{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_16537/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_16537","id":"gutenberg_16537","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16537","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children's Anthologies","Children's Myths, Fairy Tales, etc.","Mythology -- Juvenile literature"],"text":"[Illustration: MEDEIA AND JASON WITH THE GOLDEN FLEECE]\n\nMYTHS THAT EVERY\nCHILD SHOULD KNOW\n\nA SELECTION OF THE CLASSIC MYTHS\nOF ALL TIMES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE\n\nEDITED BY\nHAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE\n\nILLUSTRATED AND DECORATED\nBY BLANCHE OSTERTAG\n\nNEW YORK\nDoubleday, Page & Company\n1906\n\n\nNOTE\n\nThe editor and publishers wish to express their appreciation of the\ncourtesy of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Dodd, Mead & Co., and the\nMacmillan Company, by means of which they have been enabled to reprint\nstories from Hawthorne's \"Wonder Book\" and \"Tanglewood Tales,\" from \"In\nthe Days of Giants,\" from \"Norse Stories,\" from Church's \"Stories from\nHomer,\" and from Kingsley's \"Greek Heroes.\"\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nCHAPTER\n\nI.    THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES\n      (Hawthorne's \"Wonder Book\")\n\nII.   THE POMEGRANATE SEEDS\n      (Hawthorne's \"Tanglewood Tales\")\n\nIII.  THE CHIM\u00c6RA\n      (Hawthorne's \"Wonder Book\")\n\nIV.   THE GOLDEN TOUCH\n      (Hawthorne's \"Wonder Book\")\n\nV.    THE GORGON'S HEAD\n      (Hawthorne's \"Wonder Book\")\n\nVI.   THE DRAGON'S TEETH\n      (Hawthorne's \"Tanglewood Tales\")\n\nVII.  THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER\n      (Hawthorne's \"Wonder Book\")\n\nVIII. THE PARADISE OF CHILDREN\n      (Hawthorne's \"Wonder Book\")\n\nIX.   THE CYCLOPS\n      (Church's \"Stories from Homer\")\n\nX.    THE ARGONAUTS\n      (Kingsley's \"Greek Heroes\")\n\nXI.   THE GIANT BUILDER\n      (\"In Days of Giants\")\n\nXII.  HOW ODIN LOST HIS EYE\n      (\"In Days of Giants\")\n\nXIII. THE QUEST OF THE HAMMER\n      (\"In Days of Giants\")\n\nXIV.  THE APPLES OF IDUN\n      (\"Norse Stories\")\n\nXV.   THE DEATH OF BALDER\n      (\"Norse Stories\")\n\nXVI.  THE STAR AND THE LILY\n      (Miss Emerson's \"Indian Myths\")\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nIn many parts of the country when the soil is disturbed arrow heads are\nfound. Now, it is a great many years since arrow heads have been used,\nand they were never used by the people who own the land in which they\nappear or by their ancestors. To explain the presence of these roughly\ncut pieces of stone we must recall the weapons with which the Indians\nfought when Englishmen, Frenchmen, Dutchmen, and Spaniards first came to\nthis part of the world. There may be no authentic history of Indians in\nthe particular locality in which these old-fashioned weapons come to\nlight, but their presence in the ground is the best kind of evidence\nthat Indians once lived on these fields or were in the habit of hunting\nover them. In many parts of the country these arrow heads are turned up\nin great numbers; museums large and small are plentifully supplied with\nthem; and they form part of the record of the men who once lived here,\nand of their ways of killing game and destroying their enemies. Wherever\nthere are arrow heads there have been Indians.\n\nAmong every people and in every language there are found stories,\nsuperstitions, traditions, phrases, which are not to be explained by the\nthoughts or ideas or beliefs of people now living; and the same stories,\nsuperstitions, phrases, are found among people as far apart as those of\nNorway and Australia. The people of to-day tell these stories or\nremember the superstitions or use the phrases without understanding\nwhere they came from or what they meant when first used. As the ground\nin some sections is full of arrow heads that have been buried no one\nknows how many centuries, so the poetry we read, the music we hear, the\nstories told us when we are children, have come down from a time in the\nhistory of man so early that there are in many cases no other records or\nremains of it. These stories vary greatly in details; they fit every\nclimate and wear the peculiar dress of every country; but it is easy to\nsee that they are made up of the same materials, and that they describe\nthe same persons or ideas or things whether they are told in Greece or\nIndia or Norway or Brittany. Wherever they are found they make it\ncertain that they come from a very remote time and grew out of ideas or\nfeelings and ways of looking at the world which a great many men shared\nin common in many places.\n\nWhen a man sneezes, people still say in some countries, \"God bless you.\"\nThey do not know why they say it; they simply repeat what they heard\nolder people say when they were children, and do not know that every\ntime they use these words they recall the age when people believed that\nevil spirits could enter into a man, and that when a man sneezed he\nexpelled one of these spirits. It is a very old and widely spread\nsuperstition that when a dog howls at night someone not far away is\ndying or will soon die. Many people are uncomfortable when they hear a\ndog howling after dark, not because they believe that dogs have any\nknowledge that death is present or coming, but because their ancestors\nfor many centuries believed that the howling of a dog was ominous, and\nthe habits of our ancestors leave deep traces in our natures.\n\nNow, every time the melancholy howling of a dog at night makes a child\nuncomfortable, he recalls the old superstition which identified the\nroaring or wailing of the wind with a wolf or dog into which a god or\ndemon had entered, with power to summon the spirits of men to follow him\nas he rushed along in the darkness. In the old homes in the forests,\nthousands of years ago, children crowded about the open fire and\ntrembled when a great blast shook the house, for fear that the gigantic\nbeast who made the sound would call them and they would be compelled to\nfollow him. We think of wind as air in motion; they thought of it as the\nbreath and sound of some living creature. When we say that the wind\n\"whistled in the keyhole,\" or \"kissed the flowers,\" or \"drove the\nclouds\" before it, we are using poetically the language our forefathers\nused literally.\n\nWe speak of \"the siren voice of pleasure,\" \"the blow of fate,\" \"the\nsmile of fortune,\" and do not remember, often do not know, that we are\nrecalling that remote past when people believed that there were Sirens\non the coast of Crete whose voices were so sweet that sailors could not\nresist them and were drawn on to the rocks and drowned; that fate was a\nterrible, relentless, passionless person with supreme power over gods\nand men; that fortune was a being who smiled or frowned as men smile or\nfrown, but whose smile meant prosperity and her frown disaster.\n\nThere are few poems which have interested children more than Robert\nBrowning's \"Pied Piper of Hamelin.\" The story runs that long ago, in the\nyear 1284, the old German town of Hamelin was so overrun with rats that\nthere was no peace for the people living in it. When things were at\ntheir worst a strange man appeared in the place and offered, for a sum\nof money, to clear it of these pests. The bargain was made and the\nstranger began to pipe; and straightway, from every nook and corner in\nthe old town, the rats came in swarms, followed him to the river Weser\nand jumped in and were drowned.\n\nWhen the people found that the city was really free from rats they were\nungrateful enough to say that the piper had used magic, which was\nbelieved to be the practice of the evil spirit, and refused to carry out\ntheir part of the contract. The stranger went off in a great rage and\nthreatened to come back again and take payment in his own way. On St.\nJohn's Day, which was a time of great festivity, he suddenly reappeared,\nblew a new and beguiling air on his pipe, and immediately every child in\nthe city felt as if a hand had seized him and ran pell-mell after the\nmusician as he climbed the mountain, in which a door suddenly opened,\nand through that door all, save a lame boy, passed and were never seen\nagain.\n\nFrom this old story probably came the proverb about paying the piper;\nand it is one of many stories which turn on the magical power of a voice\nor a sound to draw men, women, and children to their doom. These very\ninteresting stories are not like the stories which are made up just to\nplease people and help them pass away the time; they are different forms\nof one story--the story of the wind, told by people who thought that the\nwind was not what we call a force but a person, and that when he called\nthose who heard must follow if he chose; for \"the piper is no other than\nthe wind, and the ancients held that in the wind were the souls of the\ndead.\"\n\nIf every time we think of a force we should think of a person, we should\nsee the world as the men and women who made the myths saw it. Everything\nthat moved, or made a sound, or flashed out light, or gave out heat was\na person to them; they could not think of the wind rushing through the\ntrees or the storm devastating the fields without out imagining someone\nlike themselves, only more powerful, behind the uproar and destruction,\nany more than we can see a lantern moving along the road at night\nwithout thinking instinctively that somebody is carrying it.\n\nOur idea of the world is scientific because it is based on exact though\nby no means complete knowledge; the myth-makers' idea of the world was\npoetic because, with very incomplete knowledge, they could not imagine\nhow anything could be done unless it was done as they did things. When\nthe black clouds gather on a summer afternoon and roll up the sky in\ngreat, terrifying masses, and the lightning flashes from them and the\ncrash of the thunder fills the air and the rain beats down the crops, we\nfeel as if we were in the laboratory of nature seeing a wonderful\nexperiment made; when our ancestors saw the same spectacle they were\nsure that a great dragon, breathing fire and roaring with anger, was\nravaging the earth. As children to-day imagine that dolls are alive,\nthat fairies dance in moonlit meadows on summer nights, or beasts or\nIndians make the sounds in the woods, so the people who made the myths\nfilled the world with creatures unlike themselves, but with something of\nhuman intelligence, feeling and will.\n\nAs imaginative children personify the sounds they hear, so the men and\nwomen of an early time personified everything that lived or moved or\ngave any sign of life. They filled the earth, air, and sea with\nimaginary beings who had power over the elements and affected the lives\nof men. There were nymphs in the sea, dryads in the trees, kindly or\ndestructive spirits in the air, household gods who watched over the\nhome, and greater gods who managed the affairs of the world. When an\nintelligent man finds himself in new surroundings, he begins at once to\nstudy them and try to understand them. In every age this has been one of\nthe greatest objects of interest to men, and every generation has\nendeavoured to explain the world, so as to satisfy not only its\ncuriosity but its reason. The myths were explanations of the world\ncreated by people who had not had time to study that world closely nor\nto train themselves to study it in a scientific way. They saw the world\nwith their imaginations quite as much as with their eyes, and as they\nput persons behind every kind and form of life, they told stories about\nthe world instead of making accurate and matter-of-fact reports of it.\nThe change of the seasons is not at all mysterious to us; but to the\nNorsemen it was a wonderful struggle between gods and giants. In the\nsummer the gods had their triumph, but in the winter the giants had\ntheir way. Year after year and century after century this terrible\nwarfare went on until a day should come when, in a last great battle,\nboth gods and giants would be destroyed and a new heaven and earth\narise. These same brave and warlike men believed that the most powerful\nfighter among the gods was Thor, and that it was the swinging and\ncrashing of his terrible hammer which made the lightning and thunder.\n\nThe sun, which vanquished the darkness, put out the stars, drove the\ncold to the far north, called back the flowers, made the fields fertile,\nawoke men from sleep and filled them with courage and hope, was the\ncentre of mythology, and appears and reappears in a thousand stories in\nmany parts of the world, and in all kinds of disguises. Now he is the\nmost beautiful and noble of the Greek gods, Apollo; now he is Odin, with\na single eye; now he is Hercules, the hero, with his twelve great\nlabours for the good of men; now he is Oedipus, who met the Sphinx and\nsolved her riddle. In the early times men saw how everything in the\nworld about them drew its strength and beauty from the sun; how the sun\nwarmed the earth and made the crops grow; how it brought gladness and\nhope and inspiration to men; and they made it the centre of the great\nworld story, the foremost hero of the great world play. For the myths\nform a poetical explanation of the earth, the sea, the sky, and of the\nlife of man in this wonderful universe, and each great myth was a\nchapter in a story which endowed day and night, summer and winter, sun,\nmoon, stars, winds, clouds, fire, with life, and made them actors in the\nmysterious drama of the world. Our Norse forefathers thought of\nthemselves always as looking on at a terrible fight between the gods,\nwho were light and heat and fruitfulness, revealed in the beauty of day\nand the splendour of summer, and the giants, who were darkness, cold and\nbarrenness, revealed in the gloom of night and the desolation of winter.\nTo the Norseman, as to the Greek, the Roman, the Hindu and other\nprimitive peoples, the world was the scene of a great struggle, the\nstage on which gods, demons, and heroes were contending for supremacy;\nand they told that story in a thousand different ways. Every myth is a\nchapter in that story, and differs from other stories and legends\nbecause it is an explanation of something that happened in earth, sea,\nor sky.