The Twelve Olympians

by Dr Charles T. Seltman

  Recent research{37} has provided us today with a clearer perception of what the Greeks at different times thought and felt about Hermes, and we know more about him than about several other deities. Yet the multiplicity of his titles and functions must not be allowed to disguise the fact that Hermes is one of the very earliest and most primitive of all the gods of Greece.

  In the official myth Hermes is the son of Zeus and Maia, but that was just her title and no more than a mode of address. Indeed, the word maia has almost a slangy quality, meaning ‘mother’ as used for ‘Old Mother Hubbard’, and in Greek it is applied to elderly nurses and domestics. Yet in some older stage of the Greek language it must have denoted ‘mother’ in the true maternal sense, even as the title was used to denote Hermes’ mother, Maia, the mountain-nymph of Mount Kyllene in Northern Peloponnesus. Her real name—the one that was given to her by the initiates among the pre-Hellenic people—has vanished, just as the original name of her son vanished long ago. Of course, she was an aspect of the Great Goddess{38} of many names who parsed something of herself to almost every goddess and many a nymph. Here the simplicity of the title seems like a token of something ancient and more than half-forgotten. But among mortal men the god whom she bore was one of the best-loved of gods.

  There was preserved in Greek literature a series of hymns to various gods, varying greatly both in quality and in length, and composed between about 700 and 450 B.C. One of the longest, most important, most enchanting and humorous is the Hymn to Hermes, which has been assigned to a date close to 600 B.C. It tells the story of the early adventures of the infant god following immediately on the day when he was born in the cave on Mount Kyllene.

  Sing of Hermes, the son of Zeus and Maia,

  Lord of Kyllene and Arcadia, rich in flocks,

  The luck-bringing messenger of the immortals whom Maia bare,

  The long-haired nymph, when she was joined in love with Zeus,

  A shy goddess, avoiding the company of the blessed gods,

  She lived within a deep cave. There the son of Kronos

  Would lie with the long-haired nymph, unseen by deathless gods and mortal men,

  At dead of night, when sweet sleep held white-armed Hera fast.

  And when the purpose of great Zeus was fulfilled,

  And the tenth moon with her was fixed in heaven,

  She was delivered and a notable thing was come to pass.

  For then she bare a son, of many shifts, blandly cunning,

  A robber, a cattle-driver, a bringer of dreams,

  A watcher by night, a thief at the gates who was soon to show

  Wonderful deeds among the deathless gods.

  Born with the dawning, at midday he played on the lyre,

  And at eve he stole the cattle of far-shooting Apollo,

  On the fourth day of the month;

  On that day our Lady Maia bare him.

  So soon as he had leaped from his mother’s heavenly womb,

  He lay not long waiting in his holy cradle,

  But he sprang up and sought the oxen of Apollo.

  As he stepped over the threshold of the high-roofed cave,

  He found a tortoise there and gained endless delight.

  For it was Hermes who first made the tortoise a singer.

  The creature fell in his way at the courtyard gate,

  Where it was feeding on rich grass before the dwelling,

  Waddling along. And when he saw it, the luck-bringing son of Zeus laughed

  And said:

  “An omen of great luck for me so soon! I do not slight it.

  Hail, comrade of the feast, lovely in shape, sounding at the dance!

  With joy I meet you! Where got you that rich gaud for covering,

  That spangled shell—a tortoise living in the mountains?

  But I will take and carry you within; you shall help me

  And I will do you no disgrace, though first of all you must profit me.

  It is better to be at home: harm may come out of doors.

  Living you shall be a spell against mischievous witchcraft;

  But if you die, then you shall make sweetest song.”

  The infant proceeded to convert the shell of the tortoise into the first seven-stringed lyre that had ever been made; and after tuning it, began to sing.

  He sang of Zeus, the son of Kronos, and dainty-sandalled Maia,

  Of the converse which was theirs in the comradeship of love,

  Telling all the glorious tales of his own begetting...

  But while he was singing of this, his heart was bent on other matters.

