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The skies that rule over all, and the great seas, are male beings; Zeus and Poseidon rule there. The earth, that gives life to plants and animals and men, that cares for and generously nourishes her children, is the great mother goddess, Gæa.

Fig. 42. Cybele in her Car.

Rhea, the mother of the gods, was also an earth-goddess. The people of Asia Minor knew Mother, her as Cy’bele or the Great Mother, and represented her crowned with a turreted crown like the wall of a city; for she was the bringer of civilization, the protectress of cities. Lions drew her chariot, and about her were the Cor yban’tes, who acclaimed her with shouts and the clashing of cymbals, and led her worship with wild dances. This worship never took firm root in Greece, but it was introduced into Rome and was there one of the most influential, of the foreign religious cults.

More characteristic of the Greek people was the worship of De me’ter, the bountiful goddess of the grain. She was the sister of Zeus and had her place in the Olympic Council. We see her, of generous and kindly aspect, draped from head to foot, holding a torch, or ears of wheat and corn mingled with poppies. Per seph’o ne (or Pro ser’pi na), the fresh young corn of the new year, was her only daughter, looking to Zeus, the giver of rain and sun, as her father. The worship of these two is a beautiful, natural harvesters' worship, but trouble and loss enter in.

When Persophane was playing with the ocean nymphs one day, in the sunny land of Sicily. She had wandered a little way from her friends and stooped to pick a narcissus. As she uprooted the fragrant flower, out of the earth sprang the black horses and golden chariot of Hades, or Pluto, the king of the lower world. In spite of her cries for help, the black god carried the maiden off with him; as she passed, the flowers fell from her hands. Then the earth opened at the word of the god, and Pluto descended with his prize into the gloomy regions over which he ruled. Here he made her his queen.

Fig. 43. Demeter.

Demeter, who had gone to Asia Minor to visit Cybele, heard of her loss, but did not know who the robber was nor where she should begin her search for her daughter. Disconsolately she wandered over all the earth, her serene and kindly face befouled by tears, her clothes torn and soiled, her corn and flowers abandoned. Without her ministry the fields yielded no crops, men and beasts starved, and though they called on her, she would not hear nor answer. At last, in her wanderings she came to the fountain of Cy’ane, in Sicily. Now the nymph Cyane had seen Pluto with the stolen girl and had vainly tried to bar his passage. In grief at her failure she had wept herself into a fountain and so had lost the power of speech. All that she could do was to wash up at the mother's feet the girdle that the girl had dropped in her passage. Then Demeter, in her anger and despair, cursed the ground, and above all the lovely land of Sicily that had betrayed its trust. Not far from Cyane is another fountain, once a nymph, Arethusa, who, as was told above (see p. 84), in her flight from the river Alpheus rushed down into the earth in Greece and rose again in Sicily. On her way through the lower world she had seen Persephone sharing Pluto's throne. From her, Demeter learned at last the truth and at once went to Zeus to demand redress. Induced, not alone by Demeter's tears and prayers, but by the agonized cries of all the suffering earth, Zeus decreed that Pluto should give up his stolen bride — on one condition, that no food had passed her lips during her stay beneath the earth. By ill fortune she had been persuaded by Pluto to taste the seeds of a pomegranate. A compromise was made: Persephone should return to her mother, but each year she should descend again into the lower world to stay as many months as she had eaten seeds of the pomegranate. And so each winter when the seeds of grain are sowed, the daughter of the grain-mother goes down into the dark ground, and the fields are bare and unlovely while the mother mourns. But when the time agreed Upon is over, and Persephone comes again to the light, then Demeter is glad and looks to her fields. The fresh young spears of grain come out of the dark earth, and when the time comes and the crops begin to ripen, Demeter makes the fields beautiful with poppies, and then, when the ears are full, men gather them joyfully and bring them into their barns and praise the bountiful Demeter and her lovely daughter.

El eu’sis is a Small town a few miles distant from Athens. Here were celebrated the Mysteries in honor of Demeter. All Athens took part in the procession and the purification, but to the Mysteries themselves only those who had been initiated were admitted. The ceremonies were kept very secret, but it seems that the rape of Persephone and her return were dramatically represented, and that the initiate gained some deeper trust in a happy immortality than was known to others. The story of the institution of these El eu sin’i an Mysteries is connected with Demeter's search for her daughter.

Fig. 44. Demeter, Triptolemus and Persephone.

