class="tdlefthang">The Giant Who Had No Heart in His Body (Norse)

265 XX. The Biter Bit (Serbian) 275 XXI. The Peach's Son (Japanese) 290 XXII. The Man Who Lost His Legs (Korean) 295 XXIII. The Stone Giantess (North American Indian) 299 PART IV. SOME REAL GIANTS XXIV. Some Real Giants 305 XXV. What Science Has Learned About Giants 315

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INTRODUCTION

Man in his youth was so fond of giants that, not finding them large or plentiful enough, he created a bounteous supply. He gave them precedence of himself. In the frozen North they came even before the gods: in the East, after the celestials but before the creation of the world; in Greece they sprang into being just after the Olympians and fiercely disputed the sovereignty of Zeus.

Many ancient gods were vast in size: witness, for instance, the colossal statues of Egypt, China or the South Seas. But the palm for bigness must go to those giant beings whom we find amid Chaos in the East: like that Tiamat from whom the Babylonian god Bel formed heavens and earth; and Purushu of the Hindu Vedas, whose severed head was sufficient for making the sky, his feet for the earth, his eye for the sun, and his mind for the moon.

Somehow, these are too large; nowadays one can hardly digest a giant like that. Even those huge and terrible beings with bodies of stone who once descended upon the Iroquois Indians seem more like Djinn or Rakshasas: they do not fascinate as does that monstrous black warder of the bridge at Mantrible, who was fifteen feet tall with "tuskes like a bore" and head "like a liberde."

The scholars quarrel over the question whether or not the very word originally meant "earth-born"; but

be that as it may, the giants exhibited in these pages (collected after wider search than even Mr. Barnum ever prosecuted for such prodigies) are all creatures of earth, at least in part. Their feet are on the earth, even if like Og, King of Bashan, their heads tower high enough to drink straight from the clouds.

They all have a semblance of human beings, as they should. If this seems doubtful remember Ea-Bani. His story is certainly the first to be put on record, for it was baked in clay at least 2500 years ago, the twelve tablets being found among King Assur-bani-pal's library at Nineveh. Ea-bani was a huge giant, who lived with the wild animals, and who defied every attempt to capture him—until King Gilgamesh abandoned force and sent a very beautiful woman to stand quietly near one of the hairy creature's lurking places. At first sight of her the colossal wild man falls in love; accompanies her meekly back to civilization: and, giving up his beloved forest, takes a humble second part in the subsequent stirring adventures of the King. No doubt about the human nature of that!

Considering that he made them, it does seem as if man had been somewhat unfair to the giants. In the beginning, they won enduring glory: Typhon conquered Zeus in hand-to-hand fight and drove the other gods to wander over Egypt disguised as animals; even Atlas had at least the dignity of holding up the heavens upon his head and hands forever. The Frost-giants more than once outwitted Thor and the other dwellers in Valhalla; and but the other day, historically speaking, Gargantua could swallow five pilgrims as a salad.

But what a humiliating portion has been allotted to the successors of these awe-inspiring monsters. First they made gods tremble; then they were slain by demigods and heroes; next they became a measure of the prowess of every knight of chivalry; presently they were the sport of the childish Jack the Giant-killer;—and now for a hundred years we have relegated them to our circuses and museums. Worst of all, the wise men insist that "giantism" is merely a disease.

It really isn't quite fair. Besides the inconvenience of being a giant—just think of the difficulty of getting enough to eat and clothes to wear—what a disgrace to have one's head inevitably cut off by some little whipper-snapper up to one's waist or knees. And then to be such a by-word for stupidity. Amycus, who used to kill each newcomer with a single blow, was at once dispatched by Polydeuces, the skilful boxer: that sort of an awkward ineffectiveness was bad enough; but what of Polyphemus, who had not sense enough to explain to his Cyclop brethren the transparent trick of Ulysses in calling himself "Noman"? One can't help feeling sorry for such helpless hulks.

And perhaps the unkindest cut of all is the true tale related by Patin, the famous French surgeon. "In the Seventeenth Century, in order to gratify a whim of the Empress of Austria, all the giants and dwarfs in the Germanic empire were assembled at Vienna. As circumstances required that all should be housed in one building, it was feared that the imposing proportions of the giants should terrify the dwarfs; and means were taken to assure the latter that they were perfectly

safe. But the result was most unexpected. The dwarfs teased, insulted and even robbed the giants to such an extent that the latter complained in tears to the officials; and sentinels had to be stationed to protect them from their tiny comrades."

However, the fascination of these Very Tall Men still continues. And these tales relate to the adventures of some of the famous of all ages and all lands.

Those lovers of the colorful old days, who mourn the departure of the giants before the sceptical eye of science and the camera, may be comforted to learn that in the rugged country of Northern Scotland the folk are better informed than we. There where Sutherland rocks meet the sea, east from Cape Wrath, the wise ancients will tell you that the