HThe mother of Hermes was Maia, a nymph who gave birth to him in a cave. As soon as he was born, his father, who was Zeus, king of the gods, gave him a pair of winged sandals that enabled him to fly. The baby-god was just a day old when he first flew out of the cave and went to explore the world. As he was flying around, a plodding and wrinkly faced creature caught his eye. This was the tortoise who carried her shell around on her back. As soon as Hermes saw the shell, he saw how it could be useful to him, and he wanted it. So he landed in the tortoise’s path and declared:
“Hello my pretty one, how are you today?”
No one had ever spoken to the tortoise like this before, let alone a baby with winged sandals. She should have suspected a trick, and perhaps she did, but the Hermes flattery worked its charm on her. She smiled her prettiest smile, which wasn’t that pretty, unless you are another tortoise.
The infant smiled back and said:
“I’d love to see you dance, and I bet your singing voice is as beautiful as your face.”
“Now you’re going too far!” laughed the tortoise. I’m far too shy to dance, and as for singing, I’ve not even tried. I leave that sort of thing to the birds and grasshoppers who have artistic natures!”
“But I tell you that you have the most beautiful voice of all!” declared Hermes. “You can take me at my word. I’m a god, and we immortals never lie,” he insisted. And if you know anything about mythology, you will realise that this was far from true. The gods almost always lie, even when there’s no need to: just for practice.
And so with lies and flattery the baby god won the trust of the tortoise, who should have known better, but all he really wanted to do was to steal her beautiful shell. When she was looking the other way, he grabbed it off her back and flew off with it, leaving the poor tortoise behind, shell-less and homeless. And the moral of this part of the story, in case you haven’t understood it yet, is this: never talk to strangers.
The shell had made a snug house for the tortoise, but Hermes had different ideas for it. But before he could make his invention, he needed the horns of a bull. So he began to think about some more mischief that he could play.
He knew, because the gods know everything, even baby gods, that no thief should even dream of stealing the Cattle of the Sun. The Cattle of the Sun were the blessed cattle of the immortals, guarded by the sun god Apollo, and anyone who stole them would be thrown down into deepest, darkest Tarturus, a punishment far worse than death.
So since it was totally forbidden to steal the Cattle of the Sun, Hermes wanted to do it. He was that sort of baby. The temptation was too great, and so he flew directly to the mountain where Apollo kept the holy cattle. He found them grazing the sweet grass on a slope overlooking the sea. The baby-god chose 50 of the best cattle and started to drive them away - only he did this in a cunning fashion. He made the cattle walk backwards, that way, any person, or god, who found the tracks, would think they showed the cattle moving in the opposite direction. Flying around the cattle like a gadfly, he drove them down the slope. Now it happened that they passed an old man tending to his vineyard. In all his many years, the man had never seen a baby cow-herder driving cattle backwards. Hermes saw the look of astonishment on his face and called out, “Old Man, if you want a fine crop of grapes and barrels overflowing with wine, be sure to tell no mortal or immortal person what you saw today.”
On and on he drove the cattle, first along the beach, and then onto an old farm and an empty cowshed. That evening, as Apollo rested his shining head beneath the horizon, Hermes went out to gather dry sticks for a cooking fire. After he had made a sacrifice to his father Zeus, and he himself had tasted the roast meat of the gods, he set about fashioning the first ever lyre.
The horns of a bull made the frame of the lyer, and the tortoise shell became the soundbox to amplify the music. He added a cross bar of olive wood, and then he pulled seven gut strings over it.
The sweet notes rang out at the touch of his hand and he said to himself,”I wasn’t lying when I said to the tortoise that she could sing sweeter than any bird.”
He was so pleased with his invention that he composed a song in honour of his mother Maia, the one person whom he truly loved. And this was how the baby Hermes invented the Lyre.
The next day, Hermes flew off, taking his precious instrument with him. He played as he flew, and the birds were envious of his musical skill. He returned to his mother’s cave where he fell happily asleep. But this is not the end of the story. On no! As you know, it is not Hermes who we associate with the lyre, it is the god Apollo.
It was Apollo’s job, as the official Sun God, to drive the sun chariot across the sky. On his way, he looked down on the Cattle of the Sun and thought, “That’s funny, some of them seem to be missing.” He counted the cattle two or three times to be sure, and each time he came up with a number that was 50 short. That was when the sky went dark, because Apollo immediately aborted his mission and set off in search of the missing cattle. The Blazing Sun God soon found the old man who had witnessed the crime, and who told him the story, as far as he could make head or tale of it.
“I was up in my little vineyard working from dawn to dusk, and as the sun was going down I had the impression that I saw a child following a herd of cows, a baby with a stick who zigzagged side to side, and made the cows walk backward, their heads toward him."
Now Apollo was hot on the tail of the baby-thief. He soon found a flock of birds who told him of the kid who flew through the air making beautiful sounds, and before long he tracked Hermes down to the cave.
When the Sun God filled the cave with golden light, Hermes sucked his thumb and pretended to be a child overcome by sweet sleep. But Apollo was not fooled so easily. He called out:
“Little boy lying in the cradle, you had better tell me quickly what happened to my cattle, or you and I will soon be in an unseemly fight.”
“Search me!” replied the baby-god. “Why ask me about your missing cows? I haven't seen them. I haven't heard a word about them. No one's told me a thing.”
“Stop Lying. I’m not the fool you think I am.”“Do I look like a cattle driver? A big strong guy? I’m not interested in cows. All I want is my baby-sleep and my mother’s milk.”
By now, Apollo’s golden skin had turned red with rage: “Hand over my cattle right now before I cast you down into darkest Tartarus for even and a day!” he bellowed.
“ I wish all the cattle in the world would drop dead! I didn't steal your cows”
Apollo made his move, and would have seized the thieving child, crib and all, if Hermes had not acted just in the nick of time.
He began to play his lyre, so sweetly and so magically, that the sun god stopped in his tracks, amazed at the sound of the music. His temper soon became quite soothed. And then he began to laugh for job as the sound of the instrument stole his heart.
“What is this new sound, this wonder to my ears; I swear, neither men nor Olympian gods have ever heard anything like it!”
“It’s called music,” replied Hermes, and if you like, I can give this gift to you
0
Reviews (0)