Soldan High School - Scrip Yearbook (St Louis, MO)

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., s.-. - 7 -- Y- ' ...Q .ff ,q-f Y , P' - 4 2 . . 1 'sans' e fe e , The Gods of Olympus By Frances England, 7 IC O antique fables, for a little light Of that which shineth in you evermore, To cleanse the dimness from our weary eyes, And bathe our old world with a new surprise Of golden dawn entrancing sea and shore. ,I by ,Lp HEN every boatman dreamed of glimpsing a golden-haired , Naiad in some waterfall: when the Woodman hesitated to ii, ,V 5 1' fell an oak lest he kill the dryad Withing when countryfolk ' fl l looked curiously toward the peak of Mount Olympus, know- X-7 ing that there the gods were speaking of heavenly things- then it was inevitable that art should grow almost to perfection in the sunlight of Greek imagination. Beauty is truthg truth beauty. This is the creed cf the Hellenic genius. And beauty had no narrow definition then. The athlete's lithe body poised for the race, the mature man's dignity, the tender grace of a Howergirl-all were seen to be beautiful. Therefore, the Athenian artist used for his model for Hercules the victor in the latest Olympian games, gave Zeus the thoughtful majesty of Pericles, showed Diana in the dress of a sturdy Spartan girl. 4 Those lovable gods lacked the power of truer deities. They were but exalted men and women, not awesomely righteous. They were companionable spirits. If one believed sufficiently, one might glimpse Ceres as she trod the fields with crimson poppies in her hair. Above all, they were adventurous gods, whose exploits provided wandering bards with thrilling subjects for song: and they were sympathetic with human errors, for they themselves loved, and hated, and coveted. All the art and literature of Greece is based on the legends of these cherished immortals. Though the Hellenes eventually outgrew their simplicity, though philosophers jeered at the ancient faith, yet Plato's wisdom never inspired such marvelous poetry as glorified those petty quarreling gods of the Iliad. 19

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hottest? Thus these legends mingled comfort and beauty with the merely terrifying remnants of earlier tales. Active volcanoes were not infrequent in the new home of these myth-makers, so nothing was more natural than to have some one, more poetically inclined than his fellows, discoverv that, under these fiery-topped mountains, lived a kind, hard-working god, who in this, his mighty forge, made the weapons and tools which all-powerful gods might be expected to wield. The seasons, too, received their share of speculation: and slowly there grew a story of a beautiful and stately goddess of plenty, who presided over the crops and harvest, and who allowed her protegee, man, to be cursed with cruel winter only because she was mourning the absence of her daughter, gentle spring, who had been carried to the harsh, grim, foreboding underworld, whither traveled the shades of the dead. Virtue-using the word with its full meaning of strength, beauty, and valor, as well as piety - was rewarded by transportation, after death, to the fair Elysian fields: and evil or folly was punished as it deserved. Niobe, for her impious folly in boasting of her equality with the gods, was punished by losing her beloved source of pride. Orestes was pursued by Furies for his lack of iilial piety, however much justi- fiable. Croesus, when he became too proud and too confident, lost his mighty kingdom to the Persians. Midas was first punished for his unnatural greed and then punished, not so justly, for his lack of dis- cernment in caring more for the music of Pan than for that cf Apollo, the god of music. Thus, in nearly every case, beauty, which is virtue and truth, was liberally rewarded: while evil, which is the cause of unloveliness, was punished severely. All of the innumerable stories seem to have their origin in some natural occurrence or the desire to assuage the human feeling of impotence by assuring merited reward or punishment, if not in this life, in the next. So behind the simplest and most mistaken explanations given by these forerunners of the greater part of our culture and civilization. lurks a rudimentary but far-reaching theory. Finally, of course, the first childlike and poetic explanations were outgrown, but even while the truth of the stories was beginning to be doubted, their beauty and truth in the delineation of the character- istics of all humanity were unquestioned. Indeed many of the greatest works of art and literature have been the direct outgrowth of this great wealth of beauty in mythological lore. b IS

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Tj - ,AY -Ai, -- - -1 of Y -.IX W'-Q ' 'T Xi' PV - 'Ti Y' ' :7 ' - 7 Arachne 's Web By Frances Hall England, 7 S va ERTAINLY, the household of Cyaxeres was never lacking in I fine linens. For Arachne, the daughter of this wealthy Athe- nian farmer, had a passion for weaving. Naturally, Cyaxeres had few objections to such a hobby. V - He never had to spend his good money for imported cloth- for, behold, Arachne could convert a roll of wool into a modish chiton as easily as any ordinary girl might twine a garland. Motives of econ- omy assured him that she should be left to her loom and spindle. The only drawback was the extent to which her passion went. She would spin and weave, weave and spin, from morning until night. It had been so from her childhood, when she would gather reeds and twist them into baskets. Now she was nineteen: and with each flying year her skill had increased-but so, also, her seclusion. If a girl came to see her, poor Chloe or Althea or Stratonice, as her name might be, was pressed into service to hold the skeins. Or if a suitor dared to penetrate her sanctum, he was threatened with blows from her shuttle, or was chilled with absorbed silence, until he slunk away. So Cyaxeres had need to fear that she might never marry-and a husbandless daughter is a sign of juno's malice. In spite of Arachne's coolness, curious housewives would often come to watch the fair spinner. So exquisite was the work, so beautiful the worker, that it was only a matter of opinion which was the prettier sight. One day the maiden, surrounded by her usual circle of admirers, was carding wool in the patio, when one woman remarked, Lady, your web is so fine that I would swear you were a pupil of Athene herself! Arachne slowly turned to regard her. A pupil? I? Verily, I have taught myself the art ! The words were mild, but the glance of her dark eyes was haughty. I meant no offense, dear Arachne. In fact, I meant to honor you by what I said. Arachne shrugged her shoulders. My cloth is Hawlessg you see that. Even a goddess can do no more than weave a perfect web. And any earthling can do it if she loves the art as I do. The women looked nervously at each other, scenting heresy in the air. Arachne's temper flashed: arrogantly she cried out, Listen to me! Stop staring so! I dare Pallas Athene herself to show more skill in this than Ig if beaten, I will pay the penalty-and you may call me a mere apprentice. Do you hear? 0