\n\nIf the men who created the myths had set to work to make wonder tales as\nstories are sometimes made to instruct while they entertain children,\nthey would have left a mass of very dull tales which few people would\nhave cared to read. They had no idea of doing anything so artificial and\nmechanical; they made these old stories because all life was a story to\nthem, full of splendid or terrible figures moving across the sky or\nthrough the sea and in the depths of the woods, and whichever way they\nlooked they saw or thought they saw mysterious and wonderful things\ngoing on. They were as much interested in their world as we are in ours;\nwe write hundreds of scientific books every year to explain our world;\nthey told hundreds of stories every year to explain theirs.\n\nThis selection represents the work of several authors, and does not,\ntherefore, preserve uniformity of style. It is probably better for the\nyoung reader that the Greek Myths should come from one hand, and the\nNorse Myths from another. The classical work of Hawthorne has been\ngenerously drawn upon. No change of any kind has been made in the text,\nbut the introductions connecting one myth with another have been\nomitted.\n\nHAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE.\n\n\n\n\nMyths That Every Child Should Know\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE THREE GOLDEN APPLES\n\n\nDid you ever hear of the golden apples that grew in the garden of the\nHesperides? Ah, those were such apples as would bring a great price, by\nthe bushel, if any of them could be found growing in the orchards of\nnowadays! But there is not, I suppose, a graft of that wonderful fruit\non a single tree in the wide world. Not so much as a seed of those\napples exists any longer.\n\nAnd, even in the old, old, half-forgotten times, before the garden of\nthe Hesperides was overrun with weeds, a great many people doubted\nwhether there could be real trees that bore apples of solid gold upon\ntheir branches. All had heard of them, but nobody remembered to have\nseen any. Children, nevertheless, used to listen, open-mouthed, to\nstories of the golden apple tree, and resolved to discover it, when they\nshould be big enough. Adventurous young men, who desired to do a braver\nthing than any of their fellows, set out in quest of this fruit. Many of\nthem returned no more; none of them brought back the apples. No wonder\nthat they found it impossible to gather them! It is said that there was\na dragon beneath the tree, with a hundred terrible heads, fifty of\nwhich were always on the watch, while the other fifty slept.\n\nIn my opinion it was hardly worth running so much risk for the sake of a\nsolid golden apple. Had the apples been sweet, mellow, and juicy, indeed\nthat would be another matter. There might then have been some sense in\ntrying to get at them, in spite of the hundred-headed dragon.\n\nBut, as I have already told you, it was quite a common thing with young\npersons, when tired of too much peace and rest, to go in search of the\ngarden of the Hesperides. And once the adventure was undertaken by a\nhero who had enjoyed very little peace or rest since he came into the\nworld. At the time of which I am going to speak, he was wandering\nthrough the pleasant land of Italy, with a mighty club in his hand, and\na bow and quiver slung across his shoulders. He was wrapt in the skin of\nthe biggest and fiercest lion that ever had been seen, and which he\nhimself had killed; and though, on the whole, he was kind, and generous,\nand noble, there was a good deal of the lion's fierceness in his heart.\nAs he went on his way, he continually inquired whether that were the\nright road to the famous garden. But none of the country people knew\nanything about the matter, and many looked as if they would have laughed\nat the question, if the stranger had not carried so very big a club.\n\nSo he journeyed on and on, still making the same inquiry, until, at\nlast, he came to the brink of a river where some beautiful young women\nsat twining wreaths of flowers.\n\n\"Can you tell me, pretty maidens,\" asked the stranger, \"whether this is\nthe right way to the garden of the Hesperides?\"\n\nThe young women had been having a fine time together, weaving the\nflowers into wreaths, and crowning one another's heads. And there seemed\nto be a kind of magic in the touch of their fingers, that made the\nflowers more fresh and dewy, and of brighter hues, and sweeter\nfragrance, while they played with them, than even when they had been\ngrowing on their native stems. But, on hearing the stranger's question,\nthey dropped all their flowers on the grass, and gazed at him with\nastonishment.\n\n\"The garden of the Hesperides!\" cried one. \"We thought mortals had been\nweary of seeking it, after so many disappointments. And pray,\nadventurous traveller, what do you want there?\"\n\n\"A certain king, who is my cousin,\" replied he, \"has ordered me to get\nhim three of the golden apples.\"\n\n\"Most of the young men who go in quest of these apples,\" observed\nanother of the damsels, \"desire to obtain them for themselves, or to\npresent them to some fair maiden whom they love. Do you, then, love this\nking, your cousin, so very much?\"\n\n\"Perhaps not,\" replied the stranger, sighing. \"He has often been severe\nand cruel to me. But it is my destiny to obey him.\"\n\n\"And do you know,\" asked the damsel who had first spoken, \"that a\nterrible dragon, with a hundred heads, keeps watch under the golden\napple tree?\"\n\n\"I know it well,\" answered the stranger, calmly. \"But, from my cradle\nupward, it has been my business, and almost my pastime, to deal with\nserpents and dragons.\"\n\nThe young women looked at his massive club, and at the shaggy lion's\nskin which he wore, and likewise at his heroic limbs and figure; and\nthey whispered to each other that the stranger appeared to be one who\nmight reasonably expect to perform deeds far beyond the might of other\nmen. But, then, the dragon with a hundred heads! What mortal, even if he\npossessed a hundred lives, could hope to escape the fangs of such a\nmonster? So kind-hearted were the maidens that they could not bear to\nsee this brave and handsome traveller attempt what was so very\ndangerous, and devote himself, most probably, to become a meal for the\ndragon's hundred ravenous mouths.\n\n\"Go back,\" cried they all--\"go back to your own home! Your mother,\nbeholding you safe and sound, will shed tears of joy; and what can she\ndo more, should you win ever so great a victory? No matter for the\ngolden apples! No matter for the king, your cruel cousin! We do not wish\nthe dragon with the hundred heads to eat you up!\"\n\nThe stranger seemed to grow impatient at these remonstrances. He\ncarelessly lifted his mighty club, and let it fall upon a rock that lay\nhalf buried in the earth, near by. With the force of that idle blow, the\ngreat rock was shattered all to pieces. It cost the stranger no more\neffort to achieve this feat of a giant's strength than for one of the\nyoung maidens to touch her sister's rosy cheek with a flower.\n\n\"Do you not believe,\" said he, looking at the damsels with a smile,\n\"that such a blow would have crushed one of the dragon's hundred heads?\"\n\nThen he sat down on the grass, and told them the story of his life, or\nas much of it as he could remember, from the day when he was first\ncradled in a warrior's brazen shield. While he lay there, two immense\nserpents came gliding over the floor, and opened their hideous jaws to\ndevour him; and he, a baby of a few months old, had griped one of the\nfierce snakes in each of his little fists, and strangled them to death.\nWhen he was but a stripling, he had killed a huge lion, almost as big as\nthe one whose vast and shaggy hide he now wore upon his shoulders. The\nnext thing that he had done was to fight a battle with an ugly sort of\nmonster, called a hydra, which had no less than nine heads, and\nexceedingly sharp teeth in every one.\n\n\"But the dragon of the Hesperides, you know,\" observed one of the\ndamsels, \"has a hundred heads!\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" replied the stranger, \"I would rather fight two such\ndragons than a single hydra. For, as fast as I cut off a head, two\nothers grew in its place; and, besides, there was one of the heads that\ncould not possibly be killed, but kept biting as fiercely as ever, long\nafter it was cut off. So I was forced to bury it under a stone, where it\nis doubtless alive to this very day. But the hydra's body, and its eight\nother heads, will never do any further mischief.\"\n\nThe damsels, judging that the story was likely to last a good while, had\nbeen preparing a repast of bread and grapes, that the stranger might\nrefresh himself in the intervals of his talk. They took pleasure in\nhelping him to this simple food; and, now and then, one of them would\nput a sweet grape between her rosy lips, lest it should make him bashful\nto eat alone.\n\nThe traveller proceeded to tell how he had chased a very swift stag for\na twelvemonth together, without ever stopping to take breath, and had at\nlast caught it by the antlers, and carried it home alive. And he had\nfought with a very odd race of people, half horses and half men, and had\nput them all to death, from a sense of duty, in order that their ugly\nfigures might never be seen any more. Besides all this, he took to\nhimself great credit for having cleaned out a stable.\n\n\"Do you call that a wonderful exploit?\" asked one of the young maidens,\nwith a smile. \"Any clown in the country has done as much!\"\n\n\"Had it been an ordinary stable,\" replied the stranger, \"I should not\nhave mentioned it. But this was so gigantic a task that it would have\ntaken me all my life to perform it, if I had not luckily thought of\nturning the channel of a river through the stable door. That did the\nbusiness in a very short time!\"\n\nSeeing how earnestly his fair auditors listened, he next told them how\nhe had shot some monstrous birds, and had caught a wild bull alive and\nlet him go again, and had tamed a number of very wild horses, and had\nconquered Hippolyta, the warlike queen of the Amazons. He mentioned,\nlikewise, that he had taken off Hippolyta's enchanted girdle and had\ngiven it to the daughter of his cousin, the king.\n\n\"Was it the girdle of Venus,\" inquired the prettiest of the damsels,\n\"which makes women beautiful?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered the stranger. \"It had formerly been the sword belt of\nMars; and it can only make the wearer valiant and courageous.\"\n\n\"An old sword belt!\" cried the damsel, tossing her head. \"Then I should\nnot care about having it!\"\n\n\"You are right,\" said the stranger.\n\nGoing on with his wonderful narrative, he informed the maidens that as\nstrange an adventure as ever happened was when he fought with Geryon,\nthe six-legged man. This was a very odd and frightful sort of figure, as\nyou may well believe. Any person, looking at his tracks in the sand or\nsnow, would suppose that three sociable companions had been walking\nalong together. On hearing his footsteps at a little distance, it was no\nmore than reasonable to judge that several people must be coming. But it\nwas only the strange man Geryon clattering onward, with his six legs!\n\nSix legs, and one gigantic body! Certainly, he must have been a very\nqueer monster to look at; and, my stars, what a waste of shoe leather!\n\nWhen the stranger had finished the story of his adventures, he looked\naround at the attentive faces of the maidens.\n\n\"Perhaps you may have heard of me before,\" said he, modestly. \"My name\nis Hercules!\"\n\n\"We had already guessed it,\" replied the maidens; \"for your wonderful\ndeeds are known all over the world. We do not think it strange, any\nlonger, that you should set out in quest of the golden apples of the\nHesperides. Come, sisters, let us crown the hero with flowers!\"\n\nThen they flung beautiful wreaths over his stately head and mighty\nshoulders, so that the lion's skin was almost entirely covered with\nroses. They took possession of his ponderous club, and so entwined it\nabout with the brightest, softest, and most fragrant blossoms that not a\nfinger's breadth of its oaken substance could be seen. It looked all\nlike a huge bunch of flowers. Lastly, they joined hands, and danced\naround him, chanting words which became poetry of their own accord, and\ngrew into a choral song, in honour of the illustrious Hercules.\n\nAnd Hercules was rejoiced, as any other hero would have been, to know\nthat these fair young girls had heard of the valiant deeds which it had\ncost him so much toil and danger to achieve. But still he was not\nsatisfied. He could not think that what he had already done was worthy\nof so much honour, while there remained any bold or difficult adventure\nto be undertaken.\n\n\"Dear maidens,\" said he, when they paused to take breath, \"now that you\nknow my name, will you not tell me how I am to reach the garden of the\nHesperides?\"\n\n\"Ah! must you go to soon?\" they exclaimed. \"You--that have performed so\nmany wonders, and spent such a toilsome life--cannot you content\nyourself to repose a little while on the margin of this peaceful river?\"\n\nHercules shook his head.\n\n\"I must depart now,\" said he.\n\n\"We will then give you the best directions we can,\" replied the damsels.\n\"You must go to the seashore, and find out the Old One, and compel him\nto inform you where the golden apples are to be found.\"\n\n\"The Old One!\" repeated Hercules, laughing at this odd name. \"And, pray,\nwho may the Old One be?\"\n\n\"Why, the Old Man of the Sea, to be sure!\" answered one of the damsels.\n\"He has fifty daughters, whom some people call very beautiful; but we do\nnot think it proper to be acquainted with them, because they have\nsea-green hair, and taper away like fishes. You must talk with this Old\nMan of the Sea. He is a seafaring person, and knows all about the garden\nof the Hesperides, for it is situated in an island which he is often in\nthe habit of visiting.\"\n\nHercules then asked whereabouts the Old One was most likely to be met\nwith. When the damsels had informed him, he thanked them for all their\nkindness,--for the bread and grapes with which they had fed him, the\nlovely flowers with which they had crowned him, and the songs and\ndances wherewith they had done him honour--and he thanked them, most of\nall, for telling him the right way--and immediately set forth upon his\njourney.\n\nBut, before he was out of hearing, one of the maidens called after him.\n\n\"Keep fast hold of the Old One, when you catch him!