrude beyond the lower lip. He believed\nhimself to be a werewolf. One evening, meeting half a dozen young girls,\nhe scared them out of their wits by telling them that as soon as the sun\nhad set he would turn into a wolf and eat them for supper. A few days\nlater, one little girl, having gone out at nightfall to look after the\nsheep, was attacked by some creature which in her terror she mistook for\na wolf, but which afterwards proved to be none other than Jean Grenier.\nShe beat him off with her sheep-staff, and fled home. As several\nchildren had mysteriously disappeared from the neighbourhood, Grenier\nwas at once suspected. Being brought before the parliament of Bordeaux,\nhe stated that two years ago he had met the Devil one night in the woods\nand had signed a compact with him and received from him a wolf-skin.\nSince then he had roamed about as a wolf after dark, resuming his human\nshape by daylight. He had killed and eaten several children whom he had\nfound alone in the fields, and on one occasion he had entered a house\nwhile the family were out and taken the baby from its cradle. A careful\ninvestigation proved the truth of these statements, so far as the\ncannibalism was concerned. There is no doubt that the missing children\nwere eaten by Jean Grenier, and there is no doubt that in his own mind\nthe halfwitted boy was firmly convinced that he was a wolf. Here the\nlycanthropy was complete.\n\nIn the year 1598, \"in a wild and unfrequented spot near Caude, some\ncountrymen came one day upon the corpse of a boy of fifteen, horribly\nmutilated and bespattered with blood. As the men approached, two wolves,\nwhich had been rending the body, bounded away into the thicket. The men\ngave chase immediately, following their bloody tracks till they lost\nthem; when, suddenly crouching among the bushes, his teeth chattering\nwith fear, they found a man half naked, with long hair and beard, and\nwith his hands dyed in blood. His nails were long as claws, and were\nclotted with fresh gore and shreds of human flesh.\" [80]\n\nThis man, Jacques Roulet, was a poor, half-witted creature under the\ndominion of a cannibal appetite. He was employed in tearing to pieces\nthe corpse of the boy when these countrymen came up. Whether there were\nany wolves in the case, except what the excited imaginations of the men\nmay have conjured up, I will not presume to determine; but it is certain\nthat Roulet supposed himself to be a wolf, and killed and ate several\npersons under the influence of the delusion. He was sentenced to death,\nbut the parliament of Paris reversed the sentence, and charitably shut\nhim up in a madhouse.\n\nThe annals of the Middle Ages furnish many cases similar to these of\nGrenier and Roulet. Their share in maintaining the werewolf superstition\nis undeniable; but modern science finds in them nothing that cannot be\nreadily explained. That stupendous process of breeding, which we call\ncivilization, has been for long ages strengthening those kindly social\nfeelings by the possession of which we are chiefly distinguished from\nthe brutes, leaving our primitive bestial impulses to die for want of\nexercise, or checking in every possible way their further expansion by\nlegislative enactments. But this process, which is transforming us from\nsavages into civilized men, is a very slow one; and now and then there\noccur cases of what physiologists call atavism, or reversion to an\nancestral type of character. Now and then persons are born, in civilized\ncountries, whose intellectual powers are on a level with those of the\nmost degraded Australian savage, and these we call idiots. And now and\nthen persons are born possessed of the bestial appetites and cravings\nof primitive man, his fiendish cruelty and his liking for human flesh.\nModern physiology knows how to classify and explain these abnormal\ncases, but to the unscientific mediaeval mind they were explicable only\non the hypothesis of a diabolical metamorphosis. And there is nothing\nstrange in the fact that, in an age when the prevailing habits of\nthought rendered the transformation of men into beasts an easily\nadmissible notion, these monsters of cruelty and depraved appetite\nshould have been regarded as capable of taking on bestial forms. Nor is\nit strange that the hallucination under which these unfortunate wretches\nlaboured should have taken such a shape as to account to their feeble\nintelligence for the existence of the appetites which they were\nconscious of not sharing with their neighbours and contemporaries. If\na myth is a piece of unscientific philosophizing, it must sometimes\nbe applied to the explanation of obscure psychological as well as of\nphysical phenomena. Where the modern calmly taps his forehead and says,\n\"Arrested development,\" the terrified ancient made the sign of the cross\nand cried, \"Werewolf.\"\n\nWe shall be assisted in this explanation by turning aside for a\nmoment to examine the wild superstitions about \"changelings,\" which\ncontributed, along with so many others, to make the lives of our\nancestors anxious and miserable. These superstitions were for the most\npart attempts to explain the phenomena of insanity, epilepsy, and other\nobscure nervous diseases. A man who has hitherto enjoyed perfect health,\nand whose actions have been consistent and rational, suddenly loses all\nself-control and seems actuated by a will foreign to himself. Modern\nscience possesses the key to this phenomenon; but in former times it was\nexplicable only on the hypothesis that a demon had entered the body\nof the lunatic, or else that the fairies had stolen the real man and\nsubstituted for him a diabolical phantom exactly like him in stature and\nfeatures. Hence the numerous legends of changelings, some of which\nare very curious. In Irish folk-lore we find the story of one Rickard,\nsurnamed the Rake, from his worthless character. A good-natured, idle\nfellow, he spent all his evenings in dancing,--an accomplishment in\nwhich no one in the village could rival him. One night, in the midst of\na lively reel, he fell down in a fit. \"He's struck with a fairy-dart,\"\nexclaimed all the friends, and they carried him home and nursed him; but\nhis face grew so thin and his manner so morose that by and by all began\nto suspect that the true Rickard was gone and a changeling put in his\nplace. Rickard, with all his accomplishments, was no musician; and so,\nin order to put the matter to a crucial test, a bagpipe was left in the\nroom by the side of his bed. The trick succeeded. One hot summer's day,\nwhen all were supposed to be in the field making hay, some members\nof the family secreted in a clothes-press saw the bedroom door open a\nlittle way, and a lean, foxy face, with a pair of deep-sunken eyes, peer\nanxiously about the premises. Having satisfied itself that the coast\nwas clear, the face withdrew, the door was closed, and presently such\nravishing strains of music were heard as never proceeded from a bagpipe\nbefore or since that day. Soon was heard the rustle of innumerable\nfairies, come to dance to the changeling's music. Then the \"fairy-man\"\nof the village, who was keeping watch with the family, heated a pair\nof tongs red-hot, and with deafening shouts all burst at once into the\nsick-chamber. The music had ceased and the room was empty, but in at the\nwindow glared a fiendish face, with such fearful looks of hatred, that\nfor a moment all stood motionless with terror. But when the fairy-man,\nrecovering himself, advanced with the hot tongs to pinch its nose, it\nvanished with an unearthly yell, and there on the bed was Rickard, safe\nand sound, and cured of his epilepsy. [81]\n\nComparing this legend with numerous others relating to changelings,\nand stripping off the fantastic garb of fairy-lore with which popular\nimagination has invested them, it seems impossible to doubt that they\nhave arisen from myths devised for the purpose of explaining the obscure\nphenomena of mental disease. If this be so, they afford an excellent\ncollateral illustration of the belief in werewolves. The same mental\nhabits which led men to regard the insane or epileptic person as a\nchangeling, and which allowed them to explain catalepsy as the temporary\ndeparture of a witch's soul from its body, would enable them to\nattribute a wolf's nature to the maniac or idiot with cannibal\nappetites. And when the myth-forming process had got thus far, it would\nnot stop short of assigning to the unfortunate wretch a tangible lupine\nbody; for all ancient mythology teemed with precedents for such a\ntransformation.\n\nIt remains for us to sum up,--to tie into a bunch the keys which\nhave helped us to penetrate into the secret causes of the werewolf\nsuperstition. In a previous paper we saw what a host of myths,\nfairy-tales, and superstitious observances have sprung from attempts to\ninterpret one simple natural phenomenon,--the descent of fire from the\nclouds. Here, on the other hand, we see what a heterogeneous multitude\nof mythical elements may combine to build up in course of time a single\nenormous superstition, and we see how curiously fact and fancy have\nco-operated in keeping the superstition from falling. In the first place\nthe worship of dead ancestors with wolf totems originated the notion\nof the transformation of men into divine or superhuman wolves; and this\nnotion was confirmed by the ambiguous explanation of the storm-wind\nas the rushing of a troop of dead men's souls or as the howling of\nwolf-like monsters. Mediaeval Christianity retained these conceptions,\nmerely changing the superhuman wolves into evil demons; and finally the\noccurrence of cases of Berserker madness and cannibalism, accompanied by\nlycanthropic hallucinations, being interpreted as due to such demoniacal\nmetamorphosis, gave rise to the werewolf superstition of the Middle\nAges. The etymological proceedings, to which Mr. Cox would incontinently\nascribe the origin of the entire superstition, seemed to me to have\nplayed a very subordinate part in the matter. To suppose that Jean\nGrenier imagined himself to be a wolf, because the Greek word for wolf\nsounded like the word for light, and thus gave rise to the story of a\nlight-deity who became a wolf, seems to me quite inadmissible. Yet as\nfar as such verbal equivocations may have prevailed, they doubtless\nhelped to sustain the delusion.\n\nThus we need no longer regard our werewolf as an inexplicable creature\nof undetermined pedigree. But any account of him would be quite\nimperfect which should omit all consideration of the methods by which\nhis change of form was accomplished. By the ancient Romans the werewolf\nwas commonly called a \"skin-changer\" or \"turn-coat\" (versipellis), and\nsimilar epithets were applied to him in the Middle Ages The mediaeval\ntheory was that, while the werewolf kept his human form, his hair grew\ninwards; when he wished to become a wolf, he simply turned himself\ninside out. In many trials on record, the prisoners were closely\ninterrogated as to how this inversion might be accomplished; but I am\nnot aware that any one of them ever gave a satisfactory answer. At\nthe moment of change their memories seem to have become temporarily\nbefogged. Now and then a poor wretch had his arms and legs cut off,\nor was partially flayed, in order that the ingrowing hair might be\ndetected. [82] Another theory was, that the possessed person had merely\nto put on a wolf's skin, in order to assume instantly the lupine form\nand character; and in this may perhaps be seen a vague reminiscence of\nthe alleged fact that Berserkers were in the habit of haunting the woods\nby night, clothed in the hides of wolves or bears. [83] Such a wolfskin\nwas kept by the boy Grenier. Roulet, on the other hand, confessed to\nusing a magic salve or ointment. A fourth method of becoming a werewolf\nwas to obtain a girdle, usually made of human skin. Several cases are\nrelated in Thorpe's \"Northern Mythology.\" One hot day in harvest-time\nsome reapers lay down to sleep in the shade; when one of them, who could\nnot sleep, saw the man next him arise quietly and gird him with a strap,\nwhereupon he instantly vanished, and a wolf jumped up from among the\nsleepers and ran off across the fields. Another man, who possessed such\na girdle, once went away from home without remembering to lock it\nup. His little son climbed up to the cupboard and got it, and as he\nproceeded to buckle it around his waist, he became instantly transformed\ninto a strange-looking beast. Just then his father came in, and seizing\nthe girdle restored the child to his natural shape. The boy said that no\nsooner had he buckled it on than he was tormented with a raging hunger.\n\nSometimes the werewolf transformation led to unlucky accidents. At\nCaseburg, as a man and his wife were making hay, the woman threw down\nher pitchfork and went away, telling her husband that if a wild beast\nshould come to him during her absence he must throw his hat at it.\nPresently a she-wolf rushed towards him. The man threw his hat at it,\nbut a boy came up from another part of the field and stabbed the animal\nwith his pitchfork, whereupon it vanished, and the woman's dead body lay\nat his feet.\n\nA parallel legend shows that this woman wished to have the hat thrown\nat her, in order that she might be henceforth free from her liability\nto become a werewolf. A man was one night returning with his wife from\na merry-making when he felt the change coming on. Giving his wife the\nreins, he jumped from the wagon, telling her to strike with her apron\nat any animal which might come to her. In a few moments a wolf ran up to\nthe side of the vehicle, and, as the woman struck out with her apron, it\nbit off a piece and ran away. Presently the man returned with the\npiece of apron in his mouth and consoled his terrified wife with the\ninformation that the enchantment had left him forever.\n\nA terrible case at a village in Auvergne has found its way into the\nannals of witchcraft. \"A gentleman while hunting was suddenly attacked\nby a savage wolf of monstrous size. Impenetrable by his shot, the beast\nmade a spring upon the helpless huntsman, who in the struggle luckily,\nor unluckily for the unfortunate lady, contrived to cut off one of its\nfore-paws. This trophy he placed in his pocket, and made the best of\nhis way homewards in safety. On the road he met a friend, to whom he\nexhibited a bleeding paw, or rather (as it now appeared) a woman's hand,\nupon which was a wedding-ring. His wife's ring was at once recognized by\nthe other. His suspicions aroused, he immediately went in search of his\nwife, who was found sitting by the fire in the kitchen, her arm hidden\nbeneath her apron, when the husband, seizing her by the arm, found his\nterrible suspicions verified. The bleeding stump was there, evidently\njust fresh from the wound. She was given into custody, and in the event\nwas burned at Riom, in presence of thousands of spectators.\" [84]\n\nSometimes a werewolf was cured merely by recognizing him while in his\nbrute shape. A Swedish legend tells of a cottager who, on entering the\nforest one day without recollecting to say his Patter Noster, got into\nthe power of a Troll, who changed him into a wolf. For many years his\nwife mourned him as dead. But one Christmas eve the old Troll, disguised\nas a beggarwoman, came to the house for alms; and being taken in and\nkindly treated, told the woman that her husband might very likely appear\nto her in wolf-shape. Going at night to the pantry to lay aside a joint\nof meat for tomorrow's dinner, she saw a wolf standing with its paws on\nthe window-sill, looking wistfully in at her. \"Ah, dearest,\" said she,\n\"if I knew that thou wert really my husband, I would give thee a bone.\"\nWhereupon the wolf-skin fell off, and her husband stood before her in\nthe same old clothes which he had on the day that the Troll got hold of\nhim.\n\nIn Denmark it was believed that if a woman were to creep through a\ncolt's placental membrane stretched between four sticks, she would for\nthe rest of her life bring forth children without pain or illness; but\nall the boys would in such case be werewolves, and all the girls Maras,\nor nightmares. In this grotesque superstition appears that curious\nkinship between the werewolf and the wife or maiden of supernatural\nrace, which serves admirably to illustrate the nature of both\nconceptions, and the elucidation of which shall occupy us throughout the\nremainder of this paper.\n\nIt is, perhaps, needless to state that in the personality of the\nnightmare, or Mara, there was nothing equine. The Mara was a female\ndemon, [85] who would come at night and torment men or women by\ncrouching on their chests or stomachs and stopping their respiration.\nThe scene is well enough represented in Fuseli's picture, though the\nfrenzied-looking horse which there accompanies the demon has no place\nin the original superstition. A Netherlandish story illustrates the\ncharacter of the Mara. Two young men were in love with the same damsel.\nOne of them, being tormented every night by a Mara, sought advice from\nhis rival, and it was a treacherous counsel that he got. \"Hold a sharp\nknife with the point towards your breast, and you'll never see the Mara\nagain,\" said this false friend. The lad thanked him, but when he lay\ndown to rest he thought it as well to be on the safe side, and so held\nthe knife handle downward. So when the Mara came, instead of forcing the\nblade into his breast, she cut herself badly, and fled howling; and let\nus hope, though the legend here leaves us in the dark, that this poor\nyouth, who is said to have been the comelier of the two, revenged\nhimself on his malicious rival by marrying the young lady.\n\nBut the Mara sometimes appeared in less revolting shape, and became the\nmistress or even the wife of some mortal man to whom she happened to\ntake a fancy. In such cases she would vanish on being recognized. There\nis a well-told monkish tale of a pious knight who, journeying one day\nthrough the forest, found a beautiful lady stripped naked and tied to a\ntree, her back all covered with deep gashes streaming with blood, from a\nflogging which some bandits had given her. Of course he took her home\nto his castle and married her, and for a while they lived very happily\ntogether, and the fame of the lady's beauty was so great that kings and\nemperors held tournaments in honor of her. But this pious knight used\nto go to mass every Sunday, and greatly was he scandalized when he found\nthat his wife would never stay to assist in the Credo, but would always\nget up and walk out of church just as the choir struck up. All her\nhusband's coaxing was of no use; threats and entreaties were alike\npowerless even to elicit an explanation of this strange conduct. At last\nthe good man determined to use force; and so one Sunday, as the lady got\nup to go out, according to custom, he seized her by the arm and sternly\ncommanded her to remain. Her whole frame was suddenly convulsed, and her\ndark eyes gleamed with weird, unearthly brilliancy. The services paused\nfor a moment, and all eyes were turned toward the knight and his\nlady. \"In God's name, tell me what thou art,\" shouted the knight; and\ninstantly, says the chronicler, \"the bodily form of the lady melted\naway, and was seen no more; whilst, with a cry of anguish and of terror,\nan evil spirit of monstrous form rose from the ground, clave the chapel\nroof asunder, and disappeared in the air.\"\n\nIn a Danish legend, the Mara betrays her affinity to the Nixies, or\nSwan-maidens. A peasant discovered that his sweetheart was in the habit\nof coming to him by night as a Mara. He kept strict watch until he\ndiscovered her creeping into the room through a small knot-hole in the\ndoor. Next day he made a peg, and after she had come to him, drove in\nthe peg so that she was unable to escape. They were married and lived\ntogether many years; but one night it happened that the man, joking with\nhis wife about the way in which he had secured her, drew the peg from\nthe knot-hole, that she might see how she had entered his room. As she\npeeped through, she became suddenly quite small, passed out, and was\nnever seen again.\n\nThe well-known pathological phenomena of nightmare are sufficient to\naccount for the mediaeval theory of a fiend who sits upon one's bosom\nand hinders respiration; but as we compare these various legends\nrelating to the Mara, we see that a more recondite explanation is needed\nto account for all her peculiarities. Indigestion may interfere with our\nbreathing, but it does not make beautiful women crawl through keyholes,\nnor does it bring wives from the spirit-world. The Mara belongs to an\nancient family, and in passing from the regions of monkish superstition\nto those of pure mythology we find that, like her kinsman the werewolf,\nshe had once seen better days. Christianity made a demon of the Mara,\nand adopted the theory that Satan employed these seductive creatures as\nagents for ruining human souls. Such is the character of the knight's\nwife, in the monkish legend just cited. But in the Danish tale the\nMara appears as one of that large family of supernatural wives who are\npermitted to live with mortal men under certain conditions, but who are\ncompelled to flee away when these conditions are broken, as is always\nsure to be the case. The eldest and one of the loveliest of this family\nis the Hindu nymph Urvasi, whose love adventures with Pururavas are\nnarrated in the Puranas, and form the subject of the well-known and\nexquisite Sanskrit drama by Kalidasa. Urvasi is allowed to live with\nPururavas so long as she does not see him undressed. But one night her\nkinsmen, the Gandharvas, or cloud-demons, vexed at her long absence from\nheaven, resolved to get her away from her mortal companion, They stole\na pet lamb which had been tied at the foot of her couch, whereat she\nbitterly upbraided her husband. In rage and mortification, Pururavas\nsprang up without throwing on his tunic, and grasping his sword sought\nthe robber. Then the wicked Gandharvas sent a flash of lightning, and\nUrvasi, seeing her naked husband, instantly vanished.\n\nThe different versions of this legend, which have been elaborately\nanalyzed by comparative mythologists, leave no doubt that Urvasi is\none of the dawn-nymphs or bright fleecy clouds of early morning, which\nvanish as the splendour of the sun is unveiled. We saw, in the preceding\npaper, that the ancient Aryans regarded the sky as a sea or great lake,\nand that the clouds were explained variously as Phaiakian ships with\nbird-like beaks sailing over this lake, or as bright birds of divers\nshapes and hues. The light fleecy cirrhi were regarded as mermaids, or\nas swans, or as maidens with swan's plumage. In Sanskrit they are called\nApsaras, or \"those who move in the water,\" and the Elves and Maras of\nTeutonic mythology have the same significance. Urvasi appears in one\nlegend as a bird; and a South German prescription for getting rid of\nthe Mara asserts that if she be wrapped up in the bedclothes and\nfirmly held, a white dove will forthwith fly from the room, leaving the\nbedclothes empty. [86]\n\nIn the story of Melusina the cloud-maiden appears as a kind of mermaid,\nbut in other respects the legend resembles that of Urvasi. Raymond,\nCount de la Foret, of Poitou, having by an accident killed his patron\nand benefactor during a hunting excursion, fled in terror and despair\ninto the deep recesses of the forest. All the afternoon and evening he\nwandered through the thick dark woods, until at midnight he came upon\na strange scene. All at once \"the boughs of the trees became less\ninterlaced, and the trunks fewer; next moment his horse, crashing\nthrough the shrubs, brought him out on a pleasant glade, white with\nrime, and illumined by the new moon; in the midst bubbled up a limpid\nfountain, and flowed away over a pebbly-floor with a soothing murmur.\nNear the fountain-head sat three maidens in glimmering white dresses,\nwith long waving golden hair, and faces of inexpressible beauty.\" [87]\nOne of them advanced to meet Raymond, and according to all mythological\nprecedent, they were betrothed before daybreak. In due time the\nfountain-nymph [88] became Countess de la Foret, but her husband was\ngiven to understand that all her Saturdays would be passed in strictest\nseclusion, upon which he must never dare to intrude, under penalty of\nlosing her forever. For many years all went well, save that the fair\nMelusina's children were, without exception, misshapen or disfigured.\nBut after a while this strange weekly seclusion got bruited about all\nover the neighbourhood, and people shook their heads and looked grave\nabout it. So many gossiping tales came to the Count's ears, that he\nbegan to grow anxious and suspicious, and at last he determined to know\nthe worst. He went one Saturday to Melusina's private apartments, and\ngoing through one empty room after another, at last came to a locked\ndoor which opened into a bath; looking through a keyhole, there he\nsaw the Countess transformed from the waist downwards into a fish,\ndisporting herself like a mermaid in the water. Of course he could not\nkeep the secret, but when some time afterwards they quarrelled, must\nneeds address her as \"a vile serpent, contaminator of his honourable\nrace.\" So she disappeared through the window, but ever afterward hovered\nabout her husband's castle of Lusignan, like a Banshee, whenever one of\nits lords was about to die.\n\nThe well-known story of Undine is similar to that of Melusina, save that\nthe naiad's desire to obtain a human soul is a conception foreign to\nthe spirit of the myth, and marks the degradation which Christianity had\ninflicted upon the denizens of fairy-land. In one of Dasent's tales the\nwater-maiden is replaced by a kind of werewolf. A white bear marries a\nyoung girl, but assumes the human shape at night. She is never to look\nupon him in his human shape, but how could a young bride be expected\nto obey such an injunction as that? She lights a candle while he is\nsleeping, and discovers the handsomest prince in the world; unluckily\nshe drops tallow on his shirt, and that tells the story. But she is more\nfortunate than poor Raymond, for after a tiresome journey to the \"land\neast of the sun and west of the moon,\" and an arduous washing-match\nwith a parcel of ugly Trolls, she washes out the spots, and ends her\nhusband's enchantment. [89]\n\nIn the majority of these legends, however, the Apsaras, or cloud-maiden,\nhas a shirt of swan's feathers which plays the same part as the wolfskin\ncape or girdle of the werewolf. If you could get hold of a werewolf's\nsack and burn it, a permanent cure was effected. No danger of a relapse,\nunless the Devil furnished him with a new wolfskin. So the swan-maiden\nkept her human form, as long as she was deprived of her tunic of\nfeathers. Indo-European folk-lore teems with stories of swan-maidens\nforcibly wooed and won by mortals who had stolen their clothes. A man\ntravelling along the road passes by a lake where several lovely girls\nare bathing; their dresses, made of feathers curiously and daintily\nwoven, lie on the shore. He approaches the place cautiously and steals\none of these dresses. [90] When the girls have finished their bathing,\nthey all come and get their dresses and swim away as swans; but the one\nwhose dress is stolen must needs stay on shore and marry the thief. It\nis needless to add that they live happily together for many years,\nor that finally the good man accidentally leaves the cupboard door\nunlocked, whereupon his wife gets back her swan-shirt and flies away\nfrom him, never to return. But it is not always a shirt of feathers. In\none German story, a nobleman hunting deer finds a maiden bathing in a\nclear pool in the forest. He runs stealthily up to her and seizes her\nnecklace, at which she loses the power to flee. They are married, and\nshe bears seven sons at once, all of whom have gold chains about their\nnecks, and are able to transform themselves into swans whenever they\nlike. A Flemish legend tells of three Nixies, or water-sprites, who came\nout of the Meuse one autumn evening, and helped the villagers celebrate\nthe end of the vintage. Such graceful dancers had never been seen in\nFlanders, and they could sing as well as they could dance. As the night\nwas warm, one of them took off her gloves and gave them to her partner\nto hold for her. When the clock struck twelve the other two started off\nin hot haste, and then there was a hue and cry for gloves. The lad would\nkeep them as love-tokens, and so the poor Nixie had to go home without\nthem; but she must have died on the way, for next morning the waters of\nthe Meuse were blood-red, and those damsels never returned.\n\nIn the Faro Islands it is believed that seals cast off their skins every\nninth night, assume human forms, and sing and dance like men and women\nuntil daybreak, when they resume their skins and their seal natures.\nOf course a man once found and hid one of these sealskins, and so got\na mermaid for a wife; and of course she recovered the skin and escaped.\n[91] On the coasts of Ireland it is supposed to be quite an ordinary\nthing for young sea-fairies to get human husbands in this way; the\nbrazen things even come to shore on purpose, and leave their red caps\nlying around for young men to pick up; but it behooves the husband to\nkeep a strict watch over the red cap, if he would not see his children\nleft motherless.\n\nThis mermaid's cap has contributed its quota to the superstitions of\nwitchcraft. An Irish story tells how Red James was aroused from sleep\none night by noises in the kitchen. Going down to the door, he saw a\nlot of old women drinking punch around the fireplace, and laughing and\njoking with his housekeeper. When the punchbowl was empty, they all put\non red caps, and singing\n\n     \"By yarrow and rue,\n     And my red cap too,\n     Hie me over to England,\"\n\nthey flew up chimney. So Jimmy burst into the room, and seized the\nhousekeeper's cap, and went along with them. They flew across the sea to\na castle in England, passed through the keyholes from room to room and\ninto the cellar, where they had a famous carouse. Unluckily Jimmy, being\nunused to such good cheer, got drunk, and forgot to put on his cap when\nthe others did. So next morning the lord's butler found him dead-drunk\non the cellar floor, surrounded by empty casks. He was sentenced to be\nhung without any trial worth speaking of; but as he was carted to the\ngallows an old woman cried out, \"Ach, Jimmy alanna! Would you be afther\ndyin' in a strange land without your red birredh?\" The lord made no\nobjections, and so the red cap was brought and put on him. Accordingly\nwhen Jimmy had got to the gallows and was making his last speech for the\nedification of the spectators, he unexpectedly and somewhat irrelevantly\nexclaimed, \"By yarrow and rue,\" etc., and was off like a rocket,\nshooting through the blue air en route for old Ireland. [92]\n\nIn another Irish legend an enchanted ass comes into the kitchen of a\ngreat house every night, and washes the dishes and scours the tins,\nso that the servants lead an easy life of it. After a while in their\nexuberant gratitude they offer him any present for which he may feel\ninclined to ask. He desires only \"an ould coat, to keep the chill off of\nhim these could nights\"; but as soon as he gets into the coat he resumes\nhis human form and bids them good by, and thenceforth they may wash\ntheir own dishes and scour their own tins, for all him.\n\nBut we are diverging from the subject of swan-maidens, and are in danger\nof losing ourselves in that labyrinth of popular fancies which is more\nintricate than any that Daidalos ever planned. The significance of\nall these sealskins and feather-dresses and mermaid caps and\nwerewolf-girdles may best be sought in the etymology of words like the\nGerman leichnam, in which the body is described as a garment of flesh\nfor the soul. [93] In the naive philosophy of primitive thinkers, the\nsoul, in passing from one visible shape to another, had only to put on\nthe outward integument of the creature in which it wished to incarnate\nitself. With respect to the mode of metamorphosis, there is little\ndifference between the werewolf and the swan-maiden; and the similarity\nis no less striking between the genesis of the two conceptions. The\noriginal werewolf is the night-wind, regarded now as a manlike deity and\nnow as a howling lupine fiend; and the original swan-maiden is the\nlight fleecy cloud, regarded either as a woman-like goddess or as a\nbird swimming in the sky sea. The one conception has been productive of\nlittle else but horrors; the other has given rise to a great variety\nof fanciful creations, from the treacherous mermaid and the fiendish\nnightmare to the gentle Undine, the charming Nausikaa, and the stately\nMuse of classic antiquity.\n\nWe have seen that the original werewolf, howling in the wintry blast,\nis a kind of psychopomp, or leader of departed souls; he is the\nwild ancestor of the death-dog, whose voice under the window of a\nsick-chamber is even now a sound of ill-omen. The swan-maiden has also\nbeen supposed to summon the dying to her home in the Phaiakian land.\nThe Valkyries, with their shirts of swan-plumage, who hovered over\nScandinavian battle-fields to receive the souls of falling heroes, were\nidentical with the Hindu Apsaras; and the Houris of the Mussulman belong\nto the same family. Even for the angels,--women with large wings, who\nare seen in popular pictures bearing mortals on high towards heaven,--we\ncan hardly claim a different kinship. Melusina, when she leaves\nthe castle of Lusignan, becomes a Banshee; and it has been a common\nsuperstition among sailors, that the appearance of a mermaid, with her\ncomb and looking-glass, foretokens shipwreck, with the loss of all on\nboard.\n\nOctober, 1870.\n\n\n\n\nIV. LIGHT AND DARKNESS.\n\nWHEN Maitland blasphemously asserted that God was but \"a Bogie of\nthe nursery,\" he unwittingly made a remark as suggestive in point of\nphilology as it was crude and repulsive in its atheism. When examined\nwith the lenses of linguistic science, the \"Bogie\" or \"Bug-a-boo\" or\n\"Bugbear\" of nursery lore turns out to be identical, not only with\nthe fairy \"Puck,\" whom Shakespeare has immortalized, but also with the\nSlavonic \"Bog\" and the \"Baga\" of the Cuneiform Inscriptions, both\nof which are names for the Supreme Being. If we proceed further, and\ninquire after the ancestral form of these epithets,--so strangely\nincongruous in their significations,--we shall find it in the Old Aryan\n\"Bhaga,\" which reappears unchanged in the Sanskrit of the Vedas, and has\nleft a memento of itself in the surname of the Phrygian Zeus \"Bagaios.\"\nIt seems originally to have denoted either the unclouded sun or the sky\nof noonday illumined by the solar rays. In Sayana's commentary on the\nRig-Veda, Bhaga is enumerated among the seven (or eight) sons of Aditi,\nthe boundless Orient; and he is elsewhere described as the lord of life,\nthe giver of bread, and the bringer of happiness. [94]\n\nThus the same name which, to the Vedic poet, to the Persian of the time\nof Xerxes, and to the modern Russian, suggests the supreme majesty\nof deity, is in English associated with an ugly and ludicrous fiend,\nclosely akin to that grotesque Northern Devil of whom Southey was unable\nto think without laughing. Such is the irony of fate toward a deposed\ndeity. The German name for idol--Abgott, that is, \"ex-god,\" or\n\"dethroned god\"--sums up in a single etymology the history of the\nhavoc wrought by monotheism among the ancient symbols of deity. In\nthe hospitable Pantheon of the Greeks and Romans a niche was always\nin readiness for every new divinity who could produce respectable\ncredentials; but the triumph of monotheism converted the stately mansion\ninto a Pandemonium peopled with fiends. To the monotheist an \"ex-god\"\nwas simply a devilish deceiver of mankind whom the true God had\nsucceeded in vanquishing; and thus the word demon, which to the ancient\nmeant a divine or semi-divine being, came to be applied to fiends\nexclusively. Thus the Teutonic races, who preserved the name of their\nhighest divinity, Odin,--originally, Guodan,--by which to designate\nthe God of the Christian, [95] were unable to regard the Bog of ancient\ntradition as anything but an \"ex-god,\" or vanquished demon.\n\nThe most striking illustration of this process is to be found in the\nword devil itself: To a reader unfamiliar with the endless tricks which\nlanguage delights in playing, it may seem shocking to be told that the\nGypsies use the word devil as the name of God. [96] This, however, is\nnot because these people have made the archfiend an object of worship,\nbut because the Gypsy language, descending directly from the Sanskrit,\nhas retained in its primitive exalted sense a word which the English\nlanguage has received only in its debased and perverted sense. The\nTeutonic words devil, teufel, diuval, djofull, djevful, may all\nbe traced back to the Zend dev, [97] a name in which is implicitly\ncontained the record of the oldest monotheistic revolution known to\nhistory. The influence of the so-called Zoroastrian reform upon the\nlong-subsequent development of Christianity will receive further notice\nin the course of this paper; for the present it is enough to know that\nit furnished for all Christendom the name by which it designates the\nauthor of evil. To the Parsee follower of Zarathustra the name of the\nDevil has very nearly the same signification as to the Christian; yet,\nas Grimm has shown, it is nothing else than a corruption of deva, the\nSanskrit name for God. When Zarathustra overthrew the primeval Aryan\nnature-worship in Bactria, this name met the same evil fate which in\nearly Christian times overtook the word demon, and from a symbol of\nreverence became henceforth a symbol of detestation. [98] But throughout\nthe rest of the Aryan world it achieved a nobler career, producing the\nGreek theos, the Lithuanian diewas, the Latin deus, and hence the modern\nFrench Dieu, all meaning God.\n\nIf we trace back this remarkable word to its primitive source in that\nonce lost but now partially recovered mother-tongue from which all our\nAryan languages are descended, we find a root div or dyu, meaning \"to\nshine.\" From the first-mentioned form comes deva, with its numerous\nprogeny of good and evil appellatives; from the latter is derived the\nname of Dyaus, with its brethren, Zeus and Jupiter. In Sanskrit dyu,\nas a noun, means \"sky\" and \"day\"; and there are many passages in the\nRig-Veda where the character of the god Dyaus, as the personification\nof the sky or the brightness of the ethereal heavens, is unmistakably\napparent. This key unlocks for us one of the secrets of Greek mythology.