  And he took the hollow lyre and laid it on his sacred cradle,

  And sprang from the sweet-smelling hall to a watch-place,

  Pondering sheer trickery in his heart—deeds such as knavish folk

  Pursue in the dark night-time; for he longed to taste flesh.

  The Sun was going down beneath the earth towards the Ocean

  When Hermes came hurrying to the dark mountains of Pieria,

  Where the divine cattle of the blessed gods had their steads,

  And grazed the pleasant unmown meadows.

  Of these the son of Maia, the sharp-eyed Argos-killer,

  Cut off from the herd fifty loud-lowing kine,

  And drove them straggling-wise across a sandy place,

  Turning their hoof-prints aside. Also, he bethought him

  Of a crafty ruse and reversed the marks of their hoofs,

  Making the front behind and the hind before,

  While he himself walked the other way.

  There follows a long tale of how Hermes drove the cattle all the way from Pieria near Mount Olympus to the River Alpheus in Peloponnesus and killed and flayed two of them, making a burnt offering and sacrifice to the gods. When he had duly finished he quenched the embers and covered the ashes with sand.

  Then the god went back again at dawn to the bright crests of Kyllene,

  And no one met him on the long journey either of the blessed gods or mortal men,

  Nor did any dog bark. And luck-bringing Hermes, son of Zeus,

  Passed edgeways through the key-hole of the hall like the autumn breeze,

  Even as mist: straight through the cave he went,

  And came to the inner chamber, walking softly,

  And making no noise as one might upon the floor.

  Then glorious Hermes went hurriedly to his cradle,

  Wrapping his swaddling clothes about him as though he were a feeble babe,

  And he lay playing with the covering about his knees;

  But at his left hand he kept close his sweet lyre.

  It was not long before the great Apollo, son of Zeus and Leto, discovered how serious a raid had been made upon his herd, and seeking information on this side and on that—one of the earliest detective-stories here—he finally concluded that in some way this magical new-born child must be responsible. Therefore,

  ...the lord Apollo, the Son of Zeus, hastened

  And came to the forest-clad mountains of Kyllene,

  And the deep-shadowed cave in the rock where the divine nymph

  Brought forth the child of Zeus who is son of Kronos.

  A sweet odour spread over the lovely hill

  And many thin-shanked sheep were grazing on the grass.

  Then far-shooting Apollo himself stepped down

  In haste over the stone threshold into the dusky cave.

  Now when the Son of Zeus and Maia saw Apollo

  In a rage about his cattle, he snuggled down

  In his fragrant swaddling-clothes; and as wood-ash covers

  Over the deep embers of tree-stumps, so Hermes

  Cuddled himself up when he saw the Far-shooter’s anger.

  He squeezed head and hands and feet together in a small space,

  Like a new-born child seeking sweet sleep,

  Though in truth he was wide awake, and he kept his lyre under his armpit.

  ...Then when the Son of Le
to had searched the recesses of the great house,

  He turned and spoke to glorious Hermes:

  “Child, lying in the cradle, make haste and tell me

  Of my cattle, or we two soon will fall out angrily.

  For I will take you and cast you into dusky Tartarus

  And awful hopeless darkness; and neither your mother

  Nor your father shall free you or bring you up again to the light,

  But you will wander under the earth and be the leader amongst little folk.”

  Then Hermes answered him with shrewd and crafty words:

  “Son of Leto, what harsh words are these you have spoken?

  And is it cattle of the field you are come here to seek?

  I have not seen them: I have not heard of them: no one has told me.

  I cannot give news of them, nor win the reward for news.

  Am I like a cattle-lifter? Am I a stalwart person?

  This is no task for me: rather I care for other things:

  I care for sleep, and milk of my mother’s breast,

  And for wrappings round my shoulders,

  And for warm baths. Let no one hear the cause of this dispute,

  For this were a great marvel indeed among the deathless gods

  That a child newly born should pass through the forepart of the house

  With cattle of the field: herein you speak extravagantly.

  I was born yesterday, my feet are soft and the ground is rough;

  Nonetheless, if you will have it so, I will swear a great oath

  By my father’s head and vow that neither am I

  Guilty myself, nor have I seen any other who stole your cows—

  Whatever cows may be: for I know them only by hearsay.”