\" cried she, smiling,\nand lifting her finger to make the caution more impressive. \"Do not be\nastonished at anything that may happen. Only hold him fast, and he will\ntell you what you wish to know.\"\n\nHercules again thanked her, and pursued his way, while the maidens\nresumed their pleasant labour of making flower wreaths. They talked\nabout the hero long after he was gone.\n\n\"We will crown him with the loveliest of our garlands,\" said they, \"when\nhe returns hither with the three golden apples, after slaying the dragon\nwith a hundred heads.\"\n\nMeanwhile, Hercules travelled constantly onward, over hill and dale, and\nthrough the solitary woods. Sometimes he swung his club aloft, and\nsplintered a mighty oak with a downright blow. His mind was so full of\nthe giants and monsters with whom it was the business of his life to\nfight, that perhaps he mistook the great tree for a giant or a monster.\nAnd so eager was Hercules to achieve what he had undertaken, that he\nalmost regretted to have spent so much time with the damsels, wasting\nidle breath upon the story of his adventures. But thus it always is with\npersons who are destined to perform great things. What they have already\ndone seems less than nothing. What they have taken in hand to do seems\nworth toil, danger, and life itself. Persons who happened to be passing\nthrough the forest must have been affrighted to see him smite the trees\nwith his great club. With but a single blow, the trunk was riven as by\nthe stroke of lightning and the broad boughs came rustling and crashing\ndown.\n\nHastening forward, without ever pausing or looking behind, he by and by\nheard the sea roaring at a distance. At this sound, he increased his\nspeed, and soon came to a beach, where the great surf waves tumbled\nthemselves upon the hard sand, in a long line of snowy foam. At one end\nof the beach, however, there was a pleasant spot, where some green\nshrubbery clambered up a cliff, making its rocky face look soft and\nbeautiful. A carpet of verdant grass, largely intermixed with\nsweet-smelling clover, covered the narrow space between the bottom of\nthe cliff and the sea. And what should Hercules espy there but an old\nman, fast asleep!\n\nBut was it really and truly an old man? Certainly, at first sight, it\nlooked very like one; but, on closer inspection, it rather seemed to be\nsome kind of a creature that lived in the sea. For on his legs and arms\nthere were scales, such as fishes have; he was web-footed and\nweb-fingered, after the fashion of a duck; and his long beard, being of\na greenish tinge, had more the appearance of a tuft of seaweed than of\nan ordinary beard. Have you never seen a stick of timber, that has been\nlong tossed about by the waves, and has got all overgrown with\nbarnacles, and, at last drifting ashore, seems to have been thrown up\nfrom the very deepest bottom of the sea. Well, the old man would have\nput you in mind of just such a wave-tossed spar! But Hercules, the\ninstant he set eyes on this strange figure, was convinced that it could\nbe no other than the Old One, who was to direct him on his way.\n\nYes, it was the selfsame Old Man of the Sea whom the hospitable maidens\nhad talked to him about. Thanking his stars for the lucky accident of\nfinding the old fellow asleep, Hercules stole on tiptoe toward him, and\ncaught him by the arm and leg.\n\n\"Tell me,\" cried he, before the Old One was well awake, \"which is the\nway to the garden of the Hesperides?\"\n\nAs you may easily imagine, the Old Man of the Sea awoke in a fright. But\nhis astonishment could hardly have been greater than was that of\nHercules, the next moment. For, all of a sudden, the Old One seemed to\ndisappear out of his grasp, and he found himself holding a stag by the\nfore and hind leg! But still he kept fast hold. Then the stag\ndisappeared, and in its stead there was a sea bird, fluttering and\nscreaming, while Hercules clutched it by the wing and claw! But the bird\ncould not get away. Immediately afterward, there was an ugly\nthree-headed dog, which growled and barked at Hercules, and snapped\nfiercely at the hands by which he held him! But Hercules would not let\nhim go. In another minute, instead of the three-headed dog, what should\nappear but Geryon, the six-legged man monster, kicking at Hercules with\nfive of his legs, in order to get the remaining one at liberty! But\nHercules held on. By and by, no Geryon was there, but a huge snake, like\none of those which Hercules had strangled in his babyhood, only a\nhundred times as big; and it twisted and twined about the hero's neck\nand body, and threw its tail high into the air, and opened its deadly\njaws as if to devour him outright; so that it was really a very terrible\nspectacle! But Hercules was no whit disheartened, and squeezed the great\nsnake so tightly that he soon began to hiss with pain.\n\nYou must understand that the Old Man of the Sea, though he generally\nlooked so much like the wave-beaten figurehead of a vessel, had the\npower of assuming any shape he pleased. When he found himself so roughly\nseized by Hercules, he had been in hopes of putting him into such\nsurprise and terror, by these magical transformations, that the hero\nwould be glad to let him go. If Hercules had relaxed his grasp, the Old\nOne would certainly have plunged down to the very bottom of the sea,\nwhence he would not soon have given himself the trouble of coming up, in\norder to answer any impertinent questions. Ninety-nine people out of a\nhundred, I suppose, would have been frightened out of their wits by the\nvery first of his ugly shapes, and would have taken to their heels at\nonce. For one of the hardest things in this world is to see the\ndifference between real dangers and imaginary ones.\n\nBut, as Hercules held on so stubbornly, and only squeezed the Old One so\nmuch the tighter at every change of shape, and really put him to no\nsmall torture, he finally thought it best to reappear in his own figure.\nSo there he was again, a fishy, scaly, web-footed sort of personage,\nwith something like a tuft of seaweed at his chin.\n\n\"Pray, what do you want with me?\" cried the Old One, as soon as he could\ntake breath; for it is quite a tiresome affair to go through so many\nfalse shapes. \"Why do you squeeze me so hard? Let me go this moment, or\nI shall begin to consider you an extremely uncivil person!\"\n\n\"My name is Hercules!\" roared the mighty stranger. \"And you will never\nget out of my clutch until you tell me the nearest way to the garden of\nthe Hesperides!\"\n\nWhen the old fellow heard who it was that had caught him, he saw with\nhalf an eye that it would be necessary to tell him everything that he\nwanted to know. The Old One was an inhabitant of the sea, you must\nrecollect, and roamed about everywhere, like other seafaring people. Of\ncourse, he had often heard of the fame of Hercules, and of the wonderful\nthings that he was constantly performing in various parts of the earth,\nand how determined he always was to accomplish whatever he undertook. He\ntherefore made no more attempts to escape, but told the hero how to find\nthe garden of the Hesperides, and likewise warned him of many\ndifficulties which must be overcome before he could arrive thither.\n\n\"You must go on, thus and thus,\" said the Old Man of the Sea, after\ntaking the points of the compass, \"till you come in sight of a very tall\ngiant, who holds the sky on his shoulders. And the giant, if he happens\nto be in the humour, will tell you exactly where the garden of the\nHesperides lies.\"\n\n\"And if the giant happens not to be in the humour,\" remarked Hercules,\nbalancing his club on the tip of his finger, \"perhaps I shall find means\nto persuade him!\"\n\nThanking the Old Man of the Sea, and begging his pardon for having\nsqueezed him so roughly, the hero resumed his journey. He met with a\ngreat many strange adventures, which would be well worth your hearing,\nif I had leisure to narrate them as minutely as they deserve.\n\nIt was in this journey, if I mistake not, that he encountered a\nprodigious giant, who was so wonderfully contrived by nature that, every\ntime he touched the earth, he became ten times as strong as ever he had\nbeen before. His name was Ant\u00e6us. You may see, plainly enough, that it\nwas a very difficult business to fight with such a fellow; for, as often\nas he got a knock-down blow, up he started again, stronger, fiercer, and\nabler to use his weapons than if his enemy had let him alone. Thus, the\nharder Hercules pounded the giant with his club, the further he seemed\nfrom winning the victory. I have sometimes argued with such people, but\nnever fought with one. The only way in which Hercules found it possible\nto finish the battle was by lifting Ant\u00e6us off his feet into the air,\nand squeezing, and squeezing, and squeezing him until, finally, the\nstrength was quite squeezed out of his enormous body.\n\nWhen this affair was finished, Hercules continued his travels, and went\nto the land of Egypt, where he was taken prisoner, and would have been\nput to death if he had not slain the king of the country and made his\nescape. Passing through the deserts of Africa, and going as fast as he\ncould, he arrived at last on the shore of the great ocean. And here,\nunless he could walk on the crests of the billows, it seemed as if his\njourney must needs be at an end.\n\nNothing was before him, save the foaming, dashing, measureless ocean.\nBut, suddenly, as he looked toward the horizon, he saw something, a\ngreat way off, which he had not seen the moment before. It gleamed very\nbrightly, almost as you may have beheld the round, golden disc of the\nsun, when it rises or sets over the edge of the world. It evidently drew\nnearer; for, at every instant, this wonderful object became larger and\nmore lustrous. At length, it had come so nigh that Hercules discovered\nit to be an immense cup or bowl, made either of gold or burnished brass.\nHow it had got afloat upon the sea is more than I can tell you. There it\nwas, at all events, rolling on the tumultuous billows, which tossed it\nup and down, and heaved their foamy tops against its sides, but without\never throwing their spray over the brim.\n\n\"I have seen many giants, in my time,\" thought Hercules, \"but never one\nthat would need to drink his wine out of a cup like this!\"\n\nAnd, true enough, what a cup it must have been! It was as large--as\nlarge--but, in short, I am afraid to say how immeasurably large it was.\nTo speak within bounds, it was ten times larger than a great mill wheel;\nand, all of metal as it was, it floated over the heaving surges more\nlightly than an acorn cup adown the brook. The waves tumbled it onward,\nuntil it grazed against the shore, within a short distance of the spot\nwhere Hercules was standing.\n\nAs soon as this happened, he knew what was to be done; for he had not\ngone through so many remarkable adventures without learning pretty well\nhow to conduct himself, whenever anything came to pass a little out of\nthe common rule. It was just as clear as daylight that this marvellous\ncup had been set adrift by some unseen power, and guided hitherward, in\norder to carry Hercules across the sea, on his way to the garden of the\nHesperides. Accordingly, without a moment's delay, he clambered over the\nbrim, and slid down on the inside, where, spreading out his lion's skin,\nhe proceeded to take a little repose. He had scarcely rested, until now,\nsince he bade farewell to the damsels on the margin of the river. The\nwaves dashed, with a pleasant and ringing sound, against the\ncircumference of the hollow cup; it rocked lightly to and fro, and the\nmotion was so soothing that it speedily rocked Hercules into an\nagreeable slumber.\n\nHis nap had probably lasted a good while, when the cup chanced to graze\nagainst a rock, and, in consequence, immediately resounded and\nreverberated through its golden or brazen substance, a hundred times as\nloudly as ever you heard a church bell. The noise awoke Hercules, who\ninstantly started up and gazed around him, wondering whereabouts he was.\nHe was not long in discovering that the cup had floated across a great\npart of the sea, and was approaching the shore of what seemed to be an\nisland. And, on that island, what do you think he saw?\n\nNo; you will never guess it, not if you were to try fifty thousand\ntimes! It positively appears to me that this was the most marvellous\nspectacle that had ever been seen by Hercules in the whole course of his\nwonderful travels and adventures. It was a greater marvel than the hydra\nwith nine heads, which kept growing twice as fast as they were cut off;\ngreater than the six-legged man monster; greater than Ant\u00e6us; greater\nthan anything that was ever beheld by anybody, before or since the days\nof Hercules, or than anything that remains to be beheld by travellers in\nall time to come. It was a giant!\n\nBut such an intolerably big giant! A giant as tall as a mountain; so\nvast a giant that the clouds rested about his midst, like a girdle, and\nhung like a hoary beard from his chin, and flitted before his huge eyes,\nso that he could neither see Hercules nor the golden cup in which he was\nvoyaging. And, most wonderful of all, the giant held up his great hands\nand appeared to support the sky, which, so far as Hercules could discern\nthrough the clouds, was resting upon his head! This does really seem\nalmost too much to believe.\n\nMeanwhile, the bright cup continued to float onward, and finally touched\nthe strand. Just then a breeze wafted away the clouds from before the\ngiant's visage, and Hercules beheld it, with all its enormous features;\neyes each of them as big as yonder lake, a nose a mile long, and a mouth\nof the same width. It was a countenance terrible from its enormity of\nsize, but disconsolate and weary, even as you may see the faces of many\npeople, nowadays, who are compelled to sustain burdens above their\nstrength. What the sky was to the giant, such are the cares of earth to\nthose who let themselves be weighed down by them. And whenever men\nundertake what is beyond the just measure of their abilities, they\nencounter precisely such a doom as had befallen this poor giant.\n\nPoor fellow! He had evidently stood there a long while. An ancient\nforest had been growing and decaying around his feet; and oak trees, of\nsix or seven centuries old, had sprung from the acorn, and forced\nthemselves between his toes.