Our god was born upon Mount Cyllene, child of Zeus — as so often — and Maia.
His mother laid him tenderly in a wicker cradle, but the infant, restless from birth, transformed in a moment into a youth and slipped away in search of mischief. Not far off, in the land of Pieria, the god Apollo kept his own splendid herd of cattle. Hermes, seized by a spark of divine cunning, could not resist: he resolved to steal them.
Gifted with an inborn genius and an imagination as quick as lightning, he fashioned sandals for the cows so they would leave no tracks upon the earth. He drove the herd far away to a hidden cave, then returned home to Cyllene, resuming the innocent guise of a newborn babe.
When morning came, Apollo discovered the theft and scoured the land from west to east, finding not a trace. In frustration, he offered a reward to anyone who could uncover his missing herd. Silenus and a few satyrs took up the search, but even they found nothing — until, from a cave in Arcadia, there came a strange, sweet sound, unlike anything ever heard before. It was the nymph Cyllene, drawing music from an instrument made of a tortoise shell strung with seven cords of gut.
The satyrs, spying two cowhides stretched within the cave, demanded to know their origin. The nymph told them that all had been given to her by an extraordinary child whom she nursed. Hearing this, Apollo flew to the cave and confronted Maia — while Hermes, once again in infant form, feigned sleep.
When Apollo saw that the hides indeed came from his own herd, he wasted no time and dragged the little thief up to Olympus. There Hermes, now grown once more into his divine form, confessed with unshaken composure. He admitted to stealing the cattle, but claimed to have sacrificed only two, dividing them into thirteen parts — twelve for the Olympian gods, and one, he said boldly, for himself.
Amused despite himself, Apollo followed Hermes back to the cave on Cyllene. There the trickster drew forth his new instrument, the lyre, and began to sing — a hymn of praise to Apollo so beautiful that it melted the god’s anger at once. In return for the song, they struck a bargain: Apollo would take the lyre, and Hermes would keep the herd. And so it was that the lyre became forever Apollo’s sacred instrument.
As the cattle grazed peacefully, Hermes — ever restless — cut a reed and fashioned a flute. Apollo, entranced by its music, offered to trade his herdsman’s staff for it. But Hermes, sly as always, insisted that the flute was worth more and demanded an additional gift: the power of prophecy. Apollo could not grant it himself, but he told Hermes to seek out the Thriae, his ancient nurses, who would teach him the art — and thus another exchange was made.
The two gods returned to Olympus in perfect harmony. There, at Hermes’ bold request, Zeus appointed him as his herald. In time, the mischievous youth became the messenger of all the gods. He vowed never again to lie — though, with a sly smile, he added that he might not always tell the whole truth.
Zeus entrusted him with many tasks: protector of merchants, travelers, and treaties; guide of the souls of the dead to the underworld — a role he fulfilled as psychopomp. Yet truest to his nature was his guardianship of tricksters and thieves, a duty he relished above all.
Hermes’ symbols were his winged sandals, the broad-brimmed petasos hat, and the caduceus — his herald’s staff, twined with serpents. His worship began in Arcadia, spread to Athens, and then throughout all of Greece. Sacred to him were the palm tree, the number four, and many kinds of fish.
He fathered many children: with Aphrodite he sired Hermaphroditus and Eros; and from him came Autolycus, grandfather of Odysseus — a lineage that explains much of that hero’s famous cunning.”
Lascia un commento