and ready to hand, as presents from which the goddesses may choose what they will, may be laid all the most costly treasures of the family, such as jewellery and even money, in token that nothing has been spared to give them welcome. These preparations made, their visit is awaited in solemn silence; for none must speak when the Fates draw near. Most often they are neither seen nor heard; but sometimes, it is said, a wakeful mother has seen their forms as they bent over her child and wrote their decrees on its brow—for which reason moles and other marks on the forehead or the nose are in some places called [Greek: grapsimata tôn Moirôn][1], 'writings of the Fates'; sometimes she has heard the low sound of their voices as they consulted together over the future of the child; nay more, she has even caught and understood their speech; yet even so her foreknowledge of the infant's fate is unavailing; she may be aware of the dangers which await its ripening years, but though forewarned she is powerless to forearm; against destiny once pronounced all weapons, all wiles, are futile.
Neglect of any of the due preparations for the visit of the Fates may excite their wrath and cause them to decree an evil lot for the child. This idea is the motif of many fables current in Greece. A typical example is furnished by the following extract from a popular poem in which a man whose life has brought him nothing but misery sees in a vision one of the Fates and appeals to her thus:
'I beg and pray of thee, O Fate, to tell me now, my lady,
Then when my mother brought me forth, what passèd at my bearing?'
And she makes answer:
'Then when thy mother brought thee forth, 'twas deep and bitter winter,
Eleven days o' the year had run when anguish came upon her.
Thereon[2] I robed me and did on this raiment that thou seëst,
And had it in my heart to cry "Long life to thee and riches."
Ah, but the night was deep and dark, yea wrappèd thick in darkness,
And hail and snow were driving hard, and angry rain was lashing;
From mire to mud, from mud to mire, so lay my road before me,
And as I went,—a murrain on't,—against your well I stumbled;
Nay, sirrah, an thou believest not, scan well the scars I carry.
Two cursed hounds ye had withal, hounds from the Lombard country,
And fierce upon me sprang the twain, and fierce as wolves their baying.
Then cursèd I thee full bitterly, a curse of very venom,
That no bright day should ever cheer thy miserable body,
p. 218.]