\nSo long as there was for Zeus no better etymology than that which\nassigned it to the root zen, \"to live,\" [99] there was little hope\nof understanding the nature of Zeus. But when we learn that Zeus is\nidentical with Dyaus, the bright sky, we are enabled to understand\nHorace's expression, \"sub Jove frigido,\" and the prayer of the\nAthenians, \"Rain, rain, dear Zeus, on the land of the Athenians, and on\nthe fields.\" [100] Such expressions as these were retained by the Greeks\nand Romans long after they had forgotten that their supreme deity\nwas once the sky. Yet even the Brahman, from whose mind the physical\nsignificance of the god's name never wholly disappeared, could speak of\nhim as Father Dyaus, the great Pitri, or ancestor of gods and men; and\nin this reverential name Dyaus pitar may be seen the exact equivalent of\nthe Roman's Jupiter, or Jove the Father. The same root can be followed\ninto Old German, where Zio is the god of day; and into Anglo-Saxon,\nwhere Tiwsdaeg, or the day of Zeus, is the ancestral form of Tuesday.\n\nThus we again reach the same results which were obtained from the\nexamination of the name Bhaga. These various names for the supreme Aryan\ngod, which without the help afforded by the Vedas could never have\nbeen interpreted, are seen to have been originally applied to the\nsun-illumined firmament. Countless other examples, when similarly\nanalyzed, show that the earliest Aryan conception of a Divine Power,\nnourishing man and sustaining the universe, was suggested by the light\nof the mighty Sun; who, as modern science has shown, is the originator\nof all life and motion upon the globe, and whom the ancients delighted\nto believe the source, not only of \"the golden light,\" [101] but of\neverything that is bright, joy-giving, and pure. Nevertheless, in\naccepting this conclusion as well established by linguistic science, we\nmust be on our guard against an error into which writers on mythology\nare very liable to fall. Neither sky nor sun nor light of day, neither\nZeus nor Apollo, neither Dyaus nor Indra, was ever worshipped by the\nancient Aryan in anything like a monotheistic sense. To interpret Zeus\nor Jupiter as originally the supreme Aryan god, and to regard classic\npaganism as one of the degraded remnants of a primeval monotheism, is to\nsin against the canons of a sound inductive philosophy. Philology itself\nteaches us that this could not have been so. Father Dyaus was originally\nthe bright sky and nothing more. Although his name became generalized,\nin the classic languages, into deus, or God, it is quite certain that in\nearly days, before the Aryan separation, it had acquired no such exalted\nsignificance. It was only in Greece and Rome--or, we may say, among\nthe still united Italo-Hellenic tribes--that Jupiter-Zeus attained a\npre-eminence over all other deities. The people of Iran quite\nrejected him, the Teutons preferred Thor and Odin, and in India he was\nsuperseded, first by Indra, afterwards by Brahma and Vishnu. We need\nnot, therefore, look for a single supreme divinity among the old Aryans;\nnor may we expect to find any sense, active or dormant, of monotheism in\nthe primitive intelligence of uncivilized men. [102] The whole fabric\nof comparative mythology, as at present constituted, and as described\nabove, in the first of these papers, rests upon the postulate that the\nearliest religion was pure fetichism.\n\nIn the unsystematic nature-worship of the old Aryans the gods are\npresented to us only as vague powers, with their nature and attributes\ndimly defined, and their relations to each other fluctuating and often\ncontradictory. There is no theogony, no regular subordination of one\ndeity to another. The same pair of divinities appear now as father and\ndaughter, now as brother and sister, now as husband and wife; and again\nthey quite lose their personality, and are represented as mere natural\nphenomena. As Muller observes, \"The poets of the Veda indulged freely in\ntheogonic speculations without being frightened by any contradictions.\nThey knew of Indra as the greatest of gods, they knew of Agni as the god\nof gods, they knew of Varuna as the ruler of all; but they were by no\nmeans startled at the idea that their Indra had a mother, or that\ntheir Agni [Latin ignis] was born like a babe from the friction of two\nfire-sticks, or that Varuna and his brother Mitra were nursed in the lap\nof Aditi.\" [103] Thus we have seen Bhaga, the daylight, represented\nas the offspring, of Aditi, the boundless Orient; but he had several\nbrothers, and among them were Mitra, the sun, Varuna, the overarching\nfirmament, and Vivasvat, the vivifying sun. Manifestly we have here\nbut so many different names for what is at bottom one and the same\nconception. The common element which, in Dyaus and Varuna, in Bhaga and\nIndra, was made an object of worship, is the brightness, warmth, and\nlife of day, as contrasted with the darkness, cold, and seeming death\nof the night-time. And this common element was personified in as many\ndifferent ways as the unrestrained fancy of the ancient worshipper saw\nfit to devise. [104]\n\nThus we begin to see why a few simple objects, like the sun, the sky,\nthe dawn, and the night, should be represented in mythology by such\na host of gods, goddesses, and heroes. For at one time the Sun is\nrepresented as the conqueror of hydras and dragons who hide away from\nmen the golden treasures of light and warmth, and at another time he is\nrepresented as a weary voyager traversing the sky-sea amid many perils,\nwith the steadfast purpose of returning to his western home and\nhis twilight bride; hence the different conceptions of Herakles,\nBellerophon, and Odysseus. Now he is represented as the son of the Dawn,\nand again, with equal propriety, as the son of the Night, and the fickle\nlover of the Dawn; hence we have, on the one hand, stories of a virgin\nmother who dies in giving birth to a hero, and, on the other hand,\nstories of a beautiful maiden who is forsaken and perhaps cruelly slain\nby her treacherous lover. Indeed, the Sun's adventures with so many\ndawn-maidens have given him quite a bad character, and the legends are\nnumerous in which he appears as the prototype of Don Juan. Yet again his\nseparation from the bride of his youth is described as due to no fault\nof his own, but to a resistless decree of fate, which hurries him away\nas Aineias was compelled to abandon Dido. Or, according to a third\nand equally plausible notion, he is a hero of ascetic virtues, and the\ndawn-maiden is a wicked enchantress, daughter of the sensual Aphrodite,\nwho vainly endeavours to seduce him. In the story of Odysseus these\nvarious conceptions are blended together. When enticed by artful women,\n[105] he yields for a while to the temptation; but by and by his longing\nto see Penelope takes him homeward, albeit with a record which Penelope\nmight not altogether have liked. Again, though the Sun, \"always roaming\nwith a hungry heart,\" has seen many cities and customs of strange men,\nhe is nevertheless confined to a single path,--a circumstance which\nseems to have occasioned much speculation in the primeval mind.\nGarcilaso de la Vega relates of a certain Peruvian Inca, who seems to\nhave been an \"infidel\" with reference to the orthodox mythology of his\nday, that he thought the Sun was not such a mighty god after all; for\nif he were, he would wander about the heavens at random instead of\ngoing forever, like a horse in a treadmill, along the same course. The\nAmerican Indians explained this circumstance by myths which told how the\nSun was once caught and tied with a chain which would only let him swing\na little way to one side or the other. The ancient Aryan developed the\nnobler myth of the labours of Herakles, performed in obedience to the\nbidding of Eurystheus. Again, the Sun must needs destroy its parents,\nthe Night and the Dawn; and accordingly his parents, forewarned by\nprophecy, expose him in infancy, or order him to be put to death; but\nhis tragic destiny never fails to be accomplished to the letter.\nAnd again the Sun, who engages in quarrels not his own, is sometimes\nrepresented as retiring moodily from the sight of men, like Achilleus\nand Meleagros: he is short-lived and ill-fated, born to do much good\nand to be repaid with ingratitude; his life depends on the duration of a\nburning brand, and when that is extinguished he must die.\n\nThe myth of the great Theban hero, Oidipous, well illustrates the\nmultiplicity of conceptions which clustered about the daily career of\nthe solar orb. His father, Laios, had been warned by the Delphic oracle\nthat he was in danger of death from his own son. The newly born Oidipous\nwas therefore exposed on the hillside, but, like Romulus and Remus, and\nall infants similarly situated in legend, was duly rescued. He was taken\nto Corinth, where he grew up to manhood. Journeying once to Thebes, he\ngot into a quarrel with an old man whom he met on the road, and slew\nhim, who was none other than his father, Laios. Reaching Thebes, he\nfound the city harassed by the Sphinx, who afflicted the land with\ndrought until she should receive an answer to her riddles. Oidipous\ndestroyed the monster by solving her dark sayings, and as a reward\nreceived the kingdom, with his own mother, Iokaste, as his bride. Then\nthe Erinyes hastened the discovery of these dark deeds; Iokaste died in\nher bridal chamber; and Oidipous, having blinded himself, fled to the\ngrove of the Eumenides, near Athens, where, amid flashing lightning and\npeals of thunder, he died.\n\nOidipous is the Sun. Like all the solar heroes, from Herakles and\nPerseus to Sigurd and William Tell, he performs his marvellous deeds at\nthe behest of others. His father, Laios, is none other than the\nVedic Dasyu, the night-demon who is sure to be destroyed by his solar\noffspring In the evening, Oidipous is united to the Dawn, the mother who\nhad borne him at daybreak; and here the original story doubtless ended.\nIn the Vedic hymns we find Indra, the Sun, born of Dahana (Daphne),\nthe Dawn, whom he afterwards, in the evening twilight, marries. To the\nIndian mind the story was here complete; but the Greeks had forgotten\nand outgrown the primitive signification of the myth. To them Oidipous\nand Iokaste were human, or at least anthropomorphic beings; and a\nmarriage between them was a fearful crime which called for bitter\nexpiation. Thus the latter part of the story arose in the effort to\nsatisfy a moral feeling As the name of Laios denotes the dark night, so,\nlike Iole, Oinone, and Iamos, the word Iokaste signifies the delicate\nviolet tints of the morning and evening clouds. Oidipous was exposed,\nlike Paris upon Ida (a Vedic word meaning \"the earth\"), because the\nsunlight in the morning lies upon the hillside. [106] He is borne on\nto the destruction of his father and the incestuous marriage with his\nmother by an irresistible Moira, or Fate; the sun cannot but slay the\ndarkness and hasten to the couch of the violet twilight. [107] The\nSphinx is the storm-demon who sits on the cloud-rock and imprisons the\nrain; she is the same as Medusa, Ahi, or Echidna, and Chimaira, and is\nakin to the throttling snakes of darkness which the jealous Here sent to\ndestroy Herakles in his cradle. The idea was not derived from Egypt, but\nthe Greeks, on finding Egyptian figures resembling their conception of\nthe Sphinx, called them by the same name. The omniscient Sun comprehends\nthe sense of her dark mutterings, and destroys her, as Indra slays\nVritra, bringing down rain upon the parched earth. The Erinyes, who\nbring to light the crimes of Oidipous, have been explained, in a\nprevious paper, as the personification of daylight, which reveals the\nevil deeds done under the cover of night. The grove of the Erinyes, like\nthe garden of the Hyperboreans, represents \"the fairy network of clouds,\nwhich are the first to receive and the last to lose the light of the sun\nin the morning and in the evening; hence, although Oidipous dies in a\nthunder-storm, yet the Eumenides are kind to him, and his last hour is\none of deep peace and tranquillity.\" [108] To the last remains with him\nhis daughter Antigone, \"she who is born opposite,\" the pale light which\nsprings up opposite to the setting sun.\n\nThese examples show that a story-root may be as prolific of\nheterogeneous offspring as a word-root. Just as we find the root spak,\n\"to look,\" begetting words so various as sceptic, bishop, speculate,\nconspicsuous, species, and spice, we must expect to find a simple\nrepresentation of the diurnal course of the sun, like those lyrically\ngiven in the Veda, branching off into stories as diversified as those\nof Oidipous, Herakles, Odysseus, and Siegfried. In fact, the types\nupon which stories are constructed are wonderfully few. Some clever\nplaywright--I believe it was Scribe--has said that there are only seven\npossible dramatic situations; that is, all the plays in the world may be\nclassed with some one of seven archetypal dramas. [109] If this be\ntrue, the astonishing complexity of mythology taken in the concrete, as\ncompared with its extreme simplicity when analyzed, need not surprise\nus.\n\nThe extreme limits of divergence between stories descended from a common\nroot are probably reached in the myths of light and darkness with which\nthe present discussion is mainly concerned The subject will be best\nelucidated by taking a single one of these myths and following its\nvarious fortunes through different regions of the Aryan world. The myth\nof Hercules and Cacus has been treated by M. Breal in an essay which\nis one of the most valuable contributions ever made to the study of\ncomparative mythology; and while following his footsteps our task will\nbe an easy one.\n\nThe battle between Hercules and Cacus, although one of the oldest of the\ntraditions common to the whole Indo-European race, appears in Italy as\na purely local legend, and is narrated as such by Virgil, in the eighth\nbook of the AEneid; by Livy, at the beginning of his history; and\nby Propertius and Ovid. Hercules, journeying through Italy after his\nvictory over Geryon, stops to rest by the bank of the Tiber. While he is\ntaking his repose, the three-headed monster Cacus, a son of Vulcan and\na formidable brigand, comes and steals his cattle, and drags them\ntail-foremost to a secret cavern in the rocks. But the lowing of the\ncows arouses Hercules, and he runs toward the cavern where the robber,\nalready frightened, has taken refuge. Armed with a huge flinty rock, he\nbreaks open the entrance of the cavern, and confronts the demon within,\nwho vomits forth flames at him and roars like the thunder in the\nstorm-cloud. After a short combat, his hideous body falls at the feet\nof the invincible hero, who erects on the spot an altar to Jupiter\nInventor, in commemoration of the recovery of his cattle. Ancient Rome\nteemed with reminiscences of this event, which Livy regarded as first\nin the long series of the exploits of his countrymen. The place where\nHercules pastured his oxen was known long after as the Forum Boarium;\nnear it the Porta Trigemina preserved the recollection of the monster's\ntriple head; and in the time of Diodorus Siculus sight-seers were shown\nthe cavern of Cacus on the slope of the Aventine. Every tenth day\nthe earlier generations of Romans celebrated the victory with solemn\nsacrifices at the Ara Maxima; and on days of triumph the fortunate\ngeneral deposited there a tithe of his booty, to be distributed among\nthe citizens.\n\nIn this famous myth, however, the god Hercules did not originally\nfigure. The Latin Hercules was an essentially peaceful and domestic\ndeity, watching over households and enclosures, and nearly akin to\nTerminus and the Penates. He does not appear to have been a solar\ndivinity at all. But the purely accidental resemblance of his name to\nthat of the Greek deity Herakles, [110] and the manifest identity of the\nCacus-myth with the story of the victory of Herakles over Geryon, led\nto the substitution of Hercules for the original hero of the legend,\nwho was none other than Jupiter, called by his Sabine name Sancus. Now\nJohannes Lydus informs us that, in Sabine, Sancus signified \"the sky,\"\na meaning which we have already seen to belong to the name Jupiter. The\nsame substitution of the Greek hero for the Roman divinity led to the\nalteration of the name of the demon overcome by his thunderbolts. The\ncorrupted title Cacus was supposed to be identical with the Greek word\nkakos, meaning \"evil\" and the corruption was suggested by the epithet of\nHerakles, Alexikakos, or \"the averter of ill.\" Originally, however,\nthe name was Caecius, \"he who blinds or darkens,\" and it corresponds\nliterally to the name of the Greek demon Kaikias, whom an old proverb,\npreserved by Aulus Gellius, describes as a stealer of the clouds. [111]\n\nThus the significance of the myth becomes apparent. The three-headed\nCacus is seen to be a near kinsman of Geryon's three-headed dog Orthros,\nand of the three-headed Kerberos, the hell-hound who guards the dark\nregions below the horizon. He is the original werewolf or Rakshasa, the\nfiend of the storm who steals the bright cattle of Helios, and hides\nthem in the black cavernous rock, from which they are afterwards rescued\nby the schamir or lightning-stone of the solar hero. The physical\ncharacter of the myth is apparent even in the description of Virgil,\nwhich reads wonderfully like a Vedic hymn in celebration of the exploits\nof Indra. But when we turn to the Veda itself, we find the correctness\nof the interpretation demonstrated again and again, with inexhaustible\nprodigality of evidence. Here we encounter again the three-headed\nOrthros under the identical title of Vritra, \"he who shrouds or\nenvelops,\" called also Cushna, \"he who parches,\" Pani, \"the robber,\" and\nAhi, \"the strangler.\" In many hymns of the Rig-Veda the story is told\nover and over, like a musical theme arranged with variations. Indra,\nthe god of light, is a herdsman who tends a herd of bright golden or\nviolet-coloured cattle. Vritra, a snake-like monster with three heads,\nsteals them and hides them in a cavern, but Indra slays him as Jupiter\nslew Caecius, and the cows are recovered. The language of the myth is\nso significant, that the Hindu commentators of the Veda have\nthemselves given explanations of it similar to those proposed by modern\nphilologists. To them the legend never became devoid of sense, as the\nmyth of Geryon appeared to Greek scholars like Apollodoros. [112]\n\nThese celestial cattle, with their resplendent coats of purple and gold,\nare the clouds lit up by the solar rays; but the demon who steals them\nis not always the fiend of the storm, acting in that capacity. They are\nstolen every night by Vritra the concealer, and Caecius the darkener,\nand Indra is obliged to spend hours in looking for them, sending Sarama,\nthe inconstant twilight, to negotiate for their recovery. Between\nthe storm-myth and the myth of night and morning the resemblance is\nsometimes so close as to confuse the interpretation of the two. Many\nlegends which Max Muller explains as myths of the victory of day over\nnight are explained by Dr. Kuhn as storm-myths; and the disagreement\nbetween two such powerful champions would be a standing reproach to what\nis rather prematurely called the SCIENCE of comparative mythology,\nwere it not easy to show that the difference is merely apparent and\nnon-essential. It is the old story of the shield with two sides; and a\ncomparison of the ideas fundamental to these myths will show that there\nis no valid ground for disagreement in the interpretation of them. The\nmyths of schamir and the divining-rod, analyzed in a previous paper,\nexplain the rending of the thunder-cloud and the procuring of water\nwithout especial reference to any struggle between opposing divinities.\nBut in the myth of Hercules and Cacus, the fundamental idea is the\nvictory of the solar god over the robber who steals the light. Now\nwhether the robber carries off the light in the evening when Indra has\ngone to sleep, or boldly rears his black form against the sky during the\ndaytime, causing darkness to spread over the earth, would make little\ndifference to the framers of the myth. To a chicken a solar eclipse\nis the same thing as nightfall, and he goes to roost accordingly. Why,\nthen, should the primitive thinker have made a distinction between\nthe darkening of the sky caused by black clouds and that caused by\nthe rotation of the earth? He had no more conception of the scientific\nexplanation of these phenomena than the chicken has of the scientific\nexplanation of an eclipse. For him it was enough to know that the solar\nradiance was stolen, in the one case as in the other, and to suspect\nthat the same demon was to blame for both robberies.\n\nThe Veda itself sustains this view. It is certain that the victory of\nIndra over Vritra is essentially the same as his victory over the Panis.\nVritra, the storm-fiend, is himself called one of the Panis; yet the\nlatter are uniformly represented as night-demons. They steal Indra's\ngolden cattle and drive them by circuitous paths to a dark hiding-place\nnear the eastern horizon. Indra sends the dawn-nymph, Sarama, to search\nfor them, but as she comes within sight of the dark stable, the Panis\ntry to coax her to stay with them: \"Let us make thee our sister, do not\ngo away again; we will give thee part of the cows, O darling.\" [113]\nAccording to the text of this hymn, she scorns their solicitations, but\nelsewhere the fickle dawn-nymph is said to coquet with the powers of\ndarkness. She does not care for their cows, but will take a drink of\nmilk, if they will be so good as to get it for her. Then she goes back\nand tells Indra that she cannot find the cows. He kicks her with his\nfoot, and she runs back to the Panis, followed by the god, who smites\nthem all with his unerring arrows and recovers the stolen light. From\nsuch a simple beginning as this has been deduced the Greek myth of the\nfaithlessness of Helen. [114]\n\nThese night-demons, the Panis, though not apparently regarded with any\nstrong feeling of moral condemnation, are nevertheless hated and dreaded\nas the authors of calamity. They not only steal the daylight, but they\nparch the earth and wither the fruits, and they slay vegetation during\nthe winter months. As Caecius, the \"darkener,\" became ultimately changed\ninto Cacus, the \"evil one,\" so the name of Vritra, the \"concealer,\" the\nmost famous of the Panis, was gradually generalized until it came to\nmean \"enemy,\" like the English word fiend, and began to be applied\nindiscriminately to any kind of evil spirit. In one place he is called\nAdeva, the \"enemy of the gods,\" an epithet exactly equivalent to the\nPersian dev.\n\nIn the Zendavesta the myth of Hercules and Cacus has given rise to a\nvast system of theology. The fiendish Panis are concentrated in Ahriman\nor Anro-mainyas, whose name signifies the \"spirit of darkness,\" and\nwho carries on a perpetual warfare against Ormuzd or Ahuramazda, who\nis described by his ordinary surname, Spentomainyas, as the \"spirit of\nlight.\" The ancient polytheism here gives place to a refined dualism,\nnot very different from what in many Christian sects has passed current\nas monotheism. Ahriman is the archfiend, who struggles with Ormuzd, not\nfor the possession of a herd of perishable cattle, but for the dominion\nof the universe. Ormuzd creates the world pure and beautiful, but\nAhriman comes after him and creates everything that is evil in it. He\nnot only keeps the earth covered with darkness during half of the day,\nand withholds the rain and destroys the crops, but he is the author of\nall evil thoughts and the instigator of all wicked actions. Like his\nprogenitor Vritra and his offspring Satan, he is represented under the\nform of a serpent; and the destruction which ultimately awaits these\ndemons is also in reserve for him. Eventually there is to be a day of\nreckoning, when Ahriman will be bound in chains and rendered powerless,\nor when, according to another account, he will be converted to\nrighteousness, as Burns hoped and Origen believed would be the case with\nSatan.\n\nThis dualism of the ancient Persians has exerted a powerful influence\nupon the development of Christian theology. The very idea of an\narchfiend Satan, which Christianity received from Judaism, seems either\nto have been suggested by the Persian Ahriman, or at least to have\nderived its principal characteristics from that source. There is no\nevidence that the Jews, previous to the Babylonish captivity, possessed\nthe conception of a Devil as the author of all evil. In the earlier\nbooks of the Old Testament Jehovah is represented as dispensing with his\nown hand the good and the evil, like the Zeus of the Iliad. [115] The\nstory of the serpent in Eden--an Aryan story in every particular,\nwhich has crept into the Pentateuch--is not once alluded to in the Old\nTestament; and the notion of Satan as the author of evil appears only\nin the later books, composed after the Jews had come into close contact\nwith Persian ideas. [116] In the Book of Job, as Reville observes, Satan\nis \"still a member of the celestial court, being one of the sons of the\nElohim, but having as his special office the continual accusation of\nmen, and having become so suspicious by his practice as public accuser,\nthat he believes in the virtue of no one, and always presupposes\ninterested motives for the purest manifestations of human piety.\" In\nthis way the character of this angel became injured, and he became more\nand more an object of dread and dislike to men, until the later Jews\nascribed to him all the attributes of Ahriman, and in this singularly\naltered shape he passed into Christian theology. Between the Satan of\nthe Book of Job and the mediaeval Devil the metamorphosis is as great\nas that which degraded the stern Erinys, who brings evil deeds to light,\ninto the demon-like Fury who torments wrong-doers in Tartarus; and,\nmaking allowance for difference of circumstances, the process of\ndegradation has been very nearly the same in the two cases.\n\nThe mediaeval conception of the Devil is a grotesque compound of\nelements derived from all the systems of pagan mythology which\nChristianity superseded. He is primarily a rebellious angel, expelled\nfrom heaven along with his followers, like the giants who attempted\nto scale Olympos, and like the impious Efreets of Arabian legend who\nrevolted against the beneficent rule of Solomon. As the serpent prince\nof the outer darkness, he retains the old characteristics of Vritra,\nAhi, Typhon, and Echidna. As the black dog which appears behind the\nstove in Dr. Faust's study, he is the classic hell-hound Kerberos, the\nVedic Carvara. From the sylvan deity Pan he gets his goat-like body, his\nhorns and cloven hoofs. Like the wind-god Orpheus, to whose music the\ntrees bent their heads to listen, he is an unrivalled player on the\nbagpipes. Like those other wind-gods the psychopomp Hermes and the wild\nhuntsman Odin, he is the prince of the powers of the air: his flight\nthrough the midnight sky, attended by his troop of witches mounted on\ntheir brooms, which sometimes break the boughs and sweep the leaves from\nthe trees, is the same as the furious chase of the Erlking Odin or the\nBurckar Vittikab. He is Dionysos, who causes red wine to flow from\nthe dry wood, alike on the deck of the Tyrrhenian pirate-ship and in\nAuerbach's cellar at Leipzig. He is Wayland, the smith, a skilful\nworker in metals and a wonderful architect, like the classic fire-god\nHephaistos or Vulcan; and, like Hephaistos, he is lame from the effects\nof his fall from heaven. From the lightning-god Thor he obtains his red\nbeard, his pitchfork, and his power over thunderbolts; and, like that\nancient deity, he is in the habit of beating his wife behind the door\nwhen the rain falls during sunshine. Finally, he takes a hint from\nPoseidon and from the swan-maidens, and appears as a water-imp or Nixy\n(whence probably his name of Old Nick), and as the Davy (deva) whose\n\"locker\" is situated at the bottom of the sea. [117]\n\nAccording to the Scotch divines of the seventeenth century, the Devil is\na learned scholar and profound thinker. Having profited by six thousand\nyears of intense study and meditation, he has all science, philosophy,\nand theology at his tongue's end; and, as his skill has increased with\nage, he is far more than a match for mortals in cunning. [118] Such,\nhowever, is not the view taken by mediaeval mythology, which usually\nrepresents his stupidity as equalling his malignity. The victory of\nHercules over Cacus is repeated in a hundred mediaeval legends in which\nthe Devil is overreached and made a laughing-stock. The germ of this\nnotion may be found in the blinding of Polyphemos by Odysseus, which\nis itself a victory of the sun-hero over the night-demon, and which\ncuriously reappears in a Middle-Age story narrated by Mr. Cox. \"The\nDevil asks a man who is moulding buttons what he may be doing; and when\nthe man answers that he is moulding eyes, asks him further whether he\ncan give him a pair of new eyes. He is told to come again another day;\nand when he makes his appearance accordingly, the man tells him that the\noperation cannot be performed rightly unless he is first tightly bound\nwith his back fastened to a bench. While he is thus pinioned he asks the\nman's name. The reply is Issi (`himself'). When the lead is melted, the\nDevil opens his eyes wide to receive the deadly stream. As soon as he is\nblinded, he starts up in agony, bearing away the bench to which he had\nbeen bound; and when some workpeople in the fields ask him who had thus\ntreated him, his answer is, 'Issi teggi' (`Self did it'). With a laugh\nthey bid him lie on the bed which he has made: 'selbst gethan, selbst\nhabe.' The Devil died of his new eyes, and was never seen again.\"\n\nIn his attempts to obtain human souls the Devil is frequently foiled by\nthe superior cunning of mortals. Once, he agreed to build a house for\na peasant in exchange for the peasant's soul; but if the house were not\nfinished before cockcrow, the contract was to be null and void. Just as\nthe Devil was putting on the last tile the man imitated a cockcrow and\nwaked up all the roosters in the neighbourhood, so that the fiend had\nhis labour for his pains. A merchant of Louvain once sold himself to\nthe Devil, who heaped upon him all manner of riches for seven years, and\nthen came to get him. The merchant \"took the Devil in a friendly manner\nby the hand and, as it was just evening, said, 'Wife, bring a light\nquickly for the gentleman.' 'That is not at all necessary,' said the\nDevil; 'I am merely come to fetch you.' 'Yes, yes, that I know very\nwell,' said the merchant, 'only just grant me the time till this little\ncandle-end is burnt out, as I have a few letters to sign and to put\non my coat.' 'Very well,' said the Devil, 'but only till the candle is\nburnt out.' 'Good,' said the merchant, and going into the next room,\nordered the maid-servant to place a large cask full of water close to a\nvery deep pit that was dug in the garden. The men-servants also carried,\neach of them, a cask to the spot; and when all was done, they were\nordered each to take a shovel, and stand round the pit. The merchant\nthen returned to the Devil, who seeing that not more than about an inch\nof candle remained, said, laughing, 'Now get yourself ready, it will\nsoon be burnt out.' 'That I see, and am content; but I shall hold you to\nyour word, and stay till it IS burnt.' 'Of course,' answered the Devil;\n'I stick to my word.' 'It is dark in the next room,' continued the\nmerchant, 'but I must find the great book with clasps, so let me just\ntake the light for one moment.' 'Certainly,' said the Devil, 'but I'll\ngo with you.' He did so, and the merchant's trepidation was now on the\nincrease. When in the next room he said on a sudden, 'Ah, now I know,\nthe key is in the garden door.' And with these words he ran out with the\nlight into the garden, and before the Devil could overtake him, threw it\ninto the pit, and the men and the maids poured water upon it, and then\nfilled up the hole with earth. Now came the Devil into the garden and\nasked, 'Well, did you get the key? and how is it with the candle? where\nis it?' 'The candle?' said the merchant. 'Yes, the candle.' 'Ha, ha, ha!\nit is not yet burnt out,' answered the merchant, laughing, 'and will not\nbe burnt out for the next fifty years; it lies there a hundred fathoms\ndeep in the earth.' When the Devil heard this he screamed awfully, and\nwent off with a most intolerable stench.\" [119]\n\nOne day a fowler, who was a terrible bungler and could n't hit a bird\nat a dozen paces, sold his soul to the Devil in order to become a\nFreischutz. The fiend was to come for him in seven years, but must be\nalways able to name the animal at which he was shooting, otherwise the\ncompact was to be nullified. After that day the fowler never missed his\naim, and never did a fowler command such wages. When the seven years\nwere out the fowler told all these things to his wife, and the twain hit\nupon an expedient for cheating the Devil. The woman stripped herself,\ndaubed her whole body with molasses, and rolled herself up in a\nfeather-bed, cut open for this purpose. Then she hopped and skipped\nabout the field where her husband stood parleying with Old Nick.\n\"there's a shot for you, fire away,\" said the Devil. \"Of course I'll\nfire, but do you first tell me what kind of a bird it is; else our\nagreement is cancelled, Old Boy.\" There was no help for it; the\nDevil had to own himself nonplussed, and off he fled, with a whiff of\nbrimstone which nearly suffocated the Freischutz and his good woman.\n[120]\n\nIn the legend of Gambrinus, the fiend is still more ingloriously\ndefeated. Gambrinus was a fiddler, who, being jilted by his sweetheart,\nwent out into the woods to hang himself. As he was sitting on the bough,\nwith the cord about his neck, preparatory to taking the fatal plunge,\nsuddenly a tall man in a green coat appeared before him, and offered\nhis services. He might become as wealthy as he liked, and make his\nsweetheart burst with vexation at her own folly, but in thirty years\nhe must give up his soul to Beelzebub. The bargain was struck, for\nGambrinus thought thirty years a long time to enjoy one's self in, and\nperhaps the Devil might get him in any event; as well be hung for a\nsheep as for a lamb. Aided by Satan, he invented chiming-bells and\nlager-beer, for both of which achievements his name is held in grateful\nremembrance by the Teuton. No sooner had the Holy Roman Emperor quaffed\na gallon or two of the new beverage than he made Gambrinus Duke of\nBrabant and Count of Flanders, and then it was the fiddler's turn to\nlaugh at the discomfiture of his old sweetheart. Gambrinus kept clear of\nwomen, says the legend, and so lived in peace. For thirty years he sat\nbeneath his belfry with the chimes, meditatively drinking beer with his\nnobles and burghers around him. Then Beelzebub sent Jocko, one of his\nimps, with orders to bring back Gambrinus before midnight. But Jocko\nwas, like Swiveller's Marchioness, ignorant of the taste of beer, never\nhaving drunk of it even in a sip, and the Flemish schoppen were too much\nfor him. He fell into a drunken sleep, and did not wake up until noon\nnext day, at which he was so mortified that he had not the face to go\nback to hell at all. So Gambrinus lived on tranquilly for a century or\ntwo, and drank so much beer that he turned into a beer-barrel. [121]\n\nThe character of gullibility attributed to the Devil in these legends\nis probably derived from the Trolls, or \"night-folk,\" of Northern\nmythology. In most respects the Trolls resemble the Teutonic elves\nand fairies, and the Jinn or Efreets of the Arabian Nights; but their\npedigree is less honourable. The fairies, or \"White Ladies,\" were\nnot originally spirits of darkness, but were nearly akin to the\nswan-maidens, dawn-nymphs, and dryads, and though their wrath was to\nbe dreaded, they were not malignant by nature. Christianity, having no\nplace for such beings, degraded them into something like imps; the most\ncharitable theory being that they were angels who had remained neutral\nduring Satan's rebellion, in punishment for which Michael expelled them\nfrom heaven, but has left their ultimate fate unannounced until the day\nof judgment. The Jinn appear to have been similarly degraded on the rise\nof Mohammedanism. But the Trolls were always imps of darkness. They are\ndescended from the Jotuns, or Frost-Giants of Northern paganism, and\nthey correspond to the Panis, or night-demons of the Veda. In many Norse\ntales they are said to burst when they see the risen sun. [122] They eat\nhuman flesh, are ignorant of the simplest arts, and live in the deepest\nrecesses of the forest or in caverns on the hillside, where the sunlight\nnever penetrates. Some of these characteristics may very likely have\nbeen suggested by reminiscences of the primeval Lapps, from whom the\nAryan invaders wrested the dominion of Europe. [123] In some legends the\nTrolls are represented as an ancient race of beings now superseded by\nthe human race. \"'What sort of an earth-worm is this?' said one Giant to\nanother, when they met a man as they walked. 'These are the earth-worms\nthat will one day eat us up, brother,' answered the other; and soon\nboth Giants left that part of Germany.\" \"'See what pretty playthings,\nmother!' cries the Giant's daughter, as she unties her apron, and shows\nher a plough, and horses, and a peasant. 'Back with them this instant,'\ncries the mother in wrath, 'and put them down as carefully as you can,\nfor these playthings can do our race great harm, and when these come we\nmust budge.'\" Very naturally the primitive Teuton, possessing already\nthe conception of night-demons, would apply it to these men of the\nwoods whom even to this day his uneducated descendants believe to be\nsorcerers, able to turn men into wolves. But whatever contributions\nhistorical fact may have added to his character, the Troll is originally\na creation of mythology, like Polyphemos, whom he resembles in his\nuncouth person, his cannibal appetite, and his lack of wit. His ready\ngullibility is shown in the story of \"Boots who ate a Match with the\nTroll.\" Boots, the brother of Cinderella, and the counterpart alike\nof Jack the Giant-killer, and of Odysseus, is the youngest of three\nbrothers who go into a forest to cut wood. The Troll appears and\nthreatens to kill any one who dares to meddle with his timber. The elder\nbrothers flee, but Boots puts on a bold face. He pulled a cheese out of\nhis scrip and squeezed it till the whey began to spurt out. \"Hold your\ntongue, you dirty Troll,\" said he, \"or I'll squeeze you as I squeeze\nthis stone.\" So the Troll grew timid and begged to be spared, [124] and\nBoots let him off on condition that he would hew all day with him.