Exhausted by nine days of fasting and useless wandering, Demeter had come to Eleusis and had sat down beside a well. Here came the four daughters of the king of that land to fill their water-jars. Seeing the tired old woman, they spoke to her kindly and brought her with them to their father's house. The king's wife had lately borne a son, and the disguised goddess took the baby to nurse. She anointed him with ambrosia, and each night as he slept she placed him in the embers on the hearth, for so she intended to burn away the mortal part and make him as one of the gods. But the anxious queen watched through the door one night, and rushed in with terrified cries to rescue her baby from the fire. Then the goddess rose in all her divine majesty and said to the mother: "O foolish woman! now have you brought incurable evil upon your son; I would have made him immortal and given him everlasting youth, but now must he suffer the common lot of men. Yet I will give him imperishable honor since he has lain on my breast. But come now, build me here a temple, and the rites in it I will myself prescribe." So they built to Demeter a great temple, and when the child Trip tol’e mus had grown up, the goddess taught him to raise grain and corn and sent him in a dragon-drawn chariot through every land to teach men how to sow and reap. Through him, too, she gave the Greeks her Mysteries and a better hope for the future life. As the Greek poet Pindar says: "Happy is he that hath seen those things ere he go beneath the earth; he knoweth life's end, he knoweth its beginning given of God."

Fig. 45. Triptolemus in the dragon-drawn Chariot.

Fig. 46. Dionysus or Bacchus.

It was soon after the expulsion of the kings, at the time of a failure of crops, that the Romans, in obedience to a command of the Sibylline books introduced the worship of Demeter. Even then she was not worshiped under her Greek name, but was indentified with an old Latin goddess named Ceres, and Persephone was given the Latinized form Proserpina. Ceres was always the special protectress of the plebeians.

Di on y’sus or Bacchus is familiarly known as Dionysus or the convivial wine-god; but while the vine is most closely associated with him, he is, in truth, the vital strength of everything that grows, the power of fertility and of joyful, springing life.

His mother was Sem’e le, daughter of Cadmus (see p. 256), the founder of Thebes, and his father was Zeus. Though Semele was of divine descent on both sides of her family, she was herself a mortal, and to make love to her Zeus put on the form of a mortal. At first she rejected his attentions, but when he told her who he was, she yielded and gladly received him. Hera knew of this and was filled with angry jealousy. Disguising herself as Semele's old nurse Ber’o ë, she led the girl on to talk of her love. When she had heard all the story, she pretended not to believe that the lover was Zeus. "If he were, why should he not come to you in all his glory, as he does to Hera? He is treating you with very little respect." Semele's pride was touched. The next time her lover came she induced him to swear that he would grant whatever she should demand. Then she asked that he should show himself to her in all his Olympian majesty. The fatal oath by the Styx had been given; even to save one he loved Zeus could not recall it. He came to her as God of Heaven, armed with the thunder-bolts. No mortal could endure his glory or the flame of the lightning; poor Semele was reduced to ashes. So the earth is scorched by the full blaze of the Greek sun at midsummer, or seared by the lightning; only the seeds within it remain alive. Just so Semele's baby, Dionysus or Bacchus, came to birth from his mother's ashes, and ivy sprang up miraculously to shade him from the hot sky. His grieving father took him and gave him to the mountain nymphs of Nysa to nurse. As he grew older Si le’nus, one of the lesser divinities of earth, was given to him as a tutor, and with his help he discovered all the secrets of nature, especially the culture of the vine. He taught his followers, the rustic deities, to make from the grapes wine, the mysterious source at once of womanish weakness, and invincible power and joyous freedom from care. Intoxicated by the new drink, they thronged together in Bacchic revels. Wherever he went, he was joined by crowds of women, called Bac chan’tes, who celebrated his worship by wild dances, the clashing of cymbals, the beating of drums, shrill flutings, and unrestrained shouts. Always so accompanied, Bacchus traveled over the world, teaching the cultivation of the grape arid the power of wine. He penetrated to India, where even the panthers and lions fell under his charm and obediently drew his triumphal chariot. As a conquering hero he returned to Greece and demanded worship everywhere. And everywhere the women flocked to his revels. Dressed in the skins of beasts, with streaming hair, brandishing snakes or the ivy-twined wand or thyrsus, they joined in the wild dances. With shrill outcries they tore in pieces the sacrificial animals and devoured the raw flesh.

Fig. 47. Silenus with Dionysus.

At Thebes Pen’theus, the king, forbade the revels, and when the women of his city, in defiance of his commands, went out to join the Bacchantes, he followed to spy on the secret rites. Enraged at this opposition, Bacchus made the women mad. They mistook the king for a wild beast and tore him to pieces, his own mother leading in the murderous assault. There is probably some historical basis for this story, for these extravagant wild rites, introduced from Thrace or Asia Minor, met with bitter opposition in some parts of Greece. But the promise they offered of raising the worshiper above the bounds of the natural, plodding human life and giving a high and divine power through mystic union with the god, overrode all opposition, and the Bacchic mysteries were received and practised with immense enthusiasm.

