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Today is my birthday. More of that later; my brother-in-law and his lovely wife and family have sent me an orchid, so a story came, and however ridiculous it is, it has landed.
Once upon a time, Iambe, the witty daughter of Pan and Echo, gave birth to a baby boy; her son grew quickly to become a tall handsome young man, with but one strange thing to remark in him; his organs of generation were very large. This was deemed unseemly among the humans, who at that time considered smallness and neatness a sign of sophistication, much to be admired. They nicknamed the boy ‘Orchis’ meaning ‘testicle’ and they mocked him relentlessly to the point that the poor young man died of despair by himself under a tree on a mountainside.
Great Pan found his body there, just as Hades and Persephone appeared together, the dread king wondering why this mortal had not made his way to the underworld kingdom. And when they saw the goatfoot god crooking his horns towards them, eyes glinting with the wildness of Hawk and Wolf, they knew this was no ordinary soul to be taken across the Styx.
‘This is my grandson,’ said Pan. ‘Unjustly hurt by humans for no fault at all. You shall give him life as all the immortals possess.’
Hades shrugged: ‘What have I to do with justice? You know I cannot do this even if I would. Orchis lived a human life and died a human death. Now he belongs with me. Such is the royal decree.’
The old god smiled in a most unpleasant way. ‘I have as little to do with royal decrees as you do with justice. You know I bring panic to all that live’, he replied, ‘shall we see if I can do the same to all that die? Shall we see mayhem in your halls, great king? Shall we test how iron is your control when the dead frenzy?’
Now Hades might, in cold pride, have challenged Pan to do his worst had he not seen the face of his queen look so tender upon the dead lad, and it occurred to him that perhaps it would be preferable if Orchis was somewhere, anywhere, away from Persephone. The Goddess of Spring and Seed and Flower stepped forward and breathed into the face of Orchis, speaking only one word: ‘Live.’
Her husband was at once relieved and infuriated.
‘Well then,’ said Hades, ‘my wife would have him become one of her own. But know this; never shall he be nourished by my realm. If his roots ever dig so deep as to reach the underworld, down he fades like any of the faceless, and all your threats come to naught, Goatherder!’
‘It is not my threats that come to naught,’ replied Pan, before he took up his pipes and played. And by the time he had finished, Persephone and Hades had gone, and his grandson stood uncertainly before him.
‘You cannot stay in this shape,’ advised Pan, ‘"Live” says the Great Queen, and so you shall. Yet by that same gift, you must change.’
But how was Orchis to be nourished? A plant he could become, but what kind survives if it cannot stretch its roots down into the depths of the rich earth? Neither Pan nor his grandson had an answer. The young man did not want to return to the human world, and Pan knew well that on Olympus he would face as much envy and derision as anywhere else. Where then did he belong?
They wandered for a while and night fell to be followed by dawn. As the new day rose, splendid and warm, Pan spied golden cattle and sheep, and knew that these were the beasts of Helios grazing in the sun’s own pastures. Tending them were two maidens, whom he recognised straight away; Lampetia the Shining One, and Phaethusa the Radiant, and he beckoned to them. As they approached, their kind smiles warmed Orchis, and when Pan told them his story, they understood; for in their shapes as sunbeams they had seen all creatures across the Earth and despised none. They vowed to cherish Orchis always and he could make his home with them.
At this, the young man blossomed. The power of Persephone found form, and he became a flower, tall and elegant with blooms like no other, his limbs lifted towards their rays. So it was that Orchis became the first plant to have roots that could feast on light, a boon passed to many millions of his children. Today he smiles, for his people are deemed exquisite by those same humans who once jeered and now spend endless time and money and effort to display the most beautiful testicle.
Once upon a time, Iambe, the witty daughter of Pan and Echo, gave birth to a baby boy; her son grew quickly to become a tall handsome young man, with but one strange thing to remark in him; his organs of generation were very large. This was deemed unseemly among the humans, who at that time considered smallness and neatness a sign of sophistication, much to be admired. They nicknamed the boy ‘Orchis’ meaning ‘testicle’ and they mocked him relentlessly to the point that the poor young man died of despair by himself under a tree on a mountainside.
Great Pan found his body there, just as Hades and Persephone appeared together, the dread king wondering why this mortal had not made his way to the underworld kingdom. And when they saw the goatfoot god crooking his horns towards them, eyes glinting with the wildness of Hawk and Wolf, they knew this was no ordinary soul to be taken across the Styx.
‘This is my grandson,’ said Pan. ‘Unjustly hurt by humans for no fault at all. You shall give him life as all the immortals possess.’
Hades shrugged: ‘What have I to do with justice? You know I cannot do this even if I would. Orchis lived a human life and died a human death. Now he belongs with me. Such is the royal decree.’
The old god smiled in a most unpleasant way. ‘I have as little to do with royal decrees as you do with justice. You know I bring panic to all that live’, he replied, ‘shall we see if I can do the same to all that die? Shall we see mayhem in your halls, great king? Shall we test how iron is your control when the dead frenzy?’
Now Hades might, in cold pride, have challenged Pan to do his worst had he not seen the face of his queen look so tender upon the dead lad, and it occurred to him that perhaps it would be preferable if Orchis was somewhere, anywhere, away from Persephone. The Goddess of Spring and Seed and Flower stepped forward and breathed into the face of Orchis, speaking only one word: ‘Live.’
Her husband was at once relieved and infuriated.
‘Well then,’ said Hades, ‘my wife would have him become one of her own. But know this; never shall he be nourished by my realm. If his roots ever dig so deep as to reach the underworld, down he fades like any of the faceless, and all your threats come to naught, Goatherder!’
‘It is not my threats that come to naught,’ replied Pan, before he took up his pipes and played. And by the time he had finished, Persephone and Hades had gone, and his grandson stood uncertainly before him.
‘You cannot stay in this shape,’ advised Pan, ‘"Live” says the Great Queen, and so you shall. Yet by that same gift, you must change.’
But how was Orchis to be nourished? A plant he could become, but what kind survives if it cannot stretch its roots down into the depths of the rich earth? Neither Pan nor his grandson had an answer. The young man did not want to return to the human world, and Pan knew well that on Olympus he would face as much envy and derision as anywhere else. Where then did he belong?
They wandered for a while and night fell to be followed by dawn. As the new day rose, splendid and warm, Pan spied golden cattle and sheep, and knew that these were the beasts of Helios grazing in the sun’s own pastures. Tending them were two maidens, whom he recognised straight away; Lampetia the Shining One, and Phaethusa the Radiant, and he beckoned to them. As they approached, their kind smiles warmed Orchis, and when Pan told them his story, they understood; for in their shapes as sunbeams they had seen all creatures across the Earth and despised none. They vowed to cherish Orchis always and he could make his home with them.
At this, the young man blossomed. The power of Persephone found form, and he became a flower, tall and elegant with blooms like no other, his limbs lifted towards their rays. So it was that Orchis became the first plant to have roots that could feast on light, a boon passed to many millions of his children. Today he smiles, for his people are deemed exquisite by those same humans who once jeered and now spend endless time and money and effort to display the most beautiful testicle.
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