\n\nThe giant now looked down from the far height of his great eyes, and,\nperceiving Hercules, roared out, in a voice that resembled thunder,\nproceeding out of the cloud that had just flitted away from his face.\n\n\"Who are you, down at my feet there? And whence do you come in that\nlittle cup?\"\n\n\"I am Hercules!\" thundered back the hero, in a voice pretty nearly or\nquite as loud as the giant's own. \"And I am seeking for the garden of\nthe Hesperides!\"\n\n\"Ho! ho! ho!\" roared the giant, in a fit of immense laughter. \"That is a\nwise adventure, truly!\"\n\n\"And why not?\" cried Hercules, getting a little angry at the giant's\nmirth. \"Do you think I am afraid of the dragon with a hundred heads!\"\n\nJust at this time, while they were talking together, some black clouds\ngathered about the giant's middle, and burst into a tremendous storm of\nthunder and lightning, causing such a pother that Hercules found it\nimpossible to distinguish a word. Only the giant's immeasurable legs\nwere to be seen, standing up into the obscurity of the tempest; and, now\nand then, a momentary glimpse of his whole figure, mantled in a volume\nof mist. He seemed to be speaking, most of the time; but his big, deep,\nrough voice chimed in with the reverberations of the thunder claps, and\nrolled away over the hills, like them. Thus, by talking out of season,\nthe foolish giant expended an incalculable quantity of breath to no\npurpose; for the thunder spoke quite as intelligibly as he.\n\nAt last, the storm swept over as suddenly as it had come. And there\nagain was the clear sky, and the weary giant holding it up, and the\npleasant sunshine beaming over his vast height, and illuminating it\nagainst the background of the sullen thunder clouds. So far above the\nshower had been his head, that not a hair of it was moistened by the\nrain-drops!\n\nWhen the giant could see Hercules still standing on the seashore, he\nroared out to him anew.\n\n\"I am Atlas, the mightiest giant in the world! And I hold the sky upon\nmy head!\"\n\n\"So I see,\" answered Hercules. \"But, can you show me the way to the\ngarden of the Hesperides?\"\n\n\"What do you want there?\" asked the giant.\n\n\"I want three of the golden apples,\" shouted Hercules, \"for my cousin,\nthe king.\"\n\n\"There is nobody but myself,\" quoth the giant, \"that can go to the\ngarden of the Hesperides, and gather the golden apples. If it were not\nfor this little business of holding up the sky, I would make half a\ndozen steps across the sea and get them for you.\"\n\n\"You are very kind,\" replied Hercules. \"And cannot you rest the sky upon\na mountain?\"\n\n\"None of them are quite high enough,\" said Atlas, shaking his head. \"But\nif you were to take your stand on the summit of that nearest one, your\nhead would be pretty nearly on a level with mine. You seem to be a\nfellow of some strength. What if you should take my burden on your\nshoulders, while I do your errand for you?\"\n\nHercules, as you must be careful to remember, was a remarkably strong\nman; and though it certainly requires a great deal of muscular power to\nuphold the sky, yet, if any mortal could be supposed capable of such an\nexploit, he was the one. Nevertheless, it seemed so difficult an\nundertaking that, for the first time in his life, he hesitated.\n\n\"Is the sky very heavy?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Why, not particularly so, at first,\" answered the giant, shrugging his\nshoulders. \"But it gets to be a little burdensome after a thousand\nyears!\"\n\n\"And how long a time,\" asked the hero, \"will it take you to get the\ngolden apples?\"\n\n\"Oh, that will be done in a few moments,\" cried Atlas. \"I shall take ten\nor fifteen miles at a stride, and be at the garden and back again before\nyour shoulders begin to ache.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" answered Hercules, \"I will climb the mountain behind you\nthere and relieve you of your burden.\"\n\nThe truth is, Hercules had a kind heart of his own, and considered that\nhe should be doing the giant a favour by allowing him this opportunity\nfor a ramble. And, besides, he thought that it would be still more for\nhis own glory if he could boast of upholding the sky, than merely to do\nso ordinary a thing as to conquer a dragon with a hundred heads.\nAccordingly, without more words, the sky was shifted from the shoulders\nof Atlas and placed upon those of Hercules.\n\nWhen this was safely accomplished, the first thing that the giant did\nwas to stretch himself; and you may imagine what a prodigious spectacle\nhe was then. Next, lie slowly lifted one of his feet out of the forest\nthat had grown up around it; then, the other. Then, all at once, he\nbegan to caper, and leap, and dance for joy at his freedom; flinging\nhimself nobody knows how high into the air, and floundering down again\nwith a shock that made the earth tremble. Then he laughed--Ho! ho!\nho!--with a thunderous roar that was echoed from the mountains, far and\nnear, as if they and the giant had been so many rejoicing brothers. When\nhis joy had a little subsided, he stepped into the sea; ten miles at the\nfirst stride, which brought him midleg deep; and ten miles at the\nsecond, when the water came just above his knees; and ten miles more at\nthe third, by which he was immersed nearly to his waist. This was the\ngreatest depth of the sea.\n\nHercules watched the giant as he still went onward; for it was really a\nwonderful sight, this immense human form, more than thirty miles off,\nhalf hidden in the ocean, but with his upper half as tall, and misty,\nand blue as a distant mountain. At last the gigantic shape faded\nentirely out of view. And now Hercules began to consider what he should\ndo in case Atlas should be drowned in the sea, or if he were to be stung\nto death by the dragon with the hundred heads, which guarded the golden\napples of the Hesperides. If any such misfortune were to happen, how\ncould he ever get rid of the sky? And, by the by, its weight began\nalready to be a little irksome to his head and shoulders.\n\n\"I really pity the poor giant,\" thought Hercules. \"If it wearies me so\nmuch in ten minutes, how must it have wearied him in a thousand years!\"\n\nO my sweet little people, you have no idea what a weight there was in\nthat same blue sky, which looks so soft and a\u00ebrial above our heads! And\nthere, too, was the bluster of the wind, and the chill and watery\nclouds, and the blazing sun, all taking their turns to make Hercules\nuncomfortable! He began to be afraid that the giant would never come\nback. He gazed wistfully at the world beneath him, and acknowledged to\nhimself that it was a far happier kind of life to be a shepherd at the\nfoot of a mountain than to stand on its dizzy summit and bear up the\nfirmament with his might and main. For, of course, as you will easily\nunderstand, Hercules had an immense responsibility on his mind, as well\nas a weight on his head and shoulders. Why, if he did not stand\nperfectly still, and keep the sky immovable, the sun would perhaps be\nput ajar! Or, after nightfall, a great many of the stars might be\nloosened from their places, and shower down, like fiery rain, upon the\npeople's heads! And how ashamed would the hero be if, owing to his\nunsteadiness beneath its weight, the sky should crack and show a great\nfissure quite across it!\n\nI know not how long it was before, to his unspeakable joy, he beheld the\nhuge shape of the giant, like a cloud, on the far-off edge of the sea.\nAt his nearer approach, Atlas held up his hand, in which Hercules could\nperceive three magnificent golden apples, as big as pumpkins, all\nhanging from one branch.\n\n\"I am glad to see you again,\" shouted Hercules, when the giant was\nwithin hearing. \"So you have got the golden apples?\"\n\n\"Certainly, certainly,\" answered Atlas; \"and very fair apples they are.\nI took the finest that grew on the tree, I assure you. Ah! it is a\nbeautiful spot, that garden of Hesperides. Yes; and the dragon with a\nhundred heads is a sight worth any man's seeing. After all, you had\nbetter have gone for the apples yourself.\"\n\n\"No matter,\" replied Hercules. \"You have had a pleasant ramble, and have\ndone the business as well as I could. I heartily thank you for your\ntrouble. And now, as I have a long way to go, and am rather in\nhaste--and as the king, my cousin, is anxious to receive the golden\napples--will you be kind enough to take the sky off my shoulders again?\"\n\n\"Why, as to that,\" said the giant, chucking the golden apples into the\nair twenty miles high, or thereabouts and catching them as they came\ndown--\"as to that, my good friend, I consider you a little unreasonable.\nCannot I carry the golden apples to the king, your cousin, much quicker\nthan you could? As His Majesty is in such a hurry to get them, I promise\nyou to take my longest strides. And, besides, I have no fancy for\nburdening myself with the sky, just now.\"\n\nHere Hercules grew impatient, and gave a great shrug of his shoulders.\nIt being now twilight, you might have seen two or three stars tumble out\nof their places. Everybody on earth looked upward in affright, thinking\nthat the sky might be going to fall next.\n\n\"Oh, that will never do!\" cried Giant Atlas, with a great roar of\nlaughter. \"I have not let fall so many stars within the last five\ncenturies. By the time you have stood there as long as I did, you will\nbegin to learn patience!\"\n\n\"What!\" shouted Hercules, very wrathfully, \"do you intend to make me\nbear this burden forever?\"\n\n\"We will see about that, one of these days,\" answered the giant. \"At all\nevents, you ought not to complain if you have to bear it the next\nhundred years, or perhaps the next thousand. I bore it a good while\nlonger, in spite of the backache. Well, then, after a thousand years, if\nI happen to feel in the mood, we may possibly shift about again. You are\ncertainly a very strong man, and can never have a better opportunity to\nprove it. Posterity will talk of you, I warrant it!\"\n\n\"Pish! a fig for its talk!\" cried Hercules, with another hitch of his\nshoulders. \"Just take the sky upon your head one instant, will you? I\nwant to make a cushion of my lion's skin, for the weight to rest upon.\nIt really chafes me, and will cause unnecessary inconvenience in so many\ncenturies as I am to stand here.\"\n\n\"That's no more than fair, and I'll do it!\" quoth the giant; for he had\nno unkind feeling toward Hercules, and was merely acting with a too\nselfish consideration of his own ease. \"For just five minutes, then,\nI'll take back the sky. Only for five minutes, recollect! I have no idea\nof spending another thousand years as I spent the last. Variety is the\nspice of life, say I.\"\n\nAh, the thick-witted old rogue of a giant! He threw down the golden\napples, and received back the sky from the head and shoulders of\nHercules, upon his own, where it rightly belonged. And Hercules picked\nup the three golden apples, that were as big or bigger than pumpkins and\nstraightway set out on his journey homeward, without paying the\nslightest heed to the thundering tones of the giant, who bellowed after\nhim to come back. Another forest sprang up around his feet, and grew\nancient there; and again might be seen oak trees, of six or seven\ncenturies old, that had waxed thus aged betwixt his enormous toes.\n\nAnd there stands the giant to this day; or, at any rate, there stands a\nmountain as tall as he, and which bears his name; and when the thunder\nrumbles about its summit, we may imagine it to be the voice of Giant\nAtlas, bellowing after Hercules!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE POMEGRANATE SEEDS\n\n\nMother Ceres was exceedingly fond of her daughter Proserpina, and seldom\nlet her go alone into the fields. But, just at the time when my story\nbegins, the good lady was very busy, because she had the care of the\nwheat, and the Indian corn, and the rye and barley, and, in short, of\nthe crops of every kind, all over the earth; and as the season had thus\nfar been uncommonly backward, it was necessary to make the harvest ripen\nmore speedily than usual. So she put on her turban, made of poppies (a\nkind of flower which she was always noted for wearing) and got into her\ncar drawn by a pair of winged dragons, and was just ready to set off.\n\n\"Dear mother,\" said Proserpina, \"I shall be very lonely while you are\naway. May I not run down to the shore, and ask some of the sea nymphs to\ncome up out of the waves and play with me?\"\n\n\"Yes, child,\" answered Mother Ceres. \"The sea nymphs are good creatures,\nand will never lead you into any harm. But you must take care not to\nstray away from them, nor go wandering about the fields by yourself.\nYoung girls, without their mothers to take care of them, are very apt to\nget into mischief.\"\n\nThe child promised to be as prudent as if she were a grown-up woman,\nand, by the time the winged dragons had whirled the car out of sight,\nshe was already on the shore, calling to the sea nymphs to come and\nplay with her. They knew Proserpina's voice, and were not long in\nshowing their glistening faces and sea-green hair above the water, at\nthe bottom of which was their home. They brought along with them a great\nmany beautiful shells; and, sitting down on the moist sand, where the\nsurf wave broke over them, they busied themselves in making a necklace,\nwhich they hung round Proserpina's neck. By way of showing her\ngratitude, the child besought them to go with her a little way into the\nfields, so that they might gather abundance of flowers, with which she\nwould make each of her kind playmates a wreath.\n\n\"Oh, no, dear Proserpina,\" cried the sea nymphs; \"we dare not go with\nyou upon the dry land. We are apt to grow faint, unless at every breath\nwe can snuff up the salt breeze of the ocean. And don't you see how\ncareful we are to let the surf wave break over us every moment or two,\nso as to keep ourselves comfortably moist? If it were not for that, we\nshould soon look like bunches of uprooted seaweed dried in the sun.\"\n\n\"It is a great pity,\" said Proserpina. \"But do you wait for me here, and\nI will run and gather my apron full of flowers, and be back again before\nthe surf wave has broken ten times over you. I long to make you some\nwreaths that shall be as lovely as this necklace of many-coloured\nshells.\"\n\n\"We will wait, then,\" answered the sea nymphs. \"But while you are gone,\nwe may as well lie down on a bank of soft sponge, under the water. The\nair to-day is a little too dry for our comfort. But we will pop up our\nheads every few minutes to see if you are coming.