“Go out into the forest and gather sticks for the fire,” said the wood-cutter’s wife to her husband. “To-morrow will be Sunday, and we have no wood to burn.” “Yes,” he said, “I will go.” He went to the forest, but instead of getting the fire-wood, he sat by the bank of a stream and fished all day, and late at night went home without any wood. His wife was already asleep and did not know what he had done. Early the next morning he crept out to the forest, intending to bring wood before she would be astir. He cut the wood, and began carrying the bundle of sticks on his back, when a voice behind him said, “Put the wood down.” “I can’t,” he said, “my wife cannot cook dinner without it.” “You will have no dinner to-day,” said the voice. “My wife will not know I did not bring wood last night,” he said. “Put the wood down! It is Sunday, the day when men should rest from their work.” “Sunday or Monday,” said the man, “it is all one to me.” “Then,” said the voice, “if you will not keep Sunday on earth, you shall keep Monday in the heavens, and you shall carry your wood until the Judgment Day.”
The man could not tell how it was, but he felt himself being lifted up, up, up, sticks and all, till he was in the moon. “Here you shall stay,” said the voice. On any clear night, when you look up at the moon, you can still see a great shadow, like an old man with wood on his shoulder.
4. PROMETHEUS, THE GREEK FIRE-GIVER[6]
Long ago the Greek people believed that the world was ruled by many gods. They thought Jupiter was the father, with many powerful children. One of these was Prometheus, meaning “Forethought.” This god had a kind heart, and longed to help the poor and unhappy men of earth who lived in caves and holes in the rocks, hungry and cold. They ate their food raw, like the beasts. They had no tools, nor comforts. Prometheus said: “Poor man, how I pity him! If he only had fire, then he would be happy. Yes, man shall have fire, even if Jupiter kills me.” So one dark night he set out for Mount Olympus, the abode of the gods, stole a lighted brand, hid it in his bosom, and brought it down to man. “See the gift I bring you!” he cried. It was midwinter. Snows were deep on the ground. Ice covered the rivers. Men were shivering in the cold and little children were freezing. Prometheus laid wood together and touched it with his firebrand, and lo! the first fire on earth was started! Blue fingers were spread out to the wonderful warmth. Pinched faces smiled in the golden glow. “Summer is come again!” they shouted. They called Prometheus, the helper of man. But he became their teacher too. He showed them how to cook their food, make tools, and dig metals from the earth, and soon man was warm and happy and busy. One day Jupiter looked down from his high throne on the topmost peak of Mount Olympus and saw the fire-theft. In fearful anger he ordered his son, Vulcan, the blacksmith of the gods, to seize Prometheus, carry him away to the Caucasian Mountains, chain him fast to a huge rock, where a great vulture tore out his liver. There Prometheus suffered for ages; but generation after generation of men lived on earth, and died, blessing him for the gift he had brought to them. After many centuries of woe, Hercules found Prometheus, killed the vulture, broke the chain, and set free the suffering god, who said, “I am glad man has the fire-gift!” And the sight of man warming himself beside it and using it comforted him.
5. PHAETHON’S WONDERFUL RIDE
The Greeks believed that Apollo was the god of music and of hunting, and also of the sun. Every day, they thought, he rode through the sky in his golden chariot, drawn by fiery horses. One day Phaethon, meaning “the Bright and Shining One,” his son, said, “Father, let me drive your chariot for one day.” “My son,” said Apollo, “I cannot grant your request! ’Tis a mischief, not a gift, you ask. The road is steep and the four fiery steeds untamed. You would grow dizzy and fall and set the world on fire.” But Phaethon pleaded and, because he had promised, at last Apollo ordered the Hours to harness the horses and fling wide open the palace-gates. Phaethon took the reins and the whip in his hands. “My son,” said Apollo, “be sure to watch the horses with the greatest care, and do not use the whip.” At first Phaethon remembered his father’s words and he enjoyed his ride; but soon he became reckless and drove faster and faster until he lost his way. In trying to find it again he drove so near the earth that immediately trees shriveled, harvests withered, fountains dried up, cities were burned to ashes, and even the people of the land over which he was passing were burned black—which color the Negroes have to this day. This frightened Phaethon so much that he whipped up his horses, and drove them so far away that the earth turned to a sudden cold. The cries of the suffering people rose in chorus to Jupiter, who awoke from his deep sleep, and at once hurled his deadliest thunderbolt straight at the foolhardy Phaethon. In a moment the dead boy fell like a shooting star into the waters of a deep river. His intimate friend, Cycnus, continually plunged into the river in hope of finding all the scattered pieces of his body, until the gods changed him into a swan. And that is the reason, the Greeks thought, why the swan is ever mournfully sailing about, and often plunging his head into the water to continue his sad search for Phaethon.
6. THE STORY OF THE SUNFLOWER
Clytie was a water-nymph who lived in a cave at the bottom of the sea. She had never seen the earth or sky or stars or sun or light of day, in her dark home, deep in the sea. One morning she floated up so far that she reached the surface and swam to the beautiful green shore. Shaking the water out of her waving yellow hair, she sat and watched a golden ball which was arising out of the east. It was the sun. With wonder and delight her eyes followed him as he mounted higher and higher. It became noon, but Clytie never stirred. She scarcely seemed to breathe. Soon the sun sank lower and lower toward the west, and Clytie’s eyes still followed him with love. Then the sun sank from sight. Clytie fell upon her face in sorrow, crying, “Oh, the miracle! shall I ever see it again? I will not leave this spot. I will wait to see if the wonder may not return.” So through the long night she watched, and in the white light of dawn the great sun burst again in beauty upon the waiting eyes of Clytie, who followed him in his course, turning her sweet, sad face, east, south, and west as the day advanced. This she did day after day, until at last the gods, in pity, changed her into the sunflower. But the sunflower still follows, with upturned face, the daily journey of the sun.
So the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close;