Keep Your Eyes on God | church of Christ | Sermon Keep Your Eyes On God Keep Your Eyes on God Introduction: King David put descendants of Levi in change of the musical worship before the ark in Jerusalem and the tabernacle in Gibeon. Later on it would also be in the temple. (I Chronicles 6:16, 31-33a, 25:1, 7-8) The psalm we will focus on (Psalm 73) is one of David�s. Note from I Chronicles 25:1 that he prophesied through the songs. He was guided by the Spirit of God. He was God�s spokesman. (I Chronicles 25:3b) Text: Psalm 73 Body: I. My Eyes Turned Away from God (Verses 1-15) � Verses 1-2 His eyes were starting to stray from God. This lack of focus was hurting his walk with God. He was stumbling and slipping. � Verse 3 �When I saw� � He was enticed by what his neighbor had.

Tantalus, in Greek mythology, [king of Lydia and son of Zeus] Tantalus was a favorite mortal of the gods until he was caught trying to deceive them. The gods then condemned him to hang forever from a tree in Tartarus, the lowest region of the underworld. Under the tree was a pool of water, but when Tantalus stooped to drink, the pool would dry. The branches above him were laden with fruit, but when he reached up, the wind blew the branches away. He became the symbol of utter frustration. Today his name is remembered in the word �tantalize.� Where you stand, determines what you see. See Psalm 37:1,7, Jeremiah 12:1) � Verses 4-5 The psalmist describes his temptation to be envious of those with many earthly possessions because of how much easier their life seemed to be. They had everything and lacked for nothing. Note his eyes were not in focus. Many wicked people through time experienced terrible deaths � Jezebel, Absalom, Herod, Judas. . . � Verses 6-9 They are proud, arrogant, and boastful. They act like they own the world.

See Psalm 109:18-19. They didn�t care what they said or did because they did not fear or respect God. They mocked God. (Jude :16) � Verses 10-12 The wicked don�t believe in God or at least His power. (Job 22:12-14) � Verses 13-15 Asaph�s vision was still out of focus because he doubted being good was worth it. Note Elihu�s words in Job 34:9. II. My Eyes Turned to God (Verses 16-20) � Verses 16-17 Enlightenment came in the house of God. Worship puts God at the center of our vision. It�s only when God is at the center of our focus that we see things as they really are. Life is about perspective; it is keeping a clear focus with our eyes turned to God. � Verses 18-20 A clear focus helps us see the real future of the wicked. (Psalm 35:5-6, 37:38) Their future is filled with terrors. III.

My Eyes Remain on God (Verses 21-28) � Verses 21-22 The answer to life�s injustices is not to be expected in this life. The ignorant couldn�t see clearly. � Verses 23-24 God is always with us if we just open our eyes. (Psalm 139:7-10) We need to cling to Him. (Psalm 63:8) Follow His counsel. � Verse 25 Having God, one needs nothing else. (Psalm 16:2) � Verse 26 Regardless of what happens, if I remain close to God, He will be my rock. (Psalm 18:1-2) � Verse 27 The wicked are far from God. (Psalm 119:155) When the last breath of life leaves the wicked, their dream existence will come to an end. (II Thessalonians 1:8-9) This life is the only heaven they will ever know. � Verse 28 Being near to God is always the best!

(James 4:7-8, Hebrews 10:22) Conclusion: It�s so easy for us to turn away our eyes from God. It takes effort to remain focused on Him and His Word. Bobby Stafford The Landlady by Amanda Lickteig (page 12) - issuu issuu “How amusing,” she said. “But come over here now, dear, and sit down beside me on the sofa and I’ll give you a Notes nice cup of tea and a ginger biscuit12 before you go to bed.” “You really shouldn’t bother,” Billy said. “I didn’t mean you to do anything like that.” He stood by the piano, watch270 ing her as she fussed about with the cups and saucers. He noticed that she had small, white, quickly moving hands and red fingernails. “I’m almost positive it was in the newspapers I saw them,” Billy said. “I’ll think of it in a second. I’m sure I will.” There is nothing more tantalizing13 than a thing like this that lingers just outside the borders of one’s memory. He hated to give up. “Now wait a minute,” he said.