\"\n\nThe young Proserpina ran quickly to a spot where, only the day before,\nshe had seen a great many flowers. These, however, were now a little\npast their bloom; and wishing to give her friends the freshest and\nloveliest blossoms, she strayed farther into the fields, and found some\nthat made her scream with delight. Never had she met with such exquisite\nflowers before--violets, so large and fragrant--roses, with so rich and\ndelicate a blush--such superb hyacinths and such aromatic pinks--and\nmany others, some of which seemed to be of new shapes and colours. Two\nor three times, moreover, she could not help thinking that a tuft of\nmost splendid flowers had suddenly sprouted out of the earth before her\nvery eyes, as if on purpose to tempt her a few steps farther.\nProserpina's apron was soon filled and brimming over with delightful\nblossoms. She was on the point of turning back in order to rejoin the\nsea nymphs, and sit with them on the moist sands, all twining wreaths\ntogether. But, a little farther on, what should she behold? It was a\nlarge shrub, completely covered with the most magnificent flowers in the\nworld.\n\n\"The darlings!\" cried Proserpina; and then she thought to herself, \"I\nwas looking at that spot only a moment ago. How strange it is that I did\nnot see the flowers!\"\n\nThe nearer she approached the shrub, the more attractive it looked,\nuntil she came quite close to it; and then, although its beauty was\nricher than words can tell, she hardly knew whether to like it or not.\nIt bore above a hundred flowers of the most brilliant hues, and each\ndifferent from the others, but all having a kind of resemblance among\nthemselves, which showed them to be sister blossoms. But there was a\ndeep, glossy lustre on the leaves of the shrub, and on the petals of the\nflowers, that made Proserpina doubt whether they might not be\npoisonous. To tell you the truth, foolish as it may seem, she was half\ninclined to turn round and run away.\n\n\"What a silly child I am!\" thought she, taking courage. \"It is really\nthe most beautiful shrub that ever sprang out of the earth. I will pull\nit up by the roots, and carry it home, and plant it in my mother's\ngarden.\"\n\nHolding up her apron full of flowers with her left hand, Proserpina\nseized the large shrub with the other, and pulled and pulled, but was\nhardly able to loosen the soil about its roots. What a deep-rooted plant\nit was! Again the girl pulled with all her might, and observed that the\nearth began to stir and crack to some distance around the stem. She gave\nanother pull, but relaxed her hold, fancying that there was a rumbling\nsound right beneath her feet. Did the roots extend down into some\nenchanted cavern? Then, laughing at herself for so childish a notion,\nshe made another effort; up came the shrub, and Proserpina staggered\nback, holding the stem triumphantly in her hand, and gazing at the deep\nhole which its roots had left in the soil.\n\nMuch to her astonishment, this hole kept spreading wider and wider, and\ngrowing deeper and deeper, until it really seemed to have no bottom; and\nall the while, there came a rumbling noise out of its depths, louder and\nlouder, and nearer and nearer, and sounding like the tramp of horses'\nhoofs and the rattling of wheels. Too much frightened to run away, she\nstood straining her eyes into this wonderful cavity, and soon saw a team\nof four sable horses, snorting smoke out of their nostrils, and tearing\ntheir way out of the earth with a splendid golden chariot whirling at\ntheir heels. They leaped out of the bottomless hole, chariot and all;\nand there they were, tossing their black manes, flourishing their black\ntails, and curveting with every one of their hoofs off the ground at\nonce, close by the spot where Proserpina stood. In the chariot sat the\nfigure of a man, richly dressed, with a crown on his head, all flaming\nwith diamonds. He was of a noble aspect, and rather handsome, but looked\nsullen and discontented; and he kept rubbing his eyes and shading them\nwith his hand, as if he did not live enough in the sunshine to be very\nfond of its light.\n\nAs soon as this personage saw the affrighted Proserpina, he beckoned her\nto come a little nearer.\n\n\"Do not be afraid,\" said he, with as cheerful a smile as he knew how to\nput on. \"Come! Will not you like to ride a little way with me, in my\nbeautiful chariot?\"\n\nBut Proserpina was so alarmed that she wished for nothing but to get out\nof his reach. And no wonder. The stranger did not look remarkably\ngood-natured, in spite of his smile; and as for his voice, its tones\nwere deep and stern, and sounded as much like the rumbling of an\nearthquake under ground as anything else. As is always the case with\nchildren in trouble, Proserpina's first thought was to call for her\nmother.\n\n\"Mother, Mother Ceres!\" cried she, all in a tremble. \"Come quickly and\nsave me.\"\n\nBut her voice was too faint for her mother to hear. Indeed, it is most\nprobable that Ceres was then a thousand miles off, making the corn grow\nin some far-distant country. Nor could it have availed her poor\ndaughter, even had she been within hearing; for no sooner did Proserpina\nbegin to cry out than the stranger leaped to the ground, caught the\nchild in his arms, and again mounting the chariot, shook the reins, and\nshouted to the four black horses to set off. They immediately broke into\nso swift a gallop that it seemed rather like flying through the air\nthan running along the earth. In a moment, Proserpina lost sight of the\npleasant vale of Enna, in which she had always dwelt. Another instant,\nand even the summit of Mount \u00c6tna had become so blue in the distance\nthat she could scarcely distinguish it from the smoke that gushed out of\nits crater. But still the poor child screamed and scattered her apron\nfull of flowers along the way, and left a long cry trailing behind\nthe chariot; and many mothers, to whose ears it came, ran quickly to see\nif any mischief had befallen their children. But Mother Ceres was a\ngreat way off, and could not hear the cry.\n\nAs they rode on, the stranger did his best to soothe her.\n\n\"Why should you be so frightened, my pretty child?\" said he, trying to\nsoften his rough voice. \"I promise not to do you any harm. What! You\nhave been gathering flowers? Wait till we come to my palace, and I will\ngive you a garden full of prettier flowers than those, all made of\npearls, and diamonds, and rubies. Can you guess who I am? They call my\nname Pluto, and I am the king of diamonds and all other precious stones.\nEvery atom of the gold and silver that lies under the earth belongs to\nme, to say nothing of the copper and iron, and of the coal mines, which\nsupply me with abundance of fuel. Do you see this splendid crown upon my\nhead? You may have it for a plaything. Oh, we shall be very good\nfriends, and you will find me more agreeable than you expect, when once\nwe get out of this troublesome sunshine.\"\n\n\"Let me go home!\" cried Proserpina--\"let me go home!\"\n\n\"My home is better than your mother's,\" answered King Pluto. \"It is a\npalace, all made of gold, with crystal windows; and because there is\nlittle or no sunshine thereabouts, the apartments are illuminated with\ndiamond lamps. You never saw anything half so magnificent as my throne.\nIf you like, you may sit down on it, and be my little queen, and I will\nsit on the footstool.\"\n\n\"I don't care for golden palaces and thrones,\" sobbed Proserpina. \"Oh,\nmy mother, my mother! Carry me back to my mother!\"\n\nBut King Pluto, as he called himself, only shouted to his steeds to go\nfaster.\n\n\"Pray do not be foolish, Proserpina,\" said he, in rather a sullen tone,\n\"I offer you my palace and my crown, and all the riches that are under\nthe earth; and you treat me as if I were doing you an injury. The one\nthing which my palace needs is a merry little maid, to run up stairs and\ndown, and cheer up the rooms with her smile. And this is what you must\ndo for King Pluto.\"\n\n\"Never!\" answered Proserpina, looking as miserable as she could. \"I\nshall never smile again till you set me down at my mother's door.\"\n\nBut she might just as well have talked to the wind that whistled past\nthem; for Pluto urged on his horses, and went faster than ever.\nProserpina continued to cry out, and screamed so long and so loudly that\nher poor little voice was almost screamed away; and when it was nothing\nbut a whisper, she happened to cast her eyes over a great, broad field\nof waving grain--and whom do you think she saw? Whom but Mother Ceres,\nmaking the corn grow, and too busy to notice the golden chariot as it\nwent rattling along. The child mustered all her strength, and gave one\nmore scream, but was out of sight before Ceres had time to turn her\nhead.\n\nKing Pluto had taken a road which now began to grow excessively gloomy.\nIt was bordered on each side with rocks and precipices, between which\nthe rumbling of the chariot wheels was reverberated with a noise like\nrolling thunder. The trees and bushes that grew in the crevices of the\nrocks had very dismal foliage; and by and by, although it was hardly\nnoon, the air became obscured with a gray twilight. The black horses had\nrushed along so swiftly that they were already beyond the limits of the\nsunshine. But the duskier it grew, the more did Pluto's visage assume an\nair of satisfaction. After all, he was not an ill-looking person,\nespecially when he left off twisting his features into a smile that did\nnot belong to them. Proserpina peeped at his face through the gathering\ndusk, and hoped that he might not be so very wicked as she at first\nthought him.\n\n\"Ah, this twilight is truly refreshing,\" said King Pluto, \"after being\nso tormented with that ugly and impertinent glare of the sun. How much\nmore agreeable is lamp-light or torchlight, more particularly when\nreflected from diamonds! It will be a magnificent sight when we get to\nmy palace.\"\n\n\"Is it much farther?\" asked Proserpina. \"And will you carry me back when\nI have seen it?\"\n\n\"We will talk of that by and by,\" answered Pluto. \"We are just entering\nmy dominions. Do you see that tall gateway before us? When we pass those\ngates, we are at home. And there lies my faithful mastiff at the\nthreshold. Cerberus! Cerberus! Come hither, my good dog!\"\n\nSo saying, Pluto pulled at the reins, and stopped the chariot right\nbetween the tall, massive pillars of the gateway. The mastiff of which\nhe had spoken got up from the threshold and stood on his hinder legs, so\nas to put his fore paws on the chariot wheel. But, my stars, what a\nstrange dog it was! Why, he was a big, rough, ugly-looking monster, with\nthree separate heads, and each of them fiercer than the two others; but,\nfierce as they were, King Pluto patted them all. He seemed as fond of\nhis three-headed dog as if it had been a sweet little spaniel with\nsilken ears and curly hair. Cerberus, on the other hand, was evidently\nrejoiced to see his master, and expressed his attachment, as other dogs\ndo, by wagging his tail at a great rate. Proserpina's eyes being drawn\nto it by its brisk motion, she saw that this tail was neither more nor\nless than a live dragon, with fiery eyes, and fangs that had a very\npoisonous aspect. And while the three-headed Cerberus was fawning so\nlovingly on King Pluto, there was the dragon tail wagging against its\nwill, and looking as cross and ill-natured as you can imagine, on its\nown separate account.\n\n\"Will the dog bite me?\" asked Proserpina, shrinking closer to Pluto.\n\"What an ugly creature he is!\"\n\n\"Oh, never fear,\" answered her companion. \"He never harms people, unless\nthey try to enter my dominions without being sent for, or to get away\nwhen I wish to keep them here. Down, Cerberus! Now, my pretty\nProserpina, we will drive on.\"\n\nOn went the chariot, and King Pluto seemed greatly pleased to find\nhimself once more in his own kingdom. He drew Proserpina's attention to\nthe rich veins of gold that were to be seen among the rocks, and pointed\nto several places where one stroke of a pickaxe would loosen a bushel of\ndiamonds. All along the road, indeed, there were sparkling gems which\nwould have been of inestimable value above ground, but which were here\nreckoned of the meaner sort and hardly worth a beggar's stooping for.\n\nNot far from the gateway they came to a bridge which seemed to be built\nof iron, Pluto stopped the chariot, and bade Proserpina look at the\nstream which was gliding so lazily beneath it. Never in her life had she\nbeheld so torpid, so black, so muddy looking a stream: its waters\nreflected no images of anything that was on the banks, and it moved as\nsluggishly as if it had quite forgotten which way it ought to flow, and\nhad rather stagnate than flow either one way or the other.\n\n\"This is the river Lethe,\" observed King Pluto. \"Is it not a very\npleasant stream?\"\n\n\"I think it a very dismal one,\" said Proserpina.\n\n\"It suits my taste, however,\" answered Pluto, who was apt to be sullen\nwhen anybody disagreed with him. \"At all events, its water has one very\nexcellent quality; for a single draught of it makes people forget every\ncare and sorrow that has hitherto tormented them. Only sip a little of\nit, my dear Proserpina, and you will instantly cease to grieve for your\nmother, and will have nothing in your memory that can prevent your being\nperfectly happy in my palace. I will send for some, in a golden goblet,\nthe moment we arrive.\"\n\n\"Oh no, no, no!\" cried Proserpina, weeping afresh. \"I had a thousand\ntimes rather be miserable with remembering my mother, than be happy in\nforgetting her. That dear, dear mother! I never, never will forget her.\"\n\n\"We shall see,\" said King Pluto. \"You do not know what fine times we\nwill have in my palace. Here we are just at the portal. These pillars\nare solid gold, I assure you.