\nThey worked till nightfall, and the Troll's giant strength accomplished\nwonders. Then Boots went home with the Troll, having arranged that he\nshould get the water while his host made the fire. When they reached the\nhut there were two enormous iron pails, so heavy that none but a Troll\ncould lift them, but Boots was not to be frightened. \"Bah!\" said he. \"Do\nyou suppose I am going to get water in those paltry hand-basins? Hold\non till I go and get the spring itself!\" \"O dear!\" said the Troll, \"I'd\nrather not; do you make the fire, and I'll get the water.\" Then when the\nsoup was made, Boots challenged his new friend to an eating-match; and\ntying his scrip in front of him, proceeded to pour soup into it by the\nladleful. By and by the giant threw down his spoon in despair, and owned\nhimself conquered. \"No, no! don't give it up yet,\" said Boots, \"just cut\na hole in your stomach like this, and you can eat forever.\" And suiting\nthe action to the words, he ripped open his scrip. So the silly Troll\ncut himself open and died, and Boots carried off all his gold and\nsilver.\n\nOnce there was a Troll whose name was Wind-and-Weather, and Saint Olaf\nhired him to build a church. If the church were completed within a\ncertain specified time, the Troll was to get possession of Saint Olaf.\nThe saint then planned such a stupendous edifice that he thought the\ngiant would be forever building it; but the work went on briskly, and at\nthe appointed day nothing remained but to finish the point of the spire.\nIn his consternation Olaf rushed about until he passed by the Troll's\nden, when he heard the giantess telling her children that their father,\nWind-and-Weather, was finishing his church, and would be home to-morrow\nwith Saint Olaf. So the saint ran back to the church and bawled out,\n\"Hold on, Wind-and-Weather, your spire is crooked!\" Then the giant\ntumbled down from the roof and broke into a thousand pieces. As in the\ncases of the Mara and the werewolf, the enchantment was at an end as\nsoon as the enchanter was called by name.\n\nThese Trolls, like the Arabian Efreets, had an ugly habit of carrying\noff beautiful princesses. This is strictly in keeping with their\ncharacter as night-demons, or Panis. In the stories of Punchkin and\nthe Heartless Giant, the night-demon carries off the dawn-maiden after\nhaving turned into stone her solar brethren. But Boots, or Indra, in\nsearch of his kinsfolk, by and by arrives at the Troll's castle, and\nthen the dawn-nymph, true to her fickle character, cajoles the Giant\nand enables Boots to destroy him. In the famous myth which serves as the\nbasis for the Volsunga Saga and the Nibelungenlied, the dragon Fafnir\nsteals the Valkyrie Brynhild and keeps her shut up in a castle on the\nGlistening Heath, until some champion shall be found powerful enough\nto rescue her. The castle is as hard to enter as that of the Sleeping\nBeauty; but Sigurd, the Northern Achilleus, riding on his deathless\nhorse, and wielding his resistless sword Gram, forces his way in, slays\nFafnir, and recovers the Valkyrie.\n\nIn the preceding paper the Valkyries were shown to belong to the class\nof cloud-maidens; and between the tale of Sigurd and that of Hercules\nand Cacus there is no difference, save that the bright sunlit clouds\nwhich are represented in the one as cows are in the other represented\nas maidens. In the myth of the Argonauts they reappear as the Golden\nFleece, carried to the far east by Phrixos and Helle, who are themselves\nNiblungs, or \"Children of the Mist\" (Nephele), and there guarded by a\ndragon. In all these myths a treasure is stolen by a fiend of darkness,\nand recovered by a hero of light, who slays the demon. And--remembering\nwhat Scribe said about the fewness of dramatic types--I believe we are\nwarranted in asserting that all the stories of lovely women held in\nbondage by monsters, and rescued by heroes who perform wonderful tasks,\nsuch as Don Quixote burned to achieve, are derived ultimately from solar\nmyths, like the myth of Sigurd and Brynhild. I do not mean to say that\nthe story-tellers who beguiled their time in stringing together the\nincidents which make up these legends were conscious of their solar\ncharacter. They did not go to work, with malice prepense, to weave\nallegories and apologues. The Greeks who first told the story of Perseus\nand Andromeda, the Arabians who devised the tale of Codadad and\nhis brethren, the Flemings who listened over their beer-mugs to\nthe adventures of Culotte-Verte, were not thinking of sun-gods or\ndawn-maidens, or night-demons; and no theory of mythology can be sound\nwhich implies such an extravagance. Most of these stories have lived\non the lips of the common people; and illiterate persons are not in\nthe habit of allegorizing in the style of mediaeval monks or rabbinical\ncommentators. But what has been amply demonstrated is, that the sun\nand the clouds, the light and the darkness, were once supposed to\nbe actuated by wills analogous to the human will; that they were\npersonified and worshipped or propitiated by sacrifice; and that their\ndoings were described in language which applied so well to the deeds of\nhuman or quasi-human beings that in course of time its primitive purport\nfaded from recollection. No competent scholar now doubts that the myths\nof the Veda and the Edda originated in this way, for philology itself\nshows that the names employed in them are the names of the great\nphenomena of nature. And when once a few striking stories had thus\narisen,--when once it had been told how Indra smote the Panis, and how\nSigurd rescued Brynhild, and how Odysseus blinded the Kyklops,--then\ncertain mythic or dramatic types had been called into existence; and to\nthese types, preserved in the popular imagination, future stories would\ninevitably conform. We need, therefore, have no hesitation in admitting\na common origin for the vanquished Panis and the outwitted Troll or\nDevil; we may securely compare the legends of St. George and Jack the\nGiant-killer with the myth of Indra slaying Vritra; we may see in the\ninvincible Sigurd the prototype of many a doughty knight-errant of\nromance; and we may learn anew the lesson, taught with fresh emphasis by\nmodern scholarship, that in the deepest sense there is nothing new under\nthe sun.\n\nI am the more explicit on this point, because it seems to me that the\nunguarded language of many students of mythology is liable to give rise\nto misapprehensions, and to discredit both the method which they employ\nand the results which they have obtained. If we were to give full weight\nto the statements which are sometimes made, we should perforce believe\nthat primitive men had nothing to do but to ponder about the sun and the\nclouds, and to worry themselves over the disappearance of daylight. But\nthere is nothing in the scientific interpretation of myths which obliges\nus to go any such length. I do not suppose that any ancient Aryan,\npossessed of good digestive powers and endowed with sound common-sense,\never lay awake half the night wondering whether the sun would come back\nagain. [125] The child and the savage believe of necessity that the\nfuture will resemble the past, and it is only philosophy which raises\ndoubts on the subject. [126] The predominance of solar legends in most\nsystems of mythology is not due to the lack of \"that Titanic assurance\nwith which we say, the sun MUST rise\"; [127] nor again to the fact\nthat the phenomena of day and night are the most striking phenomena in\nnature. Eclipses and earthquakes and floods are phenomena of the most\nterrible and astounding kind, and they have all generated myths;\nyet their contributions to folk-lore are scanty compared with those\nfurnished by the strife between the day-god and his enemies. The\nsun-myths have been so prolific because the dramatic types to which\nthey have given rise are of surpassing human interest. The dragon who\nswallows the sun is no doubt a fearful personage; but the hero who toils\nfor others, who slays hydra-headed monsters, and dries the tears\nof fair-haired damsels, and achieves success in spite of incredible\nobstacles, is a being with whom we can all sympathize, and of whom we\nnever weary of hearing.\n\nWith many of these legends which present the myth of light and darkness\nin its most attractive form, the reader is already acquainted, and it is\nneedless to retail stories which have been told over and over again in\nbooks which every one is presumed to have read. I will content myself\nwith a weird Irish legend, narrated by Mr. Patrick Kennedy, [128]\nin which we here and there catch glimpses of the primitive mythical\nsymbols, as fragments of gold are seen gleaming through the crystal of\nquartz.\n\nLong before the Danes ever came to Ireland, there died at Muskerry a\nSculloge, or country farmer, who by dint of hard work and close economy\nhad amassed enormous wealth. His only son did not resemble him. When the\nyoung Sculloge looked about the house, the day after his father's\ndeath, and saw the big chests full of gold and silver, and the cupboards\nshining with piles of sovereigns, and the old stockings stuffed with\nlarge and small coin, he said to himself, \"Bedad, how shall I ever be\nable to spend the likes o' that!\" And so he drank, and gambled, and\nwasted his time in hunting and horse-racing, until after a while he\nfound the chests empty and the cupboards poverty-stricken, and the\nstockings lean and penniless. Then he mortgaged his farm-house and\ngambled away all the money he got for it, and then he bethought him that\na few hundred pounds might be raised on his mill. But when he went to\nlook at it, he found \"the dam broken, and scarcely a thimbleful of water\nin the mill-race, and the wheel rotten, and the thatch of the house all\ngone, and the upper millstone lying flat on the lower one, and a coat\nof dust and mould over everything.\" So he made up his mind to borrow a\nhorse and take one more hunt to-morrow and then reform his habits.\n\nAs he was returning late in the evening from this farewell hunt, passing\nthrough a lonely glen he came upon an old man playing backgammon,\nbetting on his left hand against his right, and crying and cursing\nbecause the right WOULD win. \"Come and bet with me,\" said he to\nSculloge. \"Faith, I have but a sixpence in the world,\" was the reply;\n\"but, if you like, I'll wager that on the right.\" \"Done,\" said the old\nman, who was a Druid; \"if you win I'll give you a hundred guineas.\" So\nthe game was played, and the old man, whose right hand was always the\nwinner, paid over the guineas and told Sculloge to go to the Devil with\nthem.\n\nInstead of following this bit of advice, however, the young farmer went\nhome and began to pay his debts, and next week he went to the glen\nand won another game, and made the Druid rebuild his mill. So Sculloge\nbecame prosperous again, and by and by he tried his luck a third time,\nand won a game played for a beautiful wife. The Druid sent her to his\nhouse the next morning before he was out of bed, and his servants came\nknocking at the door and crying, \"Wake up! wake up! Master Sculloge,\nthere's a young lady here to see you.\" \"Bedad, it's the vanithee [129]\nherself,\" said Sculloge; and getting up in a hurry, he spent three\nquarters of an hour in dressing himself. At last he went down stairs,\nand there on the sofa was the prettiest lady ever seen in Ireland!\nNaturally, Sculloge's heart beat fast and his voice trembled, as he\nbegged the lady's pardon for this Druidic style of wooing, and besought\nher not to feel obliged to stay with him unless she really liked him.\nBut the young lady, who was a king's daughter from a far country, was\nwondrously charmed with the handsome farmer, and so well did they get\nalong that the priest was sent for without further delay, and they were\nmarried before sundown. Sabina was the vanithee's name; and she warned\nher husband to have no more dealings with Lassa Buaicht, the old man of\nthe glen. So for a while all went happily, and the Druidic bride was as\ngood as she was beautiful But by and by Sculloge began to think he was\nnot earning money fast enough. He could not bear to see his wife's white\nhands soiled with work, and thought it would be a fine thing if he could\nonly afford to keep a few more servants, and drive about with Sabina\nin an elegant carriage, and see her clothed in silk and adorned with\njewels.\n\n\"I will play one more game and set the stakes high,\" said Sculloge to\nhimself one evening, as he sat pondering over these things; and so,\nwithout consulting Sabina, he stole away to the glen, and played a game\nfor ten thousand guineas. But the evil Druid was now ready to pounce\non his prey, and he did not play as of old. Sculloge broke into a cold\nsweat with agony and terror as he saw the left hand win! Then the face\nof Lassa Buaicht grew dark and stern, and he laid on Sculloge the curse\nwhich is laid upon the solar hero in misfortune, that he should never\nsleep twice under the same roof, or ascend the couch of the dawn-nymph,\nhis wife, until he should have procured and brought to him the sword of\nlight. When Sculloge reached home, more dead than alive, he saw that his\nwife knew all. Bitterly they wept together, but she told him that with\ncourage all might be set right. She gave him a Druidic horse, which bore\nhim swiftly over land and sea, like the enchanted steed of the Arabian\nNights, until he reached the castle of his wife's father who, as\nSculloge now learned, was a good Druid, the brother of the evil Lassa\nBuaicht. This good Druid told him that the sword of light was kept by\na third brother, the powerful magician, Fiach O'Duda, who dwelt in an\nenchanted castle, which many brave heroes had tried to enter, but\nthe dark sorcerer had slain them all. Three high walls surrounded\nthe castle, and many had scaled the first of these, but none had ever\nreturned alive. But Sculloge was not to be daunted, and, taking from\nhis father-in-law a black steed, he set out for the fortress of Fiach\nO'Duda. Over the first high wall nimbly leaped the magic horse, and\nSculloge called aloud on the Druid to come out and surrender his sword.\nThen came out a tall, dark man, with coal-black eyes and hair and\nmelancholy visage, and made a furious sweep at Sculloge with the flaming\nblade. But the Druidic beast sprang back over the wall in the twinkling\nof an eye and rescued his rider, leaving, however, his tail behind in\nthe court-yard. Then Sculloge returned in triumph to his father-in-law's\npalace, and the night was spent in feasting and revelry.\n\nNext day Sculloge rode out on a white horse, and when he got to Fiach's\ncastle, he saw the first wall lying in rubbish. He leaped the second,\nand the same scene occurred as the day before, save that the horse\nescaped unharmed.\n\nThe third day Sculloge went out on foot, with a harp like that of\nOrpheus in his hand, and as he swept its strings the grass bent to\nlisten and the trees bowed their heads. The castle walls all lay in\nruins, and Sculloge made his way unhindered to the upper room, where\nFiach lay in Druidic slumber, lulled by the harp. He seized the sword\nof light, which was hung by the chimney sheathed in a dark scabbard, and\nmaking the best of his way back to the good king's palace, mounted his\nwife's steed, and scoured over land and sea until he found himself in\nthe gloomy glen where Lassa Buaicht was still crying and cursing and\nbetting on his left hand against his right.\n\n\"Here, treacherous fiend, take your sword of light!\" shouted Sculloge in\ntones of thunder; and as he drew it from its sheath the whole valley\nwas lighted up as with the morning sun, and next moment the head of the\nwretched Druid was lying at his feet, and his sweet wife, who had come\nto meet him, was laughing and crying in his arms. November, 1870.\n\n\n\n\nV. MYTHS OF THE BARBARIC WORLD.\n\nTHE theory of mythology set forth in the four preceding papers, and\nillustrated by the examination of numerous myths relating to the\nlightning, the storm-wind, the clouds, and the sunlight, was originally\nframed with reference solely to the mythic and legendary lore of the\nAryan world. The phonetic identity of the names of many Western gods and\nheroes with the names of those Vedic divinities which are obviously\nthe personifications of natural phenomena, suggested the theory which\nphilosophical considerations had already foreshadowed in the works\nof Hume and Comte, and which the exhaustive analysis of Greek, Hindu,\nKeltic, and Teutonic legends has amply confirmed. Let us now, before\nproceeding to the consideration of barbaric folk-lore, briefly\nrecapitulate the results obtained by modern scholarship working strictly\nwithin the limits of the Aryan domain.\n\nIn the first place, it has been proved once for all that the languages\nspoken by the Hindus, Persians, Greeks, Romans, Kelts, Slaves, and\nTeutons are all descended from a single ancestral language, the Old\nAryan, in the same sense that French, Italian, and Spanish are descended\nfrom the Latin. And from this undisputed fact it is an inevitable\ninference that these various races contain, along with other elements,\na race-element in common, due to their Aryan pedigree. That the\nIndo-European races are wholly Aryan is very improbable, for in every\ncase the countries overrun by them were occupied by inferior races,\nwhose blood must have mingled in varying degrees with that of their\nconquerors; but that every Indo-European people is in great part\ndescended from a common Aryan stock is not open to question.\n\nIn the second place, along with a common fund of moral and religious\nideas and of legal and ceremonial observances, we find these kindred\npeoples possessed of a common fund of myths, superstitions, proverbs,\npopular poetry, and household legends. The Hindu mother amuses her child\nwith fairy-tales which often correspond, even in minor incidents, with\nstories in Scottish or Scandinavian nurseries; and she tells them in\nwords which are phonetically akin to words in Swedish and Gaelic. No\ndoubt many of these stories might have been devised in a dozen different\nplaces independently of each other; and no doubt many of them have\nbeen transmitted laterally from one people to another; but a careful\nexamination shows that such cannot have been the case with the great\nmajority of legends and beliefs. The agreement between two such stories,\nfor instance, as those of Faithful John and Rama and Luxman is so\nclose as to make it incredible that they should have been independently\nfabricated, while the points of difference are so important as to make\nit extremely improbable that the one was ever copied from the other.\nBesides which, the essential identity of such myths as those of Sigurd\nand Theseus, or of Helena and Sarama, carries us back historically to a\ntime when the scattered Indo-European tribes had not yet begun to\nhold commercial and intellectual intercourse with each other, and\nconsequently could not have interchanged their epic materials or their\nhousehold stories. We are therefore driven to the conclusion--which,\nstartling as it may seem, is after all the most natural and plausible\none that can be stated--that the Aryan nations, which have inherited\nfrom a common ancestral stock their languages and their customs, have\ninherited also from the same common original their fireside legends.\nThey have preserved Cinderella and Punchkin just as they have preserved\nthe words for father and mother, ten and twenty; and the former case,\nthough more imposing to the imagination, is scientifically no less\nintelligible than the latter.\n\nThirdly, it has been shown that these venerable tales may be grouped in\na few pretty well defined classes; and that the archetypal myth of each\nclass--the primitive story in conformity to which countless subsequent\ntales have been generated--was originally a mere description of physical\nphenomena, couched in the poetic diction of an age when everything was\npersonified, because all natural phenomena were supposed to be due to\nthe direct workings of a volition like that of which men were conscious\nwithin themselves. Thus we are led to the striking conclusion that\nmythology has had a common root, both with science and with religious\nphilosophy. The myth of Indra conquering Vritra was one of the theorems\nof primitive Aryan science; it was a provisional explanation of the\nthunder-storm, satisfactory enough until extended observation and\nreflection supplied a better one. It also contained the germs of a\ntheology; for the life-giving solar light furnished an important part\nof the primeval conception of deity. And finally, it became the fruitful\nparent of countless myths, whether embodied in the stately epics of\nHomer and the bards of the Nibelungenlied, or in the humbler legends of\nSt. George and William Tell and the ubiquitous Boots.\n\nSuch is the theory which was suggested half a century ago by the\nresearches of Jacob Grimm, and which, so far as concerns the mythology\nof the Aryan race, is now victorious along the whole line. It remains\nfor us to test the universality of the general principles upon which it\nis founded, by a brief analysis of sundry legends and superstitions\nof the barbaric world. Since the fetichistic habit of explaining the\noutward phenomena of nature after the analogy of the inward phenomena of\nconscious intelligence is not a habit peculiar to our Aryan ancestors,\nbut is, as psychology shows, the inevitable result of the conditions\nunder which uncivilized thinking proceeds, we may expect to find the\nbarbaric mind personifying the powers of nature and making myths about\ntheir operations the whole world over. And we need not be surprised if\nwe find in the resulting mythologic structures a strong resemblance to\nthe familiar creations of the Aryan intelligence. In point of fact, we\nshall often be called upon to note such resemblance; and it accordingly\nbehooves us at the outset to inquire how far a similarity between\nmythical tales shall be taken as evidence of a common traditional\norigin, and how far it may be interpreted as due merely to the similar\nworkings of the untrained intelligence in all ages and countries.\n\nAnalogies drawn from the comparison of languages will here be of service\nto us, if used discreetly; otherwise they are likely to bewilder far\nmore than to enlighten us. A theorem which Max Muller has laid down\nfor our guidance in this kind of investigation furnishes us with an\nexcellent example of the tricks which a superficial analogy may play\neven with the trained scholar, when temporarily off his guard. Actuated\nby a praiseworthy desire to raise the study of myths to something like\nthe high level of scientific accuracy already attained by the study of\nwords, Max Muller endeavours to introduce one of the most useful canons\nof philology into a department of inquiry where its introduction could\nonly work the most hopeless confusion. One of the earliest lessons to be\nlearned by the scientific student of linguistics is the uselessness of\ncomparing together directly the words contained in derivative languages.\nFor example, you might set the English twelve side by side with the\nLatin duodecim, and then stare at the two words to all eternity without\nany hope of reaching a conclusion, good or bad, about either of them:\nleast of all would you suspect that they are descended from the same\nradical. But if you take each word by itself and trace it back to its\nprimitive shape, explaining every change of every letter as you go, you\nwill at last reach the old Aryan dvadakan, which is the parent of both\nthese strangely metamorphosed words. [130] Nor will it do, on the other\nhand, to trust to verbal similarity without a historical inquiry into\nthe origin of such similarity. Even in the same language two words of\nquite different origin may get their corners rubbed off till they look\nas like one another as two pebbles. The French words souris, a \"mouse,\"\nand souris, a \"smile,\" are spelled exactly alike; but the one comes from\nLatin sorex and the other from Latin subridere.\n\nNow Max Muller tells us that this principle, which is indispensable\nin the study of words, is equally indispensable in the study of myths.\n[131] That is, you must not rashly pronounce the Norse story of the\nHeartless Giant identical with the Hindu story of Punchkin, although the\ntwo correspond in every essential incident. In both legends a magician\nturns several members of the same family into stone; the youngest member\nof the family comes to the rescue, and on the way saves the lives of\nsundry grateful beasts; arrived at the magician's castle, he finds\na captive princess ready to accept his love and to play the part of\nDelilah to the enchanter. In both stories the enchanter's life\ndepends on the integrity of something which is elaborately hidden in\na far-distant island, but which the fortunate youth, instructed by\nthe artful princess and assisted by his menagerie of grateful beasts,\nsucceeds in obtaining. In both stories the youth uses his advantage\nto free all his friends from their enchantment, and then proceeds to\ndestroy the villain who wrought all this wickedness. Yet, in spite of\nthis agreement, Max Muller, if I understand him aright, would not have\nus infer the identity of the two stories until we have taken each\none separately and ascertained its primitive mythical significance.\nOtherwise, for aught we can tell, the resemblance may be purely\naccidental, like that of the French words for \"mouse\" and \"smile.\"\n\nA little reflection, however, will relieve us from this perplexity, and\nassure us that the alleged analogy between the comparison of words and\nthe comparison of stories is utterly superficial. The transformations\nof words--which are often astounding enough--depend upon a few\nwell-established physiological principles of utterance; and since\nphilology has learned to rely upon these principles, it has become\nnearly as sure in its methods and results as one of the so-called \"exact\nsciences.\" Folly enough is doubtless committed within its precincts by\nwriters who venture there without the laborious preparation which this\nscience, more than almost any other, demands. But the proceedings of\nthe trained philologist are no more arbitrary than those of the trained\nastronomer. And though the former may seem to be straining at a gnat and\nswallowing a camel when he coolly tells you that violin and fiddle are\nthe same word, while English care and Latin cura have nothing to do with\neach other, he is nevertheless no more indulging in guess-work than the\nastronomer who confesses his ignorance as to the habitability of Venus\nwhile asserting his knowledge of the existence of hydrogen in the\natmosphere of Sirius. To cite one example out of a hundred, every\nphilologist knows that s may become r, and that the broad a-sound may\ndwindle into the closer o-sound; but when you adduce some plausible\netymology based on the assumption that r has changed into s, or o into\na, apart from the demonstrable influence of some adjacent letter, the\nphilologist will shake his head.\n\nNow in the study of stories there are no such simple rules all cut and\ndried for us to go by. There is no uniform psychological principle\nwhich determines that the three-headed snake in one story shall become a\nthree-headed man in the next. There is no Grimm's Law in mythology which\ndecides that a Hindu magician shall always correspond to a Norwegian\nTroll or a Keltic Druid. The laws of association of ideas are not so\nsimple in application as the laws of utterance. In short, the study of\nmyths, though it can be made sufficiently scientific in its methods and\nresults, does not constitute a science by itself, like philology. It\nstands on a footing similar to that occupied by physical geography,\nor what the Germans call \"earth-knowledge.\" No one denies that all the\nchanges going on over the earth's surface conform to physical laws; but\nthen no one pretends that there is any single proximate principle which\ngoverns all the phenomena of rain-fall, of soil-crumbling, of magnetic\nvariation, and of the distribution of plants and animals. All these\nthings are explained by principles obtained from the various sciences\nof physics, chemistry, geology, and physiology. And in just the same way\nthe development and distribution of stories is explained by the help\nof divers resources contributed by philology, psychology, and history.\nThere is therefore no real analogy between the cases cited by Max\nMuller. Two unrelated words may be ground into exactly the same shape,\njust as a pebble from the North Sea may be undistinguishable from\nanother pebble on the beach of the Adriatic; but two stories like\nthose of Punchkin and the Heartless Giant are no more likely to arise\nindependently of each other than two coral reefs on opposite sides of\nthe globe are likely to develop into exactly similar islands.\n\nShall we then say boldly, that close similarity between legends is proof\nof kinship, and go our way without further misgivings? Unfortunately\nwe cannot dispose of the matter in quite so summary a fashion; for it\nremains to decide what kind and degree of similarity shall be considered\nsatisfactory evidence of kinship. And it is just here that doctors may\ndisagree. Here is the point at which our \"science\" betrays its weakness\nas compared with the sister study of philology. Before we can decide\nwith confidence in any case, a great mass of evidence must be brought\ninto court. So long as we remained on Aryan ground, all went smoothly\nenough, because all the external evidence was in our favour. We knew\nat the outset, that the Aryans inherit a common language and a common\ncivilization, and therefore we found no difficulty in accepting the\nconclusion that they have inherited, among other things, a common stock\nof legends. In the barbaric world it is quite otherwise. Philology does\nnot pronounce in favour of a common origin for all barbaric culture,\nsuch as it is. The notion of a single primitive language, standing in\nthe same relation to all existing dialects as the relation of old Aryan\nto Latin and English, or that of old Semitic to Hebrew and Arabic, was a\nnotion suited only to the infancy of linguistic science. As the case now\nstands, it is certain that all the languages actually existing cannot be\nreferred to a common ancestor, and it is altogether probable that\nthere never was any such common ancestor. I am not now referring to the\nquestion of the unity of the human race. That question lies entirely\noutside the sphere of philology. The science of language has nothing to\ndo with skulls or complexions, and no comparison of words can tell us\nwhether the black men are brethren of the white men, or whether\nyellow and red men have a common pedigree: these questions belong to\ncomparative physiology. But the science of language can and does tell us\nthat a certain amount of civilization is requisite for the production\nof a language sufficiently durable and wide-spread to give birth to\nnumerous mutually resembling offspring Barbaric languages are neither\nwidespread nor durable. Among savages each little group of families has\nits own dialect, and coins its own expressions at pleasure; and in the\ncourse of two or three generations a dialect gets so strangely altered\nas virtually to lose its identity. Even numerals and personal pronouns,\nwhich the Aryan has preserved for fifty centuries, get lost every few\nyears in Polynesia. Since the time of Captain Cook the Tahitian language\nhas thrown away five out of its ten simple numerals, and replaced them\nby brand-new ones; and on the Amazon you may acquire a fluent command\nof some Indian dialect, and then, coming back after twenty years, find\nyourself worse off than Rip Van Winkle, and your learning all antiquated\nand useless. How absurd, therefore, to suppose that primeval savages\noriginated a language which has held its own like the old Aryan and\nbecome the prolific mother of the three or four thousand dialects now\nin existence! Before a durable language can arise, there must be an\naggregation of numerous tribes into a people, so that there may be\nneed of communication on a large scale, and so that tradition may be\nstrengthened. Wherever mankind have associated in nations, permanent\nlanguages have arisen, and their derivative dialects bear the\nconspicuous marks of kinship; but where mankind have remained in their\nprimitive savage isolation, their languages have remained sporadic and\ntransitory, incapable of organic development, and showing no traces of a\nkinship which never existed.\n\nThe bearing of these considerations upon the origin and diffusion of\nbarbaric myths is obvious. The development of a common stock of legends\nis, of course, impossible, save where there is a common language; and\nthus philology pronounces against the kinship of barbaric myths with\neach other and with similar myths of the Aryan and Semitic worlds.\nSimilar stories told in Greece and Norway are likely to have a common\npedigree, because the persons who have preserved them in recollection\nspeak a common language and have inherited the same civilization. But\nsimilar stories told in Labrador and South Africa are not likely to\nbe genealogically related, because it is altogether probable that the\nEsquimaux and the Zulu had acquired their present race characteristics\nbefore either of them possessed a language or a culture sufficient\nfor the production of myths. According to the nature and extent of the\nsimilarity, it must be decided whether such stories have been carried\nabout from one part of the world to another, or have been independently\noriginated in many different places.\n\nHere the methods of philology suggest a rule which will often be found\nuseful. In comparing, the vocabularies of different languages, those\nwords which directly imitate natural sounds--such as whiz, crash,\ncrackle--are not admitted as evidence of kinship between the languages\nin which they occur. Resemblances between such words are obviously no\nproof of a common ancestry; and they are often met with in languages\nwhich have demonstrably had no connection with each other. So in\nmythology, where we find two stories of which the primitive character is\nperfectly transparent, we need have no difficulty in supposing them to\nhave originated independently. The myth of Jack and his Beanstalk is\nfound all over the world; but the idea of a country above the sky, to\nwhich persons might gain access by climbing, is one which could hardly\nfail to occur to every barbarian. Among the American tribes, as well\nas among the Aryans, the rainbow and the Milky-Way have contributed the\nidea of a Bridge of the Dead, over which souls must pass on the way to\nthe other world. In South Africa, as well as in Germany, the habits of\nthe fox and of his brother the jackal have given rise to fables in which\nbrute force is overcome by cunning. In many parts of the world we find\ncuriously similar stories devised to account for the stumpy tails of the\nbear and hyaena, the hairless tail of the rat, and the blindness of\nthe mole. And in all countries may be found the beliefs that men may be\nchanged into beasts, or plants, or stones; that the sun is in some way\ntethered or constrained to follow a certain course; that the storm-cloud\nis a ravenous dragon; and that there are talismans which will\nreveal hidden treasures. All these conceptions are so obvious to the\nuncivilized intelligence, that stories founded upon them need not\nbe supposed to have a common origin, unless there turns out to be a\nstriking similarity among their minor details. On the other hand, the\nnumerous myths of an all-destroying deluge have doubtless arisen partly\nfrom reminiscences of actually occurring local inundations, and partly\nfrom the fact that the Scriptural account of a deluge has been carried\nall over the world by Catholic and Protestant missionaries. [132]\n\nBy way of illustrating these principles, let us now cite a few of the\nAmerican myths so carefully collected by Dr. Brinton in his admirable\ntreatise. We shall not find in the mythology of the New World the wealth\nof wit and imagination which has so long delighted us in the stories\nof Herakles, Perseus, Hermes, Sigurd, and Indra. The mythic lore of\nthe American Indians is comparatively scanty and prosaic, as befits the\nproduct of a lower grade of culture and a more meagre intellect. Not\nonly are the personages less characteristically pourtrayed, but there\nis a continual tendency to extravagance, the sure index of an inferior\nimagination. Nevertheless, after making due allowances for differences\nin the artistic method of treatment, there is between the mythologies of\nthe Old and the New Worlds a fundamental resemblance. We come upon solar\nmyths and myths of the storm curiously blended with culture-myths, as in\nthe cases of Hermes, Prometheus, and Kadmos. The American parallels to\nthese are to be found in the stories of Michabo, Viracocha, Ioskeha, and\nQuetzalcoatl. \"As elsewhere the world over, so in America, many tribes\nhad to tell of.... an august character, who taught them what they\nknew,--the tillage of the soil, the properties of plants, the art of\npicture-writing, the secrets of magic; who founded their institutions\nand established their religions; who governed them long with glory\nabroad and peace at home; and finally did not die, but, like Frederic\nBarbarossa, Charlemagne, King Arthur, and all great heroes, vanished\nmysteriously, and still lives somewhere, ready at the right moment to\nreturn to his beloved people and lead them to victory and happiness.\"\n[133] Everyone is familiar with the numerous legends of white-skinned,\nfull-bearded heroes, like the mild Quetzalcoatl, who in times long\nprevious to Columbus came from the far East to impart the rudiments of\ncivilization and religion to the red men. By those who first heard\nthese stories they were supposed, with naive Euhemerism, to refer to\npre-Columbian visits of Europeans to this continent, like that of the\nNorthmen in the tenth century. But a scientific study of the subject has\ndissipated such notions. These legends are far too numerous, they are\ntoo similar to each other, they are too manifestly symbolical, to admit\nof any such interpretation. By comparing them carefully with each other,\nand with correlative myths of the Old World, their true character soon\nbecomes apparent.\n\nOne of the most widely famous of these culture-heroes was Manabozho or\nMichabo, the Great Hare. With entire unanimity, says Dr. Brinton, the\nvarious branches of the Algonquin race, \"the Powhatans of Virginia, the\nLenni Lenape of the Delaware, the warlike hordes of New England, the\nOttawas of the far North, and the Western tribes, perhaps without\nexception, spoke of this chimerical beast,' as one of the old\nmissionaries calls it, as their common ancestor. The totem, or clan,\nwhich bore his name was looked up to with peculiar respect.