“Wait just a minute. Mulholland . . . Christopher Mulholland . . . wasn’t that 280 the name of the Eton14 schoolboy who was on a walking tour through the West Country, and then all of a sudden . . .” Billy seems about to remember why Christopher Mulholland’s name was in the newspaper (line 283). What do you think he’s about to say before he’s interrupted by the landlady? “Milk?” she said. “And sugar?” “Yes, please. And then all of a sudden . . .” Copyright © by Holt, Rinehart and Winston. All rights reserved. “Eton schoolboy?” she said. “Oh no, my dear, that can’t possibly be right, because my Mr. Mulholland was certainly not an Eton schoolboy when he came to me. He was a Cambridge15 undergraduate. Come over here now and sit next to me and warm yourself in front of this lovely fire. Come on. Your tea’s all ready for you.” She patted the empty 290 place beside her on the sofa, and she sat there smiling at Billy and waiting for him to come over.

Pause at line 291. Why do you think the landlady keeps interrupting Billy? 12. biscuit (bis√kit) n.: British term meaning “cookie.” 13. tantalizing (tan√t¥·l¢z≈i«) adj.: teasing by remaining unavailable or by withholding something desired by someone; tempting. (In Greek mythology, Tantalus was a king condemned after death to stand in water that moved away whenever he tried to drink it and to remain under branches of fruit that were just out of reach.) 14. Eton: boys’ prep school near London. 15. Cambridge: famous university in England. The Landlady 31 Greek Mythology - Tantalus, Pelops and Oenomaus, Centaurs and Lapiths PELOPS AND OENOMAUS Whoever goes to Olympia today and visits its museum will certainly stand in awe before the statues which once adorned the two pediments of the temple of Zeus. The one which deco­rated the eastern end shows the chariot race between Pelops and Oenomaus, while the western one depicts the battle be­tween the Centaurs and the Lapiths.

If only because they are portrayed in such great works of art, these two myths deserve to be retold. But before we begin the myth of Oenomaus and Pelops, we must tell the story of the latter’s father, Tantalus. In Phrygia, in Asia Minor, beneath the sacred mountain Tmolus, where Midas had once been king, Tantalus, son of Zeus by the oceanid Pluto, was now upon the throne. Tantalus had all that a ruler could wish for. His ploughlands were fertile and gave bountiful crops. His lush meadows were filled with grazing flocks led by curly-horned rams, while riders on proud horses drove great herds of cattle to other pastures. Every day, rich gifts reached the court of Tantalus, the offerings of chiefs who acknowledged his dominion. And besides all this wealth he had the gold washed down from the mountains by the Pactolus, the richest gold-bearing river in the world. -1- As if all this were not enough, Tantalus enjoyed a closer friendship with the gods than any other man on earth.

They would often come from Olympus to eat, drink and make merry with him in his golden palaces, and at other times they would invite him to their symposia on Olympus to drink nectar and ambrosia with the gods. Zeus was so fond of his son that he would even ask him to attend their councils and join with the Olympians in taking those great decisions which determined the fate of mankind. But the love shown to him by Zeus and the other gods filled Tantalus with such pride that he began to consider him­self their superior. Little by little, his respect for them di­min­ished. He began to take nectar and ambrosia from Olympus to toast his friends on earth, and he revealed the secrets of the gods to mortal men to show the world what a splendid fellow he was. Zeus warned him that if he wished to keep his friendship with the Olympians he must be more careful, but Tantalus replied in an insolent and haughty tone: “I shall do whatever I please. I am a mighty ruler in my own right, and accept advice from no one.” Zeus frowned his disapproval, but he loved his son so much that he let his pride go unpunished.

The only result of this was an even worse act of impiety on Tantalus’ part: he swore a false oath to the gods, solemnly declaring he had no idea what had become of Laelaps, their be­loved golden dog of Crete, whereas the truth was that he not only knew the whereabouts of their favourite animal, but had hidden it himself! -2- Until that moment, no god had ever lied on oath, and every mortal who had done so had paid the penalty. Zeus was en­raged when he heard what his son had done. Yet once again his fatherly love overcame his harsher feelings and Tantalus went unpunished. Instead of being grateful for the mercy Zeus had shown him, Tantalus took the gods’ inaction for a sign of weakness. Blinded by his high opinion of himself, he came to believe that the only real proof of power was to commit the most hideous crime imaginable without suffering any of its evil consequences. Once this sick belief had planted itself in his head, Tantalus began to rack his brain for the cruellest and most horrible act a man could dream of.