Fig. 48. Bacchic Procession.

Many stories are told of Bacchus and his travels, and of how he punished his enemies and rewarded his friends. On one occasion, as he was lying asleep on the shore of an island, some pirates came upon him, and thinking that the beautiful youth might be held for a large ransom, they carried him off to their ship. The helmsman, recognizing the god in his divine grace and beauty, implored his companions to set him free, but they were deaf to his words. When the god awoke he tearfully besought his captors to take him to the island of Naxos. Pretending to consent they steered the other way. Suddenly the ship stood rooted in the sea; ivy trailed up the mast, and vines wreathed the sails; a sweet odor filled the air, and wine flowed about the deck. The captive's bonds dropped from him, and in his place crouched a lion. In their terror the sailors leaped overboard and were instantly transformed into dolphins — all but the god-fearing helmsman, whom Bacchus saved and made his follower.

Midas was a king in Phrygia. One day Silenus in a dazed and drunken condition was brought before him. Recognizing Bacchus' tutor in the muddled old man, Midas entertained him well and sent him back to his pupil. In return for this good office, Bacchus offered to fulfil whatever wish the king should make. When Midas, being excessively fond of riches, asked that whatever he touched might become gold, Dionysus was sorry for the foolish wish, but could not withdraw his offer. Midas returned home in delight. To try his new power he touched an oak branch; it became golden. He lifted a stone from the ground; it was a mass of gold. The very earth became hard and yellow at his touch. He picked some ears of grain; golden was the harvest. He pulled an apple from the tree; one would have thought it one of the golden apples of the Hesperides. If he touched the door-posts with his fingers, the posts shone as gold. When he washed his hands in fresh water, the drops that fell were like the golden shower that deceived Danaë. (See p. 200.) The servants placed a banquet before him; when he touched the bread it hardened under his fingers; when he raised a dainty morsel to his lips, his teeth closed on a lump of gold. He mingled wine with his water; molten gold flowed down his throat. And now he hated and loathed the wealth that he had loved; he was starving in the midst of plenty. Raising his hands and gleaming arms to heaven he cried: "Have pity on me, kindly Bacchus, I have sinned! Oh, pity me, and take away the cursed boon!" Bacchus heard him. He bade him go to the river Pac to’lus and wash in the spring from' which it rises. There the golden touch left him and was transferred to the river, whose sands are mixed with gold to this day.

Dionysus married A ri ad’ne, a beautiful princess of Crete, whom the hero Theseus (see p. 250) had carried away from her home and had then deserted on the island of Naxos. Her divine lover Dionysus came to her while she slept and wakened her by a kiss. The wedding of the pair was celebrated with great magnificence and joy, and as a wedding gift the god gave his bride a crown studded with brilliant stars. When she died, her grieving husband threw the crown up into the heayens. There it can still be seen as Corona, or Ariadne's Crown.

Although the Di on y’si a, or Bac cha-na’li a, were always celebrated with wild orgies and extravagant enthusiasm, Dionysus also received worship of a different character. Praise was given to him as the hospitable and genial deity who brings joy to the feast, frees men from care, and makes them of friendly and kindly feelings towards one another. He brought to men civilization and law; he was a lover of peace. By his exhilarating power he inspired poets and musicians and thus is associated with Apollo and the Muses. The Attic drama originated at the festivals of Dionysus. The rough dances and music were reduced to form; the choral dances became pantomimic, and the songs took on dramatic character. From this was developed tragedy and comedy. The great 'theater of Athens is in the precinct of Dionysus.

Fig. 49. Youthful Dionysus.

There is much variation in the representations of the god; two distinct types are especially familiar. In the one he appears as a mature man, bearded and heavily draped; this was the regular type in early times. In the other he appears as a smooth-faced young man, of grace and charm that is almost feminine. His hair is long, sometimes hanging in curls and sometimes caught up on his head like that of a woman. He usually is either nude or wears a panther's or lion's skin over his shoulder. His head is crowned with ivy or grape-leaves, and he holds in his hand grapes or a shallow cup of wine. Sometimes he is represented as the eastern conqueror in his triumphal car, drawn by lions or panthers, while about him throng his followers, Satyrs, Sileni, Mænads (see p. 179), mingling with his votaries, the Bacchantes, who brandish snakes or ivy-twined staves.

Fig. 50. Bacchic Procession.