\"\n\nHe alighted from the chariot, and taking Proserpina in his arms, carried\nher up a lofty flight of steps into the great hall of the palace. It\nwas splendidly illuminated by means of large precious stones of various\nhues, which seemed to burn like so many lamps and glowed with a\nhundred-fold radiance all through the vast apartment. And yet there was\na kind of gloom in the midst of this enchanted light; nor was there a\nsingle object in the hall that was really agreeable to behold, except\nthe little Proserpina herself, a lovely child, with one earthly flower\nwhich she had not let fall from her hand. It is my opinion that even\nKing Pluto had never been happy in his palace, and that this was the\ntrue reason why he had stolen away Proserpina, in order that he might\nhave something to love, instead of cheating his heart any longer with\nthis tiresome magnificence. And though he pretended to dislike the\nsunshine of the upper world, yet the effect of the child's presence,\nbedimmed as she was by her tears, was as if a faint and watery sunbeam\nhad somehow or other found its way into the enchanted hall.\n\nPluto now summoned his domestics, and bade them lose no time in\npreparing a most sumptuous banquet, and above all things not to fail of\nsetting a golden beaker of the water of Lethe by Proserpina's plate.\n\n\"I will neither drink that nor anything else,\" said Proserpina. \"Nor\nwill I taste a morsel of food, even if you keep me forever in your\npalace.\"\n\n\"I should be sorry for that,\" replied King Pluto, patting her cheek; for\nhe really wished to be kind, if he had only known how. \"You are a\nspoiled child, I perceive, my little Proserpina; but when you see the\nnice things which my cook will make for you, your appetite will quickly\ncome again.\"\n\nThen, sending for the head cook, he gave strict orders that all sorts\nof delicacies, such as young people are usually fond of, should be set\nbefore Proserpina. He had a secret motive in this; for, you are to\nunderstand, it is a fixed law that, when persons are carried off to the\nland of magic, if they once taste any food there, they can never get\nback to their friends. Now, if King Pluto had been cunning enough to\noffer Proserpina some fruit, or bread and milk (which was the simple\nfare to which the child had always been accustomed), it is very probable\nthat she would soon have been tempted to eat it. But he left the matter\nentirely to his cook, who, like all other cooks, considered nothing fit\nto eat unless it were rich pastry, or highly seasoned meat, or spiced\nsweet cakes--things which Proserpina's mother had never given her, and\nthe smell of which quite took away her appetite, instead of sharpening\nit.\n\nBut my story must now clamber out of King Pluto's dominions, and see\nwhat Mother Ceres has been about since she was bereft of her daughter.\nWe had a glimpse of her, as you remember, half hidden among the waving\ngrain, while the four black steeds were swiftly whirling along the\nchariot in which her beloved Proserpina was so unwillingly borne away.\nYou recollect, too, the loud scream which Proserpina gave, just when the\nchariot was out of sight.\n\nOf all the child's outcries, this last shriek was the only one that\nreached the ears of Mother Ceres. She had mistaken the rumbling of the\nchariot wheels for a peal of thunder, and imagined that a shower was\ncoming up, and that it would assist her in making the corn grow. But, at\nthe sound of Proserpina's shriek, she started, and looked about in every\ndirection, not knowing whence it came, but feeling almost certain that\nit was her daughter's voice. It seemed so unaccountable, however, that\nthe girl should have strayed over so many lands and seas (which she\nherself could not have traversed without the aid of her winged dragons),\nthat the good Ceres tried to believe that it must be the child of some\nother parent, and not her own darling Proserpina who had uttered this\nlamentable cry. Nevertheless, it troubled her with a vast many tender\nfears, such as are ready to bestir themselves in every mother's heart,\nwhen she finds it necessary to go away from her dear children without\nleaving them under the care of some maiden aunt, or other such faithful\nguardian. So she quickly left the field in which she had been so busy;\nand, as her work was not half done, the grain looked, next day, as if it\nneeded both sun and rain, and as if it were blighted in the ear and had\nsomething the matter with its roots.\n\nThe pair of dragons must have had very nimble wings; for, in less than\nan hour, Mother Ceres had alighted at the door of her home and found it\nempty. Knowing, however, that the child was fond of sporting on the\nseashore, she hastened thither as fast as she could, and there beheld\nthe wet faces of the poor sea nymphs peeping over a wave. All this\nwhile, the good creatures had been waiting on the bank of sponge, and,\nonce every half-minute or so, had popped up their four heads above\nwater, to see if their playmate were yet coming back. When they saw\nMother Ceres, they sat down on the crest of the surf wave, and let it\ntoss them ashore at her feet.\n\n\"Where is Proserpina?\" cried Ceres. \"Where is my child? Tell me, you\nnaughty sea nymphs, have you enticed her under the sea?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, good Mother Ceres,\" said the innocent sea nymphs, tossing back\ntheir green ringlets and looking her in the face. \"We never should dream\nof such a thing. Proserpina has been at play with us, it is true; but\nshe left us a long while ago, meaning only to run a little way upon the\ndry land and gather some flowers for a wreath. This was early in the\nday, and we have seen nothing of her since.\"\n\nCeres scarcely waited to hear what the nymphs had to say before she\nhurried off to make inquiries all through the neighbourhood. But nobody\ntold her anything that could enable the poor mother to guess what had\nbecome of Proserpina. A fisherman, it is true, had noticed her little\nfootprints in the sand, as he went homeward along the beach with a\nbasket of fish; a rustic had seen the child stooping to gather flowers;\nseveral persons had heard either the rattling of chariot wheels or the\nrumbling of distant thunder; and one old woman, while plucking vervain\nand catnip, had heard a scream, but supposed it to be some childish\nnonsense, and therefore did not take the trouble to look up. The stupid\npeople! It took them such a tedious while to tell the nothing that they\nknew, that it was dark night before Mother Ceres found out that she must\nseek her daughter elsewhere. So she lighted a torch, and set forth,\nresolving never to come back until Proserpina was discovered.\n\nIn her haste and trouble of mind, she quite forgot her car and the\nwinged dragons; or, it may be, she thought that she could follow up the\nsearch more thoroughly on foot. At all events, this was the way in which\nshe began her sorrowful journey, holding her torch before her, and\nlooking carefully at every object along the path. And as it happened,\nshe had not gone far before she found one of the magnificent flowers\nwhich grew on the shrub that Proserpina had pulled up.\n\n\"Ha!\" thought Mother Ceres, examining it by torchlight. \"Here is\nmischief in this flower! The earth did not produce it by any help of\nmine, nor of its own accord. It is the work of enchantment, and is\ntherefore poisonous; and perhaps it has poisoned my poor child.\"\n\nBut she put the poisonous flower in her bosom, not knowing whether she\nmight ever find any other memorial of Proserpina.\n\nAll night long, at the door of every cottage and farmhouse, Ceres\nknocked and called up the weary labourers to inquire if they had seen\nher child; and they stood, gaping and half asleep, at the threshold, and\nanswered her pityingly, and besought her to come in and rest. At the\nportal of every palace, too, she made so loud a summons that the menials\nhurried to throw open the gate, thinking that it must be some great king\nor queen, who would demand a banquet for supper and a stately chamber to\nrepose in. And when they saw only a sad and anxious woman, with a torch\nin her hand and a wreath of withered poppies on her head, they spoke\nrudely, and sometimes threatened to set the dogs upon her. But nobody\nhad seen Proserpina, nor could give Mother Ceres the least hint which\nway to seek her. Thus passed the night; and still she continued her\nsearch without sitting down to rest, or stopping to take food, or even\nremembering to put out the torch; although first the rosy dawn, and then\nthe glad light of the morning sun, made its red flame look thin and\npale. But I wonder what sort of stuff this torch was made of; for it\nburned dimly through the day, and, at night, was as bright as ever, and\nnever was extinguished by the rain or wind in all the weary days and\nnights while Ceres was seeking for Proserpina.\n\nIt was not merely of human beings that she asked tidings of her\ndaughter. In the woods and by the streams she met creatures of another\nnature, who used, in those old times, to haunt the pleasant and solitary\nplaces, and were very sociable with persons who understood their\nlanguage and customs, as Mother Ceres did. Sometimes, for instance, she\ntapped with her finger against the knotted trunk of a majestic oak; and\nimmediately its rude bark would cleave asunder, and forth would step a\nbeautiful maiden, who was the hamadryad of the oak, dwelling inside of\nit, and sharing its long life, and rejoicing when its green leaves\nsported with the breeze. But not one of these leafy damsels had seen\nProserpina. Then, going a little farther, Ceres would, perhaps, come to\na fountain gushing out of a pebbly hollow in the earth, and would dabble\nwith her hand in the water. Behold, up through its sandy and pebbly bed,\nalong with the fountain's gush, a young woman with dripping hair would\narise, and stand gazing at Mother Ceres, half out of the water, and\nundulating up and down with its ever-restless motion. But when the\nmother asked whether her poor lost child had stopped to drink out of the\nfountain, the naiad, with weeping eyes (for these water nymphs had tears\nto spare for everybody's grief), would answer, \"No!\" in a murmuring\nvoice, which was just like the murmur of the stream.\n\nOften, likewise, she encountered fauns, who looked like sunburnt country\npeople, except that they had hairy ears, and little horns upon their\nforeheads, and the hinder legs of goats, on which they gambolled merrily\nabout the woods and fields. They were a frolicsome kind of creature,\nbut grew as sad as their cheerful dispositions would allow when Ceres\ninquired for her daughter, and they had no good news to tell. But\nsometimes she came suddenly upon a rude gang of satyrs, who had faces\nlike monkeys and horses' tails behind them, and who were generally\ndancing in a very boisterous manner, with shouts of noisy laughter. When\nshe stopped to question them, they would only laugh the louder and make\nnew merriment out of the lone woman's distress. How unkind of those ugly\nsatyrs! And once, while crossing a solitary sheep pasture, she saw a\npersonage named Pan, seated at the foot of a tall rock and making music\non a shepherd's flute. He, too, had horns, and hairy ears, and goat's\nfeet; but, being acquainted with Mother Ceres, he answered her question\nas civilly as he knew how, and invited her to taste some milk and honey\nout of a wooden bowl. But neither could Pan tell her what had become of\nProserpina, any better than the rest of these wild people.\n\nAnd thus Mother Ceres went wandering about for nine long days and\nnights, finding no trace of Proserpina, unless it were now and then a\nwithered flower; and these she picked up and put in her bosom, because\nshe fancied that they might have fallen from her poor child's hand. All\nday she travelled onward through the hot sun; and at night, again, the\nflame of the torch would redden and gleam along the pathway, and she\ncontinued her search by its light, without ever sitting down to rest.\n\nOn the tenth day, she chanced to espy the mouth of a cavern, within\nwhich (though it was bright noon everywhere else) there would have been\nonly a dusky twilight; but it so happened that a torch was burning\nthere. It flickered, and struggled with the duskiness, but could not\nhalf light up the gloomy cavern with all its melancholy glimmer. Ceres\nwas resolved to leave no spot without a search; so she peeped into the\nentrance of the cave, and lighted it up a little more by holding her own\ntorch before her. In so doing, she caught a glimpse of what seemed to be\na woman, sitting on the brown leaves of the last autumn, a great heap of\nwhich had been swept into the cave by the wind. This woman (if woman it\nwere) was by no means so beautiful as many of her sex; for her head,\nthey tell me, was shaped very much like a dog's, and, by way of\nornament, she wore a wreath of snakes around it. But Mother Ceres, the\nmoment she saw her, knew that this was an odd kind of a person, who put\nall her enjoyment in being miserable, and never would have a word to say\nto other people, unless they were as melancholy and wretched as she\nherself delighted to be.\n\n\"I am wretched enough now,\" thought poor Ceres, \"to talk with this\nmelancholy Hecate, were she ten times sadder than ever she was yet.\"\n\nSo she stepped into the cave, and sat down on the withered leaves by the\ndog-headed woman's side. In all the world, since her daughter's loss,\nshe had found no other companion.\n\n\"O Hecate,\" said she, \"if ever you lose a daughter, you will know what\nsorrow is. Tell me, for pity's sake, have you seen my poor child\nProserpina pass by the mouth of your cavern?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Hecate, in a cracked voice, and sighing betwixt every\nword or two--\"no, Mother Ceres, I have seen nothing of your daughter.\nBut my ears, you must know, are made in such a way that all cries of\ndistress and affright, all over the world, are pretty sure to find\ntheir way to them; and nine days ago, as I sat in my cave, making myself\nvery miserable, I heard the voice of a young girl shrieking as if in\ngreat distress. Something terrible has happened to the child, you may\nrest assured. As well as I could judge, a dragon, or some other cruel\nmonster, was carrying her away.\"\n\n\"You kill me by saying so,\" cried Ceres, almost ready to faint. \"Where\nwas the sound, and which way did it seem to go?\"\n\n\"It passed very swiftly along,\" said Hecate, \"and, at the same time,\nthere was a heavy rumbling of wheels toward the eastward. I can tell you\nnothing more, except that, in my honest opinion, you will never see your\ndaughter again. The best advice I can give you is to take up your abode\nin this cavern, where we will be the two most wretched women in the\nworld.