  Then Apollo took up the child and began to carry him.

  But now the strong Argos-killer had his plan,

  And while Apollo held him in his hands, sent forth an omen,

  A hard-worked belly-serf, a rude messenger, and sneezed there-after.

  And when Apollo heard it, he dropped glorious Hermes

  Out of his hands on the ground: and sitting down before him,

  Though eager to go on his way,

  Spoke mockingly to Hermes:

  “Fear not, little swaddling baby, son of Zeus and Maia,

  I shall find the strong cattle presently by these omens,

  And you shall lead the way.”

  ...Now though Hermes had many wiles, he found that the other

  Had also many a shift, and he began to cross the sand,

  Himself in front, while the Son of Zeus and Leto came behind.

  Soon they came, these lovely children of Zeus,

  To the top of fragrant Olympus, to their father, the Son of Kronos;

  For there were the scales of judgment set for them both.

  There was an assembly on snowy Olympus,

  And the immortals who perish not were gathering

  After the hour of gold-enthroned Dawn.

  Then Hermes and Apollo of the Silver Bow stood at the knees of Zeus;

  And Zeus who thunders on high spoke of his glorious son and asked him:

  “Phœbus, whence come you driving this great spoil,

  A child new born that has the look of a herald?

  A weighty matter this, to come before the council of the gods!”

  Apollo made his lengthy accusation, which the infant Hermes proceeded to rebut, all to the delight of Zeus, who sent him off to show his elder brother where he had hidden the cattle and to return them. This done, Hermes produced his tortoiseshell lyre and began to play upon it for his brother’s enchantment.

  But Apollo was seized by a longing not to be allayed,

  And he opened his mouth and spoke winged words to Hermes:

  “Slayer of oxen, trickster, busy one, comrade of the feast,

  This song of yours is worth fifty cows, and I believe

  That presently we shall settle our quarrel most peacefully.

  But come now, tell me this, resourceful son of Maia:

  Has this marvellous thing been with you from your birth,

  Or did some god or mortal man give it to you—a noble gift—

  And teach you heavenly song? For wonderful

  Is this new-uttered sound I hear,

  The like of which I vow that no man nor god dwelling on Olympus

  Ever yet has known but you, O thievish son of Maia!

  What skill is this? What song for desperate cares?

  What way of song? For verily here are three things to hand,

  All at once from which to choose—mirth, and love, and sweet sleep.

  And though I am follower of the Olympian Muses

  Who love dances and the bright path of song—the full-toned chant

  And ravishing thrill of flutes—yet never I cared

  For any of these feats of skill at young men’s revels

  As now I care for this: I am filled with wonder, O son of Zeus,

  At your sweet playing.”

  ...Then Hermes answered him with artful words:

  “You question me carefully, O Far-worker; yet am I not jealous

  That you should enter upon my art: this day you shall know it.

  For I seek to be friendly with you both in thought and word.

  Now you well know all things in your heart since you sit

  Foremost among the deathless gods, O son of Zeus,

  And are goodly and strong...

  But since, as it seems, your heart is strongly set on playing the lyre,

  Chant and play upon it, and give yourself to merriment,

  Taking this as a gift from me, and do you, my friend, bestow glory on me.

  Sing well with this clear-voiced companion in your hands;

  For you are skilled in good, well-ordered utterance.”

  That was how the lyre which Hermes had made became the property of Apollo; and father Zeus looked down from Olympus happy in his children and

  ...himself gave confirmation to their words,

  And commanded that glorious Hermes should be lord over all birds of omen

  And grim-eyed lions, and boars with gleaming tusks,

  And over dogs and all flocks that the wide earth nourishes,

  And over all sheep; also that he only should be the appointed

  Messenger to Hades, who though he takes no gift,

  Shall give him no mean prize.

  Thus the lord Apollo showed his kindness for the Son of Maia,

  And Zeus gave him grace.

  He consorts with all mortals and immortals:

  A little he profits but continually through the dark night

  He cozens the tribes of mortal men.