Tell me, Muse, concerning the dear son of Hermes, the goat-footed, the two-horned, the lover of the din of revel, who haunts the wooded dells with dancing nymphs that tread the crests of the steep cliffs, calling upon Pan the pastoral god of the long wild hair. Lord is he of every snowy crest and mountain peak and rocky path. (Homeric Hymn to Pan.)

This is that mysterious pastoral god. Pan, the spirit of the mountains and woods of Greece. The daughter of a mortal bore him to Hermes as he tended her father's sheep in the hills of Arcadia. A strange child he was, as the poet sings, goat-legged, with horns and a goat's beard, laughing and jumping even from his birth. His mother was frightened when she saw him, but Hermes was glad and wrapped him in the skins of hares and carried him off to Olympus to show him to the gods. They were all delighted with him, especially Dionysus, and they called him Pan.

Hither and thither he goes through the thick copses, sometimes being drawn to the still waters, and sometimes faring through the lofty crags he climbs the highest peak whence the flocks are seen below; ever he ranges over the high white hills, and ever among the knolls he chases and slays the wild beasts, the god with keen eye, and at evening returns piping from the chase, breathing sweet strains on the reeds. . . . With him then the mountain nymphs, the shrill singers, go wandering with light feet, and sing at the side of the dark water of the well, while the echo moans along the mountain crest, and the god leaps hither and thither, and goes into the midst, with many a step of the dance. On his back he wears the tawny hide of a lynx, and his heart rejoices with shrill songs in the soft meadow, where crocus and fragrant hyacinth bloom all mingled amidst the grass. (Homeric Hymn to Pan.)

So one can almost see him to-day as one listens in the hills to the Greek shepherds piping to their sheep, just as they did in the old days before Pan died. But it is not safe to see him, for he is a shy god and a mischievous, and if one spies upon him when he is sleeping or at play, one may have good cause to repent. Indeed it is best to avoid certain shady spots by springs at noon-day, for there Pan chooses to sleep while the big flies buzz in the sun-light and all else is still, and he does not like to be disturbed. At night he lives in caves in the hills, and those places are sacred to him. There is one of these sacred caves in the cliff that forms the Acropolis, right in the city of Athens, but Pan deserted it long ago, and altars to Christian saints were set up near by. He had no worship in Athens until the time of the Persian Wars, and then the story goes that just before the battle of Marathon a runner sent to Sparta to ask for help against the- Persians was met on the road by Pan, who told him that he wished well to the Athenians and would help them in the battle, although they had hitherto paid him no honor. And after the battle they remembered the unreasoning fear that had fallen upon the Persians and how they had fled before the Greeks, though so much fewer in number, and they set apart this cave as his shrine. Such fear as this is known as Panic terror. Sometimes it mysteriously comes upon men in the woods; often it seizes a flock of sheep and without cause they rush upon their own destruction.

Fig. 51. Pan and a Nymph.

But Pan is not always dangerous or ill-natured; to those he favors he sends increase of their flocks and keeps their herds safe from harm. Some shepherds whom he loved he taught to play on the pipes, and they taught others, and so the shepherds in the lonely hills can pipe to their ladyloves as Pan pipes to the nymphs. For Pan loves the nymphs, although they are a little afraid of his goat's legs and his queer goat-like face, and sometimes run away from him. So, they say, he wished to press his love on the nymph Syrinx, but she fled from him, and when he had followed her to the bank of a stream and thought he was just seizing her, his hand closed on a bunch of reeds. From his windy sighs a sweet, plaintive sound rose among the hollow reeds, so he broke off a few of unequal length, fastened them together with wax, and so made the syrinx, a musical instrument of that form.

As he is the mysterious soul of nature, Pan is very wise and knows even what the future holds, and so throughout Greece his oracles were consulted, and to Pan and the nymphs people prayed and brought offerings of milk and cheese and honey, or a kid from their flocks.

But "Great Pan is dead." The story is told by Plutarch. In the time of the emperor Tiberius a ship was sailing from Greece to Italy. As it passed by a certain island, all on board heard a voice calling, "Thamus." Three times the call was repeated and at the last an Egyptian of that name, who was of the ship's company, answered. He was told that when they came to a certain place off the coast of Epirus, he was to announce, "Great Pan is dead." When the ship reached this place, a calm fell, and Thamus did as he had been told. Immediately a sound of lamentation answered from the shore, as if an unseen multitude were mourning. The Christian tradition told that this was about the time of Christ's death, and that the mysterious voice announced the end of the gods of Greece, who withdrew lamenting before the cross of Christ.

Fig. 52. Votive Offering to Pan and the Nymphs.