And, unfortunately, he was not long in finding it: he decided to butcher his own son and serve him up to the gods at a banquet. His aim was not only to humiliate them, but to show the world that the Olympians were not the all-knowing creatures they liked mankind to think them, if they could not even tell what they were eating! So Tantalus invited the gods to his palace and served them the vilest meal the world had ever known. But there was no deceiving the immortals: they knew at once what had been set before them and refused to touch the meat. Now, all eyes turned on Zeus. The countenance of the ruler of gods and men had blackened with fearsome rage. Thunder and lightning shook the earth. A crime such as this could never go unpunished and, with a look of loathing, Zeus hurled his son into the dark kingdom of Hades to suffer eter­nal torture. -3- Tantalus was condemned to stand in a pool of crystal-clear water. He was soon afflicted by thirst and wished to drink, but as soon as he leaned forward to do so the water dis­appeared, leaving only parched, dry earth where it had been.

Immediately he returned to an upright position, the water came flooding back waist-high. Again and again Tantalus tried to quench his thirst, but he could not even catch a single drop to wet his cracked and burning lips. He was condemned to the torture of eternal thirst. But this was not all. Over his head hung branches laden with ripe and luscious fruit, and Tantalus was torn by the most terrible pangs of hunger. He stretched up a hand to pluck a fruit and ease the pain which clutched at his entrails, but as he did so the branches rose beyond his grasp. Time and again he reached upwards, but each time he reached in vain. He was condemned to the torture of eternal hunger. And as if these unbearable punishments were not enough, a third was added to them: a huge rock hung tee­tering above Tantalus’ head, threatening to fall at any moment and crush him beneath its weight. Every time it swayed or creaked, Tantalus was seized with terror. Yet the rock never fell upon him, and so he was condemned to the torture of eternal fear.

When Zeus saw that the miserable king of Phrygia was well punished for his horrible deed, he called Hermes and ordered him to gather up all the pieces of Tantalus’ son from the table, to wash them well and then to fit together once again the young man who had been so cruelly slaughtered. Hermes obeyed his father’s orders with great care and skill, but when he had finished there was a piece still missing from the shoulder. It had been eaten by Demeter, who had lost her daughter, Persephone, and was too upset to realize what was on her plate. However, Hephaestus replaced the missing part with cunningly worked ivory and finally Zeus breathed life into the body. The young man who had been saved was named Pelops, and he would always have an ivory patch on his shoul­der. For that reason they still say that anyone who has a white mark on any part of the body is a descendant of his. -4- Pelops succeeded to his father’s throne, but he did not rule for long. He was defeated in battle by Ilus, King of Troy, and obliged to flee his kingdom.

With him he took his sister, Niobe, of whom we shall tell in the next book, and as much of his father’s gold as he could carry. Then, together with a few faithful friends, he made his way westwards into Greece. His wanderings finally brought him to Pisa, a city near Olympia ruled by king Oenomaus. Oenomaus had a beautiful daughter, Hippodameia, but he did not wish to find a husband for her because the oracle had warned him that he was destined to be killed by the man she married. To forestall this fate, Oenomaus decided to kill every man who asked him for her hand, and he warned all pro­spective suitors that he would only give away his daughter if one of them could beat him in a chariot race. Whoever lost would die on the end of Oenomaus’ lance. The contest was one-sided: the king was always as sure of victory as his opponents were of death, for his horses were swifter than the wild north wind and he was the finest chari­ot­eer in the whole of Greece.

In spite of this, Hippodameia’s beauty had already drawn thirteen suitors to accept the challenge and pit their skills against the king of Pisa. All of them had been defeated and had met their end at the point of his cruel lance. And now Pelops decided to face Oenomaus, for he, too, had fallen under the spell of Hippodameia’s charms. Hippodameia loved Pelops and she begged him not to add his name to the long list of fallen heroes. -5- “His horses are the swiftest in the world and there is not a charioteer in Greece can match him. I would rather you went away and never saw me again than learn that you had sac­ri­ficed your life for me.” “I shall not lose my life,” replied Pelops, “but Oenomaus will lose a daughter. My horses were a gift from Poseidon himself and they are as swift as the wind. The gods are on my side, and they will help me to win.” And so Pelops appeared before Oenomaus, asked his daugh­ter’s hand in marriage and declared himself ready for the chariot race.