  The long Hymn to Hermes,{39} running to nearly six hundred lines, was written for recital at a feast or holy day of the god, probably held on his birthday on the fourth day of the month. The words have the freshness, the metre, the rapidity of the great epics, Iliad, and Odyssey, but there is less of seriousness and nothing of terror. Here is a story of “gods, who being exempt from death and pain live a life that men would like to live but may not”. So it is “full of humour and joy”.{40}

  When he had grown to full godhead Hermes was set a hard task by Zeus. It happened as follows: Zeus, like a great Lord enamoured of one of his Lady’s waiting-maids, fell in love with the beautiful Io, a young priestess of Hera, and to conceal her from his ever-jealous spouse he changed the girl for a while into a young heifer. The Lady Hera, aware of what had happened, asked her husband in seeming innocence for the pretty little cow as a gift, which Zeus could hardly refuse. Having thus gained a point, Hera set the savage Argos to guard the heifer. Some said he had eyes in the back of his head, or eyes all over him, or a hundred eyes, but these were later elaborations of a tale in which originally he was probably an extra-large and savage dog.{41} Zeus, thwarted of his love, remembered that he had given the son of Maia power over wild animals and dogs and so sent Hermes off to kill Argos. This accomp
lished, the god won the title of Argos-killer by which he was so constantly described.

  Hermes remained a bachelor-god, and, for a son of Zeus, he seems to have had a modest number of love-affairs; or else with his gift of cunning kept some of them secret. There were old families in Attica, where his worship was of such importance, who traced descent from him, and it was claimed that not only had he loved one of the daughters of Kekrops, King of Athens—Herse by name—and begotten the hunter Kephalos, but also that he loved one of her sisters—Aglauros or Pandrosos—and was the father of Keryx, founder of an Eleusinian clan. Another son of his was the hero Eleusis, whose mother was called Daeira—the ‘knowing one’. This was a title given to Persephone, bride of Hades; and when Pausanias avers that she was an Ocean nymph this may represent an Attic or Eleusinian priestly version meant to cover an earlier tale of divine intrigue.

  But the most important love-tale about Hermes is set in Arcadia. There was a girl named Ameirake,{42} who as a child was cast into the sea but rescued by a wild duck (in Greek penelops) and was thenceforth named Penelope—or ‘Ducky’. Yet in another version her name was Dryope, or ‘Woodpecker’ (the Greek is dryops), not a very duck-like bird. At any rate, bird-like she was, and Hermes loved her; and in the second book of his history Herodotus said that she—Penelope he calls her—was mother by Hermes of the fantastic Arcadian god Pan, who was born at Mantinea, where his mother’s tomb was shown. All this was imagined as having occurred before ever Penelope became wife of the great Odysseus of Ithaca, himself Hermes’ great-grandson. There is a Homeric Hymn to Pan which begins:

  Sing to me, Muse, that dearest son of Hermes,

  Goat-footed and two-horned, who takes delight

  In loud noise, and about the tree-girt lawns

  Roams with the dancing Nymphs, who range the tops

  Of cliff-scarped mountains, calling upon Pan,

  The bright-haired unkempt deity of flocks.{43}

  Another son of Hermes was Autolykos, master-thief, cattle-rustler, faker, and trickster; but who his mother was it is hard to know, for some said her name was Chione, others Philonis, and yet others Telauge. One might hazard a guess that there was rivalry among the daughters of chieftains to claim motherhood of so fine a brigand by so great a god. An ancient story was told in Rhodes about a girl named Apemosyne, grand-daughter of Minos, King of Crete, who repulsed all Hermes’ offers and always ran from him, until one day the trickster spread in her path some slippery raw hides, on which she fell, and so possessed her. Apart from this last episode, he showed great politeness to goddesses and nymphs. In the twenty-first book of the Iliad, when numerous gods, having lost their sense of proportion on account of partisanship either for Greeks or for Trojans, began to line up ready to attack one another, Hermes found himself facing the great Leto, mother of Apollo and Artemis. With true tact Hermes the Guide, the Argos-killer, called across to her and said: