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Updated: August 23, 2024
Prometheus addressed all nature "the divine ether, the swift-winged winds, Earth the All-mother, and the infinite laughter of the ocean waves." The thoughts were those of Aeschylus, expressed by the music of Langhetti. The ocean nymphs bewailed him in a song of mournful sweetness, whose indescribable pathos touched every heart.
The All-Mother is venerable indeed in the eyes of every one of us. "The heated pulpiteer" may denounce modern science as the evil genius of our day, the arch-snare of Satan for the seduction of unwary souls and the overthrow of Biblical infallibility, but we are not in that galley. As true sons of our age, we are loyal to its spirit, and that spirit is scientific.
Yet the world must heed these daughters of sorrow, from the primal black All-Mother of men down through the ghostly throng of mighty womanhood, who walked in the mysterious dawn of Asia and Africa; from Neith, the primal mother of all, whose feet rest on hell, and whose almighty hands uphold the heavens; all religion, from beauty to beast, lies on her eager breasts; her body bears the stars, while her shoulders are necklaced by the dragon; from black Neith down to
"Well, roughly, it goes something like this: 'My heart's dearest, my sun, my Nile duck the hours are days without thee, the days an æon. The gods be thanked that this separation is not for long. For apart from thee I have no life. That thing that I have to do is about done. May the gods guard thee and the all-mother protect thee.
Oh, the bitterness and the pathos of this welter of earthly emotions. Why should they be so tangled? The time drew very near, and Angela was beginning to suffer severe pains. Those wonderful processes of the all-mother, which bind the coming life in a cradle of muscles and ligaments were practically completed and were now relaxing their tendencies in one direction to enforce them in another.
And the mother, mad with sorrow, goaded by the screaming, green-eyed, vacant-minded, despairing till a new spirit entered into her, the spirit of Cara the All-mother, Mother Carey the Beneficent, Mother Carey the wise Straightwalker. Then the mother mink, inspired, sprang on her suffering baby. With all the power of her limbs she sprang and clutched; with all the power of her love she craunched.
"You silly little green crawler, don't you think I know better than you what is good for you? Would you like there to be no rain?" "Yes, I would," said the red-knobbed Samia rebelliously. "Would you?" said the All-Mother to another green crawler, who hung on a near-by limb. "Mother Carey, we have had a wet, cold summer, and the rain has been miserable, but I know you will take care of us."
Mother Carey, the All-Mother, had been watching him, and knew that now he was ready for the next step up. She told him to make himself a hammock of rags and leaves, in the butternut tree. When he had crawled into it, she touched him with her wand, the very same as the one she used when she sent the Sleeping Beauty into her long sleep.
"Good," said the All-Mother: "then, in this way it shall be. You little Red-Knobs shall have what you so much wish, you shall hang up in a dry loft where not a drop of dew even shall touch you in your bundle-baby sleep. And you little Yellow-Knobs shall hang under a limb where every rain that comes shall drench your outer skin." And she left them.
Conscious or not, the life within them drove them onward, ever onward; slow, crawling things that all but blindly moved across the land of death, La Siwa Hu "where there is none but Allah." How that day passed, they knew not. Nature is kind. When agony grows too keen, the All-mother veils the tortured body with oblivion.
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