“Very well,” was the king’s answer. “Since you place no value on your young life, then neither shall I. I shall do you the same favour I have always done the others and let you set off an hour before me, but as soon as my chariot overtakes yours, I shall kill you.” Pelops, however, had Hermes on his side. “Are we going to let him die now, when we went to so much trouble to undo his father’s murderous work?” he asked. Exactly the same thought had been running through Zeus’ mind, so with his father’s blessing Hermes hastened to find his son Myrtilus, who was the king of Pisa’s chief charioteer. “Listen, Myrtilus,” said Hermes. “This time I want Oeno­maus to be killed and not his opponent. I want you to see to it that something goes wrong with your master’s chariot during the race.” Now Myrtilus lacked none of his wily father’s cunning, and it did not take him long to work out what to do.

-6- That night, he went to Oenomaus’ chariot, took out the locking pin which held the off-side wheel to the axle and re­placed it with another, made of wax. The contest was to begin next morning. They would set off from the temple of Zeus at Olympia and race eastwards for the Isthmus of Corinth, in an attempt to reach the temple of Poseidon there by dusk. As usual, Oenomaus gave his opponent an hour’s start while he went to sacrifice to Zeus. By the time the sacrifice had been made Pelops was well ahead, but Oenomaus jumped into his chariot and shot off like a bolt of lightning. However, Tantalus’ son had swift horses too and so the king of Pisa rode on for some hours without seeing any sign of him. Oenomaus began to feel anxious and whipped his horses up to a faster pace. It was the first time he had come so far with­out overtaking his opponent. Finally he made out Pelops’ chariot way ahead in the distance. The sight gave Oenomaus renewed confidence and his horses surged forward as if filled with new strength. The gap between them narrowed steadily.

Pelops turned his head and saw the fearsome Oenomaus ad­vancing on him like a storm-front. A desperate race began. Pelops’ horses thundered wildly forwards, as if they knew some dreadful enemy was descending upon them. Oenomaus strained to close the distance, but with a superhuman effort Pelops urged his horses into an even faster gallop. The two opponents sped onwards, their hearts in their mouths, knowing only too well that this was a race between life and death. Oenomaus made another great effort, lashing his horses fu­riously, and little by little he began to gain ground. Pelops’ horses could go no faster and the gap was closing quicker. Nothing could hold Oenomaus now. His feet beat a frenzied rhythm on the chariot floor and his deadly javelin quivered in his hand. -7- A savage joy shone in his face as he saw the moment of victory and death draw near. The end of the race was in sight: away in the distance, the temple of Poseidon could just be made out. Oenomaus came on faster still.

Pelops struggled hopelessly to pull ahead, but his horses had given the last ounce of their strength. “O, gods!” he cried. “Why aban­don me now, when you saved me from my father’s wrath!” But it seemed that the gods had indeed forgotten him, for the wax pin still held as firm as iron and Oenomaus surged for­ward like a hurricane, his wheels beating a wild tattoo on the stony track. The moment he was waiting for had come. With a hair-raising cry he flexed his arm to plunge his deadly lance in Pelops’ back, when suddenly his right wheel flew into the air, the royal chariot overturned and Oenomaus was dragged headlong over the stones to a horrible death. That was the end of the bloodthirsty king of Pisa, and that, too, was the end of the race. Thanks to Myrtilus, Pelops was declared the victor, married the lovely Hippodameia and be­came the ruler of Oenomaus’ kingdom. But as you will have noticed, there are few happy endings in the stories we have to tell.