\" Not only\nwas Michabo the ruler and guardian of these numerous tribes,--he was the\nfounder of their religious rites, the inventor of picture-writing, the\nruler of the weather, the creator and preserver of earth and heaven.\n\"From a grain of sand brought from the bottom of the primeval ocean he\nfashioned the habitable land, and set it floating on the waters till it\ngrew to such a size that a strong young wolf, running constantly, died\nof old age ere he reached its limits.\" He was also, like Nimrod, a\nmighty hunter. \"One of his footsteps measured eight leagues, the Great\nLakes were the beaver-dams he built, and when the cataracts impeded his\nprogress he tore them away with his hands.\" \"Sometimes he was said\nto dwell in the skies with his brother, the Snow, or, like many great\nspirits, to have built his wigwam in the far North on some floe of ice\nin the Arctic Ocean..... But in the oldest accounts of the missionaries\nhe was alleged to reside toward the East; and in the holy formulae of\nthe meda craft, when the winds are invoked to the medicine lodge, the\nEast is summoned in his name, the door opens in that direction, and\nthere, at the edge of the earth where the sun rises, on the shore of the\ninfinite ocean that surrounds the land, he has his house, and sends the\nluminaries forth on their daily journeys.\" [134] From such accounts as\nthis we see that Michabo was no more a wise instructor and legislator\nthan Minos or Kadmos. Like these heroes, he is a personification of the\nsolar life-giving power, which daily comes forth from its home in the\neast, making the earth to rejoice. The etymology of his name confirms\nthe otherwise clear indications of the legend itself. It is compounded\nof michi, \"great,\" and wabos, which means alike \"hare\" and \"white.\"\n\"Dialectic forms in Algonquin for white are wabi, wape, wampi, etc.; for\nmorning, wapan, wapanch, opah; for east, wapa, wanbun, etc.; for day,\nwompan, oppan; for light, oppung.\" So that Michabo is the Great White\nOne, the God of the Dawn and the East. And the etymological confusion,\nby virtue of which he acquired his soubriquet of the Great Hare, affords\na curious parallel to what has often happened in Aryan and Semitic\nmythology, as we saw when discussing the subject of werewolves.\n\nKeeping in mind this solar character of Michabo, let us note how full\nof meaning are the myths concerning him. In the first cycle of these\nlegends, \"he is grandson of the Moon, his father is the West Wind,\nand his mother, a maiden, dies in giving him birth at the moment of\nconception. For the Moon is the goddess of night; the Dawn is her\ndaughter, who brings forth the Morning, and perishes herself in the act;\nand the West, the spirit of darkness, as the East is of light, precedes,\nand as it were begets the latter, as the evening does the morning.\nStraightway, however, continues the legend, the son sought the unnatural\nfather to revenge the death of his mother, and then commenced a long and\ndesperate struggle. It began on the mountains. The West was forced to\ngive ground. Manabozho drove him across rivers and over mountains and\nlakes, and at last he came to the brink of this world. 'Hold,' cried he,\n'my son, you know my power, and that it is impossible to kill me.' What\nis this but the diurnal combat of light and darkness, carried on from\nwhat time 'the jocund morn stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops,'\nacross the wide world to the sunset, the struggle that knows no end, for\nboth the opponents are immortal?\" [135]\n\nEven the Veda nowhere affords a more transparent narrative than this.\nThe Iroquois tradition is very similar. In it appear twin brothers,\n[136] born of a virgin mother, daughter of the Moon, who died in giving\nthem life. Their names, Ioskeha and Tawiskara, signify in the Oneida\ndialect the White One and the Dark One. Under the influence of Christian\nideas the contest between the brothers has been made to assume a moral\ncharacter, like the strife between Ormuzd and Ahriman. But no such\nintention appears in the original myth, and Dr. Brinton has shown that\nnone of the American tribes had any conception of a Devil. When the\nquarrel came to blows, the dark brother was signally discomfited; and\nthe victorious Ioskeha, returning to his grandmother, \"established his\nlodge in the far East, on the horders of the Great Ocean, whence the sun\ncomes. In time he became the father of mankind, and special guardian of\nthe Iroquois.\" He caused the earth to bring forth, he stocked the woods\nwith game, and taught his children the use of fire. \"He it was who\nwatched and watered their crops; 'and, indeed, without his aid,' says\nthe old missionary, quite out of patience with their puerilities,\n'they think they could not boil a pot.'\" There was more in it than poor\nBrebouf thought, as we are forcibly reminded by recent discoveries in\nphysical science. Even civilized men would find it difficult to boil a\npot without the aid of solar energy. Call him what we will,--Ioskeha,\nMichabo, or Phoibos,--the beneficent Sun is the master and sustainer\nof us all; and if we were to relapse into heathenism, like\nErckmann-Chatrian's innkeeper, we could not do better than to select him\nas our chief object of worship.\n\nThe same principles by which these simple cases are explained furnish\nalso the key to the more complicated mythology of Mexico and Peru. Like\nthe deities just discussed, Viracocha, the supreme god of the Quichuas,\nrises from the bosom of Lake Titicaca and journeys westward, slaying\nwith his lightnings the creatures who oppose him, until he finally\ndisappears in the Western Ocean. Like Aphrodite, he bears in his name\nthe evidence of his origin, Viracocha signifying \"foam of the sea\"; and\nhence the \"White One\" (l'aube), the god of light rising white on the\nhorizon, like the foam on the surface of the waves. The Aymaras spoke\nof their original ancestors as white; and to this day, as Dr. Brinton\ninforms us, the Peruvians call a white man Viracocha. The myth of\nQuetzalcoatl is of precisely the same character. All these solar heroes\npresent in most of their qualities and achievements a striking likeness\nto those of the Old World. They combine the attributes of Apollo,\nHerakles, and Hermes. Like Herakles, they journey from east to west,\nsmiting the powers of darkness, storm, and winter with the thunderbolts\nof Zeus or the unerring arrows of Phoibos, and sinking in a blaze\nof glory on the western verge of the world, where the waves meet the\nfirmament. Or like Hermes, in a second cycle of legends, they rise with\nthe soft breezes of a summer morning, driving before them the bright\ncelestial cattle whose udders are heavy with refreshing rain, fanning\nthe flames which devour the forests, blustering at the doors of wigwams,\nand escaping with weird laughter through vents and crevices. The white\nskins and flowing beards of these American heroes may be aptly compared\nto the fair faces and long golden locks of their Hellenic compeers.\nYellow hair was in all probability as rare in Greece as a full beard\nin Peru or Mexico; but in each case the description suits the solar\ncharacter of the hero. One important class of incidents, however is\napparently quite absent from the American legends. We frequently see the\nDawn described as a virgin mother who dies in giving birth to the Day;\nbut nowhere do we remember seeing her pictured as a lovely or valiant or\ncrafty maiden, ardently wooed, but speedily forsaken by her solar lover.\nPerhaps in no respect is the superior richness and beauty of the Aryan\nmyths more manifest than in this. Brynhild, Urvasi, Medeia, Ariadne,\nOinone, and countless other kindred heroines, with their brilliant\nlegends, could not be spared from the mythology of our ancestors\nwithout, leaving it meagre indeed. These were the materials which\nKalidasa, the Attic dramatists, and the bards of the Nibelungen found\nready, awaiting their artistic treatment. But the mythology of the New\nWorld, with all its pretty and agreeable naivete, affords hardly enough,\neither of variety in situation or of complexity in motive, for a grand\nepic or a genuine tragedy.\n\nBut little reflection is needed to assure us that the imagination of the\nbarbarian, who either carries away his wife by brute force or buys her\nfrom her relatives as he would buy a cow, could never have originated\nlegends in which maidens are lovingly solicited, or in which their\nfavour is won by the performance of deeds of valour. These stories\nowe their existence to the romantic turn of mind which has always\ncharacterized the Aryan, whose civilization, even in the times before\nthe dispersion of his race, was sufficiently advanced to allow of his\nentertaining such comparatively exalted conceptions of the relations\nbetween men and women. The absence of these myths from barbaric\nfolk-lore is, therefore, just what might be expected; but it is a fact\nwhich militates against any possible hypothesis of the common origin\nof Aryan and barbaric mythology. If there were any genetic relationship\nbetween Sigurd and Ioskeha, between Herakles and Michabo, it would be\nhard to tell why Brynhild and Iole should have disappeared entirely\nfrom one whole group of legends, while retained, in some form or\nother, throughout the whole of the other group. On the other hand, the\nresemblances above noticed between Aryan and American mythology fall\nvery far short of the resemblances between the stories told in different\nparts of the Aryan domain. No barbaric legend, of genuine barbaric\ngrowth, has yet been cited which resembles any Aryan legend as the story\nof Punchkin resembles the story of the Heartless Giant. The myths\nof Michabo and Viracocha are direct copies, so to speak, of natural\nphenomena, just as imitative words are direct copies of natural sounds.\nNeither the Redskin nor the Indo-European had any choice as to the main\nfeatures of the career of his solar divinity. He must be born of the\nNight,--or of the Dawn,--must travel westward, must slay harassing\ndemons. Eliminating these points of likeness, the resemblance between\nthe Aryan and barbaric legends is at once at an end. Such an identity\nin point of details as that between the wooden horse which enters\nIlion, and the horse which bears Sigurd into the place where Brynhild\nis imprisoned, and the Druidic steed which leaps with Sculloge over the\nwalls of Fiach's enchanted castle, is, I believe, nowhere to be found\nafter we leave Indo-European territory.\n\nOur conclusion, therefore, must be, that while the legends of the Aryan\nand the non-Aryan worlds contain common mythical elements, the legends\nthemselves are not of common origin. The fact that certain mythical\nideas are possessed alike by different races, shows that in each case\na similar human intelligence has been at work explaining similar\nphenomena; but in order to prove a family relationship between the\nculture of these different races, we need something more than this.\nWe need to prove not only a community of mythical ideas, but also a\ncommunity between the stories based upon these ideas. We must show not\nonly that Michabo is like Herakles in those striking features which\nthe contemplation of solar phenomena would necessarily suggest to\nthe imagination of the primitive myth-maker, but also that the two\ncharacters are similarly conceived, and that the two careers agree in\nseemingly arbitrary points of detail, as is the case in the stories of\nPunchkin and the Heartless Giant. The mere fact that solar heroes, all\nover the world, travel in a certain path and slay imps of darkness is of\ngreat value as throwing light upon primeval habits of thought, but it\nis of no value as evidence for or against an alleged community of\ncivilization between different races. The same is true of the sacredness\nuniversally attached to certain numbers. Dr. Blinton's opinion that the\nsanctity of the number four in nearly all systems of mythology is due to\na primitive worship of the cardinal points, becomes very probable\nwhen we recollect that the similar pre-eminence of seven is almost\ndemonstrably connected with the adoration of the sun, moon, and\nfive visible planets, which has left its record in the structure and\nnomenclature of the Aryan and Semitic week. [137]\n\nIn view of these considerations, the comparison of barbaric myths\nwith each other and with the legends of the Aryan world becomes doubly\ninteresting, as illustrating the similarity in the workings of the\nuntrained intelligence the world over. In our first paper we saw how\nthe moon-spots have been variously explained by Indo-Europeans, as a\nman with a thorn-bush or as two children bearing a bucket of water on a\npole. In Ceylon it is said that as Sakyamuni was one day wandering half\nstarved in the forest, a pious hare met him, and offered itself to him\nto be slain and cooked for dinner; whereupon the holy Buddha set it on\nhigh in the moon, that future generations of men might see it and marvel\nat its piety. In the Samoan Islands these dark patches are supposed\nto be portions of a woman's figure. A certain woman was once hammering\nsomething with a mallet, when the moon arose, looking so much like a\nbread-fruit that the woman asked it to come down and let her child\neat off a piece of it; but the moon, enraged at the insult, gobbled up\nwoman, mallet, and child, and there, in the moon's belly, you may still\nbehold them. According to the Hottentots, the Moon once sent the Hare to\ninform men that as she died away and rose again, so should men die\nand again come to life. But the stupid Hare forgot the purport of the\nmessage, and, coming down to the earth, proclaimed it far and wide that\nthough the Moon was invariably resuscitated whenever she died, mankind,\non the other hand, should die and go to the Devil. When the silly brute\nreturned to the lunar country and told what he had done, the Moon was so\nangry that she took up an axe and aimed a blow at his head to split it.\nBut the axe missed and only cut his lip open; and that was the origin\nof the \"hare-lip.\" Maddened by the pain and the insult, the Hare flew at\nthe Moon and almost scratched her eyes out; and to this day she bears on\nher face the marks of the Hare's claws. [138]\n\nAgain, every reader of the classics knows how Selene cast Endymion into\na profound slumber because he refused her love, and how at sundown she\nused to come and stand above him on the Latmian hill, and watch him as\nhe lay asleep on the marble steps of a temple half hidden among drooping\nelm-trees, over which clambered vines heavy with dark blue grapes. This\nrepresents the rising moon looking down on the setting sun; in Labrador\na similar phenomenon has suggested a somewhat different story. Among\nthe Esquimaux the Sun is a maiden and the Moon is her brother, who\nis overcome by a wicked passion for her. Once, as this girl was at a\ndancing-party in a friend's hut, some one came up and took hold of her\nby the shoulders and shook her, which is (according to the legend) the\nEsquimaux manner of declaring one's love. She could not tell who it was\nin the dark, and so she dipped her hand in some soot and smeared one of\nhis cheeks with it. When a light was struck in the hut, she saw, to her\ndismay, that it was her brother, and, without waiting to learn any more,\nshe took to her heels. He started in hot pursuit, and so they ran till\nthey got to the end of the world,--the jumping-off place,--when they\nboth jumped into the sky. There the Moon still chases his sister, the\nSun; and every now and then he turns his sooty cheek toward the earth,\nwhen he becomes so dark that you cannot see him. [139]\n\nAnother story, which I cite from Mr. Tylor, shows that Malays, as well\nas Indo-Europeans, have conceived of the clouds as swan-maidens. In the\nisland of Celebes it is said that \"seven heavenly nymphs came down from\nthe sky to bathe, and they were seen by Kasimbaha, who thought first\nthat they were white doves, but in the bath he saw that they were women.\nThen he stole one of the thin robes that gave the nymphs their power of\nflying, and so he caught Utahagi, the one whose robe he had stolen,\nand took her for his wife, and she bore him a son. Now she was called\nUtahagi from a single white hair she had, which was endowed with magic\npower, and this hair her husband pulled out. As soon as he had done\nit, there arose a great storm, and Utahagi went up to heaven. The child\ncried for its mother, and Kasimbaha was in great grief, and cast about\nhow he should follow Utahagi up into the sky.\" Here we pass to the myth\nof Jack and the Beanstalk. \"A rat gnawed the thorns off the rattans, and\nKasimbaha clambered up by them with his son upon his back, till he came\nto heaven. There a little bird showed him the house of Utahagi, and\nafter various adventures he took up his abode among the gods.\" [140]\n\nIn Siberia we find a legend of swan-maidens, which also reminds us of\nthe story of the Heartless Giant. A certain Samojed once went out to\ncatch foxes, and found seven maidens swimming in a lake surrounded by\ngloomy pine-trees, while their feather dresses lay on the shore. He\ncrept up and stole one of these dresses, and by and by the swan-maiden\ncame to him shivering with cold and promising to become his wife if he\nwould only give her back her garment of feathers. The ungallant fellow,\nhowever, did not care for a wife, but a little revenge was not unsuited\nto his way of thinking. There were seven robbers who used to prowl about\nthe neighbourhood, and who, when they got home, finding their hearts\nin the way, used to hang them up on some pegs in the tent. One of these\nrobbers had killed the Samojed's mother; and so he promised to return\nthe swan-maiden's dress after she should have procured for him these\nseven hearts. So she stole the hearts, and the Samojed smashed six of\nthem, and then woke up the seventh robber, and told him to restore his\nmother to life, on pain of instant death, Then the robber produced a\npurse containing the old woman's soul, and going to the graveyard shook\nit over her bones, and she revived at once. Then the Samojed smashed the\nseventh heart, and the robber died; and so the swan-maiden got back her\nplumage and flew away rejoicing. [141]\n\nSwan-maidens are also, according to Mr. Baring-Gould, found among the\nMinussinian Tartars. But there they appear as foul demons, like the\nGreek Harpies, who delight in drinking the blood of men slain in battle.\nThere are forty of them, who darken the whole firmament in their flight;\nbut sometimes they all coalesce into one great black storm-fiend, who\nrages for blood, like a werewolf.\n\nIn South Africa we find the werewolf himself. [142] A certain Hottentot\nwas once travelling with a Bushwoman and her child, when they perceived\nat a distance a troop of wild horses. The man, being hungry, asked the\nwoman to turn herself into a lioness and catch one of these horses, that\nthey might eat of it; whereupon the woman set down her child, and taking\noff a sort of petticoat made of human skin became instantly transformed\ninto a lioness, which rushed across the plain, struck down a wild horse\nand lapped its blood. The man climbed a tree in terror, and conjured his\ncompanion to resume her natural shape. Then the lioness came back, and\nputting on the skirt made of human skin reappeared as a woman, and took\nup her child, and the two friends resumed their journey after making a\nmeal of the horse's flesh. [143]\n\nThe werewolf also appears in North America, duly furnished with his\nwolf-skin sack; but neither in America nor in Africa is he the genuine\nEuropean werewolf, inspired by a diabolic frenzy, and ravening for human\nflesh. The barbaric myths testify to the belief that men can be changed\ninto beasts or have in some cases descended from beast ancestors, but\nthe application of this belief to the explanation of abnormal cannibal\ncravings seems to have been confined to Europe. The werewolf of\nthe Middle Ages was not merely a transformed man,--he was an insane\ncannibal, whose monstrous appetite, due to the machinations of the\nDevil, showed its power over his physical organism by changing the shape\nof it. The barbaric werewolf is the product of a lower and simpler kind\nof thinking. There is no diabolism about him; for barbaric races, while\nbelieving in the existence of hurtful and malicious fiends, have not a\nsufficiently vivid sense of moral abnormity to form the conception of\ndiabolism. And the cannibal craving, which to the mediaeval European was\na phenomenon so strange as to demand a mythological explanation,\nwould not impress the barbarian as either very exceptional or very\nblameworthy.\n\nIn the folk-lore of the Zulus, one of the most quick-witted and\nintelligent of African races, the cannibal possesses many features in\ncommon with the Scandinavian Troll, who also has a liking for human\nflesh. As we saw in the preceding paper, the Troll has very likely\nderived some of his characteristics from reminiscences of the barbarous\nraces who preceded the Aryans in Central and Northern Europe. In like\nmanner the long-haired cannibal of Zulu nursery literature, who is\nalways represented as belonging to a distinct race, has been supposed to\nbe explained by the existence of inferior races conquered and displaced\nby the Zulus. Nevertheless, as Dr. Callaway observes, neither the\nlong-haired mountain cannibals of Western Africa, nor the Fulahs,\nnor the tribes of Eghedal described by Barth, \"can be considered as\nanswering to the description of long-haired as given in the Zulu legends\nof cannibals; neither could they possibly have formed their historical\nbasis..... It is perfectly clear that the cannibals of the Zulu legends\nare not common men; they are magnified into giants and magicians; they\nare remarkably swift and enduring; fierce and terrible warriors.\" Very\nprobably they may have a mythical origin in modes of thought akin to\nthose which begot the Panis of the Veda and the Northern Trolls. The\nparallelism is perhaps the most remarkable one which can be found in\ncomparing barbaric with Aryan folk-lore. Like the Panis and Trolls, the\ncannibals are represented as the foes of the solar hero Uthlakanyana,\nwho is almost as great a traveller as Odysseus, and whose presence of\nmind amid trying circumstances is not to be surpassed by that of the\nincomparable Boots. Uthlakanyana is as precocious as Herakles or Hermes.\nHe speaks before he is born, and no sooner has he entered the world than\nhe begins to outwit other people and get possession of their property.\nHe works bitter ruin for the cannibals, who, with all their strength and\nfleetness, are no better endowed with quick wit than the Trolls, whom\nBoots invariably victimizes. On one of his journeys, Uthlakanyana fell\nin with a cannibal. Their greetings were cordial enough, and they ate a\nbit of leopard together, and began to build a house, and killed a couple\nof cows, but the cannibal's cow was lean, while Uthlakanyana's was fat.\nThen the crafty traveller, fearing that his companion might insist upon\nhaving the fat cow, turned and said, \"'Let the house be thatched now\nthen we can eat our meat. You see the sky, that we shall get wet.' The\ncannibal said, 'You are right, child of my sister; you are a man indeed\nin saying, let us thatch the house, for we shall get wet.'\nUthlakanyana said, 'Do you do it then; I will go inside, and push the\nthatching-needle for you, in the house.' The cannibal went up. His hair\nwas very, very long. Uthlakanyana went inside and pushed the needle for\nhim. He thatched in the hair of the cannibal, tying it very tightly; he\nknotted it into the thatch constantly, taking it by separate locks and\nfastening it firmly, that it might be tightly fastened to the house.\"\nThen the rogue went outside and began to eat of the cow which was\nroasted. \"The cannibal said, 'What are you about, child of my sister?\nLet us just finish the house; afterwards we can do that; we will do it\ntogether.' Uthlakanyana replied, 'Come down then. I cannot go into the\nhouse any more. The thatching is finished.' The cannibal assented. When\nhe thought he was going to quit the house, he was unable to quit it.\nHe cried out saying, 'Child of my sister, how have you managed your\nthatching?' Uthlakanyana said, 'See to it yourself. I have thatched\nwell, for I shall not have any dispute. Now I am about to eat in peace;\nI no longer dispute with anybody, for I am now alone with my cow.'\"\nSo the cannibal cried and raved and appealed in vain to Uthlakanyana's\nsense of justice, until by and by \"the sky came with hailstones and\nlightning Uthlakanyana took all the meat into the house; he stayed in\nthe house and lit a fire. It hailed and rained. The cannibal cried on\nthe top of the house; he was struck with the hailstones, and died there\non the house. It cleared. Uthlakanyana went out and said, 'Uncle, just\ncome down, and come to me. It has become clear. It no longer rains, and\nthere is no more hail, neither is there any more lightning. Why are you\nsilent?' So Uthlakanyana ate his cow alone, until he had finished it. He\nthen went on his way.\" [144]\n\nIn another Zulu legend, a girl is stolen by cannibals, and shut up\nin the rock Itshe-likantunjambili, which, like the rock of the Forty\nThieves, opens and shuts at the command of those who understand its\nsecret. She gets possession of the secret and escapes, and when the\nmonsters pursue her she throws on the ground a calabash full of sesame,\nwhich they stop to eat. At last, getting tired of running, she climbs a\ntree, and there she finds her brother, who, warned by a dream, has come\nout to look for her. They ascend the tree together until they come to a\nbeautiful country well stocked with fat oxen. They kill an ox, and while\nits flesh is roasting they amuse themselves by making a stout thong of\nits hide. By and by one of the cannibals, smelling the cooking meat,\ncomes to the foot of the tree, and looking up discovers the boy and girl\nin the sky-country! They invite him up there; to share in their feast,\nand throw him an end of the thong by which to climb up. When the\ncannibal is dangling midway between earth and heaven, they let go the\nrope, and down he falls with a terrible crash. [145]\n\nIn this story the enchanted rock opened by a talismanic formula brings\nus again into contact with Indo-European folk-lore. And that the\nconception has in both cases been suggested by the same natural\nphenomenon is rendered probable by another Zulu tale, in which the\ncannibal's cave is opened by a swallow which flies in the air. Here we\nhave the elements of a genuine lightning-myth. We see that among these\nAfrican barbarians, as well as among our own forefathers, the clouds\nhave been conceived as birds carrying the lightning which can cleave\nthe rocks. In America we find the same notion prevalent. The Dakotahs\nexplain the thunder as \"the sound of the cloud-bird flapping his wings,\"\nand the Caribs describe the lightning as a poisoned dart which the bird\nblows through a hollow reed, after the Carib style of shooting. [146]\nOn the other hand, the Kamtchatkans know nothing of a cloud-bird, but\nexplain the lightning as something analogous to the flames of a volcano.\nThe Kamtchatkans say that when the mountain goblins have got their\nstoves well heated up, they throw overboard, with true barbaric\nshiftlessness, all the brands not needed for immediate use, which makes\na volcanic eruption. So when it is summer on earth, it is winter in\nheaven; and the gods, after heating up their stoves, throw away their\nspare kindlingwood, which makes the lightning. [147]\n\nWhen treating of Indo-European solar myths, we saw the unvarying,\nunresting course of the sun variously explained as due to the subjection\nof Herakles to Eurystheus, to the anger of Poseidon at Odysseus, or to\nthe curse laid upon the Wandering Jew. The barbaric mind has worked\nat the same problem; but the explanations which it has given are more\nchildlike and more grotesque. A Polynesian myth tells how the Sun used\nto race through the sky so fast that men could not get enough daylight\nto hunt game for their subsistence. By and by an inventive genius, named\nMaui, conceived the idea of catching the Sun in a noose and making\nhim go more deliberately. He plaited ropes and made a strong net, and,\narming himself with the jawbone of his ancestress, Muri-ranga-whenua,\ncalled together all his brethren, and they journeyed to the place where\nthe Sun rises, and there spread the net. When the Sun came up, he stuck\nhis head and fore-paws into the net, and while the brothers tightened\nthe ropes so that they cut him and made him scream for mercy, Maui beat\nhim with the jawbone until he became so weak that ever since he has\nonly been able to crawl through the sky. According to another Polynesian\nmyth, there was once a grumbling Radical, who never could be satisfied\nwith the way in which things are managed on this earth. This bold\nRadical set out to build a stone house which should last forever; but\nthe days were so short and the stones so heavy that he despaired of\never accomplishing his project. One night, as he lay awake thinking the\nmatter over, it occurred to him that if he could catch the Sun in a net,\nhe could have as much daylight as was needful in order to finish his\nhouse. So he borrowed a noose from the god Itu, and, it being autumn,\nwhen the Sun gets sleepy and stupid, he easily caught the luminary. The\nSun cried till his tears made a great freshet which nearly drowned the\nisland; but it was of no use; there he is tethered to this day.\n\nSimilar stories are met with in North America. A Dog-Rib Indian once\nchased a squirrel up a tree until he reached the sky. There he set a\nsnare for the squirrel and climbed down again. Next day the Sun was\ncaught in the snare, and night came on at once. That is to say, the sun\nwas eclipsed. \"Something wrong up there,\" thought the Indian, \"I must\nhave caught the Sun\"; and so he sent up ever so many animals to release\nthe captive. They were all burned to ashes, but at last the mole, going\nup and burrowing out through the GROUND OF THE SKY, (!) succeeded in\ngnawing asunder the cords of the snare. Just as it thrust its head out\nthrough the opening made in the sky-ground, it received a flash of light\nwhich put its eyes out, and that is why the mole is blind. The Sun got\naway, but has ever since travelled more deliberately. [148]\n\nThese sun-myths, many more of which are to be found collected in Mr.\nTylor's excellent treatise on \"The Early History of Mankind,\" well\nillustrate both the similarity and the diversity of the results obtained\nby the primitive mind, in different times and countries, when engaged\nupon similar problems. No one would think of referring these stories to\na common traditional origin with the myths of Herakles and Odysseus; yet\nboth classes of tales were devised to explain the same phenomenon. Both\nto the Aryan and to the Polynesian the steadfast but deliberate journey\nof the sun through the firmament was a strange circumstance which called\nfor explanation; but while the meagre intelligence of the barbarian\ncould only attain to the quaint conception of a man throwing a noose\nover the sun's head, the rich imagination of the Indo-European created\nthe noble picture of Herakles doomed to serve the son of Sthenelos, in\naccordance with the resistless decree of fate.\n\nAnother world-wide myth, which shows how similar are the mental habits\nof uncivilized men, is the myth of the tortoise. The Hindu notion of a\ngreat tortoise that lies beneath the earth and keeps it from falling\nis familiar to every reader. According to one account, this tortoise,\nswimming in the primeval ocean, bears the earth on his back; but by and\nby, when the gods get ready to destroy mankind, the tortoise will grow\nweary and sink under his load, and then the earth will be overwhelmed\nby a deluge. Another legend tells us that when the gods and demons\ntook Mount Mandara for a churning-stick and churned the ocean to make\nambrosia, the god Vishnu took on the form of a tortoise and lay at the\nbottom of the sea, as a pivot for the whirling mountain to rest upon.\nBut these versions of the myth are not primitive. In the original\nconception the world is itself a gigantic tortoise swimming in a\nboundless ocean; the flat surface of the earth is the lower plate which\ncovers the reptile's belly; the rounded shell which covers his back is\nthe sky; and the human race lives and moves and has its being inside of\nthe tortoise. Now, as Mr. Tylor has pointed out, many tribes of Redskins\nhold substantially the same theory of the universe. They regard the\ntortoise as the symbol of the world, and address it as the mother of\nmankind. Once, before the earth was made, the king of heaven quarrelled\nwith his wife, and gave her such a terrible kick that she fell down into\nthe sea. Fortunately a tortoise received her on his back, and proceeded\nto raise up the earth, upon which the heavenly woman became the mother\nof mankind. These first men had white faces, and they used to dig in the\nground to catch badgers. One day a zealous burrower thrust his knife too\nfar and stabbed the tortoise, which immediately sank into the sea and\ndrowned all the human race save one man. [149] In Finnish mythology the\nworld is not a tortoise, but it is an egg, of which the white part is\nthe ocean, the yolk is the earth, and the arched shell is the sky. In\nIndia this is the mundane egg of Brahma; and it reappears among the\nYorubas as a pair of calabashes put together like oyster-shells, one\nmaking a dome over the other. In Zulu-land the earth is a huge beast\ncalled Usilosimapundu, whose face is a rock, and whose mouth is very\nlarge and broad and red: \"in some countries which were on his body it\nwas winter, and in others it was early harvest.\" Many broad rivers flow\nover his back, and he is covered with forests and hills, as is indicated\nin his name, which means \"the rugose or knotty-backed beast.\" In this\ngroup of conceptions may be seen the origin of Sindbad's great fish,\nwhich lay still so long that sand and clay gradually accumulated upon\nits back, and at last it became covered with trees. And lastly, passing\nfrom barbaric folk-lore and from the Arabian Nights to the highest level\nof Indo-European intelligence, do we not find both Plato and Kepler\namusing themselves with speculations in which the earth figures as a\nstupendous animal?\n\n\n\n\nVI. JUVENTUS MUNDI. [150]\n\n\nTWELVE years ago, when, in concluding his \"Studies on Homer and the\nHomeric Age,\" Mr. Gladstone applied to himself the warning addressed by\nAgamemnon to the priest of Apollo,\n\n     \"Let not Nemesis catch me by the swift ships.\"\n\nhe would seem to have intended it as a last farewell to classical\nstudies. Yet, whatever his intentions may have been, they have yielded\nto the sweet desire of revisiting familiar ground,--a desire as strong\nin the breast of the classical scholar as was the yearning which led\nOdysseus to reject the proffered gift of immortality, so that he might\nbut once more behold the wreathed smoke curling about the roofs of his\nnative Ithaka. In this new treatise, on the \"Youth of the World,\" Mr.\nGladstone discusses the same questions which were treated in his earlier\nwork; and the main conclusions reached in the \"Studies on Homer\"\nare here so little modified with reference to the recent progress of\narchaeological inquiries, that the book can hardly be said to have had\nany other reason for appearing, save the desire of loitering by the\nships of the Argives, and of returning thither as often as possible.\n\nThe title selected by Mr. Gladstone for his new work is either a very\nappropriate one or a strange misnomer, according to the point of\nview from which it is regarded. Such being the case, we might readily\nacquiesce in its use, and pass it by without comment, trusting that\nthe author understood himself when he adopted it, were it not that by\nincidental references, and especially by his allusions to the legendary\nliterature of the Jews, Mr. Gladstone shows that he means more by the\ntitle than it can fairly be made to express. An author who seeks to\ndetermine prehistoric events by references to Kadmos, and Danaos, and\nAbraham, is at once liable to the suspicion of holding very inadequate\nviews as to the character of the epoch which may properly be termed the\n\"youth of the world.\" Often in reading Mr. Gladstone we are reminded\nof Renan's strange suggestion that an exploration of the Hindu Kush\nterritory, whence probably came the primitive Aryans, might throw some\nnew light on the origin of language. Nothing could well be more futile.\nThe primitive Aryan language has already been partly reconstructed for\nus; its grammatical forms and syntactic devices are becoming familiar to\nscholars; one great philologist has even composed a tale in it; yet\nin studying this long-buried dialect we are not much nearer the first\nbeginnings of human speech than in studying the Greek of Homer, the\nSanskrit of the Vedas, or the Umbrian of the Igovine Inscriptions. The\nAryan mother-tongue had passed into the last of the three stages of\nlinguistic growth long before the break-up of the tribal communities\nin Aryana-vaedjo, and at that early date presented a less primitive\nstructure than is to be seen in the Chinese or the Mongolian of our own\ntimes. So the state of society depicted in the Homeric poems, and well\nillustrated by Mr. Gladstone, is many degrees less primitive than that\nwhich is revealed to us by the archaeological researches either of\nPictet and Windischmann, or of Tylor, Lubbock, and M'Lennan. We shall\ngather evidences of this as we proceed. Meanwhile let us remember that\nat least eleven thousand years before the Homeric age men lived in\ncommunities, and manufactured pottery on the banks of the Nile; and let\nus not leave wholly out of sight that more distant period, perhaps a\nmillion years ago, when sparse tribes of savage men, contemporaneous\nwith the mammoths of Siberia and the cave-tigers of Britain, struggled\nagainst the intense cold of the glacial winters.\n\nNevertheless, though the Homeric age appears to be a late one when\nconsidered with reference to the whole career of the human race, there\nis a point of view from which it may be justly regarded as the \"youth of\nthe world.