\"\n\n\"Not yet, dark Hecate,\" replied Ceres. \"But do you first come with your\ntorch, and help me to seek for my lost child. And when there shall be no\nmore hope of finding her (if that black day is ordained to come), then,\nif you will give me room to fling myself down, either on these withered\nleaves or on the naked rock, I will show you what it is to be miserable.\nBut, until I know that she has perished from the face of the earth, I\nwill not allow myself space even to grieve.\"\n\nThe dismal Hecate did not much like the idea of going abroad into the\nsunny world. But then she reflected that the sorrow of the disconsolate\nCeres would be like a gloomy twilight round about them both, let the sun\nshine ever so brightly, and that therefore she might enjoy her bad\nspirits quite as well as if she were to stay in the cave. So she finally\nconsented to go, and they set out together, both carrying torches,\nalthough it was broad daylight and clear sunshine. The torchlight\nseemed to make a gloom; so that the people whom they met along the road\ncould not very distinctly see their figures; and, indeed, if they once\ncaught a glimpse of Hecate, with the wreath of snakes round her\nforehead, they generally thought it prudent to run away without waiting\nfor a second glance.\n\nAs the pair travelled along in this woebegone manner, a thought struck\nCeres.\n\n\"There is one person,\" she exclaimed, \"who must have seen my poor child,\nand can doubtless tell what has become of her. Why did not I think of\nhim before? It is Ph\u0153bus.\"\n\n\"What,\" said Hecate, \"the young man that always sits in the sunshine?\nOh, pray do not think of going near him. He is a gay, light, frivolous\nyoung fellow, and will only smile in your face. And besides, there is\nsuch a glare of the sun about him that he will quite blind my poor eyes,\nwhich I have almost wept away already.\"\n\n\"You have promised to be my companion,\" answered Ceres. \"Come, let us\nmake haste, or the sunshine will be gone, and Ph\u0153bus along with it.\"\n\nAccordingly, they went along in quest of Ph\u0153bus, both of them sighing\ngrievously, and Hecate, to say the truth, making a great deal worse\nlamentation than Ceres; for all the pleasure she had, you know, lay in\nbeing miserable, and therefore she made the most of it. By and by, after\na pretty long journey, they arrived at the sunniest spot in the whole\nworld. There they beheld a beautiful young man, with long, curling\nringlets, which seemed to be made of golden sunbeams; his garments were\nlike light summer clouds; and the expression of his face was so\nexceedingly vivid that Hecate held her hands before her eyes, muttering\nthat he ought to wear a black veil. Ph\u0153bus (for this was the very\nperson whom they were seeking) had a lyre in his hands, and was making\nits chords tremble with sweet music; at the same time singing a most\nexquisite song, which he had recently composed. For, besides a great\nmany other accomplishments, this young man was renowned for his\nadmirable poetry.\n\nAs Ceres and her dismal companion approached him, Ph\u0153bus smiled on\nthem so cheerfully that Hecate's wreath of snakes gave a spiteful hiss,\nand Hecate heartily wished herself back in her cave. But as for Ceres,\nshe was too earnest in her grief either to know or care whether\nPh\u0153bus smiled or frowned.\n\n\"Ph\u0153bus!\" exclaimed she, \"I am in great trouble, and have come to you\nfor assistance. Can you tell me what has become of my dear child\nProserpina?\"\n\n\"Proserpina! Proserpina, did you call her name?\" answered Ph\u0153bus,\nendeavouring to recollect; for there was such a continual flow of\npleasant ideas in his mind that he was apt to forget what had happened\nno longer ago than yesterday. \"Ah, yes, I remember her now. A very\nlovely child, indeed. I am happy to tell you, my dear madam, that I did\nsee the little Proserpina not many days ago. You may make yourself\nperfectly easy about her. She is safe, and in excellent hands.\"\n\n\"Oh, where is my dear child?\" cried Ceres, clasping her hands and\nflinging herself at his feet.\n\n\"Why,\" said Ph\u0153bus--and as he spoke, he kept touching his lyre so as\nto make a thread of music run in and out among his words--\"as the little\ndamsel was gathering flowers (and she has really a very exquisite taste\nfor flowers) she was suddenly snatched up by King Pluto and carried off\nto his dominions. I have never been in that part of the universe; but\nthe royal palace, I am told, is built in a very noble style of\narchitecture, and of the most splendid and costly materials. Gold,\ndiamonds, pearls, and all manner of precious stones will be your\ndaughter's ordinary playthings. I recommend to you, my dear lady, to\ngive yourself no uneasiness. Proserpina's sense of beauty will be duly\ngratified, and, even in spite of the lack of sunshine, she will lead a\nvery enviable life.\"\n\n\"Hush! Say not such a word!\" answered Ceres, indignantly. \"What is there\nto gratify her heart? What are all the splendours you speak of, without\naffection? I must have her back again. Will you go with me, Ph\u0153bus,\nto demand my daughter of this wicked Pluto?\"\n\n\"Pray excuse me,\" replied Ph\u0153bus, with an elegant obeisance. \"I\ncertainly wish you success, and regret that my own affairs are so\nimmediately pressing that I cannot have the pleasure of attending you.\nBesides, I am not upon the best of terms with King Pluto. To tell you\nthe truth, his three-headed mastiff would never let me pass the gateway;\nfor I should be compelled to take a sheaf of sunbeams along with me, and\nthose, you know, are forbidden things in Pluto's kingdom.\"\n\n\"Ah, Ph\u0153bus,\" said Ceres, with bitter meaning in her words, \"you have\na harp instead of a heart. Farewell.\"\n\n\"Will not you stay a moment,\" asked Ph\u0153bus, \"and hear me turn the\npretty and touching story of Proserpina into extemporary verses?\"\n\nBut Ceres shook her head, and hastened away, along with Hecate.\nPh\u0153bus (who, as I have told you, was an exquisite poet) forthwith\nbegan to make an ode about the poor mother's grief; and, if we were to\njudge of his sensibility by this beautiful production, he must have\nbeen endowed with a very tender heart. But when a poet gets into the\nhabit of using his heartstrings to make chords for his lyre, he may\nthrum upon them as much as he will, without any great pain to himself.\nAccordingly, though Ph\u0153bus sang a very sad song, he was as merry all\nthe while as were the sunbeams amid which he dwelt.\n\nPoor Mother Ceres had now found out what had become of her daughter, but\nwas not a whit happier than before. Her case, on the contrary, looked\nmore desperate than ever. As long as Proserpina was above ground there\nmight have been hopes of regaining her. But now, that the poor child was\nshut up within the iron gates of the king of the mines, at the threshold\nof which lay the three-headed Cerberus, there seemed no possibility of\nher ever making her escape. The dismal Hecate, who loved to take the\ndarkest view of things, told Ceres that she had better come with her to\nthe cavern, and spend the rest of her life in being miserable. Ceres\nanswered that Hecate was welcome to go back thither herself, but that,\nfor her part, she would wander about the earth in quest of the entrance\nto King Pluto's dominions. And Hecate took her at her word, and hurried\nback to her beloved cave, frightening a great many little children with\na glimpse of her dog's face as she went.\n\nPoor Mother Ceres! It is melancholy to think of her, pursuing her\ntoilsome way all alone, and holding up that never-dying torch, the flame\nof which seemed an emblem of the grief and hope that burned together in\nher heart. So much did she suffer that, though her aspect had been quite\nyouthful when her troubles began, she grew to look like an elderly\nperson in a very brief time. She cared not how she was dressed, nor had\nshe ever thought of flinging away the wreath of withered poppies which\nshe put on the very morning of Proserpina's disappearance. She roamed\nabout in so wild a way, and with her hair so dishevelled, that people\ntook her for some distracted creature, and never dreamed that this was\nMother Ceres, who had the oversight of every seed which the husband-man\nplanted. Nowadays, however, she gave herself no trouble about seed time\nnor harvest, but left the farmers to take care of their own affairs, and\nthe crops to fade or flourish, as the case might be. There was nothing,\nnow, in which Ceres seemed to feel an interest, unless when she saw\nchildren at play, or gathering flowers along the wayside. Then, indeed,\nshe would stand and gaze at them with tears in her eyes. The children,\ntoo, appeared to have a sympathy with her grief, and would cluster\nthemselves in a little group about her knees, and look up wistfully in\nher face; and Ceres, after giving them a kiss all round, would lead them\nto their homes, and advise their mothers never to let them stray out of\nsight.\n\n\"For if they do,\" said she, \"it may happen to you, as it has to me, that\nthe iron-hearted King Pluto will take a liking to your darlings, and\nsnatch them up in his chariot, and carry them away.\"\n\nOne day, during her pilgrimage in quest of the entrance to Pluto's\nkingdom, she came to the palace of King Celeus, who reigned at Eleusis.\nAscending a lofty flight of steps, she entered the portal, and found the\nroyal household in very great alarm about the queen's baby. The infant,\nit seems, was sickly (being troubled with its teeth, I suppose), and\nwould take no food, and was all the time moaning with pain. The\nqueen--her name was Metanira--was desirous of finding a nurse; and when\nshe beheld a woman of matronly aspect coming up the palace steps, she\nthought, in her own mind, that here was the very person whom she needed.\nSo Queen Metanira ran to the door, with the poor wailing baby in her\narms, and besought Ceres to take charge of it, or, at least, to tell her\nwhat would do it good.\n\n\"Will you trust the child entirely to me?\" asked Ceres.\n\n\"Yes, and gladly, too,\" answered the queen, \"if you will devote all your\ntime to him. For I can see that you have been a mother.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" said Ceres. \"I once had a child of my own. Well; I will\nbe the nurse of this poor, sickly boy. But beware, I warn you, that you\ndo not interfere with any kind of treatment which I may judge proper for\nhim. If you do so, the poor infant must suffer for his mother's folly.\"\n\nThen she kissed the child, and it seemed to do him good; for he smiled\nand nestled closely into her bosom.\n\nSo Mother Ceres set her torch in a corner (where it kept burning all the\nwhile), and took up her abode in the palace of King Celeus, as nurse to\nthe little Prince Demopho\u00f6n. She treated him as if he were her own\nchild, and allowed neither the king nor the queen to say whether he\nshould be bathed in warm or cold water, or what he should eat, or how\noften he should take the air, or when he should be put to bed. You would\nhardly believe me, if I were to tell how quickly the baby prince got rid\nof his ailments, and grew fat, and rosy, and strong, and how he had two\nrows of ivory teeth in less time than any other little fellow, before or\nsince. Instead of the palest, and wretchedest, and puniest imp in the\nworld (as his own mother confessed him to be when Ceres first took him\nin charge), he was now a strapping baby, crowing, laughing, kicking up\nhis heels, and rolling from one end of the room to the other. All the\ngood women of the neighbourhood crowded to the palace, and held up their\nhands, in unutterable amazement, at the beauty and wholesomeness of this\ndarling little prince. Their wonder was the greater, because he was\nnever seen to taste any food; not even so much as a cup of milk.\n\n\"Pray, nurse,\" the queen kept saying, \"how is it that you make the child\nthrive so?\"\n\n\"I was a mother once,\" Ceres always replied; \"and having nursed my own\nchild, I know what other children need.\"\n\nBut Queen Metanira, as was very natural, had a great curiosity to know\nprecisely what the nurse did to her child. One night, therefore, she hid\nherself in the chamber where Ceres and the little prince were accustomed\nto sleep. There was a fire in the chimney, and it had now crumbled into\ngreat coals and embers, which lay glowing on the hearth, with a blaze\nflickering up now and then, and flinging a warm and ruddy light upon the\nwalls. Ceres sat before the hearth with the child in her lap, and the\nfire-light making her shadow dance upon the ceiling overhead. She\nundressed the little prince, and bathed him all over with some fragrant\nliquid out of a vase. The next thing she did was to rake back the red\nembers, and make a hollow place among them, just where the backlog had\nbeen. At last, while the baby was crowing, and clapping its fat little\nhands, and laughing in the nurse's face (just as you may have seen your\nlittle brother or sister do before going into its warm bath), Ceres\nsuddenly laid him, all naked as he was, in the hollow among the red-hot\nembers. She then raked the ashes over him, and turned quietly away.\n\nYou may imagine, if you can, how Queen Metanira shrieked, thinking\nnothing less than that her dear child would be burned to a cinder. She\nburst forth from her hiding place, and running to the hearth, raked open\nthe fire, and snatched up poor little Prince Demopho\u00f6n out of his bed of\nlive coals, one of which he was griping in each of his fists. He\nimmediately set up a grievous cry, as babies are apt to do when rudely\nstartled out of a sound sleep. To the queen's astonishment and joy, she\ncould perceive no token of the child's being injured by the hot fire in\nwhich he had lain. She now turned to Mother Ceres, and asked her to\nexplain the mystery.\n\n\"Foolish woman,\" answered Ceres, \"did you not promise to intrust this\npoor infant entirely to me? You little know the mischief you have done\nhim. Had you left him to my care, he would have grown up like a child of\ncelestial birth, endowed with superhuman strength and intelligence, and\nwould have lived forever. Do you imagine that earthly children are to\nbecome immortal without being tempered to it in the fiercest heat of the\nfire? But you have ruined your own son. For though he will be a strong\nman and a hero in his day, yet, on account of your folly, he will grow\nold, and finally die, like the sons of other women. The weak tenderness\nof his mother has cost the poor boy an immortality. Farewell.