For all their magical in­ven­tiveness, myths are not fairy tales where “they all lived happily ever after,” and the story of Pelops is no exception to the rule. When he learned it was Hermes himself who had saved him, the new king of Pisa built a temple in his honour, the first that had ever been raised in the god’s name in the whole world. He also summoned Myrtilus to receive his reward. “Ask me for whatever you wish, and I shall give it to you,” Pelops announced, without asking himself what Myrtilus might now demand. And it was an unwelcome answer that Hermes’ son had ready for him: he wanted half Pelops’ new kingdom, neither more nor less. -8- The thought of handing over such a prize was a painful one. All night long Pelops dwelt on it, and in the morning he went in search of Myrtilus and took him out into the country on the pretext of pacing out the boundaries of the young chari­ot­eer’s share of the land. But instead of this, he led him to the summit of a high cliff and with a sudden push sent him tum­bling into the foaming seas below.

As he fell to his death, Myrtilus laid a curse on Pelops and all his descendants. The son of Tantalus begged Hermes to protect him from the evil spell, but though the god had saved him twice before, this time Pelops begged in vain. Hermes turned a deaf ear, for he had killed not only his son but the man who had helped to save his life. Myrtilus’ curse took hold: Pelops, his children and his children’s children suffered great misfortunes, committed foul crimes and were punished harshly by the gods. Yet for all this the name of Pelops was not forgotten. The land to which he had come was given his name, and has been known as the Peloponnese ever since. This is the tragic story told in marble on the eastern pediment of the temple of Zeus at Olympia. The other brings the tale of the Lapiths and the Centaurs to life. The Lapiths were a race who lived in Thessaly. One of their kings was Ixion, whom we have spoken of in an earlier book. There, we also learned how the first Centaur was born.

Most people say the Centaurs were the descendants of Ixion and Nephele. They were strange creatures, half horse and half man, and wild, too, with a few exceptions such as the wise Centaur Cheiron who was also immortal. Many mythical fig­ures came to him to be taught, even gods, like Asclepius, who learned medicine at his side. -9- The Centaurs were neighbours of the Lapiths. They lived on Mount Pelion, and, until the time of this story, there had been no quarrels between them. The king of the Lapiths was now the hero Peirithous. He was about to celebrate his wedding to the lovely Deidameia and had announced a great feast, with heroes from all over Greece as his guests. As the Centaurs were descended from a Lapith king he invited them to the celebrations, too, along with their leader, Eurytion, and offered them hospitality in a cave near his palace. Peirithous’ servants set tables in the cave and loaded them with rich food and great flagons of strong wine.

The centaurs, however, not knowing such liquor should be mixed with wa­ter, swallowed it neat and were soon roaring drunk. In his cups, Eurytion was seized by an irresistible urge. With a clatter of hooves he galloped out of the cave, burst into the great banqueting hall of the palace and tried to seize Peirithous’ lovely bride. Livid with rage at this insult, which showed no more re­spect for him than for his bride, Peirithous drew his sword and launched himself at Eurytion. The other guests followed suit, and the leader of the Centaurs fled back to the cave, his face streaming blood. “Look what Peirithous has done to me!” he cried. “Come on, let’s go back and carry off their wives!” These words were all the excuse the drunken Centaurs needed to storm into the palace and throw themselves on the Lapith women. -10- The Lapiths drew their swords once more, and a savage battle now began. The Centaurs armed themselves with chairs and tripods, broken table legs and whatever else in the palace they could lay their hands on.

Soon the walls echoed with the dreadful din of their fighting. The Lapiths defended their women with great heroism, but even so, some of the Centaurs managed to snatch up Lapith girls and carry them off, at which the others galloped out after them. Peirithous came running in pursuit, his countrymen and the other heroes close behind, and the battle was resumed in the open air as fiercely as be­fore. The Centaurs used their immense strength to heave huge boulders at the heroes and beat at them with wooden clubs, but at the critical moment Peirithous’ good friend Theseus, the mighty hero of Athens, came to the Lapiths’ aid. Eurytion was the first to fall beneath his blows, and at this the Lapiths took courage, and, led by the Athenian champion, they fell on the Centaurs with renewed strength. The battle became a bloodbath and only a handful of Centaurs managed to escape by fleeing to the mountains. But not even these lived long. Within a few years they all met their deaths, pierced by the deadly arrows of Heracles, whom they had tried to kill.