\" However long man may have existed upon the earth, he becomes\nthoroughly and distinctly human in the eyes of the historian only at the\nepoch at which he began to create for himself a literature. As far back\nas we can trace the progress of the human race continuously by means of\nthe written word, so far do we feel a true historical interest in its\nfortunes, and pursue our studies with a sympathy which the mere lapse of\ntime is powerless to impair. But the primeval man, whose history never\nhas been and never will be written, whose career on the earth, dateless\nand chartless, can be dimly revealed to us only by palaeontology,\nexcites in us a very different feeling. Though with the keenest interest\nwe ransack every nook and corner of the earth's surface for information\nabout him, we are all the while aware that what we are studying is\nhuman zoology and not history. Our Neanderthal man is a specimen, not a\ncharacter. We cannot ask him the Homeric question, what is his name, who\nwere his parents, and how did he get where we found him. His language\nhas died with him, and he can render no account of himself. We can only\nregard him specifically as Homo Anthropos, a creature of bigger brain\nthan his congener Homo Pithekos, and of vastly greater promise. But\nthis, we say, is physical science, and not history.\n\nFor the historian, therefore, who studies man in his various social\nrelations, the youth of the world is the period at which literature\nbegins. We regard the history of the western world as beginning about\nthe tenth century before the Christian era, because at that date we find\nliterature, in Greece and Palestine, beginning to throw direct light\nupon the social and intellectual condition of a portion of mankind.\nThat great empires, rich in historical interest and in materials for\nsociological generalizations, had existed for centuries before that\ndate, in Egypt and Assyria, we do not doubt, since they appear at the\ndawn of history with all the marks of great antiquity; but the only\nsteady historical light thrown upon them shines from the pages of Greek\nand Hebrew authors, and these know them only in their latest period. For\ninformation concerning their early careers we must look, not to history,\nbut to linguistic archaeology, a science which can help us to general\nresults, but cannot enable us to fix dates, save in the crudest manner.\n\nWe mention the tenth century before Christ as the earliest period at\nwhich we can begin to study human society in general and Greek society\nin particular, through the medium of literature. But, strictly speaking,\nthe epoch in question is one which cannot be fixed with accuracy. The\nearliest ascertainable date in Greek history is that of the Olympiad\nof Koroibos, B. C. 776. There is no doubt that the Homeric poems\nwere written before this date, and that Homer is therefore strictly\nprehistoric. Had this fact been duly realized by those scholars who have\nnot attempted to deny it, a vast amount of profitless discussion might\nhave been avoided. Sooner or later, as Grote says, \"the lesson must\nbe learnt, hard and painful though it be, that no imaginable reach of\ncritical acumen will of itself enable us to discriminate fancy from\nreality, in the absence of a tolerable stock of evidence.\" We do not\nknow who Homer was; we do not know where or when he lived; and in all\nprobability we shall never know. The data for settling the question\nare not now accessible, and it is not likely that they will ever be\ndiscovered. Even in early antiquity the question was wrapped in an\nobscurity as deep as that which shrouds it to-day. The case between the\nseven or eight cities which claimed to be the birthplace of the\npoet, and which Welcker has so ably discussed, cannot be decided. The\nfeebleness of the evidence brought into court may be judged from the\nfact that the claims of Chios and the story of the poet's blindness rest\nalike upon a doubtful allusion in the Hymn to Apollo, which Thukydides\n(III. 104) accepted as authentic. The majority of modern critics have\nconsoled themselves with the vague conclusion that, as between the two\ngreat divisions of the early Greek world, Homer at least belonged to\nthe Asiatic. But Mr. Gladstone has shown good reasons for doubting this\nopinion. He has pointed out several instances in which the poems seem\nto betray a closer topographical acquaintance with European than with\nAsiatic Greece, and concludes that Athens and Argos have at least as\ngood a claim to Homer as Chios or Smyrna.\n\nIt is far more desirable that we should form an approximate opinion as\nto the date of the Homeric poems, than that we should seek to determine\nthe exact locality in which they originated. Yet the one question is\nhardly less obscure than the other. Different writers of antiquity\nassigned eight different epochs to Homer, of which the earliest is\nseparated from the most recent by an interval of four hundred and sixty\nyears,--a period as long as that which separates the Black Prince from\nthe Duke of Wellington, or the age of Perikles from the Christian era.\nWhile Theopompos quite preposterously brings him down as late as the\ntwenty-third Olympiad, Krates removes him to the twelfth century B. C.\nThe date ordinarily accepted by modern critics is the one assigned by\nHerodotos, 880 B. C. Yet Mr. Gladstone shows reasons, which appear to me\nconvincing, for doubting or rejecting this date.\n\nI refer to the much-abused legend of the Children of Herakles, which\nseems capable of yielding an item of trustworthy testimony, provided\nit be circumspectly dealt with. I differ from Mr. Gladstone in\nnot regarding the legend as historical in its present shape. In my\napprehension, Hyllos and Oxylos, as historical personages, have no value\nwhatever; and I faithfully follow Mr. Grote, in refusing to accept any\ndate earlier than the Olympiad of Koroibos. The tale of the \"Return of\nthe Herakleids\" is undoubtedly as unworthy of credit as the legend\nof Hengst and Horsa; yet, like the latter, it doubtless embodies\na historical occurrence. One cannot approve, as scholarlike or\nphilosophical, the scepticism of Mr. Cox, who can see in the whole\nnarrative nothing but a solar myth. There certainly was a time when the\nDorian tribes--described in the legend as the allies of the Children of\nHerakles--conquered Peloponnesos; and that time was certainly subsequent\nto the composition of the Homeric poems. It is incredible that the Iliad\nand the Odyssey should ignore the existence of Dorians in Peloponnesos,\nif there were Dorians not only dwelling but ruling there at the time\nwhen the poems were written. The poems are very accurate and rigorously\nconsistent in their use of ethnical appellatives; and their author, in\nspeaking of Achaians and Argives, is as evidently alluding to peoples\ndirectly known to him, as is Shakespeare when he mentions Danes and\nScotchmen. Now Homer knows Achaians, Argives, and Pelasgians dwelling in\nPeloponnesos; and he knows Dorians also, but only as a people inhabiting\nCrete. (Odyss. XIX. 175.) With Homer, moreover, the Hellenes are not the\nGreeks in general but only a people dwelling in the north, in Thessaly.\nWhen these poems were written, Greece was not known as Hellas, but\nas Achaia,--the whole country taking its name from the Achaians,\nthe dominant race in Peloponnesos. Now at the beginning of the truly\nhistorical period, in the eighth century B. C., all this is changed.\nThe Greeks as a people are called Hellenes; the Dorians rule in\nPeloponnesos, while their lands are tilled by Argive Helots; and the\nAchaians appear only as an insignificant people occupying the southern\nshore of the Corinthian Gulf. How this change took place we cannot tell.\nThe explanation of it can never be obtained from history, though some\nlight may perhaps be thrown upon it by linguistic archaeology. But at\nall events it was a great change, and could not have taken place in a\nmoment. It is fair to suppose that the Helleno-Dorian conquest must have\nbegun at least a century before the first Olympiad; for otherwise the\ngeographical limits of the various Greek races would not have been so\ncompletely established as we find them to have been at that date. The\nGreeks, indeed, supposed it to have begun at least three centuries\nearlier, but it is impossible to collect evidence which will either\nrefute or establish that opinion. For our purposes it is enough to know\nthat the conquest could not have taken place later than 900 B. C.; and\nif this be the case, the MINIMUM DATE for the composition of the Homeric\npoems must be the tenth century before Christ; which is, in fact, the\ndate assigned by Aristotle. Thus far, and no farther, I believe it\npossible to go with safety. Whether the poems were composed in the\ntenth, eleventh, or twelfth century cannot be determined. We\nare justified only in placing them far enough back to allow the\nHelleno-Dorian conquest to intervene between their composition and the\nbeginning of recorded history. The tenth century B. C. is the latest\ndate which will account for all the phenomena involved in the case, and\nwith this result we must be satisfied. Even on this showing, the Iliad\nand Odyssey appear as the oldest existing specimens of Aryan literature,\nsave perhaps the hymns of the Rig-Veda and the sacred books of the\nAvesta.\n\nThe apparent difficulty of preserving such long poems for three or four\ncenturies without the aid of writing may seem at first sight to justify\nthe hypothesis of Wolf, that they are mere collections of ancient\nballads, like those which make up the Mahabharata, preserved in the\nmemories of a dozen or twenty bards, and first arranged under the orders\nof Peisistratos. But on a careful examination this hypothesis is seen to\nraise more difficulties than it solves. What was there in the position\nof Peisistratos, or of Athens itself in the sixth century B. C., so\nauthoritative as to compel all Greeks to recognize the recension then\nand there made of their revered poet? Besides which the celebrated\nordinance of Solon respecting the rhapsodes at the Panathenaia obliges\nus to infer the existence of written manuscripts of Homer previous to\n550 B. C. As Mr. Grote well observes, the interference of Peisistratos\n\"presupposes a certain foreknown and ancient aggregate, the main\nlineaments of which were familiar to the Grecian public, although many\nof the rhapsodes in their practice may have deviated from it both by\nomission and interpolation. In correcting the Athenian recitations\nconformably with such understood general type, Peisistratos might hope\nboth to procure respect for Athens and to constitute a fashion for the\nrest of Greece. But this step of 'collecting the torn body of sacred\nHomer' is something generically different from the composition of a new\nIliad out of pre-existing songs: the former is as easy, suitable, and\npromising as the latter is violent and gratuitous.\" [151]\n\nAs for Wolf's objection, that the Iliad and Odyssey are too long to\nhave been preserved by memory, it may be met by a simple denial. It is a\nstrange objection indeed, coming from a man of Wolf's retentive memory.\nI do not see how the acquisition of the two poems can be regarded as\nsuch a very arduous task; and if literature were as scanty now as in\nGreek antiquity, there are doubtless many scholars who would long since\nhave had them at their tongues' end. Sir G. C. Lewis, with but little\nconscious effort, managed to carry in his head a very considerable\nportion of Greek and Latin classic literature; and Niebuhr (who\nonce restored from recollection a book of accounts which had been\naccidentally destroyed) was in the habit of referring to book and\nchapter of an ancient author without consulting his notes. Nay, there\nis Professor Sophocles, of Harvard University, who, if you suddenly stop\nand interrogate him in the street, will tell you just how many times any\ngiven Greek word occurs in Thukydides, or in AEschylos, or in Plato, and\nwill obligingly rehearse for you the context. If all extant copies of\nthe Homeric poems were to be gathered together and burnt up to-day,\nlike Don Quixote's library, or like those Arabic manuscripts of which\nCardinal Ximenes made a bonfire in the streets of Granada, the poems\ncould very likely be reproduced and orally transmitted for several\ngenerations; and much easier must it have been for the Greeks\nto preserve these books, which their imagination invested with a\nquasi-sanctity, and which constituted the greater part of the literary\nfurniture of their minds. In Xenophon's time there were educated\ngentlemen at Athens who could repeat both Iliad and Odyssey verbatim.\n(Xenoph. Sympos., III. 5.) Besides this, we know that at Chios there was\na company of bards, known as Homerids, whose business it was to recite\nthese poems from memory; and from the edicts of Solon and the Sikyonian\nKleisthenes (Herod., V. 67), we may infer that the case was the same in\nother parts of Greece. Passages from the Iliad used to be sung at the\nPythian festivals, to the accompaniment of the harp (Athenaeus, XIV.\n638), and in at least two of the Ionic islands of the AEgaean there were\nregular competitive exhibitions by trained young men, at which prizes\nwere given to the best reciter. The difficulty of preserving the poems,\nunder such circumstances, becomes very insignificant; and the Wolfian\nargument quite vanishes when we reflect that it would have been no\neasier to preserve a dozen or twenty short poems than two long ones.\nNay, the coherent, orderly arrangement of the Iliad and Odyssey would\nmake them even easier to remember than a group of short rhapsodies not\nconsecutively arranged.\n\nWhen we come to interrogate the poems themselves, we find in them quite\nconvincing evidence that they were originally composed for the ear\nalone, and without reference to manuscript assistance. They abound in\ncatchwords, and in verbal repetitions. The \"Catalogue of Ships,\" as Mr.\nGladstone has acutely observed, is arranged in well-defined sections,\nin such a way that the end of each section suggests the beginning of\nthe next one. It resembles the versus memoriales found in old-fashioned\ngrammars. But the most convincing proof of all is to be found in the\nchanges which Greek pronunciation went through between the ages of\nHomer and Peisistratos. \"At the time when these poems were composed, the\ndigamma (or w) was an effective consonant, and figured as such in the\nstructure of the verse; at the time when they were committed to writing,\nit had ceased to be pronounced, and therefore never found a place in any\nof the manuscripts,--insomuch that the Alexandrian critics, though they\nknew of its existence in the much later poems of Alkaios and Sappho,\nnever recognized it in Homer. The hiatus, and the various perplexities\nof metre, occasioned by the loss of the digamma, were corrected by\ndifferent grammatical stratagems. But the whole history of this lost\nletter is very curious, and is rendered intelligible only by the\nsupposition that the Iliad and Odyssey belonged for a wide space of time\nto the memory, the voice, and the ear exclusively.\" [152]\n\nMany of these facts are of course fully recognized by the Wolfians; but\nthe inference drawn from them, that the Homeric poems began to exist in\na piecemeal condition, is, as we have seen, unnecessary. These poems may\nindeed be compared, in a certain sense, with the early sacred and\nepic literature of the Jews, Indians, and Teutons. But if we assign a\nplurality of composers to the Psalms and Pentateuch, the Mahabharata,\nthe Vedas, and the Edda, we do so because of internal evidence furnished\nby the books themselves, and not because these books could not have been\npreserved by oral tradition. Is there, then, in the Homeric poems any\nsuch internal evidence of dual or plural origin as is furnished by\nthe interlaced Elohistic and Jehovistic documents of the Pentateuch? A\ncareful investigation will show that there is not. Any scholar who\nhas given some attention to the subject can readily distinguish the\nElohistic from the Jehovistic portions of the Pentateuch; and, save in\nthe case of a few sporadic verses, most Biblical critics coincide in the\nseparation which they make between the two. But the attempts which have\nbeen made to break up the Iliad and Odyssey have resulted in no such\nharmonious agreement. There are as many systems as there are critics,\nand naturally enough. For the Iliad and the Odyssey are as much alike\nas two peas, and the resemblance which holds between the two holds also\nbetween the different parts of each poem. From the appearance of the\ninjured Chryses in the Grecian camp down to the intervention of Athene\non the field of contest at Ithaka, we find in each book and in each\nparagraph the same style, the same peculiarities of expression, the same\nhabits of thought, the same quite unique manifestations of the faculty\nof observation. Now if the style were commonplace, the observation\nslovenly, or the thought trivial, as is wont to be the case in\nballad-literature, this argument from similarity might not carry with it\nmuch conviction. But when we reflect that throughout the whole course\nof human history no other works, save the best tragedies of Shakespeare,\nhave ever been written which for combined keenness of observation,\nelevation of thought, and sublimity of style can compare with the\nHomeric poems, we must admit that the argument has very great weight\nindeed. Let us take, for example, the sixth and twenty-fourth books\nof the Iliad. According to the theory of Lachmann, the most eminent\nchampion of the Wolfian hypothesis, these are by different authors.\nHuman speech has perhaps never been brought so near to the limit of its\ncapacity of expressing deep emotion as in the scene between Priam and\nAchilleus in the twenty-fourth book; while the interview between Hektor\nand Andromache in the sixth similarly wellnigh exhausts the power of\nlanguage. Now, the literary critic has a right to ask whether it\nis probable that two such passages, agreeing perfectly in turn of\nexpression, and alike exhibiting the same unapproachable degree of\nexcellence, could have been produced by two different authors. And the\nphysiologist--with some inward misgivings suggested by Mr. Galton's\ntheory that the Greeks surpassed us in genius even as we surpass the\nnegroes--has a right to ask whether it is in the natural course of\nthings for two such wonderful poets, strangely agreeing in their\nminutest psychological characteristics, to be produced at the same time.\nAnd the difficulty thus raised becomes overwhelming when we reflect that\nit is the coexistence of not two only, but at least twenty such geniuses\nwhich the Wolfian hypothesis requires us to account for. That theory\nworked very well as long as scholars thoughtlessly assumed that the\nIliad and Odyssey were analogous to ballad poetry. But, except in the\nsimplicity of the primitive diction, there is no such analogy. The\npower and beauty of the Iliad are never so hopelessly lost as when it is\nrendered into the style of a modern ballad. One might as well attempt\nto preserve the grandeur of the triumphant close of Milton's Lycidas by\nturning it into the light Anacreontics of the ode to \"Eros stung by a\nBee.\" The peculiarity of the Homeric poetry, which defies translation,\nis its union of the simplicity characteristic of an early age with a\nsustained elevation of style, which can be explained only as due to\nindividual genius.\n\nThe same conclusion is forced upon us when we examine the artistic\nstructure of these poems. With regard to the Odyssey in particular,\nMr. Grote has elaborately shown that its structure is so thoroughly\nintegral, that no considerable portion could be subtracted without\nconverting the poem into a more or less admirable fragment. The\nIliad stands in a somewhat different position. There are unmistakable\npeculiarities in its structure, which have led even Mr. Grote, who\nutterly rejects the Wolfian hypothesis, to regard it as made up of\ntwo poems; although he inclines to the belief that the later poem\nwas grafted upon the earlier by its own author, by way of further\nelucidation and expansion; just as Goethe, in his old age, added a\nnew part to \"Faust.\" According to Mr. Grote, the Iliad, as originally\nconceived, was properly an Achilleis; its design being, as indicated in\nthe opening lines of the poem, to depict the wrath of Achilleus and\nthe unutterable woes which it entailed upon the Greeks The plot of\nthis primitive Achilleis is entirely contained in Books I., VIII., and\nXI.-XXII.; and, in Mr. Grote's opinion, the remaining books injure the\nsymmetry of this plot by unnecessarily prolonging the duration of\nthe Wrath, while the embassy to Achilleus, in the ninth book, unduly\nanticipates the conduct of Agamemnon in the nineteenth, and is\ntherefore, as a piece of bungling work, to be referred to the hands of\nan inferior interpolator. Mr. Grote thinks it probable that these books,\nwith the exception of the ninth, were subsequently added by the poet,\nwith a view to enlarging the original Achilleis into a real Iliad,\ndescribing the war of the Greeks against Troy. With reference to this\nhypothesis, I gladly admit that Mr. Grote is, of all men now living, the\none best entitled to a reverential hearing on almost any point connected\nwith Greek antiquity. Nevertheless it seems to me that his theory rests\nsolely upon imagined difficulties which have no real existence. I doubt\nif any scholar, reading the Iliad ever so much, would ever be struck by\nthese alleged inconsistencies of structure, unless they were suggested\nby some a priori theory. And I fear that the Wolfian theory, in spite of\nMr. Grote's emphatic rejection of it, is responsible for some of these\nover-refined criticisms. Even as it stands, the Iliad is not an account\nof the war against Troy. It begins in the tenth year of the siege, and\nit does not continue to the capture of the city. It is simply occupied\nwith an episode in the war,--with the wrath of Achilleus and its\nconsequences, according to the plan marked out in the opening lines. The\nsupposed additions, therefore, though they may have given to the poem\na somewhat wider scope, have not at any rate changed its primitive\ncharacter of an Achilleis. To my mind they seem even called for by the\noriginal conception of the consequences of the wrath. To have inserted\nthe battle at the ships, in which Sarpedon breaks down the wall of the\nGreeks, immediately after the occurrences of the first book, would have\nbeen too abrupt altogether. Zeus, after his reluctant promise to Thetis,\nmust not be expected so suddenly to exhibit such fell determination. And\nafter the long series of books describing the valorous deeds of Aias,\nDiomedes, Agamemnon, Odysseus, and Menelaos, the powerful intervention\nof Achilleus appears in far grander proportions than would otherwise\nbe possible. As for the embassy to Achilleus, in the ninth book, I\nam unable to see how the final reconciliation with Agamemnon would be\ncomplete without it. As Mr. Gladstone well observes, what Achilleus\nwants is not restitution, but apology; and Agamemnon offers no apology\nuntil the nineteenth book. In his answer to the ambassadors, Achilleus\nscornfully rejects the proposals which imply that the mere return of\nBriseis will satisfy his righteous resentment, unless it be accompanied\nwith that public humiliation to which circumstances have not yet\ncompelled the leader of the Greeks to subject himself. Achilleus is not\nto be bought or cajoled. Even the extreme distress of the Greeks in the\nthirteenth book does not prevail upon him; nor is there anything in the\npoem to show that he ever would have laid aside his wrath, had not the\ndeath of Patroklos supplied him with a new and wholly unforeseen motive.\nIt seems to me that his entrance into the battle after the death of his\nfriend would lose half its poetic effect, were it not preceded by some\nsuch scene as that in the ninth book, in which he is represented as deaf\nto all ordinary inducements. As for the two concluding books, which Mr.\nGrote is inclined to regard as a subsequent addition, not necessitated\nby the plan of the poem, I am at a loss to see how the poem can be\nconsidered complete without them. To leave the bodies of Patroklos\nand Hektor unburied would be in the highest degree shocking to Greek\nreligious feelings. Remembering the sentence incurred, in far less\nsuperstitious times, by the generals at Arginusai, it is impossible to\nbelieve that any conclusion which left Patroklos's manes unpropitiated,\nand the mutilated corpse of Hektor unransomed, could have satisfied\neither the poet or his hearers. For further particulars I must refer\nthe reader to the excellent criticisms of Mr. Gladstone, and also to the\narticle on \"Greek History and Legend\" in the second volume of Mr. Mill's\n\"Dissertations and Discussions.\" A careful study of the arguments of\nthese writers, and, above all, a thorough and independent examination of\nthe Iliad itself, will, I believe, convince the student that this great\npoem is from beginning to end the consistent production of a single\nauthor.\n\nThe arguments of those who would attribute the Iliad and Odyssey, taken\nas wholes, to two different authors, rest chiefly upon some apparent\ndiscrepancies in the mythology of the two poems; but many of these\ndifficulties have been completely solved by the recent progress of the\nscience of comparative mythology. Thus, for example, the fact that,\nin the Iliad, Hephaistos is called the husband of Charis, while in the\nOdyssey he is called the husband of Aphrodite, has been cited even by\nMr. Grote as evidence that the two poems are not by the same author. It\nseems to me that one such discrepancy, in the midst of complete general\nagreement, would be much better explained as Cervantes explained his own\ninconsistency with reference to the stealing of Sancho's mule, in the\ntwenty-second chapter of \"Don Quixote.\" But there is no discrepancy.\nAphrodite, though originally the moon-goddess, like the German\nHorsel, had before Homer's time acquired many of the attributes of the\ndawn-goddess Athene, while her lunar characteristics had been to a\ngreat extent transferred to Artemis and Persephone. In her renovated\ncharacter, as goddess of the dawn, Aphrodite became identified with\nCharis, who appears in the Rig-Veda as dawn-goddess. In the post-Homeric\nmythology, the two were again separated, and Charis, becoming divided in\npersonality, appears as the Charites, or Graces, who were supposed to be\nconstant attendants of Aphrodite. But in the Homeric poems the two are\nstill identical, and either Charis or Aphrodite may be called the wife\nof the fire-god, without inconsistency.\n\nThus to sum up, I believe that Mr. Gladstone is quite right in\nmaintaining that both the Iliad and Odyssey are, from beginning to end,\nwith the exception of a few insignificant interpolations, the work of a\nsingle author, whom we have no ground for calling by any other name than\nthat of Homer. I believe, moreover, that this author lived before the\nbeginning of authentic history, and that we can determine neither his\nage nor his country with precision. We can only decide that he was a\nGreek who lived at some time previous to the year 900 B.C.\n\nHere, however, I must begin to part company with Mr. Gladstone, and\nshall henceforth unfortunately have frequent occasion to differ from him\non points of fundamental importance. For Mr. Gladstone not only regards\nthe Homeric age as strictly within the limits of authentic history, but\nhe even goes much further than this. He would not only fix the date of\nHomer positively in the twelfth century B. C., but he regards the\nTrojan war as a purely historical event, of which Homer is the authentic\nhistorian and the probable eye-witness. Nay, he even takes the word\nof the poet as proof conclusive of the historical character of events\nhappening several generations before the Troika, according to the\nlegendary chronology. He not only regards Agamemnon, Achilleus,\nand Paris as actual personages, but he ascribes the same reality to\ncharacters like Danaos, Kadmos, and Perseus, and talks of the Pelopid\nand Aiolid dynasties, and the empire of Minos, with as much confidence\nas if he were dealing with Karlings or Capetians, or with the epoch of\nthe Crusades.\n\nIt is disheartening, at the present day, and after so much has been\nfinally settled by writers like Grote, Mommsen, and Sir G. C. Lewis,\nto come upon such views in the work of a man of scholarship and\nintelligence. One begins to wonder how many more times it will be\nnecessary to prove that dates and events are of no historical value,\nunless attested by nearly contemporary evidence. Pausanias and Plutarch\nwere able men no doubt, and Thukydides was a profound historian; but\nwhat these writers thought of the Herakleid invasion, the age of\nHomer, and the war of Troy, can have no great weight with the critical\nhistorian, since even in the time of Thukydides these events were\nas completely obscured by lapse of time as they are now. There is no\nliterary Greek history before the age of Hekataios and Herodotos, three\ncenturies subsequent to the first recorded Olympiad. A portion of this\nperiod is satisfactorily covered by inscriptions, but even these fail us\nbefore we get within a century of this earliest ascertainable date.\nEven the career of the lawgiver Lykourgos, which seems to belong to\nthe commencement of the eighth century B. C., presents us, from lack of\nanything like contemporary records, with many insoluble problems. The\nHelleno-Dorian conquest, as we have seen, must have occurred at some\ntime or other; but it evidently did not occur within two centuries of\nthe earliest known inscription, and it is therefore folly to imagine\nthat we can determine its date or ascertain the circumstances which\nattended it. Anterior to this event there is but one fact in Greek\nantiquity directly known to us,--the existence of the Homeric poems. The\nbelief that there was a Trojan war rests exclusively upon the contents\nof those poems: there is no other independent testimony to it whatever.\nBut the Homeric poems are of no value as testimony to the truth of the\nstatements contained in them, unless it can be proved that their author\nwas either contemporary with the Troika, or else derived his information\nfrom contemporary witnesses. This can never be proved. To assume, as Mr.\nGladstone does, that Homer lived within fifty years after the Troika, is\nto make a purely gratuitous assumption. For aught the wisest historian\ncan tell, the interval may have been five hundred years, or a thousand.\nIndeed the Iliad itself expressly declares that it is dealing with an\nancient state of things which no longer exists. It is difficult to see\nwhat else can be meant by the statement that the heroes of the Troika\nbelong to an order of men no longer seen upon the earth. (Iliad, V.\n304.) Most assuredly Achilleus the son of Thetis, and Sarpedon the son\nof Zeus, and Helena the daughter of Zeus, are no ordinary mortals, such\nas might have been seen and conversed with by the poet's grandfather.\nThey belong to an inferior order of gods, according to the peculiar\nanthropomorphism of the Greeks, in which deity and humanity are so\nclosely mingled that it is difficult to tell where the one begins and\nthe other ends. Diomedes, single-handed, vanquishes not only the gentle\nAphrodite, but even the god of battles himself, the terrible Ares.\nNestor quaffs lightly from a goblet which, we are told, not two men\namong the poet's contemporaries could by their united exertions raise\nand place upon a table. Aias and Hektor and Aineias hurl enormous masses\nof rock as easily as an ordinary man would throw a pebble. All this\nshows that the poet, in his naive way, conceiving of these heroes as\npersonages of a remote past, was endeavouring as far as possible to\nascribe to them the attributes of superior beings. If all that were\ndivine, marvellous, or superhuman were to be left out of the poems, the\nsupposed historical residue would hardly be worth the trouble of saving.\nAs Mr. Cox well observes, \"It is of the very essence of the narrative\nthat Paris, who has deserted Oinone, the child of the stream Kebren, and\nbefore whom Here, Athene, and Aphrodite had appeared as claimants\nfor the golden apple, steals from Sparta the beautiful sister of the\nDioskouroi; that the chiefs are summoned together for no other purpose\nthan to avenge her woes and wrongs; that Achilleus, the son of the\nsea-nymph Thetis, the wielder of invincible weapons and the lord of\nundying horses, goes to fight in a quarrel which is not his own; that\nhis wrath is roused because he is robbed of the maiden Briseis, and that\nhenceforth he takes no part in the strife until his friend Patroklos has\nbeen slain; that then he puts on the new armour which Thetis brings to\nhim from the anvil of Hephaistos, and goes forth to win the victory. The\ndetails are throughout of the same nature. Achilleus sees and converses\nwith Athene; Aphrodite is wounded by Diomedes, and Sleep and Death bear\naway the lifeless Sarpedon on their noiseless wings to the far-off\nland of light.\" In view of all this it is evident that Homer was not\ndescribing, like a salaried historiographer, the state of things which\nexisted in the time of his father or grandfather. To his mind the\noccurrences which he described were those of a remote, a wonderful, a\nsemi-divine past.\n\nThis conclusion, which I have thus far supported merely by reference to\nthe Iliad itself, becomes irresistible as soon as we take into account\nthe results obtained during the past thirty years by the science of\ncomparative mythology. As long as our view was restricted to Greece,\nit was perhaps excusable that Achilleus and Paris should be taken for\nexaggerated copies of actual persons. Since the day when Grimm laid the\nfoundations of the science of mythology, all this has been changed. It\nis now held that Achilleus and Paris and Helena are to be found, not\nonly in the Iliad, but also in the Rig-Veda, and therefore, as mythical\nconceptions, date, not from Homer, but from a period preceding the\ndispersion of the Aryan nations. The tale of the Wrath of Achilleus, far\nfrom originating with Homer, far from being recorded by the author of\nthe Iliad as by an eyewitness, must have been known in its essential\nfeatures in Aryana-vaedjo, at that remote epoch when the Indian, the\nGreek, and the Teuton were as yet one and the same. For the story has\nbeen retained by the three races alike, in all its principal features;\nthough the Veda has left it in the sky where it originally belonged,\nwhile the Iliad and the Nibelungenlied have brought it down to earth,\nthe one locating it in Asia Minor, and the other in Northwestern Europe.\n[153]\n\nIn the Rig-Veda the Panis are the genii of night and winter,\ncorresponding to the Nibelungs, or \"Children of the Mist,\" in the\nTeutonic legend, and to the children of Nephele (cloud) in the Greek\nmyth of the Golden Fleece. The Panis steal the cattle of the Sun (Indra,\nHelios, Herakles), and carry them by an unknown route to a dark cave\neastward. Sarama, the creeping Dawn, is sent by Indra to find and\nrecover them. The Panis then tamper with Sarama, and try their best to\ninduce her to betray her solar lord. For a while she is prevailed\nupon to dally with them; yet she ultimately returns to give Indra the\ninformation needful in order that he might conquer the Panis, just\nas Helena, in the slightly altered version, ultimately returns to her\nwestern home, carrying with her the treasures (ktemata, Iliad, II. 285)\nof which Paris had robbed Menelaos. But, before the bright Indra and his\nsolar heroes can reconquer their treasures they must take captive the\noffspring of Brisaya, the violet light of morning. Thus Achilleus,\nanswering to the solar champion Aharyu, takes captive the daughter of\nBrises. But as the sun must always be parted from the morning-light, to\nreturn to it again just before setting, so Achilleus loses Briseis,\nand regains her only just before his final struggle. In similar wise\nHerakles is parted from Iole (\"the violet one\"), and Sigurd from\nBrynhild. In sullen wrath the hero retires from the conflict, and his\nMyrmidons are no longer seen on the battle-field, as the sun hides\nbehind the dark cloud and his rays no longer appear about him. Yet\ntoward the evening, as Briseis returns, he appears in his might, clothed\nin the dazzling armour wrought for him by the fire-god Hephaistos, and\nwith his invincible spear slays the great storm-cloud, which during his\nabsence had wellnigh prevailed over the champions of the daylight. But\nhis triumph is short-lived; for having trampled on the clouds that had\nopposed him, while yet crimsoned with the fierce carnage, the sharp\narrow of the night-demon Paris slays him at the Western Gates. We have\nnot space to go into further details. In Mr. Cox's \"Mythology of the\nAryan Nations,\" and \"Tales of Ancient Greece,\" the reader will find the\nentire contents of the Iliad and Odyssey thus minutely illustrated by\ncomparison with the Veda, the Edda, and the Lay of the Nibelungs.\n\nAncient as the Homeric poems undoubtedly are, they are modern in\ncomparison with the tale of Achilleus and Helena, as here unfolded. The\ndate of the entrance of the Greeks into Europe will perhaps never be\ndetermined; but I do not see how any competent scholar can well place it\nat less than eight hundred or a thousand years before the time of Homer.\nBetween the two epochs the Greek, Latin, Umbrian, and Keltic lauguages\nhad time to acquire distinct individualities. Far earlier, therefore,\nthan the Homeric \"juventus mundi\" was that \"youth of the world,\" in\nwhich the Aryan forefathers, knowing no abstract terms, and possessing\nno philosophy but fetichism, deliberately spoke of the Sun, and the\nDawn, and the Clouds, as persons or as animals. The Veda,\nthough composed much later than this,--perhaps as late as the\nIliad,--nevertheless preserves the record of the mental life of this\nperiod. The Vedic poet is still dimly aware that Sarama is the fickle\ntwilight, and the Panis the night-demons who strive to coax her from her\nallegiance to the day-god. He keeps the scene of action in the sky. But\nthe Homeric Greek had long since forgotten that Helena and Paris were\nanything more than semi-divine mortals, the daughter of Zeus and the\nson of the Zeus-descended Priam. The Hindu understood that Dyaus (\"the\nbright one\") meant the sky, and Sarama (\"the creeping one\") the dawn,\nand spoke significantly when he called the latter the daughter of the\nformer. But the Greek could not know that Zeus was derived from a root\ndiv, \"to shine,\" or that Helena belonged to a root sar, \"to creep.\"\nPhonetic change thus helped him to rise from fetichism to polytheism.