A Guide to Mythology

by Helen A. Clarke

“This trial has turned out,” said Utgard-Loke, “just as I imagined it would. The cat is large, but Thor is little in comparison with our men.”

The next morning, at break of day, Thor and his companions dressed themselves and prepared for their departure. Utgard-Loke ordered a table to be set for them, on which there was no lack of victuals or drink. After the repast, Utgard-Loke led them to the gate of the city, and on parting asked Thor how he thought his journey had turned out, and whether he had met with any men stronger than himself. Thor told him that he could not deny but that he had brought great shame on himself. “And what grieves me most,” he added, “is that thou wilt call me a person of little worth.”

“Nay,” said Utgard-Loke, “it behooves me to tell thee the truth, now thou art out of the city, which so long as I live and have my way thou shalt never enter again. And, by my troth, had I known beforehand that thou hadst so much strength in thee, and wouldst have brought me so near to a great mishap, I would not have suffered thee to enter this time. Know then that I have all along deceived thee by my illusions.” He then complimented Thor upon each feat he had performed, and as for the cat, he said, “Thou hast indeed performed a wonderful feat by lifting up the cat, and to tell thee the truth, when we saw that one of his paws was off the floor we were all of us terror-stricken, for what thou tookest for a cat was in reality the Midgard serpent that encompasseth the earth, and he was so stretched by thee that he was barely long enough to enclose it between his head and tail.”

The wolf Fenris was also one of Loke’s children, and gave the gods a great deal of trouble until they succeeded in chaining him. He broke the strongest fetters as if they were made of cobwebs. Finally the gods sent a messenger to the mountain spirits, who made for them the chain called Gleipnir. It was fashioned of various things: the noise made by the footfall of a cat, the roots of stones, the breath of fishes, the nerves of bears, and the spittle of birds. When finished it was as smooth and soft as a silken string. But when the gods asked the wolf to suffer himself to be bound with this apparently slight ribbon he suspected their design, fearing that it was made by enchantment. He therefore only consented to be bound with it on condition that one of the gods put his hand in his (Fenris’s) mouth as a pledge that the band was to be removed again. Tyr alone had sufficient courage to do this. But when the wolf found that he could not break his fetters and that the gods would not release him, he bit off Tyr’s hand. Tyr, consequently, has ever since remained one-handed.

THE STORY OF APOLLO AND PHAËTON

(Greek: After Ovid)

Phaëton was the son of Apollo and the earthly nymph Clymene. One day Epaphus, the son of Zeus and Io, scoffed at the idea of Phaëton’s being the son of a god. Phaëton complained of the insult to his mother, Clymene. She sent him to Phœbus Apollo to ask for himself whether he had not been truly informed concerning his parentage. Gladly Phaëton travelled toward the regions of the sunrise, and gained at last the palace of the Sun. He approached his father’s presence, but stopped at a distance, for the light was more than he could bear. Phœbus Apollo, arrayed in purple, sat on a throne that glittered with diamonds. Beside him stood the Day, the Month, the Year, the Hours and the Seasons. Surrounded by these attendants, the Sun beheld the youth dazzled with the novelty and splendor of the scene, and inquired the purpose of his errand. The youth replied, “Oh, light of the boundless world, Phœbus, my father—give me some proof, I beseech thee, by which I may be known as thine!” He ceased. His father, laying aside the beams that shone around his head, bade him approach, embraced him, and swore by the river Styx that whatever proof he might ask should be granted. Phaëton immediately asked to be permitted for one day to drive the chariot of the Sun. The father repented of his promise, and tried to dissuade the boy by telling him the perils of the undertaking. “None but myself,” he said, “may drive the flaming car of day. Not even Zeus, whose terrible right arm hurls the thunder-bolts. The first part of the way is steep, and such as the horses when fresh in the morning can hardly climb; the middle part is high up in the heavens, whence I myself can scarcely, without alarm, look down and behold the earth and sea stretched beneath me. The last part of the road descends rapidly and requires most careful driving. Tethys, who is waiting to receive me, often trembles for me lest I should fall headlong. Add to this that the heaven is all the time turning round and carrying the stars with it. Couldst thou keep thy course, while the sphere revolved beneath thee? The road, also, is through the midst of frightful monsters. Thou must pass by the horns of the Bull, in front of the Archer, and near the Lion’s jaws, and where the Scorpion stretches its arms in one direction and the Crab in another. Nor wilt thou find it easy to guide these horses, with their breasts full of fire that they breathe forth from their mouths and nostrils. Beware, my son, lest I be the donor of a fatal gift; recall the request while yet thou canst.” He ended; but the youth rejected admonition, and held to his demand. So, having resisted as long as he might, Phœbus at last led the way to where stood the lofty chariot.

It was of gold, the gift of Vulcan: the axle of gold, the pole and wheels of gold, the spokes of silver. Along the seat were rows of chrysolites and diamonds reflecting the brightness of the sun. While the daring youth gazed in admiration, the Dawn threw open the purple doors of the east, and showed the pathway strewn with roses. The stars withdrew, marshalled by the Day Star, which last of all retired also. The father when he saw the earth beginning to glow and the moon preparing to retire, ordered the Hours to harness up the horses. They led forth from the lofty stalls the steeds full fed with ambrosia, and attached the reins. Then the father, smearing the face of his son with a powerful unguent, made him capable of enduring the brightness of the flame. He set the rays on the lad’s head, and, with a foreboding sigh, told him to spare the whip and hold tight the reins; not to take the straight road between the five circles, but to turn off to the left; to keep within the limit of the middle zone, and avoid the northern and the southern alike; finally, to keep in the well-worn ruts, and to drive neither too high nor too low, for the middle course was safest and best.

Forthwith the agile youth sprang into the chariot, stood erect and grasped the reins with delight, pouring out thanks to his reluctant parent. But the steeds soon perceived that the load they drew was lighter than usual; and as a ship without ballast is tossed hither and thither on the sea, the chariot, without its accustomed weight, was dashed about as if empty. The horses rushed headlong and left the travelled road. Then for the first time the Great and Little Bears were scorched with heat, and would fain, if it were possible, have plunged into the water; and the serpent which lies coiled round the north pole, torpid and harmless, grew warm, and with warmth felt its rage revive. Boötes, they say, fled away though encumbered with his plough and unused to rapid motion.