And so the forests and the mountains were freed from the wild and savage Centaurs. Not even Cheiron escaped, though Heracles had not wished to harm him. Mortally wounded by a stray arrow, yet still immortal, the wise Centaur suffered all the pangs of death for many years, until he could endure no longer and begged Zeus to let him die and so release him from eternal agony. -11- Doomed to Wander [Richard Wagner was always his own librettist. His operas were often based upon Nordic myths (The Ring of the Nibelung) or medieval legends (Tristan und Isolde, Parsifal). The following article traces possible sources for the story of the Flying Dutchman. - NMR] The tales of those who offended the gods and were doomed to eternal punishment without the possiblity of death go back to the beginning of time. In many of them, the culprit was doomed to wander forever. Invariably they longed for death, but it constantly eluded their attempts to find it. In some cases redemption was possible, if difficult, to achieve.

Such stories especially captured the imagination of superstitious sailors who spent most of their lives as tiny, lonely specks at the mercy of the vastness and might of the oceans. Below are some of the most famous examples with brief descriptions. Clicking on the links will provice further information on some of them. GREEK MYTHS (These stories appear in many different versions.) From Greek mythology we have the story of Tantalus, a king of Phrygia, who stole nectar and ambrosia from the gods and tried to test their divinity by serving them the body of his own son, Pelops. The gods restored Polyps to life and condemned Tantalus to the Underworld where, for all eternity, he has to stand up to his waist in the water of a lake surrounded by luscious fruit. When he tries to drink, the water recedes and, when he reaches for fruit, it moves from his grasp. Thus he is forever tortured by thirst and hunger; he gave us the word "tantalize". When the Titans revolted against Zeus, Atlas was doomed to stand forever bearing the vault of the heavens on his shoulders.

Prometheus, who had been neutral during revolt but was resentful of the gods, created men from clay and brought them fire. An angry Zeus, swearing to annihilate the human race, bound Prometheus so that every day an eagle ate his liver, but every night it grew back only to be eaten once more. He continued to defy the gods of Olympus but was eventually rescued by Hercules and became an immortal. Sisyphus defied the gods and revealed their secrets. As punishment he has to roll a huge rock up a hill. Every time he nears the top, it falls back and he must start again. As far as we know, he is still pushing. We encounter a condemned wanderer in Callisto, a nymph who swore to always remain a maiden. There are many versions of how it happened, but she was somehow seduced. As punishment she was turned into a bear. When she died, she became the constellation Ursa Major (Big Bear), also known as the Big Dipper, going around the polar star for eternity and, in Mediterranean latitudes, never setting. Her resulting son became Ursa Minor or the Little Dipper.

THE BIBLE Cain killed his brother Abel and, when questioned by God, said, "Am I my brother's keeper?" He was then doomed to wander the earth forever. The English poets, Coleridge and Wordsworth once planned to co-write a prose-poem based on the wanderings of Cain, but never completed it. THE ODYSSEY Homer's Odysseus was the first great sea-wanderer. All of the other Greeks heroes returned home safely from the Trojan War, but Odysseus gained the wrath of Poseidon by blinding one of his sons. He was forced to wander the seas and endure many trials, among which was his capture by Calypso. Finally, Athena begged Zeus to allow him to go home. Zeus agreed and sent Hermes to relay his order to Calypso. Just as Odysseus was sailing away, Poseidon saw him and raised a violent storm which wrecked his boat. Odysseus was saved by Athena but he still endured more wandering before he was finally allowed to return to his home kingdom of Ithaca and his faithful wife, Penelope. MEDIEVAL VERSIONS The Wandering Jew and Kundry, his female counterpart, were featured in many medieval stories.

While the Jew has to wait for Christ's return to cease his wandering, the sacred power of the Holy Grail finally allowed Kundry to die. Her story is told in Wagner's Parsifal. There was a Dutch legend in which a murderer named Falkenberg was doomed to sail until judgment on a crewless ship while two spectral figures, one dark and one light, played at dice for his soul. This ship appears in Coleridge's (1797-98) tale of The Ancient Mariner, one of the earliest and best-known stories about a doomed ship. The sailor who shot the albatross was finally saved from what seems like eternal sailing but then has to wander the earth telling his story over and over again to those he meets on the way. THE DUTCHMAN AND OTHERS While the stories of spectral ships go back to the beginning of seafaring, the stories of those trying to round the Cape of Good Hope (at the tip of Africa) or Cape Horn (tip of South America) had to wait until the sixteenth century.