\nHis nature-gods became thoroughly anthropomorphic; and he probably no\nmore remembered that Achilleus originally signified the sun, than we\nremember that the word God, which we use to denote the most vast of\nconceptions, originally meant simply the Storm-wind. Indeed, when the\nfetichistic tendency led the Greek again to personify the powers of\nnature, he had recourse to new names formed from his own language. Thus,\nbeside Apollo we have Helios; Selene beside Artemis and Persephone; Eos\nbeside Athene; Gaia beside Demeter. As a further consequence of this\ndecomposition and new development of the old Aryan mythology, we find,\nas might be expected, that the Homeric poems are not always consistent\nin their use of their mythic materials. Thus, Paris, the night-demon,\nis--to Max Muller's perplexity--invested with many of the attributes of\nthe bright solar heroes. \"Like Perseus, Oidipous, Romulus, and Cyrus, he\nis doomed to bring ruin on his parents; like them he is exposed in\nhis infancy on the hillside, and rescued by a shepherd.\" All the solar\nheroes begin life in this way. Whether, like Apollo, born of the dark\nnight (Leto), or like Oidipous, of the violet dawn (Iokaste), they are\nalike destined to bring destruction on their parents, as the night and\nthe dawn are both destroyed by the sun. The exposure of the child in\ninfancy represents the long rays of the morning-sun resting on the\nhillside. Then Paris forsakes Oinone (\"the wine-coloured one\"), but\nmeets her again at the gloaming when she lays herself by his side amid\nthe crimson flames of the funeral pyre. Sarpedon also, a solar hero, is\nmade to fight on the side of the Niblungs or Trojans, attended by his\nfriend Glaukos (\"the brilliant one\"). They command the Lykians, or\n\"children of light\"; and with them comes also Memnon, son of the Dawn,\nfrom the fiery land of the Aithiopes, the favourite haunt of Zeus and\nthe gods of Olympos.\n\nThe Iliad-myth must therefore have been current many ages before\nthe Greeks inhabited Greece, long before there was any Ilion to be\nconquered. Nevertheless, this does not forbid the supposition that the\nlegend, as we have it, may have been formed by the crystallization of\nmythical conceptions about a nucleus of genuine tradition. In this view\nI am upheld by a most sagacious and accurate scholar, Mr. E. A. Freeman,\nwho finds in Carlovingian romance an excellent illustration of the\nproblem before us.\n\nThe Charlemagne of romance is a mythical personage. He is supposed to\nhave been a Frenchman, at a time when neither the French nation nor\nthe French language can properly be said to have existed; and he is\nrepresented as a doughty crusader, although crusading was not thought of\nuntil long after the Karolingian era. The legendary deeds of Charlemagne\nare not conformed to the ordinary rules of geography and chronology.\nHe is a myth, and, what is more, he is a solar myth,--an avatar, or at\nleast a representative, of Odin in his solar capacity. If in his case\nlegend were not controlled and rectified by history, he would be for us\nas unreal as Agamemnon.\n\nHistory, however, tells us that there was an Emperor Karl, German in\nrace, name, and language, who was one of the two or three greatest men\nof action that the world has ever seen, and who in the ninth century\nruled over all Western Europe. To the historic Karl corresponds in many\nparticulars the mythical Charlemagne. The legend has preserved the fact,\nwhich without the information supplied by history we might perhaps set\ndown as a fiction, that there was a time when Germany, Gaul, Italy,\nand part of Spain formed a single empire. And, as Mr. Freeman has well\nobserved, the mythical crusades of Charlemagne are good evidence that\nthere were crusades, although the real Karl had nothing whatever to do\nwith one.\n\nNow the case of Agamemnon may be much like that of Charlemagne, except\nthat we no longer have history to help us in rectifying the legend.\nThe Iliad preserves the tradition of a time when a large portion of\nthe islands and mainland of Greece were at least partially subject to a\ncommon suzerain; and, as Mr. Freeman has again shrewdly suggested,\nthe assignment of a place like Mykenai, instead of Athens or Sparta\nor Argos, as the seat of the suzerainty, is strong evidence of the\ntrustworthiness of the tradition. It appears to show that the legend was\nconstrained by some remembered fact, instead of being guided by general\nprobability. Charlemagne's seat of government has been transferred in\nromance from Aachen to Paris; had it really been at Paris, says Mr.\nFreeman, no one would have thought of transferring it to Aachen.\nMoreover, the story of Agamemnon, though uncontrolled by historic\nrecords, is here at least supported by archaeologic remains, which prove\nMykenai to have been at some time or other a place of great consequence.\nThen, as to the Trojan war, we know that the Greeks several times\ncrossed the AEgaean and colonized a large part of the seacoast of Asia\nMinor. In order to do this it was necessary to oust from their homes\nmany warlike communities of Lydians and Bithynians, and we may be\nsure that this was not done without prolonged fighting. There may very\nprobably have been now and then a levy en masse in prehistoric Greece,\nas there was in mediaeval Europe; and whether the great suzerain at\nMykenai ever attended one or not, legend would be sure to send him on\nsuch an expedition, as it afterwards sent Charlemagne on a crusade.\n\nIt is therefore quite possible that Agamemnon and Menelaos may represent\ndimly remembered sovereigns or heroes, with their characters and actions\ndistorted to suit the exigencies of a narrative founded upon a solar\nmyth. The character of the Nibelungenlied here well illustrates that of\nthe Iliad. Siegfried and Brunhild, Hagen and Gunther, seem to be mere\npersonifications of physical phenomena; but Etzel and Dietrich are none\nother than Attila and Theodoric surrounded with mythical attributes; and\neven the conception of Brunhild has been supposed to contain elements\nderived from the traditional recollection of the historical Brunehault.\nWhen, therefore, Achilleus is said, like a true sun-god, to have died by\na wound from a sharp instrument in the only vulnerable part of his body,\nwe may reply that the legendary Charlemagne conducts himself in many\nrespects like a solar deity. If Odysseus detained by Kalypso represents\nthe sun ensnared and held captive by the pale goddess of night, the\nlegend of Frederic Barbarossa asleep in a Thuringian mountain embodies\na portion of a kindred conception. We know that Charlemagne and Frederic\nhave been substituted for Odin; we may suspect that with the mythical\nimpersonations of Achilleus and Odysseus some traditional figures may\nbe blended. We should remember that in early times the solar-myth was a\nsort of type after which all wonderful stories would be patterned, and\nthat to such a type tradition also would be made to conform.\n\nIn suggesting this view, we are not opening the door to Euhemerism.\nIf there is any one conclusion concerning the Homeric poems which\nthe labours of a whole generation of scholars may be said to have\nsatisfactorily established, it is this, that no trustworthy history can\nbe obtained from either the Iliad or the Odyssey merely by sifting out\nthe mythical element. Even if the poems contain the faint reminiscence\nof an actual event, that event is inextricably wrapped up in mythical\nphraseology, so that by no cunning of the scholar can it be construed\ninto history. In view of this it is quite useless for Mr. Gladstone\nto attempt to base historical conclusions upon the fact that Helena is\nalways called \"Argive Helen,\" or to draw ethnological inferences from\nthe circumstances that Menelaos, Achilleus, and the rest of the Greek\nheroes, have yellow hair, while the Trojans are never so described. The\nArgos of the myth is not the city of Peloponnesos, though doubtless\nso construed even in Homer's time. It is \"the bright land\" where Zeus\nresides, and the epithet is applied to his wife Here and his daughter\nHelena, as well as to the dog of Odysseus, who reappears with Sarameyas\nin the Veda. As for yellow hair, there is no evidence that Greeks have\never commonly possessed it; but no other colour would do for a solar\nhero, and it accordingly characterizes the entire company of them,\nwherever found, while for the Trojans, or children of night, it is not\nrequired.\n\nA wider acquaintance with the results which have been obtained during\nthe past thirty years by the comparative study of languages and\nmythologies would have led Mr. Gladstone to reconsider many of his views\nconcerning the Homeric poems, and might perhaps have led him to cut out\nhalf or two thirds of his book as hopelessly antiquated. The chapter on\nthe divinities of Olympos would certainly have had to be rewritten, and\nthe ridiculous theory of a primeval revelation abandoned. One can hardly\npreserve one's gravity when Mr. Gladstone derives Apollo from the\nHebrew Messiah, and Athene from the Logos. To accredit Homer with an\nacquaintance with the doctrine of the Logos, which did not exist until\nthe time of Philo, and did not receive its authorized Christian form\nuntil the middle of the second century after Christ, is certainly a\nstrange proceeding. We shall next perhaps be invited to believe that the\nauthors of the Volsunga Saga obtained the conception of Sigurd from\nthe \"Thirty-Nine Articles.\" It is true that these deities, Athene and\nApollo, are wiser, purer, and more dignified, on the whole, than any\nof the other divinities of the Homeric Olympos. They alone, as Mr.\nGladstone truly observes, are never deceived or frustrated. For all\nHellas, Apollo was the interpreter of futurity, and in the maid Athene\nwe have perhaps the highest conception of deity to which the Greek mind\nhad attained in the early times. In the Veda, Athene is nothing but the\ndawn; but in the Greek mythology, while the merely sensuous glories of\ndaybreak are assigned to Eos, Athene becomes the impersonation of the\nilluminating and knowledge-giving light of the sky. As the dawn, she\nis daughter of Zeus, the sky, and in mythic language springs from his\nforehead; but, according to the Greek conception, this imagery signifies\nthat she shares, more than any other deity, in the boundless wisdom\nof Zeus. The knowledge of Apollo, on the other hand, is the peculiar\nprivilege of the sun, who, from his lofty position, sees everything that\ntakes place upon the earth. Even the secondary divinity Helios possesses\nthis prerogative to a certain extent.\n\nNext to a Hebrew, Mr. Gladstone prefers a Phoenician ancestry for the\nGreek divinities. But the same lack of acquaintance with the old Aryan\nmythology vitiates all his conclusions. No doubt the Greek mythology is\nin some particulars tinged with Phoenician conceptions. Aphrodite was\noriginally a purely Greek divinity, but in course of time she acquired\nsome of the attributes of the Semitic Astarte, and was hardly improved\nby the change. Adonis is simply a Semitic divinity, imported into\nGreece. But the same cannot be proved of Poseidon; [154] far less of\nHermes, who is identical with the Vedic Sarameyas, the rising wind,\nthe son of Sarama the dawn, the lying, tricksome wind-god, who invented\nmusic, and conducts the souls of dead men to the house of Hades, even\nas his counterpart the Norse Odin rushes over the tree-tops leading\nthe host of the departed. When one sees Iris, the messenger of Zeus,\nreferred to a Hebrew original, because of Jehovah's promise to Noah, one\nis at a loss to understand the relationship between the two conceptions.\nNothing could be more natural to the Greeks than to call the rainbow the\nmessenger of the sky-god to earth-dwelling men; to call it a token set\nin the sky by Jehovah, as the Hebrews did, was a very different thing.\nWe may admit the very close resemblance between the myth of Bellerophon\nand Anteia, and that of Joseph and Zuleikha; but the fact that the Greek\nstory is explicable from Aryan antecedents, while the Hebrew story is\nisolated, might perhaps suggest the inference that the Hebrews were the\nborrowers, as they undoubtedly were in the case of the myth of Eden.\nLastly, to conclude that Helios is an Eastern deity, because he reigns\nin the East over Thrinakia, is wholly unwarranted. Is not Helios pure\nGreek for the sun? and where should his sacred island be placed, if not\nin the East? As for his oxen, which wrought such dire destruction to the\ncomrades of Odysseus, and which seem to Mr. Gladstone so anomalous, they\nare those very same unhappy cattle, the clouds, which were stolen by the\nstorm-demon Cacus and the wind-deity Hermes, and which furnished endless\nmaterial for legends to the poets of the Veda.\n\nBut the whole subject of comparative mythology seems to be terra\nincognita to Mr. Gladstone. He pursues the even tenour of his way in\nutter disregard of Grimm, and Kuhn, and Breal, and Dasent, and Burnouf.\nHe takes no note of the Rig-Veda, nor does he seem to realize that there\nwas ever a time when the ancestors of the Greeks and Hindus worshipped\nthe same gods. Two or three times he cites Max Muller, but makes no\nuse of the copious data which might be gathered from him. The only work\nwhich seems really to have attracted his attention is M. Jacolliot's\nvery discreditable performance called \"The Bible in India.\" Mr.\nGladstone does not, indeed, unreservedly approve of this book; but\nneither does he appear to suspect that it is a disgraceful piece of\ncharlatanry, written by a man ignorant of the very rudiments of the\nsubject which he professes to handle.\n\nMr. Gladstone is equally out of his depth when he comes to treat purely\nphilological questions. Of the science of philology, as based upon\nestablished laws of phonetic change, he seems to have no knowledge\nwhatever. He seems to think that two words are sufficiently proved to\nbe connected when they are seen to resemble each other in spelling or in\nsound. Thus he quotes approvingly a derivation of the name Themis from\nan assumed verb them, \"to speak,\" whereas it is notoriously derived from\ntiqhmi, as statute comes ultimately from stare. His reference of hieros,\n\"a priest,\" and geron, \"an old man,\" to the same root, is utterly\nbaseless; the one is the Sanskrit ishiras, \"a powerful man,\" the other\nis the Sanskrit jaran, \"an old man.\" The lists of words on pages 96-100\nare disfigured by many such errors; and indeed the whole purpose for\nwhich they are given shows how sadly Mr. Gladstone's philology is in\narrears. The theory of Niebuhr--that the words common to Greek and\nLatin, mostly descriptive of peaceful occupations, are Pelasgian--was\nserviceable enough in its day, but is now rendered wholly antiquated\nby the discovery that such words are Aryan, in the widest sense. The\nPelasgian theory works very smoothly so long as we only compare the\nGreek with the Latin words,--as, for instance, sugon with jugum; but\nwhen we add the English yoke and the Sanskrit yugam, it is evident that\nwe have got far out of the range of the Pelasgoi. But what shall we say\nwhen we find Mr. Gladstone citing the Latin thalamus in support of\nthis antiquated theory? Doubtless the word thalamus is, or should be,\nsignificative of peaceful occupations; but it is not a Latin word at\nall, except by adoption. One might as well cite the word ensemble to\nprove the original identity or kinship between English and French.\n\nWhen Mr. Gladstone, leaving the dangerous ground of pure and applied\nphilology, confines himself to illustrating the contents of the Homeric\npoems, he is always excellent. His chapter on the \"Outer Geography\" of\nthe Odyssey is exceedingly interesting; showing as it does how much\nmay be obtained from the patient and attentive study of even a single\nauthor. Mr. Gladstone's knowledge of the SURFACE of the Iliad and\nOdyssey, so to speak, is extensive and accurate. It is when he attempts\nto penetrate beneath the surface and survey the treasures hidden in the\nbowels of the earth, that he shows himself unprovided with the talisman\nof the wise dervise, which alone can unlock those mysteries. But modern\nphilology is an exacting science: to approach its higher problems\nrequires an amount of preparation sufficient to terrify at the outset\nall but the boldest; and a man who has had to regulate taxation, and\nmake out financial statements, and lead a political party in a great\nnation, may well be excused for ignorance of philology. It is difficult\nenough for those who have little else to do but to pore over treatises\non phonetics, and thumb their lexicons, to keep fully abreast with the\nlatest views in linguistics. In matters of detail one can hardly ever\nbroach a new hypothesis without misgivings lest somebody, in some weekly\njournal published in Germany, may just have anticipated and refuted it.\nYet while Mr. Gladstone may be excused for being unsound in philology,\nit is far less excusable that he should sit down to write a book about\nHomer, abounding in philological statements, without the slightest\nknowledge of what has been achieved in that science for several years\npast. In spite of all drawbacks, however, his book shows an abiding\ntaste for scholarly pursuits, and therefore deserves a certain kind\nof praise. I hope,--though just now the idea savours of the\nludicrous,--that the day may some time arrive when OUR Congressmen and\nSecretaries of the Treasury will spend their vacations in writing books\nabout Greek antiquities, or in illustrating the meaning of Homeric\nphrases.\n\nJuly, 1870.\n\n\n\n\nVII. THE PRIMEVAL GHOST-WORLD.\n\nNO earnest student of human culture can as yet have forgotten or wholly\noutlived the feeling of delight awakened by the first perusal of Max\nMuller's brilliant \"Essay on Comparative Mythology,\"--a work in which\nthe scientific principles of myth-interpretation, though not newly\nannounced, were at least brought home to the reader with such an amount\nof fresh and striking concrete illustration as they had not before\nreceived. Yet it must have occurred to more than one reader that, while\nthe analyses of myths contained in this noble essay are in the main\nsound in principle and correct in detail, nevertheless the author's\ntheory of the genesis of myth is expressed, and most likely conceived,\nin a way that is very suggestive of carelessness and fallacy. There are\nobvious reasons for doubting whether the existence of mythology can be\ndue to any \"disease,\" abnormity, or hypertrophy of metaphor in language;\nand the criticism at once arises, that with the myth-makers it was not\nso much the character of the expression which originated the thought,\nas it was the thought which gave character to the expression. It is not\nthat the early Aryans were myth-makers because their language abounded\nin metaphor; it is that the Aryan mother-tongue abounded in metaphor\nbecause the men and women who spoke it were myth-makers. And they were\nmyth-makers because they had nothing but the phenomena of human will and\neffort with which to compare objective phenomena. Therefore it was that\nthey spoke of the sun as an unwearied voyager or a matchless archer,\nand classified inanimate no less than animate objects as masculine and\nfeminine. Max Muller's way of stating his theory, both in this Essay\nand in his later Lectures, affords one among several instances of the\ncurious manner in which he combines a marvellous penetration into the\nsignificance of details with a certain looseness of general conception.\n[155] The principles of philological interpretation are an indispensable\naid to us in detecting the hidden meaning of many a legend in which the\npowers of nature are represented in the guise of living and thinking\npersons; but before we can get at the secret of the myth-making tendency\nitself, we must leave philology and enter upon a psychological study.\nWe must inquire into the characteristics of that primitive style of\nthinking to which it seemed quite natural that the sun should be an\nunerring archer, and the thunder-cloud a black demon or gigantic robber\nfinding his richly merited doom at the hands of the indignant Lord of\nLight.\n\nAmong recent treatises which have dealt with this interesting problem,\nwe shall find it advantageous to give especial attention to Mr. Tylor's\n\"Primitive Culture,\" [156] one of the few erudite works which are at\nonce truly great and thoroughly entertaining. The learning displayed\nin it would do credit to a German specialist, both for extent and for\nminuteness, while the orderly arrangement of the arguments and the\nelegant lucidity of the style are such as we are accustomed to expect\nfrom French essay-writers. And what is still more admirable is the\nway in which the enthusiasm characteristic of a genial and original\nspeculator is tempered by the patience and caution of a cool-headed\ncritic. Patience and caution are nowhere more needed than in writers\nwho deal with mythology and with primitive religious ideas; but these\nqualities are too seldom found in combination with the speculative\nboldness which is required when fresh theories are to be framed or new\npaths of investigation opened. The state of mind in which the explaining\npowers of a favourite theory are fondly contemplated is, to some extent,\nantagonistic to the state of mind in which facts are seen, with the\neye of impartial criticism, in all their obstinate and uncompromising\nreality. To be able to preserve the balance between the two opposing\ntendencies is to give evidence of the most consummate scientific\ntraining. It is from the want of such a balance that the recent great\nwork of Mr. Cox is at times so unsatisfactory. It may, I fear, seem\nill-natured to say so, but the eagerness with which Mr. Cox waylays\nevery available illustration of the physical theory of the origin of\nmyths has now and then the curious effect of weakening the reader's\nconviction of the soundness of the theory. For my own part, though by no\nmeans inclined to waver in adherence to a doctrine once adopted on good\ngrounds, I never felt so much like rebelling against the mythologic\nsupremacy of the Sun and the Dawn as when reading Mr. Cox's volumes.\nThat Mr. Tylor, while defending the same fundamental theory, awakens no\nsuch rebellious feelings, is due to his clear perception and realization\nof the fact that it is impossible to generalize in a single formula\nsuch many-sided correspondences as those which primitive poetry end\nphilosophy have discerned between the life of man and the life of\noutward nature. Whoso goes roaming up and down the elf-land of popular\nfancies, with sole intent to resolve each episode of myth into some\nanswering physical event, his only criterion being outward resemblance,\ncannot be trusted in his conclusions, since wherever he turns for\nevidence he is sure to find something that can be made to serve as such.\nAs Mr. Tylor observes, no household legend or nursery rhyme is safe from\nhis hermeneutics. \"Should he, for instance, demand as his property\nthe nursery 'Song of Sixpence,' his claim would be easily\nestablished,--obviously the four-and-twenty blackbirds are the\nfour-and-twenty hours, and the pie that holds them is the underlying\nearth covered with the overarching sky,--how true a touch of nature\nit is that when the pie is opened, that is, when day breaks, the birds\nbegin to sing; the King is the Sun, and his counting out his money is\npouring out the sunshine, the golden shower of Danae; the Queen is\nthe Moon, and her transparent honey the moonlight; the Maid is the\n'rosy-fingered' Dawn, who rises before the Sun, her master, and hangs\nout the clouds, his clothes, across the sky; the particular blackbird,\nwho so tragically ends the tale by snipping off her nose, is the hour of\nsunrise.\" In all this interpretation there is no a priori improbability,\nsave, perhaps, in its unbroken symmetry and completeness. That\nsome points, at least, of the story are thus derived from antique\ninterpretations of physical events, is in harmony with all that we know\nconcerning nursery rhymes. In short, \"the time-honoured rhyme really\nwants but one thing to prove it a sun-myth, that one thing being a proof\nby some argument more valid than analogy.\" The character of the argument\nwhich is lacking may be illustrated by a reference to the rhyme about\nJack and Jill, explained some time since in the paper on \"The Origins of\nFolk Lore.\" If the argument be thought valid which shows these ill-fated\nchildren to be the spots on the moon, it is because the proof consists,\nnot in the analogy, which is in this case not especially obvious, but\nin the fact that in the Edda, and among ignorant Swedish peasants of our\nown day, the story of Jack and Jill is actually given as an explanation\nof the moon-spots. To the neglect of this distinction between what is\nplausible and what is supported by direct evidence, is due much of the\ncrude speculation which encumbers the study of myths.\n\nIt is when Mr. Tylor merges the study of mythology into the wider\ninquiry into the characteristic features of the mode of thinking in\nwhich myths originated, that we can best appreciate the practical\nvalue of that union of speculative boldness and critical sobriety which\neverywhere distinguishes him. It is pleasant to meet with a writer who\ncan treat of primitive religious ideas without losing his head over\nallegory and symbolism, and who duly realizes the fact that a savage\nis not a rabbinical commentator, or a cabalist, or a Rosicrucian, but\na plain man who draws conclusions like ourselves, though with feeble\nintelligence and scanty knowledge. The mystic allegory with which such\nmodern writers as Lord Bacon have invested the myths of antiquity is\nno part of their original clothing, but is rather the late product of\na style of reasoning from analogy quite similar to that which we\nshall perceive to have guided the myth-makers in their primitive\nconstructions. The myths and customs and beliefs which, in an advanced\nstage of culture, seem meaningless save when characterized by\nsome quaintly wrought device of symbolic explanation, did not seem\nmeaningless in the lower culture which gave birth to them. Myths, like\nwords, survive their primitive meanings. In the early stage the myth is\npart and parcel of the current mode of philosophizing; the explanation\nwhich it offers is, for the time, the natural one, the one which would\nmost readily occur to any one thinking on the theme with which the myth\nis concerned. But by and by the mode of philosophizing has changed;\nexplanations which formerly seemed quite obvious no longer occur to any\none, but the myth has acquired an independent substantive existence, and\ncontinues to be handed down from parents to children as something true,\nthough no one can tell why it is true: Lastly, the myth itself\ngradually fades from remembrance, often leaving behind it some utterly\nunintelligible custom or seemingly absurd superstitious notion. For\nexample,--to recur to an illustration already cited in a previous\npaper,--it is still believed here and there by some venerable granny\nthat it is wicked to kill robins; but he who should attribute the belief\nto the old granny's refined sympathy with all sentient existence, would\nbe making one of the blunders which are always committed by those\nwho reason a priori about historical matters without following the\nhistorical method. At an earlier date the superstition existed in the\nshape of a belief that the killing of a robin portends some calamity;\nin a still earlier form the calamity is specified as death; and again,\nstill earlier, as death by lightning. Another step backward reveals that\nthe dread sanctity of the robin is owing to the fact that he is the bird\nof Thor, the lightning god; and finally we reach that primitive stage\nof philosophizing in which the lightning is explained as a red bird\ndropping from its beak a worm which cleaveth the rocks. Again, the\nbelief that some harm is sure to come to him who saves the life of\na drowning man, is unintelligible until it is regarded as a case of\nsurvival in culture. In the older form of the superstition it is held\nthat the rescuer will sooner or later be drowned himself; and thus we\npass to the fetichistic interpretation of drowning as the seizing of the\nunfortunate person by the water-spirit or nixy, who is naturally angry\nat being deprived of his victim, and henceforth bears a special grudge\nagainst the bold mortal who has thus dared to frustrate him.\n\nThe interpretation of the lightning as a red bird, and of drowning as\nthe work of a smiling but treacherous fiend, are parts of that primitive\nphilosophy of nature in which all forces objectively existing are\nconceived as identical with the force subjectively known as volition.\nIt is this philosophy, currently known as fetichism, but treated by Mr.\nTylor under the somewhat more comprehensive name of \"animism,\" which\nwe must now consider in a few of its most conspicuous exemplifications.\nWhen we have properly characterized some of the processes which the\nuntrained mind habitually goes through, we shall have incidentally\narrived at a fair solution of the genesis of mythology.\n\nLet us first note the ease with which the barbaric or uncultivated mind\nreaches all manner of apparently fanciful conclusions through reckless\nreasoning from analogy. It is through the operation of certain laws of\nideal association that all human thinking, that of the highest as well\nas that of the lowest minds, is conducted: the discovery of the law of\ngravitation, as well as the invention of such a superstition as the\nHand of Glory, is at bottom but a case of association of ideas. The\ndifference between the scientific and the mythologic inference consists\nsolely in the number of checks which in the former case combine to\nprevent any other than the true conclusion from being framed into a\nproposition to which the mind assents. Countless accumulated experiences\nhave taught the modern that there are many associations of ideas which\ndo not correspond to any actual connection of cause and effect in the\nworld of phenomena; and he has learned accordingly to apply to his newly\nframed notions the rigid test of verification. Besides which the same\naccumulation of experiences has built up an organized structure of ideal\nassociations into which only the less extravagant newly framed notions\nhave any chance of fitting. The primitive man, or the modern savage who\nis to some extent his counterpart, must reason without the aid of these\nmultifarious checks. That immense mass of associations which answer to\nwhat are called physical laws, and which in the mind of the civilized\nmodern have become almost organic, have not been formed in the mind of\nthe savage; nor has he learned the necessity of experimentally testing\nany of his newly framed notions, save perhaps a few of the commonest.\nConsequently there is nothing but superficial analogy to guide the\ncourse of his thought hither or thither, and the conclusions at which he\narrives will be determined by associations of ideas occurring apparently\nat haphazard. Hence the quaint or grotesque fancies with which European\nand barbaric folk-lore is filled, in the framing of which the myth-maker\nwas but reasoning according to the best methods at his command. To this\nsimplest class, in which the association of ideas is determined by mere\nanalogy, belong such cases as that of the Zulu, who chews a piece of\nwood in order to soften the heart of the man with whom he is about\nto trade for cows, or the Hessian lad who \"thinks he may escape the\nconscription by carrying a baby-girl's cap in his pocket,--a symbolic\nway of repudiating manhood.\" [157] A similar style of thinking underlies\nthe mediaeval necromancer's practice of making a waxen image of his\nenemy and shooting at it with arrows, in order to bring about the\nenemy's death; as also the case of the magic rod, mentioned in a\nprevious paper, by means of which a sound thrashing can be administered\nto an absent foe through the medium of an old coat which is imagined\nto cover him. The principle involved here is one which is doubtless\nfamiliar to most children, and is closely akin to that which Irving so\namusingly illustrates in his doughty general who struts through a field\nof cabbages or corn-stalks, smiting them to earth with his cane, and\nimagining himself a hero of chivalry conquering single-handed a host of\ncaitiff ruffians. Of like origin are the fancies that the breaking of\na mirror heralds a death in the family,--probably because of the\ndestruction of the reflected human image; that the \"hair of the dog that\nbit you\" will prevent hydrophobia if laid upon the wound; or that the\ntears shed by human victims, sacrificed to mother earth, will bring down\nshowers upon the land. Mr. Tylor cites Lord Chesterfield's remark, \"that\nthe king had been ill, and that people generally expected the illness\nto be fatal, because the oldest lion in the Tower, about the king's age,\nhad just died. 'So wild and capricious is the human mind,'\" observes\nthe elegant letter-writer. But indeed, as Mr. Tylor justly remarks, \"the\nthought was neither wild nor capricious; it was simply such an argument\nfrom analogy as the educated world has at length painfully learned to be\nworthless, but which, it is not too much to declare, would to this\nday carry considerable weight to the minds of four fifths of the human\nrace.\" Upon such symbolism are based most of the practices of divination\nand the great pseudo-science of astrology. \"It is an old story, that\nwhen two brothers were once taken ill together, Hippokrates, the\nphysician, concluded from the coincidence that they were twins, but\nPoseidonios, the astrologer, considered rather that they were born under\nthe same constellation; we may add that either argument would be thought\nreasonable by a savage.\" So when a Maori fortress is attacked, the\nbesiegers and besieged look to see if Venus is near the moon. The moon\nrepresents the fortress; and if it appears below the companion planet,\nthe besiegers will carry the day, otherwise they will be repulsed.\nEqually primitive and childlike was Rousseau's train of thought on the\nmemorable day at Les Charmettes when, being distressed with doubts as to\nthe safety of his soul, he sought to determine the point by throwing a\nstone at a tree. \"Hit, sign of salvation; miss, sign of damnation!\"\nThe tree being a large one and very near at hand, the result of the\nexperiment was reassuring, and the young philosopher walked away without\nfurther misgivings concerning this momentous question. [158]\n\nWhen the savage, whose highest intellectual efforts result only in\nspeculations of this childlike character, is confronted with the\nphenomena of dreams, it is easy to see what he will make of them.\nHis practical knowledge of psychology is too limited to admit of his\ndistinguishing between the solidity of waking experience and what we may\ncall the unsubstantialness of the dream. He may, indeed, have learned\nthat the dream is not to be relied on for telling the truth; the Zulu,\nfor example, has even reached the perverse triumph of critical logic\nachieved by our own Aryan ancestors in the saying that \"dreams go by\ncontraries.\" But the Zulu has not learned, nor had the primeval Aryan\nlearned, to disregard the utterances of the dream as being purely\nsubjective phenomena. To the mind as yet untouched by modern culture,\nthe visions seen and the voices heard in sleep possess as much objective\nreality as the gestures and shouts of waking hours. When the savage\nrelates his dream, he tells how he SAW certain dogs, dead warriors,\nor demons last night, the implication being that the things seen were\nobjects external to himself. As Mr. Spencer observes, \"his rude language\nfails to state the difference between seeing and dreaming that he saw,\ndoing and dreaming that he did. From this inadequacy of his language\nit not only results that he cannot truly represent this difference to\nothers, but also that he cannot truly represent it to himself. Hence in\nthe absence of an alternative interpretation, his belief, and that of\nthose to whom he tells his adventures, is that his OTHER SELF has been\naway and came back when he awoke. And this belief, which we find among\nvarious existing savage tribes, we equally find in the traditions of the\nearly civilized races.\" [159]\n\nLet us consider, for a moment, this assumption of the OTHER SELF, for\nupon this is based the great mass of crude inference which constitutes\nthe primitive man's philosophy of nature. The hypothesis of the OTHER\nSELF, which serves to account for the savage's wanderings during sleep\nin strange lands and among strange people, serves also to account for\nthe presence in his dreams of parents, comrades, or enemies, known to be\ndead and buried. The other self of the dreamer meets and converses with\nthe other selves of his dead brethren, joins with them in the hunt, or\nsits down with them to the wild cannibal banquet. Thus arises the belief\nin an ever-present world of souls or ghosts, a belief which the entire\nexperience of uncivilized man goes to strengthen and expand. The\nexistence of some tribe or tribes of savages wholly destitute of\nreligious belief has often been hastily asserted and as often called in\nquestion. But there is no question that, while many savages are unable\nto frame a conception so general as that of godhood, on the other hand\nno tribe has ever been found so low in the scale of intelligence as\nnot to have framed the conception of ghosts or spiritual personalities,\ncapable of being angered, propitiated, or conjured with. Indeed it is\nnot improbable a priori that the original inference involved in the\nnotion of the other self may be sufficiently simple and obvious to fall\nwithin the capacity of animals even less intelligent than uncivilized\nman. An authentic case is on record of a Skye terrier who, being\naccustomed to obtain favours from his master by sitting on his\nhaunches, will also sit before his pet india-rubber ball placed on the\nchimney-piece, evidently beseeching it to jump down and play with him.\n[160] Such a fact as this is quite in harmony with Auguste Comte's\nsuggestion that such intelligent animals as dogs, apes, and elephants\nmay be capable of forming a few fetichistic notions. The behaviour of\nthe terrier here rests upon the assumption that the ball is open to the\nsame sort of entreaty which prevails with the master; which implies, not\nthat the wistful brute accredits the ball with a soul, but that in his\nmind the distinction between life and inanimate existence has never been\nthoroughly established. Just this confusion between things living\nand things not living is present throughout the whole philosophy of\nfetichism; and the confusion between things seen and things dreamed,\nwhich suggests the notion of another self, belongs to this same\ntwilight stage of intelligence in which primeval man has not yet clearly\ndemonstrated his immeasurable superiority to the brutes. [161]\n\nThe conception of a soul or other self, capable of going away from\nthe body and returning to it, receives decisive confirmation from the\nphenomena of fainting, trance, catalepsy, and ecstasy, [162] which occur\nless rarely among savages, owing to their irregular mode of life, than\namong civilized men. \"Further verification,\" observes Mr. Spencer, \"is\nafforded by every epileptic subject, into whose body, during the absence\nof the other self, some enemy has entered; for how else does it happen\nthat the other self on returning denies all knowledge of what his body\nhas been doing? And this supposition, that the body has been 'possessed'\nby some other being, is confirmed by the phenomena of somnambulism and\ninsanity.