Pan is not always represented with the goat's legs and beard; sometimes his form is entirely human except for the slightest indication of horns to mark his animal nature. In this he is almost indistinguishable from the Satyrs.

Not only in appearance but in nature and origin Pan's companions, the Satyrs, bear a close resemblance to him. They, too, are wild spirits of the woods and hills, half timid, playful animals, and half human. They have short, flat noses, pointed ears, and little tails, sometimes, too, goats' legs. They follow Dionysus, or they dance and play with Pan and the nymphs, and are always hankering after wine and women. The country people feared them, for they sometimes stole away the herds and killed the goats and sheep, but they imitated their rough, lively dances and their noisy songs, and so developed a popular kind of drama, called satyric drama, in which the chorus was composed of men dressed as Satyrs. These dramas were given in honor of Dionysus. In later times Satyrs appear in art as younger, gentler, and more innocent, just as one may see in the graceful young Satyr or Faun of Praxiteles, who leans pensively against a tree, holding a flute in his hand.

Fig. 53. Dancing Satyr.

Faunus was an old Roman god of flocks and herds, who through his power of prophecy and his pastoral character became identified with Pan. Finally many Fauns were conceived of and confounded with the Satyrs.

Another of the company of Dionysus was his tutor Silenus, he who was brought in an intoxicated condition to King Midas. There were many Sileni, and they were first heard of in Asia Minor, where they were represented with horses' ears and tails and were connected with fountains and running water and were credited with the gift of prophecy. That same King Midas by mixing wine in a fountain is said to have caught a Silenus and forced him to tell him the future. The Sileni, like other rural deities, were musicians. To Athena is attributed the discovery of the flute, but when she saw what distortion of face its use required, she threw it aside in disgust. It was picked up by the Silenus, Mar’sy as, who became so skilful in its use that he impudently challenged Apollo to a musical contest When the prize of victory, as was right, had been adjudged to Apollo and his lyre, Marsyas paid a terrible penalty, for Apollo had him flayed and his empty skin hung on a tree as a warning to all. Some say that Midas was present at this contest and that in punishment for his foolish judgment in favor of the Silenus he was given ass's ears. Ovid, however, tells that this indignity came upon him for his decision in favor of Pan in a musical contest with Apollo. The king tried to hide his deformity by wearing a large turban, but his barber, unable to contain the secret, dug a hole in the ground and whispered it to the earth. On that place reeds grew up and, as they rustled in the wind, ever repeated, "Midas has ass's ears."

Fig. 54. Faun of Praxiteles.

Fig. 55. Athena and Marsyas.

The Sileni usually appear as the most repulsive and ludicrous of Dionysus' company. They have short, bloated bodies, and ugly, drunken faces; they are rarely separated from their cherished wine-skins. The original and higher type is retained when Silenus appears as the nurse of Dionysus; in Greece he was sometimes regarded simply as the eldest of the Satyrs and was represented accordingly.

Fig. 56. Apollo and Marsyas.

The name nymph in Greek simply means young woman; it is used of all those nature-spirits of trees and brooks, woods and hills, that were conceived under maiden form. In their groves and brooks they lived, spinning and weaving, singing and dancing in the meadows, or, when no one was by to see them, bathing in the clear springs. They accompanied Artemis in the chase, followed Dionysus' noisy throng, or played and quarreled with the mischievous Satyrs. Sometimes, too, they loved mortal men, and many of the heroes had nymphs for mothers or for brides; but it was an uncertain relationship, for often the mortal, longing for his own people, deserted his nymph, or she grew tired of human restraints and returned to her wilds.

There were different kinds of nymphs. The Naiads were the bright elusive spirits of the springs and brooks, the Oreads were the mountain spirits, the Dryads and Hamadryads lived in the trees. Unlike a god, a nymph was not immortal, and when the hour came and the tree died, the Dryad died too. When some woodsman felled a great tree in the forest, he turned aside with a murmured prayer as it fell, for then the nymph sighing passed out of her body and vanished. The Greek writer Hesiod says that a crow lives nine times as long as a man, a deer four times as long as a crow, a raven three times as long as a deer, a phoenix nine times as long as a raven, and a nymph ten times as long as a phoenix.

Echo was a nymph whom Pan loved and pursued, but she loved a Satyr, or, as others say, she loved the beautiful youth Nar cis’sus. He did not return her love, but seeing his own reflexion in a stream, loved that, and ever gazing into his own eyes, withered away with vain passion. Then Echo, too, pined from disappointed love until she was nothing but a disembodied voice that lives on among the rocks and hills.

The nymphs were worshiped throughout Greece, and offerings of lambs, milk, oil, and wine were brought to their groves and grottoes.