In 1487 Batholomeu Dias reached the Cape of Good Hope but it wasn't until 1497 that Vasco da Gama finally rounded it and sailed into the Indian Ocean. In 1520, Magellan sailed through the straits named for him, but it remained for Sir Francis Drake to finally round Cape Horn in 1578. Most stories involving the challenge of rounding the Cape of Good Hope probably began with the Dutch who, in 1602, founded the Dutch East India Company and dominated the trade with India. But it was during the period of Britain's naval supremacy that most of the stories appeared in print. By that time, all of the writers assumed that the readers already knew the basic story. In each, the protagonist somehow displeases either God himself or one of the spirits roaming the earth and sea, and is doomed to sail forever. Sometimes redemption is possible, if difficult. In almost every case, the doomed ship has the uncanny ability to sail with no wind and even against a powerful gale, often without any visible crew. Sometimes the ship and its spectral crew vanish before the eyes of the narrator.

To all who encountered the phantom ship, especially near the Cape of Good Hope, it usually means death or at least ill-fortune. In most cases, the Captain's name is Vanderdecken and there may actually have been a late seventeenth century Dutch captain of that name whose ship was lost as he tried to round the Cape of Good Hope from east to west. In any event, the fictional Vanderdecken swears to either God or the Devil that he will succeed in rounding the Cape if it takes him until eternity. God (or the devil) takes him at his word and dooms him to keep trying forever. Other details differ, but in many versions the sailors on the phantom ship try to give letters to their loved ones back home to be mailed. They are invariably addressed to people who are long dead. A very early description of the Phantom Ship is given in Sir Walter Scott's Rokeby (1813). Parenthetically, Scott's 1821 novel The Pirate, while about a pirate ship rather than a phantom one, introduces the characters whose names, Tröil, Magnus and Minna, would be used in the early French opera Le vaisseau fantôme Another early English version appeared in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine.

May 1821. In Vanderdecken's Message Home, or The Tenacity of Natural Affection, by an anonymous author, the narrator tells the story of Vanderdecken who has been roaming the seas for seventy years since making his rash vow. The captain hails every passing ship to give them letters to deliver but, when attempts are made to deliver the letters, the addressees are long dead. There is no mention of the supernatural, no curse and no possible escape. Wagner picks up this theme when the Norwegian sailors offer to deliver mail for the invisible members of the Dutchman's crew. The Irish poet, Thomas Moore (1779-1852), a friend of Byron and Shelley and best known for The Last Rose of Summer, wrote The Indian Boat. The playwright Edward Fitzball who specialized in melodrama in the tradition of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, produced The Flying Dutchman or the Phantom Ship which opened at the Adelphi Theater in London in 1826. He described it as a 'piece of diablerie'. The Dutch Vanderdecken is a farcical villain, held in subjection by a submarine sorceress Roakalda.

Every hundred years he is commanded to go on shore to seek a bride to share his fate. While on earth he must remain silent so it becomes a miming part. He kidnaps Lestelle Vanhelm who, like Senta in the opera, is obsessed with the story and the picture of the Dutchman. When he inadvertently speaks, he has to return to the sea, but is saved when his servant rows to his rescue. At the end, British flags are unfurled to general rejoicing and shouts of "huzza". Wagner may have heard of it because it contains elements he used: a ghostly chorus, the painting, the periodic looking for a bride, the song about the Dutchman, and the sailors' repeated "Yo ho"! In the same year, Wilhelm Hauff produced Die Geschichte von dem Gespensterschiff (The Story of the Ghost Ship), one of the tales in Die Karawane (The Caravan). This has a Muslim setting. The captain and crew are cursed by a dervish just before they kill him. His men nail the captain to the mast and murder one another.

Every night they come to life, but by day the ship drifts with its dead cargo and brings misfortune to all who cross its path. The curse could be broken if they could touch earth but they can never reach land. Finally a shipwrecked young man provides some. The complete text of this story, in German, may be found at . Find Hauff on the author menu and then click on Märchen-Almanach auf das Jahr 1826. Heinrich Heine's 1833 Aus den Memoiren des Herre von Schnabelewopski contains the ironic telling of the story which was Wagner's immediate source. The narrator tells of going to a play in Amsterdam in which the Dutchman may now go to shore every seven years instead of one hundred. The story is almost exactly like Wagner's until the heroine, Katerina replies she will be true unto death. At this point, the author tells of a beautiful Dutch girl in the audience who entices him away. After a romantic interlude with her, he returns to the theatre just as Katerina leaps into the sea, the curse is lifted, and the ship sinks. Heine ends with a double moral.

