YOUNG GODS WERE OFTEN precocious, but no one so much as Hermes who, five minutes after his birth, sneaked out of his crib and went searching for adventure. He toddled swiftly down the slope of Mount Cyllene until he came to a meadow where he saw a herd of beautiful white cows grazing. He saw no cowherd and decided to steal them. A treeful of crows began to seethe and whistle, “They belong to Apollo…to Apollo…ʼpollo…” but he paid them no heed. He plaited grass into shoes for the cows and fitted them over their hooves and drove them away.
When Apollo returned, he was furious to see his cows gone, and even more furious when he searched for tracks and found none—only odd sweeping marks on the ground. The crows chattered, “A baby stole them…your brother, your brother…” But this made no sense to Apollo; besides he did not trust crows. He did not know where to begin looking; he searched far and wide, but could find no clue.
Then one morning he passed a cave he had passed a hundred times before. But this time he heard strange beautiful sounds coming out of it—sounds unlike anything he had ever heard before—and he looked inside. There, drowsing by the fire, was a tall lovely Titaness named Maia, whom he had seen before in the garden on Olympus. Sitting in her lap was a little baby boy doing something to a large tortoise shell from which the strange sounds seemed to be coming.
“Good day, cousin,” said Apollo. “Are you to be congratulated on a new son?”
“Hail, bright Phoebus,” said Maia. “May I have the honor of presenting your half-brother, young Hermes?”
“Half-brother, eh? Well, that’s an honor without being a distinction. What’s that he’s playing with?”
“He makes his own toys,” said Maia proudly. “He’s so clever, you can’t imagine. He made this out of an old shell that he strung with cowgut, and from it he draws the most ravishing sounds. Listen—”
“Cowgut? May I ask what cow he persuaded to contribute her vital cords for his pastime?”
“I do not understand your question, cousin.”
“Understand this, cousin. I have had a herd of cows stolen recently. The crows told me they had been taken by some baby, my brother, but I didn’t believe them. I seem to owe them an apology.”
“What?” cried Maia. “Are you accusing the innocent babe of being a cattle thief? For shame!”
“Mother, if you don’t mind,” said a clear little voice, “perhaps you’d better let me handle this.” The baby stood on his mother’s knee and bowed to Apollo. “I did take your cows, brother. But I didn’t know they were yours. How could I have? And they are quite safe, except for one. Wishing to begin my life with an act of piety, I sacrificed her to the twelve gods.”
“Twelve gods?” said Apollo haughtily. “I am acquainted with but eleven.”
“Yes, sir,” said Hermes. “But I have the honor to be the twelfth. Above all things, I wish your good will, fair brother. So, in return for this cow, allow me to make you a present—this instrument. I call it a lyre. I’ll be glad to teach you to play.”
Apollo was enchanted with the trade. He stayed in the cave all that afternoon practicing his scales. As he was strumming his new toy, he noticed Hermes cutting reeds, which the child swiftly tied together, notched in a certain way, then put to his lips, and began to make other sounds, even more beautiful than the lyre could produce.
“What’s that?” cried Apollo. “What do you call that? I want that too.”
“I don’t need any more cows,” said Hermes.
“I must have it. What else of mine do you wish?”
“Your golden staff.”
“But this is my herdsman’s staff. Do you not know that I am the god of herdsmen, and that this is the rod of authority?”
“A minor office,” said Hermes. “Unworthy of the lord of the sun. Perhaps you would allow me to take over the chore. Give me your golden staff, and I will give you these pipes.”
“Agreed! Agreed!”
“But since pipes and lyre together will make you god of music, I must have something to boot. Teach me augury.”
“You drive a hard bargain for a nursling,” said Apollo. “I think you belong on Olympus, brother. This cave will not long offer scope for your talents.”
“Oh, yes, take me there!” cried Hermes. “I am eager to meet Father Zeus.”
So Apollo took Hermes to Olympus and introduced him to his father. Zeus was intrigued by the wit and impudence of the child. He hid him away from Hera and spent hours conversing with him.
“You say you wish to enter the Pantheon,” said Zeus. “But really—all the realms and powers seem to have been parceled out.”
“Father, I am of modest nature,” said Hermes. “I require no vast dignities. Only a chance to be useful, to serve you, and to dwell in your benign and potent presence. Let me be your herald. Let me carry your tidings. You will find me quick and resourceful, and what I can’t remember I will make up. And, I guarantee, your subjects will get the message.”
“Very well,” said Zeus. “I will give you a trial.”
So Hermes became the messenger god and accomplished his duties with such swiftness, ingenuity, and cheerfulness that he became a favorite of his father, who soon rewarded him with other posts. Hermes became patron of liars and thieves and gamblers, god of commerce, framer of treaties, and guardian of travelers. Hades became his client too and called upon him to usher the newly dead from earth to Tartarus.
He kept a workshop on Olympus and there invented the alphabet, astronomy, and the scales; also, playing cards and card games. He carried Apollo’s golden staff decorated with white ribbons, wore a pot-shaped hat, and winged sandals which carried him through the air more swiftly than any bird could fly.
It was he who gave Zeus the idea of disguising himself and mingling with mortals when bored with Olympus. He joined his father in this, and they had many adventures together…which will be told in their place.