\" Still further, as Mr. Spencer points out, when we recollect\nthat savages are very generally unwilling to have their portraits taken,\nlest a portion of themselves should get carried off and be exposed to\nfoul play, [163] we must readily admit that the weird reflection of the\nperson and imitation of the gestures in rivers or still woodland pools\nwill go far to intensify the belief in the other self. Less frequent but\nuniform confirmation is to be found in echoes, which in Europe within\ntwo centuries have been commonly interpreted as the voices of mocking\nfiends or wood-nymphs, and which the savage might well regard as the\nutterances of his other self.\n\nWith the savage's unwillingness to have his portrait taken, lest it fall\ninto the hands of some enemy who may injure him by conjuring with it,\nmay be compared the reluctance which he often shows toward telling\nhis name, or mentioning the name of his friend, or king, or tutelar\nghost-deity. In fetichistic thought, the name is an entity mysteriously\nassociated with its owner, and it is not well to run the risk of its\ngetting into hostile hands. Along with this caution goes the similarly\noriginated fear that the person whose name is spoken may resent such\nmeddling with his personality. For the latter reason the Dayak will\nnot allude by name to the small pox, but will call it \"the chief\" or\n\"jungle-leaves\"; the Laplander speaks of the bear as the \"old man with\nthe fur coat\"; in Annam the tiger is called \"grandfather\" or \"Lord\";\nwhile in more civilized communities such sayings are current as \"talk\nof the Devil, and he will appear,\" with which we may also compare such\nexpressions as \"Eumenides\" or \"gracious ones\" for the Furies, and other\nlike euphemisms. Indeed, the maxim nil mortuis nisi bonum had most\nlikely at one time a fetichistic flavour.\n\nIn various islands of the Pacific, for both the reasons above specified,\nthe name of the reigning chief is so rigorously \"tabu,\" that common\nwords and even syllables resembling that name in sound must be omitted\nfrom the language. In New Zealand, where a chiefs name was Maripi, or\n\"knife,\" it became necessary to call knives nekra; and in Tahiti, fetu,\n\"star,\" had to be changed into fetia, and tui, \"to strike,\" became tiai,\netc., because the king's name was Tu. Curious freaks are played with the\nlanguages of these islands by this ever-recurring necessity. Among the\nKafirs the women have come to speak a different dialect from the men,\nbecause words resembling the names of their lords or male relatives are\nin like manner \"tabu.\" The student of human culture will trace among\nsuch primeval notions the origin of the Jew's unwillingness to pronounce\nthe name of Jehovah; and hence we may perhaps have before us the\nultimate source of the horror with which the Hebraizing Puritan regards\nsuch forms of light swearing--\"Mon Dieu,\" etc.--as are still tolerated\non the continent of Europe, but have disappeared from good society in\nPuritanic England and America. The reader interested in this group of\nideas and customs may consult Tylor, Early History of Mankind, pp.\n142, 363; Max Muller, Science of Language, 6th edition, Vol. II. p. 37;\nMackay, Religious Development of the Greeks and Hebrews, Vol. I. p. 146.\n\nChamisso's well-known tale of Peter Schlemihl belongs to a widely\ndiffused family of legends, which show that a man's shadow has been\ngenerally regarded not only as an entity, but as a sort of spiritual\nattendant of the body, which under certain circumstances it may\npermanently forsake. It is in strict accordance with this idea that not\nonly in the classic languages, but in various barbaric tongues, the\nword for \"shadow\" expresses also the soul or other self. Tasmanians,\nAlgonquins, Central-Americans, Abipones, Basutos, and Zulus are cited by\nMr. Tylor as thus implicitly asserting the identity of the shadow with\nthe ghost or phantasm seen in dreams; the Basutos going so far as to\nthink \"that if a man walks on the river-bank, a crocodile may seize his\nshadow in the water and draw him in.\" Among the Algonquins a sick person\nis supposed to have his shadow or other self temporarily detached from\nhis body, and the convalescent is at times \"reproached for exposing\nhimself before his shadow was safely settled down in him.\" If the sick\nman has been plunged into stupor, it is because his other self has\ntravelled away as far as the brink of the river of death, but not being\nallowed to cross has come back and re-entered him. And acting upon a\nsimilar notion the ailing Fiji will sometimes lie down and raise a hue\nand cry for his soul to be brought back. Thus, continues Mr. Tylor, \"in\nvarious countries the bringing back of lost souls becomes a regular part\nof the sorcerer's or priest's profession.\" [164] On Aryan soil we find\nthe notion of a temporary departure of the soul surviving to a late date\nin the theory that the witch may attend the infernal Sabbath while her\nearthly tabernacle is quietly sleeping at home. The primeval conception\nreappears, clothed in bitterest sarcasm, in Dante's reference to his\nliving contemporaries whose souls he met with in the vaults of hell,\nwhile their bodies were still walking about on the earth, inhabited by\ndevils.\n\nThe theory which identifies the soul with the shadow, and supposes the\nshadow to depart with the sickness and death of the body, would seem\nliable to be attended with some difficulties in the way of verification,\neven to the dim intelligence of the savage. But the propriety of\nidentifying soul and breath is borne out by all primeval experience. The\nbreath, which really quits the body at its decease, has furnished the\nchief name for the soul, not only to the Hebrew, the Sanskrit, and the\nclassic tongues; not only to German and English, where geist, and ghost,\naccording to Max Muller, have the meaning of \"breath,\" and are akin\nto such words as gas, gust, and geyser; but also to numerous barbaric\nlanguages. Among the natives of Nicaragua and California, in Java and in\nWest Australia, the soul is described as the air or breeze which\npasses in and out through the nostrils and mouth; and the Greenlanders,\naccording to Cranz, reckon two separate souls, the breath and\nthe shadow. \"Among the Seminoles of Florida, when a woman died in\nchildbirth, the infant was held over her face to receive her parting\nspirit, and thus acquire strength and knowledge for its future use.....\nTheir state of mind is kept up to this day among Tyrolese peasants, who\ncan still fancy a good man's soul to issue from his mouth at death like\na little white cloud.\" [165] It is kept up, too, in Lancashire, where a\nwell-known witch died a few years since; \"but before she could 'shuffle\noff this mortal coil' she must needs TRANSFER HER FAMILIAR SPIRIT to\nsome trusty successor. An intimate acquaintance from a neighbouring\ntownship was consequently sent for in all haste, and on her arrival was\nimmediately closeted with her dying friend. What passed between them has\nnever fully transpired, but it is confidently affirmed that at the close\nof the interview this associate RECEIVED THE WITCH'S LAST BREATH INTO\nHER MOUTH AND WITH IT HER FAMILIAR SPIRIT. The dreaded woman thus\nceased to exist, but her powers for good or evil were transferred to her\ncompanion; and on passing along the road from Burnley to Blackburn we\ncan point out a farmhouse at no great distance with whose thrifty matron\nno neighbouring farmer will yet dare to quarrel.\" [166]\n\nOf the theory of embodiment there will be occasion to speak further on.\nAt present let us not pass over the fact that the other self is not only\nconceived as shadow or breath, which can at times quit the body during\nlife, but is also supposed to become temporarily embodied in the visible\nform of some bird or beast. In discussing elsewhere the myth of Bishop\nHatto, we saw that the soul is sometimes represented in the form of a\nrat or mouse; and in treating of werewolves we noticed the belief that\nthe spirits of dead ancestors, borne along in the night-wind, have\ntaken on the semblance of howling dogs or wolves. \"Consistent with these\nquaint ideas are ceremonies in vogue in China of bringing home in a cock\n(live or artificial) the spirit of a man deceased in a distant place,\nand of enticing into a sick man's coat the departing spirit which has\nalready left his body and so conveying it back.\" [167] In Castren's\ngreat work on Finnish mythology, we find the story of the giant who\ncould not be killed because he kept his soul hidden in a twelve-headed\nsnake which he carried in a bag as he rode on horseback; only when the\nsecret was discovered and the snake carefully killed, did the giant\nyield up his life. In this Finnish legend we have one of the thousand\nphases of the story of the \"Giant who had no Heart in his Body,\" but\nwhose heart was concealed, for safe keeping, in a duck's egg, or in a\npigeon, carefully disposed in some belfry at the world's end a million\nmiles away, or encased in a wellnigh infinite series of Chinese boxes.\n[168] Since, in spite of all these precautions, the poor giant's heart\ninvariably came to grief, we need not wonder at the Karen superstition\nthat the soul is in danger when it quits the body on its excursions, as\nexemplified in countless Indo-European stories of the accidental killing\nof the weird mouse or pigeon which embodies the wandering spirit.\nConversely it is held that the detachment of the other self is fraught\nwith danger to the self which remains. In the philosophy of \"wraiths\"\nand \"fetches,\" the appearance of a double, like that which troubled\nMistress Affery in her waking dreams of Mr. Flintwinch, has been from\ntime out of mind a signal of alarm. \"In New Zealand it is ominous to see\nthe figure of an absent person, for if it be shadowy and the face not\nvisible, his death may erelong be expected, but if the face be seen he\nis dead already. A party of Maoris (one of whom told the story) were\nseated round a fire in the open air, when there appeared, seen only by\ntwo of them, the figure of a relative, left ill at home; they exclaimed,\nthe figure vanished, and on the return of the party it appeared that\nthe sick man had died about the time of the vision.\" [169] The belief in\nwraiths has survived into modern times, and now and then appears in the\nrecords of that remnant of primeval philosophy known as \"spiritualism,\"\nas, for example, in the case of the lady who \"thought she saw her own\nfather look in at the church-window at the moment he was dying in his\nown house.\"\n\nThe belief in the \"death-fetch,\" like the doctrine which identifies\nsoul with shadow, is instructive as showing that in barbaric thought the\nother self is supposed to resemble the material self with which it has\ncustomarily been associated. In various savage superstitions the minute\nresemblance of soul to body is forcibly stated. The Australian, for\ninstance, not content with slaying his enemy, cuts off the right thumb\nof the corpse, so that the departed soul may be incapacitated from\nthrowing a spear. Even the half-civilized Chinese prefer crucifixion\nto decapitation, that their souls may not wander headless about the\nspirit-world. [171] Thus we see how far removed from the Christian\ndoctrine of souls is the primeval theory of the soul or other self\nthat figures in dreamland. So grossly materialistic is the primitive\nconception that the savage who cherishes it will bore holes in the\ncoffin of his dead friend, so that the soul may again have a chance, if\nit likes, to revisit the body. To this day, among the peasants in some\nparts of Northern Europe, when Odin, the spectral hunter, rides by\nattended by his furious host, the windows in every sick-room are opened,\nin order that the soul, if it chooses to depart, may not be hindered\nfrom joining in the headlong chase. And so, adds Mr. Tylor, after\nthe Indians of North America had spent a riotous night in singeing an\nunfortunate captive to death with firebrands, they would howl like the\nfiends they were, and beat the air with brushwood, to drive away the\ndistressed and revengeful ghost. \"With a kindlier feeling, the Congo\nnegroes abstained for a whole year after a death from sweeping the\nhouse, lest the dust should injure the delicate substance of the ghost\";\nand even now, \"it remains a German peasant saying that it is wrong\nto slam a door, lest one should pinch a soul in it.\" [172] Dante's\nexperience with the ghosts in hell and purgatory, who were astonished at\nhis weighing down the boat in which they were carried, is belied by the\nsweet German notion \"that the dead mother's coming back in the night to\nsuckle the baby she has left on earth may be known by the hollow pressed\ndown in the bed where she lay.\" Almost universally ghosts, however\nimpervious to thrust of sword or shot of pistol, can eat and drink like\nSquire Westerns. And lastly, we have the grotesque conception of souls\nsufficiently material to be killed over again, as in the case of the\nnegro widows who, wishing to marry a second time, will go and duck\nthemselves in the pond, in order to drown the souls of their departed\nhusbands, which are supposed to cling about their necks; while,\naccording to the Fiji theory, the ghost of every dead warrior must go\nthrough a terrible fight with Samu and his brethren, in which, if he\nsucceeds, he will enter Paradise, but if he fails he will be killed over\nagain and finally eaten by the dreaded Samu and his unearthly company.\n\nFrom the conception of souls embodied in beast-forms, as above\nillustrated, it is not a wide step to the conception of beast-souls\nwhich, like human souls, survive the death of the tangible body. The\nwide-spread superstitions concerning werewolves and swan-maidens, and\nthe hardly less general belief in metempsychosis, show that primitive\nculture has not arrived at the distinction attained by modern philosophy\nbetween the immortal man and the soulless brute. Still more direct\nevidence is furnished by sundry savage customs. The Kafir who has\nkilled an elephant will cry that he did n't mean to do it, and, lest the\nelephant's soul should still seek vengeance, he will cut off and bury\nthe trunk, so that the mighty beast may go crippled to the spirit-land.\nIn like manner, the Samoyeds, after shooting a bear, will gather about\nthe body offering excuses and laying the blame on the Russians; and the\nAmerican redskin will even put the pipe of peace into the dead animal's\nmouth, and beseech him to forgive the deed. In Assam it is believed that\nthe ghosts of slain animals will become in the next world the property\nof the hunter who kills them; and the Kamtchadales expressly declare\nthat all animals, even flies and bugs, will live after death,--a belief,\nwhich, in our own day, has been indorsed on philosophical grounds by an\neminent living naturalist. [173] The Greenlanders, too, give evidence\nof the same belief by supposing that when after an exhausting fever the\npatient comes up in unprecedented health and vigour, it is because he\nhas lost his former soul and had it replaced by that of a young child\nor a reindeer. In a recent work in which the crudest fancies of primeval\nsavagery are thinly disguised in a jargon learned from the superficial\nreading of modern books of science, M. Figuier maintains that human\nsouls are for the most part the surviving souls of deceased animals; in\ngeneral, the souls of precocious musical children like Mozart come from\nnightingales, while the souls of great architects have passed into them\nfrom beavers, etc., etc. [174]\n\nThe practice of begging pardon of the animal one has just slain is in\nsome parts of the world extended to the case of plants. When the\nTalein offers a prayer to the tree which he is about to cut down, it is\nobviously because he regards the tree as endowed with a soul or ghost\nwhich in the next life may need to be propitiated. And the doctrine of\ntransmigration distinctly includes plants along with animals among the\nfuture existences into which the human soul may pass.\n\nAs plants, like animals, manifest phenomena of life, though to a much\nless conspicuous degree, it is not incomprehensible that the\nsavage should attribute souls to them. But the primitive process of\nanthropomorphisation does not end here. Not only the horse and dog,\nthe bamboo, and the oak-tree, but even lifeless objects, such as the\nhatchet, or bow and arrows, or food and drink of the dead man, possess\nother selves which pass into the world of ghosts. Fijis and other\ncontemporary savages, when questioned, expressly declare that this is\ntheir belief. \"If an axe or a chisel is worn out or broken up, away\nflies its soul for the service of the gods.\" The Algonquins told\nCharlevoix that since hatchets and kettles have shadows, no less than\nmen and women, it follows, of course, that these shadows (or souls) must\npass along with human shadows (or souls) into the spirit-land. In this\nwe see how simple and consistent is the logic which guides the savage,\nand how inevitable is the genesis of the great mass of beliefs, to our\nminds so arbitrary and grotesque, which prevail throughout the barbaric\nworld. However absurd the belief that pots and kettles have souls\nmay seem to us, it is nevertheless the only belief which can be held\nconsistently by the savage to whom pots and kettles, no less than human\nfriends or enemies, may appear in his dreams; who sees them followed\nby shadows as they are moved about; who hears their voices, dull\nor ringing, when they are struck; and who watches their doubles\nfantastically dancing in the water as they are carried across the\nstream. [175] To minds, even in civilized countries, which are unused to\nthe severe training of science, no stronger evidence can be alleged\nthan what is called \"the evidence of the senses\"; for it is only long\nfamiliarity with science which teaches us that the evidence of the\nsenses is trustworthy only in so far as it is correctly interpreted by\nreason. For the truth of his belief in the ghosts of men and beasts,\ntrees and axes, the savage has undeniably the evidence of his senses\nwhich have so often seen, heard, and handled these other selves.\n\nThe funeral ceremonies of uncultured races freshly illustrate this crude\nphilosophy, and receive fresh illustration from it. On the primitive\nbelief in the ghostly survival of persons and objects rests the almost\nuniversal custom of sacrificing the wives, servants, horses, and dogs of\nthe departed chief of the tribe, as well as of presenting at his shrine\nsacred offerings of food, ornaments, weapons, and money. Among the\nKayans the slaves who are killed at their master's tomb are enjoined to\ntake great care of their master's ghost, to wash and shampoo it, and to\nnurse it when sick. Other savages think that \"all whom they kill in this\nworld shall attend them as slaves after death,\" and for this reason the\nthrifty Dayaks of Borneo until lately would not allow their young men to\nmarry until they had acquired some post mortem property by procuring at\nleast one human head. It is hardly necessary to do more than allude\nto the Fiji custom of strangling all the wives of the deceased at his\nfuneral, or to the equally well-known Hindu rite of suttee. Though, as\nWilson has shown, the latter rite is not supported by any genuine Vedic\nauthority, but only by a shameless Brahmanic corruption of the sacred\ntext, Mr. Tylor is nevertheless quite right in arguing that unless the\nhorrible custom had received the sanction of a public opinion bequeathed\nfrom pre-Vedic times, the Brahmans would have had no motive for\nfraudulently reviving it; and this opinion is virtually established\nby the fact of the prevalence of widow sacrifice among Gauls,\nScandinavians, Slaves, and other European Aryans. [176] Though under\nEnglish rule the rite has been forcibly suppressed, yet the archaic\nsentiments which so long maintained it are not yet extinct. Within the\npresent year there has appeared in the newspapers a not improbable story\nof a beautiful and accomplished Hindu lady who, having become the wife\nof a wealthy Englishman, and after living several years in England amid\nthe influences of modern society, nevertheless went off and privately\nburned herself to death soon after her husband's decease.\n\nThe reader who thinks it far-fetched to interpret funeral offerings of\nfood, weapons, ornaments, or money, on the theory of object-souls, will\nprobably suggest that such offerings may be mere memorials of affection\nor esteem for the dead man. Such, indeed, they have come to be in many\ncountries after surviving the phase of culture in which they originated;\nbut there is ample evidence to show that at the outset they were\npresented in the belief that their ghosts would be eaten or otherwise\nemployed by the ghost of the dead man. The stout club which is buried\nwith the dead Fiji sends its soul along with him that he may be able to\ndefend himself against the hostile ghosts which will lie in ambush for\nhim on the road to Mbulu, seeking to kill and eat him. Sometimes the\nclub is afterwards removed from the grave as of no further use, since\nits ghost is all that the dead man needs. In like manner, \"as the Greeks\ngave the dead man the obolus for Charon's toll, and the old Prussians\nfurnished him with spending money, to buy refreshment on his weary\njourney, so to this day German peasants bury a corpse with money in\nhis mouth or hand,\" and this is also said to be one of the regular\nceremonies of an Irish wake. Of similar purport were the funeral feasts\nand oblations of food in Greece and Italy, the \"rice-cakes made with\nghee\" destined for the Hindu sojourning in Yama's kingdom, and the meat\nand gruel offered by the Chinaman to the manes of his ancestors. \"Many\ntravellers have described the imagination with which the Chinese\nmake such offerings. It is that the spirits of the dead consume the\nimpalpable essence of the food, leaving behind its coarse material\nsubstance, wherefore the dutiful sacrificers, having set out sumptuous\nfeasts for ancestral souls, allow them a proper time to satisfy\ntheir appetite, and then fall to themselves.\" [177] So in the Homeric\nsacrifice to the gods, after the deity has smelled the sweet savour\nand consumed the curling steam that rises ghost-like from the roasting\nviands, \"the assembled warriors devour the remains.\" [178]\n\nThus far the course of fetichistic thought which we have traced out,\nwith Mr. Tylor's aid, is such as is not always obvious to the modern\ninquirer without considerable concrete illustration. The remainder\nof the process, resulting in that systematic and complete\nanthropomorphisation of nature which has given rise to mythology, may\nbe more succinctly described. Gathering together the conclusions already\nobtained, we find that daily or frequent experience of the phenomena\nof shadows and dreams has combined with less frequent experience of the\nphenomena of trance, ecstasy, and insanity, to generate in the mind of\nuncultured man the notion of a twofold existence appertaining alike to\nall animate or inanimate objects: as all alike possess material\nbodies, so all alike possess ghosts or souls. Now when the theory\nof object-souls is expanded into a general doctrine of spirits, the\nphilosophic scheme of animism is completed. Once habituated to the\nconception of souls of knives and tobacco-pipes passing to the land\nof ghosts, the savage cannot avoid carrying the interpretation still\nfurther, so that wind and water, fire and storm, are accredited with\nindwelling spirits akin by nature to the soul which inhabits the human\nframe. That the mighty spirit or demon by whose impelling will the\ntrees are rooted up and the storm-clouds driven across the sky should\nresemble a freed human soul, is a natural inference, since uncultured\nman has not attained to the conception of physical force acting in\naccordance with uniform methods, and hence all events are to his mind\nthe manifestations of capricious volition. If the fire burns down his\nhut, it is because the fire is a person with a soul, and is angry with\nhim, and needs to be coaxed into a kindlier mood by means of prayer or\nsacrifice. Thus the savage has a priori no alternative but to regard\nfire-soul as something akin to human-soul; and in point of fact we find\nthat savage philosophy makes no distinction between the human ghost\nand the elemental demon or deity. This is sufficiently proved by\nthe universal prevalence of the worship of ancestors. The essential\nprinciple of manes-worship is that the tribal chief or patriarch, who\nhas governed the community during life, continues also to govern it\nafter death, assisting it in its warfare with hostile tribes, rewarding\nbrave warriors, and punishing traitors and cowards. Thus from the\nconception of the living king we pass to the notion of what Mr. Spencer\ncalls \"the god-king,\" and thence to the rudimentary notion of deity.\nAmong such higher savages as the Zulus, the doctrine of divine ancestors\nhas been developed to the extent of recognizing a first ancestor, the\nGreat Father, Unkulunkulu, who made the world. But in the stratum of\nsavage thought in which barbaric or Aryan folk-lore is for the most part\nbased, we find no such exalted speculation. The ancestors of the rude\nVeddas and of the Guinea negroes, the Hindu pitris (patres, \"fathers\"),\nand the Roman manes have become elemental deities which send rain or\nsunshine, health or sickness, plenty or famine, and to which their\nliving offspring appeal for guidance amid the vicissitudes of life.\n[179] The theory of embodiment, already alluded to, shows how thoroughly\nthe demons which cause disease are identified with human and object\nsouls. In Australasia it is a dead man's ghost which creeps up into\nthe liver of the impious wretch who has ventured to pronounce his\nname; while conversely in the well-known European theory of demoniacal\npossession, it is a fairy from elf-land, or an imp from hell, which\nhas entered the body of the sufferer. In the close kinship, moreover,\nbetween disease-possession and oracle-possession, where the body of the\nPythia, or the medicine-man, is placed under the direct control of\nsome great deity, [180] we may see how by insensible transitions\nthe conception of the human ghost passes into the conception of the\nspiritual numen, or divinity.\n\nTo pursue this line of inquiry through the countless nymphs and dryads\nand nixies of the higher nature-worship up to the Olympian divinities\nof classic polytheism, would be to enter upon the history of religious\nbelief, and in so doing to lose sight of our present purpose, which has\nmerely been to show by what mental process the myth-maker can speak\nof natural objects in language which implies that they are animated\npersons. Brief as our account of this process has been, I believe\nthat enough has been said, not only to reveal the inadequacy of purely\nphilological solutions (like those contained in Max Muller's famous\nEssay) to explain the growth of myths, but also to exhibit the vast\nimportance for this purpose of the kind of psychological inquiry into\nthe mental habits of savages which Mr. Tylor has so ably conducted.\nIndeed, however lacking we may still be in points of detail, I think we\nhave already reached a very satisfactory explanation of the genesis of\nmythology. Since the essential characteristic of a myth is that it is\nan attempt to explain some natural phenomenon by endowing with human\nfeelings and capacities the senseless factors in the phenomenon, and\nsince it has here been shown how uncultured man, by the best use he can\nmake of his rude common sense, must inevitably come, and has invariably\ncome, to regard all objects as endowed with souls, and all nature as\npeopled with supra-human entities shaped after the general pattern of\nthe human soul, I am inclined to suspect that we have got very near to\nthe root of the whole matter. We can certainly find no difficulty in\nseeing why a water-spout should be described in the \"Arabian Nights\" as\na living demon: \"The sea became troubled before them, and there arose\nfrom it a black pillar, ascending towards the sky, and approaching the\nmeadow,.... and behold it was a Jinni, of gigantic stature.\" We can see\nwhy the Moslem camel-driver should find it most natural to regard the\nwhirling simoom as a malignant Jinni; we may understand how it is that\nthe Persian sees in bodily shape the scarlet fever as \"a blushing maid\nwith locks of flame and cheeks all rosy red\"; and we need not consider\nit strange that the primeval Aryan should have regarded the sun as a\nvoyager, a climber, or an archer, and the clouds as cows driven by the\nwind-god Hermes to their milking. The identification of William Tell\nwith the sun becomes thoroughly intelligible; nor can we be longer\nsurprised at the conception of the howling night-wind as a ravenous\nwolf. When pots and kettles are thought to have souls that live\nhereafter, there is no difficulty in understanding how the blue sky can\nhave been regarded as the sire of gods and men. And thus, as the elves\nand bogarts of popular lore are in many cases descended from ancient\ndivinities of Olympos and Valhalla, so these in turn must acknowledge\ntheir ancestors in the shadowy denizens of the primeval ghost-world.\n\nAugust, 1872.\n\n\n\n\nNOTE.\n\nTHE following are some of the modern works most likely to be of use to\nthe reader who is interested in the legend of William Tell.\n\nHISELY, J. J. Dissertatio historiea inauguralis de Oulielmo Tellio, etc.\nGroningae, 1824.\n\nIDELER, J. L. Die Sage von dem Schuss des Tell. Berlin, 1836.\n\nHAUSSER, L. Die Sage von Tell aufs Neue kritisch untersucht. Heidelberg,\n1840.\n\nHISELY, J. J. Recherches critiques sur l'histoire de Guillaume Tell.\nLausanne, 1843.\n\nLIEBENAU, H. Die Tell-Sage zu dem Jahre 1230 historisoh nach neuesten\nQuellen. Aarau, 1864.\n\nVISCHER, W. Die Sage von der Befreinng der Waldstatte, etc. Nebst einer\nBeilage: das alteste Tellensehauspiel. Leipzig, 1867.\n\nBORDIER, H. L. Le Grutli et Guillaume Tell, ou defense de la tradition\nvulgaire sur les origines de la confederation suisse. Geneve et Bale,\n1869.\n\nThe same. La querelle sur les traditions concernant l'origine de la\nconfederation suisse. Geneve et Bale, 1869.\n\nRILLIET, A. Les origines de la confederation suisse: histoire et\nlegende. 2eS ed., revue et corrigee. Geneve et Bale, 1869.\n\nThe same. Lettre a M. Henri Bordier a propos de sa defense de la\ntradition vulgaire sur les origines de la confederation suisse. Geneve\net Bale, 1869.\n\nHUNGERBUHLER, H. Etude critique sur les traditions relatives aux\norigines de la confederation suisse. Geneve et Bale, 1869.\n\nMEYER, KARL. Die Tellsage. [In Bartsch, Germanistische Studien, I.\n159-170. Wien, 1872.]\n\nSee also the articles by M. Scherer, in Le Temps, 18 Feb., 1868; by M.\nReuss, in the Revue critique d'histoire, 1868; by M. de Wiss, in the\nJournal de Geneve, 7 July, 1868; also Revue critique, 17 July, 1869;\nJournal de Geneve, 24 Oct., 1868; Gazette de Lausanne, feuilleton\nlitteraire, 2-5 Nov., 1868, \"Les origines de la confederation suisse,\"\npar M. Secretan; Edinburgh Review, Jan., 1869, \"The Legend of Tell and\nRutli.\"\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n\n[Footnote 1: See Delepierre, Historical Difficulties, p. 75.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Saxo Grammaticus, Bk. X. p. 166, ed. Frankf. 1576.]\n\n[Footnote 3: According to Mr. Isaac Taylor, the name is really derived\nfrom \"St. Celert, a Welsh saint of the fifth century, to whom the church\nof Llangeller is consecrated.\" (Words and Places, p. 339.)]\n\n[Footnote 4: Compare Krilof's story of the Gnat and the Shepherd, in\nMr. Ralston's excellent version, Krilof and his Fables, p. 170. Many\nparallel examples are cited by Mr. Baring-Gould, Curious Myths, Vol. I.\npp. 126-136. See also the story of Folliculus,--Swan, Gesta Romanorum,\nad. Wright, Vol. I. p. lxxxii]\n\n[Footnote 5: See Cox, Mythology of the Aryan Nations, Vol. I. pp.\n145-149.]\n\n[Footnote 6: The same incident occurs in the Arabian story of\nSeyf-el-Mulook and Bedeea-el-Jemal, where the Jinni's soul is enclosed\nin the crop of a sparrow, and the sparrow imprisoned in a small box, and\nthis enclosed in another small box, and this again in seven other boxes,\nwhich are put into seven chests, contained in a coffer of marble, which\nis sunk in the ocean that surrounds the world. Seyf-el-Mulook raises\nthe coffer by the aid of Suleyman's seal-ring, and having extricated the\nsparrow, strangles it, whereupon the Jinni's body is converted into\na heap of black ashes, and Seyf-el-Mulook escapes with the maiden\nDolet-Khatoon. See Lane's Arabian Nights, Vol. III. p. 316.]\n\n[Footnote 7: The same incident is repeated in the story of Hassan of\nEl-Basrah. See Lane's Arabian Nights, Vol. III p. 452.]\n\n[Footnote 8: \"Retrancher le merveilleux d'un mythe, c'est le\nsupprimer.\"--Breal, Hercule et Cacus, p. 50.]\n\n[Footnote 9: \"No distinction between the animate and inanimate is made\nin the languages of the Eskimos, the Choctaws, the Muskoghee, and the\nCaddo. Only the Iroquois, Cherokee, and the Algonquin-Lenape have it, so\nfar as is known, and with them it is partial.\" According to the Fijians,\n\"vegetables and stones, nay, even tools and weapons, pots and canoes,\nhave souls that are immortal, and that, like the souls of men, pass on\nat last to Mbulu, the abode of departed spirits.\"--M'Lennan, The Worship\nof Animals and Plants, Fortnightly Review, Vol. XII. p, 416.]\n\n[Footnote 10: Marcus Aurelius, V. 7.]\n\n[Footnote 11: Some of these etymologies are attacked by Mr. Mahaffy in\nhis Prolegomena to Ancient History, p. 49. After long consideration I am\nstill disposed to follow Max Muller in adopting them, with the possible\nexception of Achilleus. With Mr. Mahaffy s suggestion (p. 52) that many\nof the Homeric legends may have clustered around some historical basis,\nI fully agree; as will appear, further on, from my paper on \"Juventus\nMundi.\"]\n\n[Footnote 12: Les facultes qui engendrent la mythologie sont les memes\nque celles qui engendront la philosophie, et ce n'est pas sans raison\nque l'Inde et la Grece nous presentent le phenomene de la plus riche\nmythologie a cote de la plus profonde metaphysique. \"La conception de\nla multiplicite dans l'univers, c'est le polytheisme chez les peuples\nenfants; c'est la science chez les peuples arrives a l'age mur.\"--Renan,\nHist. des Langues Semitiques, Tom. I. p. 9.]\n\n[Footnote 13: Cases coming under this head are discussed further on, in\nmy paper on \"Myths of the Barbaric World.\"]\n\n[Footnote 14: A collection of these interesting legends may be found in\nBaring-Gould's \"Curious Myths of the Middle Ages,\" of which work this\npaper was originally a review.]\n\n[Footnote 15: See Procopius, De Bello Gothico, IV. 20; Villemarque,\nBarzas Breiz, I. 136. As a child I was instructed by an old nurse that\nVas Diemen's Land is the home of ghosts and departed spirits.]\n\n[Footnote 16: Baring-Gould, Curious Myths, Vol. I. p. 197.]\n\n[Footnote 17: Hence perhaps the adage, \"Always remember to pay the\npiper.\"]\n\n[Footnote 18: And it reappears as the mysterious lyre of the Gaelic\nmusician, who\n\n     \"Could harp a fish out o' the water,\n     Or bluid out of a stane,\n     Or milk out of a maiden's breast,\n     That bairns had never nane.\"]\n\n[Footnote 19: Baring-Gould, Curious Myths, Vol. II. p. 159.]\n\n[Footnote 20: Perhaps we may trace back to this source the frantic\nterror which Irish servant-girls often manifest at sight of a mouse.]\n\n[Footnote 21: In Persia a dog is brought to the bedside of the person\nwho is dying, in order that the soul may be sure of a prompt escort. The\nsame custom exists in India. Breal, Hercule et Cacus, p. 123.]\n\n[Footnote 22: The Devil, who is proverbially \"active in a gale of wind,\"\nis none other than Hermes.]\n\n[Footnote 23: \"Il faut que la coeur devienne ancien parmi les aneiennes\nchoses, et la plenitude de l'histoire ne se devoile qu'a celui qui\ndescend, ainsi dispose, dans le passe. Mais il faut que l'esprit demeure\nmoderne, et n'oublie jamais qu'il n'y a pour lui d'autre foi que la foi\nscientifique.\"--LITTRS.]\n\n[Footnote 24: For an admirable example of scientific self-analysis\ntracing one of these illusions to its psychological sources, see\nthe account of Dr. Lazarus, in Taine, De l'Intelligence, Vol. I. pp.\n121-125.]\n\n[Footnote 25: See the story of Aymar in Baring-Gould, Curious Myths,\nVol. I. pp. 57-77. The learned author attributes the discomfiture to\nthe uncongenial Parisian environment; which is a style of reasoning much\nlike that of my village sorcerer, I fear.]\n\n[Footnote 26: Kelly, Indo-European Folk-Lore, p. 177.]\n\n[Footnote 27: The story of the luck-flower is well told in verse by Mr.\nBaring Gould, in his Silver Store, p. 115, seq.]\n\n[Footnote 28: 1 Kings vi. 7.]\n\n[Footnote 29: Compare the Mussulman account of the building of the\ntemple, in Baring-Gould, Legends of the Patriarchs and Prophets,\npp. 337, 338. And see the story of Diocletian's ostrich, Swan, Gesta\nRomanorum, ed. Wright, Vol I. p. lxiv. See also the pretty story of the\nknight unjustly imprisoned, id. p. cii.]\n\n[Footnote 30: \"We have the receipt of fern-seed. We walk invisible.\"\n--Shakespeare, Henry IV. See Ralston, Songs of the Russian People, p. 98]\n\n[Footnote 31: Henderson, Folk-Lore of the Northern Counties of England,\np. 202]\n\n[Footnote 32: Kuhn, Die Herabkunft des Feuers und des Gottertranks.\nBerlin, 1859.]\n\n[Footnote 33: \"Saga me forwhan byth seo sunne read on aefen? Ic the\nsecge, forthon heo locath on helle.--Tell me, why is the sun red at\neven? I tell thee, because she looketh on hell.\" Thorpe, Analecta\nAnglo-Saxonica, p. 115, apud Tylor, Primitive Culture, Vol. II. p. 63.\nBarbaric thought had partly anticipated my childish theory.]\n\n[Footnote 34: \"Still in North Germany does the peasant say of thunder,\nthat the angels are playing skittles aloft, and of the snow, that they\nare shaking up the feather beds in heaven.\"--Baring-Gould, Book of\nWerewolves, p. 172.]\n\n[Footnote 35: \"The Polynesians imagine that the sky descends at the\nhorizon and encloses the earth. Hence they call foreigners papalangi, or\n'heaven-bursters,' as having broken in from another world outside.