For women it is that they should beware of marrying a Flying Dutchmen. For men it is that women will be their undoing. To see the complete text in both German and English, go to . Click on Source texts and then onWagner: Der fliegende Holländer. In 1839, one Captain Frederick Marryat produced The Phantom Ship or the Flying Dutchman , which may also have been known by Wagner. After a long absence it has recently been republished and is available in paperback. AMERICAN VERSIONS In 1718 it was reported the Sir Walter Raleigh's ship, which first brought colonists to the Carolinas, was still frequently seen off the coast. Several tales were told about Peter Rugg, a Boston man who made trip to Concord with his young daughter. When ready to return home there was a violent storm, but Peter vowed to get to Boston that night or never see his house again. That is exactly what happened. For many, many years afterward he was seen everywhere in the Northeast and was always accompanied by a violent storm. One account by William Austin (1824 and 1826) can be found at . Click on Text by Author then find Austin, William.

While not a sea story, the details of the oath and its consequences predate the printed German stories which could have been Wagner's sources. James Fenimore Cooper, better known as the author of The Last of the Mohicans, wrote The Red Rover (1827). The beginning and the end are set in Newport, Rhode Island. There is a very strange ship and a stranger Captain Heidegger, variously described as a slaver or a pirate. The ship is often described as if it were enchanted; no crew can be seen on her, she seems to be shrouded in mist and can sail in either a storm or a calm which would defeat other ships. While this ship is not The Flying Dutchman the latter is mentioned several times as always being seen off the Cape of Good Hope,t never in northern waters. The story starts before the American Revolution and the Captain is finally redeemed by his service to the Colonies during that conflict. It has been suggested that this was one of the sources used by the librettists for Le vaisseau fantôme.

Finally, there is Washington Irving's tale The Stormship in his Bracebridge Hall (1822) AFTER WAGNER The story of Vanderdecken and his misfortunes continued to attract writers. In 1878 Henry Irving appeared in David Belasco's Vanderdecken. The preface tells how, about 1650, a captain who set sail to round Cape of Good Hope, defied God during storm, and now brings stormy weather with him wherever he goes. In 1887 in London there was a Burlesque titled The Demon Seaman and the Lass that Loved a Sailor. In it the Dutchman was played by a woman. An interesting version of the story is The Death Ship: A Strange Story by William Clark Russell (1888) which takes place at the end of the eighteenth century, i.e. before Wagner, and answers some of the questions which might have been raised about the opera's Dutchman. For example: how did the ship obtain food and other provisions? In an interesting twist, every time the ship tries to round the Cape and is blown back, the captain and crew lose all memory of previous trips and believe that it is still1653.

Another American story about a man doomed to sail for the rest of his life for uttering a curse is Edward Everett Hale's A Man Without a Country (1919). As a young Colonial officer, Philip Nolan got caught up in Aaron Burr's conspiracy. At his treason trial he shouted: "Damn the United States! I wish I may never hear of the United States again!". His wish was granted and he spent the rest of his life on various ships without ever hearing his country mentioned. In July 11, 1881 a British Royal Navy ship rounding Africa claimed to have seen The Flying Dutchman. A sixteen- year-old midshipman described it thus: At 4 a.m. The Flying Dutchman crossed our bows. She emitted a strange phosphorescent light as of a phantom ship all aglow, in the midst of which light the mast, spars and sails of a brig 200 yards distant stood out in strong relief. The look-out who first spotted the ship fell from a mast and died but the midshipman lived to become King George V of England. Such sightings are now usually dismissed as mirages or optical illusions, but stories on the theme continue to be written.

Two interesting examples are Jens Bjørneboe's The Dutchman and a 2001 novel by Brian Jacques: Castaways of the Flying Dutchman.

Question: In Greek Mythology which King was condemned to stand near fruit and water which moved away when he reached for them?
Answer: Tantalus