\"--Max\nMuller, Chips, II. 268.]\n\n[Footnote 36: \"--And said the gods, let there be a hammered plate in the\nmidst of the waters, and let it be dividing between waters and waters.\"\nGenesis i. 6.]\n\n[Footnote 37: Genesis vii. 11.]\n\n[Footnote 38: See Kelly, Indo-European Folk-Lore, p 120; who states also\nthat in Bengal the Garrows burn their dead in a small boat, placed on\ntop of the funeral-pile. In their character of cows, also, the clouds\nwere regarded as psychopomps; and hence it is still a popular\nsuperstition that a cow breaking into the yard foretokens a death\nin the family.]\n\n[Footnote 39: The sun-god Freyr had a cloud-ship called Skithblathnir,\nwhich is thus described in Dasent's Prose Edda: \"She is so great, that\nall the AEsir, with their weapons and war-gear, may find room on board\nher\"; but \"when there is no need of faring on the sea in her, she is\nmade.... with so much craft that Freyr may fold her together like a\ncloth, and keep her in his bag.\" This same virtue was possessed by the\nfairy pavilion which the Peri Banou gave to Ahmed; the cloud which is no\nbigger than a man's hand may soon overspread the whole heaven, and shade\nthe Sultan's army from the solar rays.]\n\n[Footnote 40: Euhemerism has done its best with this bird, representing\nit as an immense vulture or condor or as a reminiscence of the extinct\ndodo. But a Chinese myth, cited by Klaproth, well preserves its true\ncharacter when it describes it as \"a bird which in flying obscures\nthe sun, and of whose quills are made water-tuns.\" See Nouveau Journal\nAsiatique, Tom. XII. p. 235. The big bird in the Norse tale of the \"Blue\nBelt\" belongs to the same species.]\n\n[Footnote 41: Baring-Gould, Curious Myths, Vol. II. p. 146. Compare\nTylor, Primitive Culture, Vol. II. p. 237, seq.]\n\n[Footnote 42: \"If Polyphemos's eye be the sun, then Odysseus, the solar\nhero, extinguishes himself, a very primitive instance of suicide.\"\nMahaffy, Prolegomena, p. 57. See also Brown, Poseidon, pp. 39, 40.\nThis objection would be relevant only in case Homer were supposed to be\nconstructing an allegory with entire knowledge of its meaning. It has no\nvalidity whatever when we recollect that Homer could have known nothing\nof the incongruity.]\n\n[Footnote 43: The Sanskrit myth-teller indeed mixes up his materials in\na way which seems ludicrous to a Western reader. He describes Indra (the\nsun-god) as not only cleaving the cloud-mountains with his sword, but\nalso cutting off their wings and hurling them from the sky. See Burnouf,\nBhagavata Purana, VI. 12, 26.]\n\n[Footnote 44: Mr. Tylor offers a different, and possibly a better,\nexplanation of the Symplegades as the gates of Night through which\nthe solar ship, having passed successfully once, may henceforth pass\nforever. See the details of the evidence in his Primitive Culture, I.\n315.]\n\n[Footnote 45: The Sanskrit parvata, a bulging or inflated body, means\nboth \"cloud\" and \"mountain.\" \"In the Edda, too, the rocks, said to have\nbeen fashioned out of Ymir's bones, are supposed to be intended for\nclouds. In Old Norse Klakkr means both cloud and rock; nay, the English\nword CLOUD itself has been identified with the Anglo-Saxon clud, rock.\nSee Justi, Orient und Occident, Vol. II. p. 62.\" Max Muller, Rig-Veda,\nVol. 1. p. 44.]\n\n[Footnote 46: In accordance with the mediaeval \"doctrine of signatures,\"\nit was maintained \"that the hard, stony seeds of the Gromwell must be\ngood for gravel, and the knotty tubers of scrophularia for scrofulous\nglands; while the scaly pappus of scaliosa showed it to be a specific\nin leprous diseases, the spotted leaves of pulmonaria that it was a\nsovereign remedy for tuberculous lungs, and the growth of saxifrage in\nthe fissures of rocks that it would disintegrate stone in the bladder.\"\nPrior, Popular Names of British Plants, Introd., p. xiv. See also\nChapiel, La Doctrine des Signatures. Paris, 1866.]\n\n[Footnote 47: Indeed, the wish-bone, or forked clavicle of a fowl,\nitself belongs to the same family of talismans as the divining-rod.]\n\n[Footnote 48: The ash, on the other hand, has been from time immemorial\nused for spears in many parts of the Aryan domain. The word oesc meant,\nin Anglo-Saxon, indifferently \"ash-tree,\" or \"spear\"; and the same is,\nor has been, true of the French fresne and the Greek melia. The root of\noesc appears in the Sanskrit as, \"to throw\" or \"lance,\" whence asa, \"a\nbow,\" and asana, \"an arrow.\" See Pictet, Origines Indo-Europeennes, I.\n222.]\n\n[Footnote 49: Compare Spenser's story of Sir Guyon, in the \"Faery\nQueen,\" where, however, the knight fares better than this poor priest.\nUsually these lightning-caverns were like Ixion's treasure-house, into\nwhich none might look and live. This conception is the foundation of\npart of the story of Blue-Beard and of the Arabian tale of the third\none-eyed Calender]\n\n[Footnote 50: Cox, Mythology of the Aryan Nations, Vol. 1. p. 161.]\n\n[Footnote 51: Kelly, Indo-European Folk-Lore, pp. 147, 183, 186, 193.]\n\n[Footnote 52: Brinton, Myths of the New World, p. 151.]\n\n[Footnote 53: Callaway, Zulu Nursery Tales, I. 173, Note 12.]\n\n[Footnote 54: Tylor, Early History of Mankind, p. 238; Primitive\nCulture, Vol. II. p. 254; Darwin, Naturalist's Voyage, p. 409.]\n\n[Footnote 55: The production of fire by the drill is often called\nchurning, e. g. \"He took the uvati [chark], and sat down and churned it,\nand kindled a fire.\" Callaway, Zulu Nursery Tales, I. 174.]\n\n[Footnote 56: Kelly, Indo-European Folk-Lore, p. 39. Burnouf, Bhagavata\nPurana, VIII. 6, 32.]\n\n[Footnote 57: Baring-Gould, Curious Myths, p. 149.]\n\n[Footnote 58: It is also the regenerating water of baptism, and the\n\"holy water\" of the Roman Catholic.]\n\n[Footnote 59: In the Vedas the rain-god Soma, originally the\npersonification of the sacrificial ambrosia, is the deity who imparts to\nmen life, knowledge, and happiness. See Breal, Hercule et Cacus, p. 85.\nTylor, Primitive Culture, Vol. II. p. 277.]\n\n[Footnote 60: We may, perhaps, see here the reason for making the Greek\nfire-god Hephaistos the husband of Aphrodite.]\n\n[Footnote 61: \"Our country maidens are well aware that triple leaves\nplucked at hazard from the common ash are worn in the breast, for the\npurpose of causing prophetic dreams respecting a dilatory lover.\nThe leaves of the yellow trefoil are supposed to possess similar\nvirtues.\"--Harland and Wilkinson, Lancashire Folk-Lore, p. 20.]\n\n[Footnote 62: In Peru, a mighty and far-worshipped deity was Catequil,\nthe thunder-god,.... \"he who in thunder-flash and clap hurls from his\nsling the small, round, smooth thunder-stones, treasured in the villages\nas fire-fetishes and charms to kindle the flames of love.\"--Tylor, op.\ncit. Vol. II. p. 239]\n\n[Footnote 63: In Polynesia, \"the great deity Maui adds a new\ncomplication to his enigmatic solar-celestial character by appearing as\na wind-god.\"--Tylor, op. cit. Vol. II. p. 242.]\n\n[Footnote 64: Compare Plato, Republic, VIII. 15.]\n\n[Footnote 65: Were-wolf = man-wolf, wer meaning \"man.\" Garou is a\nGallic corruption of werewolf, so that loup-garou is a tautological\nexpression.]\n\n[Footnote 66: Meyer, in Bunsen's Philosophy of Universal History, Vol.\nI. p. 151.]\n\n[Footnote 67: Aimoin, De Gestis Francorum, II. 5.]\n\n[Footnote 68: Taylor, Words and Places, p. 393.]\n\n[Footnote 69: Very similar to this is the etymological confusion upon\nwhich is based the myth of the \"confusion of tongues\" in the eleventh\nchapter of Genesis. The name \"Babel\" is really Bab-Il, or \"the gate of\nGod\"; but the Hebrew writer erroneously derives the word from the root\nbalal, \"to confuse\"; and hence arises the mythical explanation,--that\nBabel was a place where human speech became confused. See Rawlinson,\nin Smith's Dictionary of the Bible, Vol. I. p. 149; Renan, Histoire des\nLangues Semitiques, Vol. I. p. 32; Donaldson, New Cratylus, p. 74, note;\nColenso on the Pentateuch, Vol. IV. p. 268.]\n\n[Footnote 70: Vilg. AEn. VIII. 322. With Latium compare plat?s, Skr.\nprath (to spread out), Eng. flat. Ferrar, Comparative Grammar of Greek,\nLatin, and Sanskrit, Vol. I. p. 31.]\n\n[Footnote 71: M`Lennan, \"The Worship of Animals and Plants,\" Fortnightly\nReview, N. S. Vol. VI. pp. 407-427, 562-582, Vol. VII. pp 194-216;\nSpencer, \"The Origin of Animal Worship,\" Id. Vol. VII. pp. 535-550,\nreprinted in his Recent Discussions in Science, etc., pp. 31-56.]\n\n[Footnote 72: Thus is explained the singular conduct of the Hindu, who\nslays himself before his enemy's door, in order to acquire greater power\nof injuring him. \"A certain Brahman, on whose lands a Kshatriya raja had\nbuilt a house, ripped himself up in revenge, and became a demon of the\nkind called Brahmadasyu, who has been ever since the terror of the whole\ncountry, and is the most common village-deity in Kharakpur. Toward the\nclose of the last century there were two Brahmans, out of whose house a\nman had wrongfully, as they thought, taken forty rupees; whereupon one\nof the Brahmans proceeded to cut off his own mother's head, with the\nprofessed view, entertained by both mother and son, that her spirit,\nexcited by the beating of a large drum during forty days might haunt,\ntorment, and pursue to death the taker of their money and those\nconcerned with him.\" Tylor, Primitive Culture, Vol. II. p. 103.]\n\n[Footnote 73: Hence, in many parts of Europe, it is still customary to\nopen the windows when a person dies, in order that the soul may not be\nhindered in joining the mystic cavalcade.]\n\n[Footnote 74: The story of little Red Riding-Hood is \"mutilated in the\nEnglish version, but known more perfectly by old wives in Germany, who\ncan tell that the lovely little maid in her shining red satin cloak was\nswallowed with her grandmother by the wolf, till they both came out safe\nand sound when the hunter cut open the sleeping beast.\" Tylor, Primitive\nCulture, I. 307, where also see the kindred Russian story of Vasilissa\nthe Beautiful. Compare the case of Tom Thumb, who \"was swallowed by the\ncow and came out unhurt\"; the story of Saktideva swallowed by the fish\nand cut out again, in Somadeva Bhatta, II. 118-184; and the story\nof Jonah swallowed by the whale, in the Old Testament. All these\nare different versions of the same myth, and refer to the alternate\nswallowing up and casting forth of Day by Night, which is commonly\npersonified as a wolf, and now and then as a great fish. Compare Grimm's\nstory of the Wolf and Seven Kids, Tylor, loc. cit., and see Early\nHistory of Mankind, p. 337; Hardy, Manual of Budhism, p. 501.]\n\n[Footnote 75: Baring-Gould, Book of Werewolves, p. 178; Muir, Sanskrit\nTexts, II. 435.]\n\n[Footnote 76: In those days even an after-dinner nap seems to have been\nthought uncanny. See Dasent, Burnt Njal, I. xxi.]\n\n[Footnote 77: See Dasent, Burnt Njai, Vol. I. p. xxii.; Grettis Saga, by\nMagnusson and Morris, chap. xix.; Viga Glum's Saga, by Sir Edmund Head,\np. 13, note, where the Berserkers are said to have maddened themselves\nwith drugs. Dasent compares them with the Malays, who work themselves\ninto a frenzy by means of arrack, or hasheesh, and run amuck.]\n\n[Footnote 78: Baring-Gould, Werewolves, p. 81.]\n\n[Footnote 79: Baring-Gould, op. cit. chap. xiv.]\n\n[Footnote 80: Baring-Gould, op. cit. p. 82.]\n\n[Footnote 81: Kennedy, Fictions of the Irish Celts, p. 90.]\n\n[Footnote 82: \"En 1541, a Padoue, dit Wier, un homme qui se croyait\nchange en loup courait la campagne, attaquant et mettant a mort ceux\nqu'il rencontrait. Apres bien des difficultes, on parvint s'emparer de\nlui. Il dit en confidence a ceux qui l'arreterent: Je suis vraiment\nun loup, et si ma peau ne parait pas etre celle d'un loup, c'est parce\nqu'elle est retournee et que les poils sont en dedans.--Pour s'assurer\ndu fait, on coupa le malheureux aux differentes parties du corps, on lui\nemporta les bras et les jambes.\"--Taine, De l'Intelligence, Tom. II.\np. 203. See the account of Slavonic werewolves in Ralston, Songs of the\nRussian People, pp. 404-418.]\n\n[Footnote 83: Mr. Cox, whose scepticism on obscure points in history\nrather surpasses that of Sir G. C. Lewis, dismisses with a sneer\nthe subject of the Berserker madness, observing that \"the unanimous\ntestimony of the Norse historians is worth as much and as little as the\nconvictions of Glanvil and Hale on the reality of witchcraft.\" I have\nnot the special knowledge requisite for pronouncing an opinion on this\npoint, but Mr. Cox's ordinary methods of disposing of such questions\nare not such as to make one feel obliged to accept his bare assertion,\nunaccompanied by critical arguments. The madness of the bearsarks may,\nno doubt, be the same thing us the frenzy of Herakles; but something\nmore than mere dogmatism is needed to prove it.]\n\n[Footnote 84: Williams, Superstitions of Witchcraft, p. 179. See a\nparallel case of a cat-woman, in Thorpe's Northern Mythology, II. 26.\n\"Certain witches at Thurso for a long time tormented an honest fellow\nunder the usual form of cats, till one night he put them to flight with\nhis broadsword, and cut off the leg of one less nimble than the rest;\ntaking it up, to his amazement he found it to be a woman's leg, and\nnext morning he discovered the old hag its owner with but one leg\nleft.\"--Tylor, Primitive Culture, I. 283.]\n\n[Footnote 85: \"The mare in nightmare means spirit, elf, or nymph;\ncompare Anglo-Saxon wudurmaere (wood-mare) = echo.\"--Tylor, Primitive\nCulture, Vol. II. p. 173.]\n\n[Footnote 86: See Kuhn, Herabkunft des Feuers, p. 91; Weber, Indische\nStudien. I. 197; Wolf, Beitrage zur deutschen Mythologie, II. 233-281\nMuller, Chips, II. 114-128.]\n\n[Footnote 87: Baring-Gould, Curious Myths, II. 207.]\n\n[Footnote 88: The word nymph itself means \"cloud-maiden,\" as is\nillustrated by the kinship between the Greek numph and the Latin nubes.]\n\n[Footnote 89: This is substantially identical with the stories of Beauty\nand the Beast, Eros and Psyche, Gandharba Sena, etc.]\n\n[Footnote 90: The feather-dress reappears in the Arabian story of Hasssn\nof El-Basrah, who by stealing it secures possession of the Jinniya. See\nLane's Arabian Nights, Vol. III. p. 380. Ralston, Songs of the Russian\nPeople, p. 179.]\n\n[Footnote 91: Thorpe, Northern Mythology, III. 173; Kennedy, Fictions of\nthe Irish Celts, p. 123.]\n\n[Footnote 92: Kennedy, Fictions of the Irish Celts, p. 168.]\n\n[Footnote 93: Baring-Gould, Book of Werewolves, p. 133.]\n\n[Footnote 94: Muir's Sanskrit Texts, Vol. IV. p. 12; Muller, Rig-Veda\nSanhita, Vol. I. pp. 230-251; Fick, Woerterbuch der Indogermanischen\nGrundsprache, p. 124, s v. Bhaga.]\n\n[Footnote 95: In the North American Review, October, 1869, p. 354,\nI have collected a number of facts which seem to me to prove beyond\nquestion that the name God is derived from Guodan, the original form of\nOdin, the supreme deity of our Pagan forefathers. The case is exactly\nparallel to that of the French Dieu, which is descended from the Deus of\nthe pagan Roman.]\n\n[Footnote 96: See Pott, Die Zigeuner, II. 311; Kuhn, Beitrage, I. 147.\nYet in the worship of dewel by the Gypsies is to be found the element of\ndiabolism invariably present in barbaric worship. \"Dewel, the great\ngod in heaven (dewa, deus), is rather feared than loved by these\nweather-beaten outcasts, for he harms them on their wanderings with his\nthunder and lightning, his snow and rain, and his stars interfere with\ntheir dark doings. Therefore they curse him foully when misfortune\nfalls on them; and when a child dies, they say that Dewel has eaten it.\"\nTylor, Primitive Culture, Vol. II. p. 248.]\n\n[Footnote 97: See Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie, 939.]\n\n[Footnote 98: The Buddhistic as well as the Zarathustrian reformation\ndegraded the Vedic gods into demons. \"In Buddhism we find these ancient\ndevas, Indra and the rest, carried about at shows, as servants of\nBuddha, as goblins, or fabulous heroes.\" Max Muller, Chips, I. 25. This\nis like the Christian change of Odin into an ogre, and of Thor into the\nDevil.]\n\n[Footnote 99: Zeus--Dia--Zhna--di on............ Plato Kratylos, p. 396,\nA., with Stallbaum's note. See also Proklos, Comm. ad Timaeum, II. p.\n226, Schneider; and compare Pseudo-Aristotle, De Mundo, p. 401, a, 15,\nwho adopts the etymology. See also Diogenes Laertius, VII. 147.]\n\n[Footnote 100: Marcus Aurelius, v. 7; Hom. Iliad, xii. 25, cf. Petronius\nArbiter, Sat. xliv.]\n\n[Footnote 101: \"Il Sol, dell aurea luce eterno forte.\" Tasso,\nGerusalemme, XV. 47; ef. Dante, Paradiso, X. 28.]\n\n[Footnote 102: The Aryans were, however, doubtless better off than\nthe tribes of North America. \"In no Indian language could the early\nmissionaries find a word to express the idea of God. Manitou and Oki\nmeant anything endowed with supernatural powers, from a snake-skin or\na greasy Indian conjurer up to Manabozho and Jouskeha. The priests were\nforced to use a circumlocution,--`the great chief of men,' or 'he who\nlives in the sky.'\" Parkman, Jesuits in North America, p. lxxix. \"The\nAlgonquins used no oaths, for their language supplied none; doubtless\nbecause their mythology had no beings sufficiently distinct to swear\nby.\" Ibid, p. 31.]\n\n[Footnote 103: Muller, Rig-Veda-Sanhita, I. 230.]\n\n[Footnote 104: Compare the remarks of Breal, Hercule et Cacus, p. 13.]\n\n[Footnote 105: It should be borne in mind, however, that one of\nthe women who tempt Odysseus is not a dawn-maiden, but a goddess of\ndarkness; Kalypso answers to Venus-Ursula in the myth of Tannhauser.\nKirke, on the other hand, seems to be a dawn-maiden, like Medeia,\nwhom she resembles. In her the wisdom of the dawn-goddess Athene,\nthe loftiest of Greek divinities, becomes degraded into the art of an\nenchantress. She reappears, in the Arabian Nights, as the wicked Queen\nLabe, whose sorcery none of her lovers can baffle, save Beder, king of\nPersia.]\n\n[Footnote 106: The Persian Cyrus is an historical personage; but the\nstory of his perils in infancy belongs to solar mythology as much as\nthe stories of the magic sleep of Charlemagne and Barbarossa. His\ngrandfather, Astyages, is purely a mythical creation, his name being\nidentical with that of the night-demon, Azidahaka, who appears in the\nShah-Nameh as the biting serpent Zohak. See Cox, Mythology of the Aryan\nNations, II. 358.]\n\n[Footnote 107: In mediaeval legend this resistless Moira is transformed\ninto the curse which prevents the Wandering Jew from resting until the\nday of judgment.]\n\n[Footnote 108: Cox, Manual of Mythology, p. 134.]\n\n[Footnote 109: In his interesting appendix to Henderson's Folk Lore of\nthe Northern Counties of England, Mr. Baring-Gould has made an ingenious\nand praiseworthy attempt to reduce the entire existing mass of household\nlegends to about fifty story-roots; and his list, though both redundant\nand defective, is nevertheless, as an empirical classification, very\ninstructive.]\n\n[Footnote 110: There is nothing in common between the names Hercules and\nHerakles. The latter is a compound, formed like Themistokles; the\nformer is a simple derivative from the root of hercere, \"to enclose.\" If\nHerakles had any equivalent in Latin, it would necessarily begin with S,\nand not with H, as septa corresponds to epta, sequor to epomai, etc.\nIt should be noted, however, that Mommsen, in the fourth edition of\nhis History, abandons this view, and observes: \"Auch der griechische\nHerakles ist fruh als Herclus, Hercoles, Hercules in Italien einheimisch\nund dort in eigenthumlicher Weise aufgefasst worden, wie es scheint\nzunachst als Gott des gewagten Gewinns und der ausserordentlichen\nVermogensvermehrung.\" Romische Geschichte, I. 181. One would gladly\nlearn Mommsen's reasons for recurring to this apparently less defensible\nopinion.]\n\n[Footnote 111: For the relations between Sancus and Herakles, see\nPreller, Romische Mythologie, p. 635; Vollmer, Mythologie, p. 970.]\n\n[Footnote 112: Burnouf, Bhagavata-Purana, III. p. lxxxvi; Breal, op.\ncit. p. 98.]\n\n[Footnote 113: Max Muller, Science of Language, II 484.]\n\n[Footnote 114: As Max Muller observes, \"apart from all mythological\nconsiderations, Sarama in Sanskrit is the same word as Helena in Greek.\"\nOp. cit. p. 490. The names correspond phonetically letter for letter,\nas, Surya corresponds to Helios, Sarameyas to Hermeias, and Aharyu to\nAchilleus. Muller has plausibly suggested that Paris similarly answers\nto the Panis.]\n\n[Footnote 115: \"I create evil,\" Isaiah xiv. 7; \"Shall there be evil in\nthe city, and the Lord hath not done it?\" Amos iii. 6; cf. Iliad, xxiv.\n527, and contrast 2 Samuel xxiv. 1 with 1 Chronicles xxi. 1.]\n\n[Footnote 116: Nor is there any ground for believing that the serpent in\nthe Eden myth is intended for Satan. The identification is entirely the\nwork of modern dogmatic theology, and is due, naturally enough, to the\nhabit, so common alike among theologians and laymen, of reasoning about\nthe Bible as if it were a single book, and not a collection of\nwritings of different ages and of very different degrees of historic\nauthenticity. In a future work, entitled \"Aryana Vaedjo,\" I hope to\nexamine, at considerable length, this interesting myth of the garden of\nEden.]\n\n[Footnote 117: For further particulars see Cox, Mythology of the Aryan\nNations, Vol. II. pp 358, 366; to which I am indebted for several of the\ndetails here given. Compare Welcker, Griechische Gotterlehre, I. 661,\nseq.]\n\n[Footnote 118: Many amusing passages from Scotch theologians are cited\nin Buckle's History of Civilization, Vol. II. p. 368. The same belief\nis implied in the quaint monkish tale of \"Celestinus and the Miller's\nHorse.\" See Tales from the Gesta Romanorum, p. 134.]\n\n[Footnote 119: Thorpe, Northern Mythology, Vol. 11. p. 258.]\n\n[Footnote 120: Thorpe, Northern Mythology, Vol. II. p. 259. In the Norse\nstory of \"Not a Pin to choose between them,\" the old woman is in doubt\nas to her own identity, on waking up after the butcher has dipped her in\na tar-barrel and rolled her on a heap of feathers; and when Tray barks\nat her, her perplexity is as great as the Devil's when fooled by the\nFrenschutz. See Dasent, Norse Tales, p. 199.]\n\n[Footnote 121: See Deulin, Contes d'un Buveur de Biere, pp. 3-29.]\n\n[Footnote 122: Dasent, Popular Tales from the Norse, No. III. and No.\nXLII.]\n\n[Footnote 123: See Dasent's Introduction, p. cxxxix; Campbell, Tales of\nthe West Highlands, Vol. IV. p. 344; and Williams, Indian Epic Poetry,\np. 10.]\n\n[Footnote 124: \"A Leopard was returning home from hunting on one\noccasion, when he lighted on the kraal of a Ram. Now the Leopard had\nnever seen a Ram before, and accordingly, approaching submissively, he\nsaid, 'Good day, friend! what may your name be?' The other, in his gruff\nvoice, and striking his breast with his forefoot, said, 'I am a Ram;\nwho are you?' 'A Leopard,' answered the other, more dead than alive; and\nthen, taking leave of the Ram, he ran home as fast as he could.\" Bleek,\nHottentot Fables, p. 24.]\n\n[Footnote 125: I agree, most heartily, with Mr. Mahaffy's remarks,\nProlegomena to Ancient History, p. 69.]\n\n[Footnote 126: Sir George Grey once told some Australian natives about\nthe countries within the arctic circle where during part of the year the\nsun never sets. \"Their astonishment now knew no bounds. 'Ah! that must\nbe another sun, not the same as the one we see here,' said an old man;\nand in spite of all my arguments to the contrary, the others adopted\nthis opinion.\" Grey's Journals, I. 293, cited in Tylor, Early History of\nMankind, p. 301.]\n\n[Footnote 127: Max Muller, Chips, II. 96.]\n\n[Footnote 128: Fictions of the Irish Celts, pp. 255-270.]\n\n[Footnote 129: A corruption of Gaelic bhan a teaigh, \"lady of the\nhouse.\"]\n\n[Footnote 130: For the analysis of twelve, see my essay on \"The Genesis\nof Language,\" North American Review, October 1869, p. 320.]\n\n[Footnote 131: Chips from a German Workshop, Vol. II. p. 246.]\n\n[Footnote 132: For various legends of a deluge, see Baring-Gould,\nLegends of the Patriarchs and Prophets, pp. 85-106.]\n\n[Footnote 133: Brinton, Myths of the New World, p. 160.]\n\n[Footnote 134: Brinton, op. cit. p. 163.]\n\n[Footnote 135: Brinton, op. cit. p. 167.]\n\n[Footnote 136: Corresponding, in various degrees, to the Asvins, the\nDioskouroi, and the brothers True and Untrue of Norse mythology.]\n\n[Footnote 137: See Humboldt's Kosmos, Tom. III. pp. 469-476. A\nfetichistic regard for the cardinal points has not always been absent\nfrom the minds of persons instructed in a higher theology as witness a\nwell-known passage in Irenaeus, and also the custom, well-nigh universal\nin Europe, of building Christian churches in a line east and west.]\n\n[Footnote 138: Bleek, Hottentot Fables and Tales, p. 72. Compare the\nFiji story of Ra Vula, the Moon, and Ra Kalavo, the Rat, in Tylor,\nPrimitive Culture, I. 321.]\n\n[Footnote 139: Tylor, Early History of Mankind, p. 327.]\n\n[Footnote 140: Tylor, op. cit., p. 346.]\n\n[Footnote 141: Baring-Gould, Curious Myths, II. 299-302.]\n\n[Footnote 142: Speaking of beliefs in the Malay Archipelago, Mr. Wallace\nsays: \"It is universally believed in Lombock that some men have the\npower to turn themselves into crocodiles, which they do for the sake\nof devouring their enemies, and many strange tales are told of such\ntransformations.\" Wallace, Malay Archipelago, Vol. I. p. 251.]\n\n[Footnote 143: Bleek, Hottentot Fables and Tales, p. 58.]\n\n[Footnote 144: Callaway, Zulu Nursery Tales, pp. 27-30.]\n\n[Footnote 145: Callaway, op. cit. pp. 142-152; cf. a similar story in\nwhich the lion is fooled by the jackal. Bleek, op. cit. p. 7. I omit the\nsequel of the tale.]\n\n[Footnote 146: Brinton, op. cit. p. 104.]\n\n[Footnote 147: Tylor, op. cit. p. 320.]\n\n[Footnote 148: Tylor, op. cit. pp. 338-343.]\n\n[Footnote 149: Tylor, op. cit. p. 336. November, 1870]\n\n[Footnote 150: Juventus Mundi. The Gods and Men of the Heroic Age.\nBy the Rt. Hon. William Ewart Gladstone. Boston: Little, Brown, & Co.\n1869.]\n\n[Footnote 151: Hist. Greece, Vol. II. p. 208.]\n\n[Footnote 152: Grote, Hist. Greece, Vol. II. p. 198.]\n\n[Footnote 153: For the precise extent to which I would indorse the\ntheory that the Iliad-myth is an account of the victory of light over\ndarkness, let me refer to what I have said above on p. 134. I do not\nsuppose that the struggle between light and darkness was Homer's subject\nin the Iliad any more than it was Shakespeare's subject in \"Hamlet.\"\nHomer's subject was the wrath of the Greek hero, as Shakespeare's\nsubject was the vengeance of the Danish prince. Nevertheless, the story\nof Hamlet, when traced back to its Norse original, is unmistakably the\nstory of the quarrel between summer and winter; and the moody prince\nis as much a solar hero as Odin himself. See Simrock, Die Quellen des\nShakespeare, I. 127-133. Of course Shakespeare knew nothing of this,\nas Homer knew nothing of the origin of his Achilleus. The two stories,\ntherefore, are not to be taken as sun-myths in their present form.\nThey are the offspring of other stories which were sun-myths; they\nare stories which conform to the sun-myth type after the manner above\nillustrated in the paper on Light and Darkness. [Hence there is nothing\nunintelligible in the inconsistency--which seems to puzzle Max Muller\n(Science of Language, 6th ed. Vol. II. p. 516, note 20)--of investing\nParis with many of the characteristics of the children of light.\nSupposing, as we must, that the primitive sense of the Iliad-myth had as\nentirely disappeared in the Homeric age, as the primitive sense of the\nHamlet-myth had disappeared in the times of Elizabeth, the fit ground\nfor wonder is that such inconsistencies are not more numerous.] The\nphysical theory of myths will be properly presented and comprehended,\nonly when it is understood that we accept the physical derivation of\nsuch stories as the Iliad-myth in much the same way that we are bound to\naccept the physical etymologies of such words as soul, consider, truth,\nconvince, deliberate, and the like. The late Dr. Gibbs of Yale College,\nin his \"Philological Studies,\"--a little book which I used to read with\ndelight when a boy,--describes such etymologies as \"faded metaphors.\"\nIn similar wise, while refraining from characterizing the Iliad or the\ntragedy of Hamlet--any more than I would characterize Le Juif Errant by\nSue, or La Maison Forestiere by Erckmann-Chatrian--as nature-myths, I\nwould at the same time consider these poems well described as embodying\n\"faded nature-myths.\"]\n\n[Footnote 154: I have no opinion as to the nationality of the\nEarth-shaker, and, regarding the etymology of his name, I believe we can\nhardly do better than acknowledge, with Mr. Cox, that it is unknown.\nIt may well be doubted, however, whether much good is likely to come\nof comparisons between Poseidon, Dagon, Oannes, and Noah, or of\ndistinctions between the children of Shem and the children of Ham. See\nBrown's Poseidon; a Link between Semite, Hamite, and Aryan, London,\n1872,--a book which is open to several of the criticisms here directed\nagainst Mr. Gladstone's manner of theorizing.]\n\n[Footnote 155: \"The expression that the Erinys, Saranyu, the Dawn, finds\nout the criminal, was originally quite free from mythology; IT MEANT\nNO MORE THAN THAT CRIME WOULD BE BROUGHT TO LIGHT SOME DAY OR OTHER.\nIt became mythological, however, as soon as the etymological meaning\nof Erinys was forgotten, and as soon as the Dawn, a portion of time,\nassumed the rank of a personal being.\"--Science of Language, 6th\nedition, II. 615. This paragraph, in which the italicizing is mine,\ncontains Max Muller's theory in a nutshell. It seems to me wholly at\nvariance with the facts of history. The facts concerning primitive\nculture which are to be cited in this paper will show that the case\nis just the other way. Instead of the expression \"Erinys finds the\ncriminal\" being originally a metaphor, it was originally a literal\nstatement of what was believed to be fact. The Dawn (not \"a portion of\ntime,\"(!) but the rosy flush of the morning sky) was originally regarded\nas a real person. Primitive men, strictly speaking, do not talk in\nmetaphors; they believe in the literal truth of their similes and\npersonifications, from which, by survival in culture, our poetic\nmetaphors are lineally descended. Homer's allusion to a rolling stone as\nessumenos or \"yearning\" (to keep on rolling), is to us a mere figurative\nexpression; but to the savage it is the description of a fact.]\n\n[Footnote 156: Primitive Culture: Researches into the Development of\nMythology, Philosophy, Religion, Art, and Custom By Edward B. Tylor. 2\nvols. 8vo. London. 1871.]\n\n[Footnote 157: Tylor, op. cit. I. 107.]\n\n[Footnote 158: Rousseau, Confessions, I. vi. For further illustration,\nsee especially the note on the \"doctrine of signatures,\" supra, p. 55.]\n\n[Footnote 159: Spencer, Recent Discussions in Science, etc., p. 36, \"The\nOrigin of Animal Worship.\"]\n\n[Footnote 160: See Nature, Vol. VI. p. 262, August 1, 1872. The\ncircumstances narrated are such as to exclude the supposition that the\nsitting up is intended to attract the master's attention. The dog has\nfrequently been seen trying to soften the heart of the ball, while\nobserved unawares by his master.]\n\n[Footnote 161: \"We would, however, commend to Mr. Fiske's attention\nMr. Mark Twain's dog, who 'couldn't be depended on for a special\nprovidence,' as being nearer to the actual dog of every-day life than\nis the Skye terrier mentioned by a certain correspondent of Nature, to\nwhose letter Mr. Fiske refers. The terrier is held to have had 'a few\nfetichistic notions,' because he was found standing up on his hind legs\nin front of a mantel-piece, upon which lay an india-rubber ball with\nwhich he wished to play, but which he could not reach, and which, says\nthe letter-writer, he was evidently beseeching to come down and play\nwith him. We consider it more reasonable to suppose that a dog who had\nbeen drilled into a belief that standing upon his hind legs was very\npleasing to his master, and who, therefore, had accustomed himself to\nstand on his hind legs whenever he desired anything, and whose usual way\nof getting what he desired was to induce somebody to get it for him, may\nhave stood up in front of the mantel-piece rather from force of habit\nand eagerness of desire than because he had any fetichistic notions, or\nexpected the india-rubber ball to listen to his supplications. We admit,\nhowever, to avoid polemical controversy, that in matter of religion the\ndog is capable of anything.\" The Nation, Vol. XV. p. 284, October 1,\n1872. To be sure, I do not know for certain what was going on in the\ndog's mind; and so, letting both explanations stand, I will only add\nanother fact of similar import. \"The tendency in savages to imagine\nthat natural objects and agencies are animated by spiritual or living\nessences is perhaps illustrated by a little fact which I once noticed:\nmy dog, a full-grown and very sensible animal, was lying on the lawn\nduring a hot and still day; but at a little distance a slight breeze\noccasionally moved an open parasol, which would have been wholly\ndisregarded by the dog, had any one stood near it. As it was, every time\nthat the parasol slightly moved, the dog growled fiercely and barked.\nHe must, I think, have reasoned to himself, in a rapid and unconscious\nmanner, that movement without any apparent cause indicated the presence\nof some strange living agent, and no stranger had a right to be on his\nterritory.\" Darwin, Descent of Man, Vol. 1. p. 64. Without insisting\nupon all the details of this explanation, one may readily grant, I\nthink, that in the dog, as in the savage, there is an undisturbed\nassociation between motion and a living motor agency; and that out of a\nmultitude of just such associations common to both, the savage, with his\ngreater generalizing power, frames a truly fetichistic conception.]\n\n[Footnote 162: Note the fetichism wrapped up in the etymologies of these\nGreek words. Catalepsy, katalhyis, a seizing of the body by some spirit\nor demon, who holds it rigid. Ecstasy, ekstasis, a displacement or\nremoval of the soul from the body, into which the demon enters and\ncauses strange laughing, crying, or contortions. It is not metaphor, but\nthe literal belief ill a ghost-world, which has given rise to such\nwords as these, and to such expressions as \"a man beside himself or\ntransported.\"]\n\n[Footnote 163: Something akin to the savage's belief in the animation\nof pictures may be seen in young children. I have often been asked by my\nthree-year-old boy, whether the dog in a certain picture would bite him\nif he were to go near it; and I can remember that, in my own childhood,\nwhen reading a book about insects, which had the formidable likeness of\na spider stamped on the centre of the cover, I was always uneasy lest\nmy finger should come in contact with the dreaded thing as I held the\nbook.]\n\n[Footnote 164: Tylor, Primitive Culture, I. 394. \"The Zulus hold that a\ndead body can cast no shadow, because that appurtenance departed from\nit at the close of life.\" Hardwick, Traditions, Superstitions, and\nFolk-Lore, p. 123.]\n\n[Footnote 165: Tylor, op. cit. I. 391.]\n\n[Footnote 166: Harland and Wilkinson, Lancashire Folk-Lore, 1867, p.\n210.]\n\n[Footnote 167: Tylor, op. cit. II. 139.]\n\n[Footnote 168: In Russia the souls of the dead are supposed to be\nembodied in pigeons or crows. \"Thus when the Deacon Theodore and his\nthree schismatic brethren were burnt in 1681, the souls of the martyrs,\nas the 'Old Believers' affirm, appeared in the air as pigeons. In\nVolhynia dead children are supposed to come back in the spring to their\nnative village under the semblance of swallows and other small birds,\nand to seek by soft twittering or song to console their sorrowing\nparents.\" Ralston, Songs of the Russian People, p. 118.]\n\n[Footnote 169: Tylor, op. cit. I. 404.]\n\n[Footnote 171: Tylor, op. cit. I. 407.]\n\n[Footnote 172: Tylor, op. cit. I. 410. In the next stage of survival\nthis belief will take the shape that it is wrong to slam a door, no\nreason being assigned; and in the succeeding stage, when the child asks\nwhy it is naughty to slam a door, he will be told, because it is an\nevidence of bad temper. Thus do old-world fancies disappear before the\ninroads of the practical sense.]\n\n[Footnote 173: Agassiz, Essay on Classification, pp. 97-99.]\n\n[Footnote 174: Figuier, The To-morrow of Death, p. 247.]\n\n[Footnote 175: Here, as usually, the doctrine of metempsychosis comes\nin to complete the proof. \"Mr. Darwin saw two Malay women in Keeling\nIsland, who had a wooden spoon dressed in clothes like a doll; this\nspoon had been carried to the grave of a dead man, and becoming inspired\nat full moon, in fact lunatic, it danced about convulsively like a table\nor a hat at a modern spirit-seance.\" Tylor, op. cit. II. 139.]\n\n[Footnote 176: Tylor, op. cit. I. 414-422.]\n\n[Footnote 177: Tylor, op. cit. I. 435, 446; II. 30, 36.]\n\n[Footnote 178: According to the Karens, blindness occurs when the SOUL\nOF THE EYE is eaten by demons. Id., II. 353.]\n\n[Footnote 179: The following citation is interesting as an illustration\nof the directness of descent from heathen manes-worship to Christian\nsaint-worship: \"It is well known that Romulus, mindful of his own\nadventurous infancy, became after death a Roman deity, propitious to the\nhealth and safety of young children, so that nurses and mothers would\ncarry sickly infants to present them in his little round temple at\nthe foot of the Palatine. In after ages the temple was replaced by\nthe church of St. Theodorus, and there Dr. Conyers Middleton, who drew\npublic attention to its curious history, used to look in and see ten\nor a dozen women, each with a sick child in her lap, sitting in silent\nreverence before the altar of the saint. The ceremony of blessing\nchildren, especially after vaccination, may still be seen there on\nThursday mornings.\" Op. cit. II. 111.]\n\n[Footnote 180: Want of space prevents me from remarking at length\nupon Mr. Tylor's admirable treatment of the phenomena of oracular\ninspiration. Attention should be called, however, to the brilliant\nexplanation of the importance accorded by all religions to the rite of\nfasting. Prolonged abstinence from food tends to bring on a mental\nstate which is favourable to visions. The savage priest or medicine-man\nqualifies himself for the performance of his duties by fasting, and\nwhere this is not sufficient, often uses intoxicating drugs; whence\nthe sacredness of the hasheesh, as also of the Vedic soma-juice. The\npractice of fasting among civilized peoples is an instance of survival.]","title":"Myths and Myth-Makers: Old Tales and Superstitions Interpreted by Comparative Mythology","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":77156}