\"\n\nSaying these words, she kissed the little Prince Demopho\u00f6n, and sighed\nto think what he had lost, and took her departure without heeding Queen\nMetanira, who entreated her to remain, and cover up the child among the\nhot embers as often as she pleased. Poor baby! He never slept so warmly\nagain.\n\nWhile she dwelt in the king's palace, Mother Ceres had been so\ncontinually occupied with taking care of the young prince that her\nheart was a little lightened of its grief for Proserpina. But now,\nhaving nothing else to busy herself about, she became just as wretched\nas before. At length, in her despair, she came to the dreadful\nresolution that not a stalk of grain, nor a blade of grass, not a\npotato, nor a turnip, nor any other vegetable that was good for man or\nbeast to eat, should be suffered to grow until her daughter were\nrestored. She even forbade the flowers to bloom, lest somebody's heart\nshould be cheered by their beauty.\n\nNow, as not so much as a head of asparagus ever presumed to poke itself\nout of the ground without the especial permission of Ceres, you may\nconceive what a terrible calamity had here fallen upon the earth. The\nhusbandmen ploughed and planted as usual; but there lay the rich black\nfurrows, all as barren as a desert of sand. The pastures looked as brown\nin the sweet month of June as ever they did in chill November. The rich\nman's broad acres and the cottager's small garden patch were equally\nblighted. Every little girl's flower bed showed nothing but dry stalks.\nThe old people shook their white heads, and said that the earth had\ngrown aged like themselves, and was no longer capable of wearing the\nwarm smile of summer on its face. It was really piteous to see the poor,\nstarving cattle and sheep, how they followed behind Ceres, lowing and\nbleating, as if their instinct taught them to expect help from her; and\neverybody that was acquainted with her power besought her to have mercy\non the human race, and, at all events, to let the grass grow. But Mother\nCeres, though naturally of an affectionate disposition, was now\ninexorable.\n\n\"Never,\" said she. \"If the earth is ever again to see any verdure, it\nmust first grow along the path which my daughter will tread in coming\nback to me.\"\n\nFinally, as there seemed to be no other remedy, our old friend\nQuicksilver was sent post haste to King Pluto, in hopes that he might be\npersuaded to undo the mischief he had done, and to set everything right\nagain by giving up Proserpina. Quicksilver accordingly made the best of\nhis way to the great gate, took a flying leap right over the\nthree-headed mastiff, and stood at the door of the palace in an\ninconceivably short time. The servants knew him both by his face and\ngarb; for his short cloak, and his winged cap and shoes, and his snaky\nstaff had often been seen thereabouts in times gone by. He requested to\nbe shown immediately into the king's presence; and Pluto, who heard his\nvoice from the top of the stairs, and who loved to recreate himself with\nQuicksilver's merry talk, called out to him to come up. And while they\nsettle their business together, we must inquire what Proserpina has been\ndoing ever since we saw her last.\n\nThe child had declared, as you may remember, that she would not taste a\nmouthful of food as long as she should be compelled to remain in King\nPluto's palace. How she contrived to maintain her resolution, and at the\nsame time to keep herself tolerably plump and rosy is more than I can\nexplain; but some young ladies, I am given to understand, possess the\nfaculty of living on air, and Proserpina seems to have possessed it too.\nAt any rate, it was now six months since she left the outside of the\nearth; and not a morsel, so far as the attendants were able to testify,\nhad yet passed between her teeth. This was the more creditable to\nProserpina, inasmuch as King Pluto had caused her to be tempted day\nafter day with all manner of sweetmeats, and richly preserved fruits,\nand delicacies of every sort, such as young people are generally most\nfond of. But her good mother had often told her of the hurtfulness of\nthese things; and for that reason alone, if there had been no other, she\nwould have resolutely refused to taste them.\n\nAll this time, being of a cheerful and active disposition, the little\ndamsel was not quite so unhappy as you may have supposed. The immense\npalace had a thousand rooms, and was full of beautiful and wonderful\nobjects. There was a never-ceasing gloom, it is true, which half hid\nitself among the innumerable pillars, gliding before the child as she\nwandered among them, and treading stealthily behind her in the echo of\nher footsteps. Neither was all the dazzle of the precious stones, which\nflamed with their own light, worth one gleam of natural sunshine; nor\ncould the most brilliant of the many-coloured gems, which Proserpina had\nfor playthings, vie with the simple beauty of the flowers she used to\ngather. But still, wherever the girl went, among those gilded halls and\nchambers, it seemed as if she carried nature and sunshine along with\nher, and as if she scattered dewy blossoms on her right hand and on her\nleft. After Proserpina came, the palace was no longer the same abode of\nstately artifice and dismal magnificence that it had before been. The\ninhabitants all felt this, and King Pluto more than any of them.\n\n\"My own little Proserpina,\" he used to say, \"I wish you could like me a\nlittle better. We gloomy and cloudy-natured persons have often as warm\nhearts at bottom as those of a more cheerful character. If you would\nonly stay with me of your own accord, it would make me happier than the\npossession of a hundred such palaces as this.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Proserpina, \"you should have tried to make me like you before\ncarrying me off. And the best thing you can do now is to let me go\nagain. Then I might remember you sometimes, and think that you were as\nkind as you knew how to be. Perhaps, too, one day or other, I might come\nback, and pay you a visit.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered Pluto, with his gloomy smile, \"I will not trust you\nfor that. You are too fond of living in the broad daylight, and\ngathering flowers. What an idle and childish taste that is! Are not\nthese gems, which I have ordered to be dug for you, and which are richer\nthan any in my crown--are they not prettier than a violet?\"\n\n\"Not half so pretty,\" said Proserpina, snatching the gems from Pluto's\nhand, and flinging them to the other end of the hall. \"Oh, my sweet\nviolets, shall I never see you again?\"\n\nAnd then she burst into tears. But young people's tears have very little\nsaltness or acidity in them, and do not inflame the eyes so much as\nthose of grown persons; so that it is not to be wondered at if, a few\nmoments afterward, Proserpina was sporting through the hall almost as\nmerrily as she and the four sea nymphs had sported along the edge of the\nsurf wave. King Pluto gazed after her, and wished that he, too, was a\nchild. And little Proserpina, when she turned about and beheld this\ngreat king standing in his splendid hall, and looking so grand, and so\nmelancholy, and so lonesome, was smitten with a kind of pity. She ran\nback to him, and, for the first time in all her life, put her small soft\nhand in his.\n\n\"I love you a little,\" whispered she, looking up in his face.\n\n\"Do you, indeed, my dear child?\" cried Pluto, bending his dark face down\nto kiss her; but Proserpina shrank away from the kiss, for though his\nfeatures were noble, they were very dusky and grim. \"Well, I have not\ndeserved it of you, after keeping you a prisoner for so many months, and\nstarving you, besides. Are you not terribly hungry? Is there nothing\nwhich I can get you to eat?\"\n\nIn asking this question, the king of the mines had a very cunning\npurpose; for, you will recollect, if Proserpina tasted a morsel of food\nin his dominions, she would never afterward be at liberty to quit them.\n\n\"No, indeed,\" said Proserpina. \"Your head cook is always baking, and\nstewing, and roasting, and rolling out paste, and contriving one dish or\nanother, which he imagines may be to my liking. But he might just as\nwell save himself the trouble, poor, fat little man that he is. I have\nno appetite for anything in the world, unless it were a slice of bread\nof my mother's own baking, or a little fruit out of her garden.\"\n\nWhen Pluto heard this, he began to see that he had mistaken the best\nmethod of tempting Proserpina to eat. The cook's made dishes and\nartificial dainties were not half so delicious in the good child's\nopinion as the simple fare to which Mother Ceres had accustomed her.\nWondering that he had never thought of it before, the king now sent one\nof his trusty attendants, with a large basket, to get some of the finest\nand juiciest pears, peaches and plums which could anywhere be found in\nthe upper world. Unfortunately, however, this was during the time when\nCeres had forbidden any fruits or vegetables to grow; and, after seeking\nall over the earth, King Pluto's servant found only a single\npomegranate, and that so dried up as to be not worth eating.\nNevertheless, since there was no better to be had, he brought this dry,\nold, withered pomegranate home to the palace, put it on a magnificent\ngolden salver, and carried it up to Proserpina. Now it happened,\ncuriously enough, that, just as the servant was bringing the pomegranate\ninto the back door of the palace, our friend Quicksilver had gone up the\nfront steps, on his errand to get Proserpina away from King Pluto.\n\nAs soon as Proserpina saw the pomegranate on the golden salver, she told\nthe servant he had better take it away again.\n\n\"I shall not touch it, I assure you,\" said she. \"If I were ever so\nhungry, I should never think of eating such a miserable, dry pomegranate\nas that.\"\n\n\"It is the only one in the world,\" said the servant. He set down the\ngolden salver, with the wizened pomegranate upon it, and left the room.\nWhen he was gone, Proserpina could not help coming close to the table,\nand looking at this poor specimen of dried fruit with a great deal of\neagerness; for, to say the truth, on seeing something that suited her\ntaste, she felt all the six months' appetite taking possession of her at\nonce. To be sure, it was a very wretched looking pomegranate, and seemed\nto have no more juice in it than an oyster shell. But there was no\nchoice of such things in King Pluto's palace. This was the first fruit\nshe had seen there, and the last she was ever likely to see; and unless\nshe ate it up immediately, it would grow drier than it already was, and\nbe wholly unfit to eat.\n\n\"At least, I may smell it,\" thought Proserpina.\n\nSo she took up the pomegranate, and applied it to her nose; and, somehow\nor other, being in such close neighbourhood to her mouth, the fruit\nfound its way into that little red cave. Dear me! what an everlasting\npity! Before Proserpina knew what she was about, her teeth had actually\nbitten it, of their own accord. Just as this fatal deed was done, the\ndoor of the apartment opened, and in came King Pluto, followed by\nQuicksilver, who had been urging him to let his little prisoner go. At\nthe first noise of their entrance, Proserpina withdrew the pomegranate\nfrom her mouth. But Quicksilver (whose eyes were very keen, and his wits\nthe sharpest that ever anybody had) perceived that the child was a\nlittle confused; and seeing the empty salver, he suspected that she had\nbeen taking a sly nibble of something or other. As for honest Pluto, he\nnever guessed at the secret.\n\n\"My little Proserpina,\" said the king, sitting down, and affectionately\ndrawing her between his knees, \"here is Quicksilver, who tells me that a\ngreat many misfortunes have befallen innocent people on account of my\ndetaining you in my dominions. To confess the truth, I myself had\nalready reflected that it was an unjustifiable act to take you away from\nyour good mother. But, then, you must consider, my dear child, that this\nvast palace is apt to be gloomy (although the precious stones certainly\nshine very bright), and that I am not of the most cheerful disposition,\nand that therefore it was a natural thing enough to seek for the society\nof some merrier creature than myself. I hoped you would take my crown\nfor a plaything, and me--ah, you laugh, naughty Proserpina--me, grim as\nI am, for a playmate. It was a silly expectation.\"\n\n\"Not so extremely silly,\" whispered Proserpina. \"You have really amused\nme very much, sometimes.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said King Pluto, rather dryly. \"But I can see, plainly\nenough, that you think my palace a dusky prison, and me the iron-hearted\nkeeper of it. And an iron heart I should surely have, if I could detain\nyou here any longer, my poor child, when it is now six months since you\ntasted food. I give you your liberty. Go with Quicksilver. Hasten home\nto your dear mother.\"\n\nNow, although you may not have supposed it, Proserpina found it\nimpossible to take leave of poor King Pluto without some regrets, and a\ngood deal of compunction for not telling him about the pomegranate. She\neven shed a tear or two, thinking how lonely and cheerless the great\npalace would seem to him, with all its ugly glare of artificial light,\nafter she herself--his one little ray of natural sunshine, whom he had\nstolen, to be sure, but only because he valued her so much--after she\nshould have departed. I know not how many kind things she might have\nsaid to the disconsolate king of the mines, had not Quicksilver hurried\nher away.\n\n\"Come along quickly,\" whispered he in her ear, \"or His Majesty may\nchange his royal mind. And take care, above all things, that you say\nnothing of what was brought you on the golden salver.\"\n\nIn a very short time they had passed the great gateway (leaving the\nthree-headed Cerberus barking, and yelping, and growling, with threefold\ndin, behind them), and emerged upon the surface of the earth. It was\ndelightful to behold, as Proserpina hastened along, how the path grew\nverdant behind and on either side of her. Wherever she set her blessed\nfoot, there was at once a dewy flower. The violets gushed up along the\nwayside. The grass and the grain began to sprout with tenfold vigour\nand luxuriance, to make up for the dreary months that had been wasted in\nbarrenness. The starved cattle immediately set to work grazing, after\ntheir long fast, and ate enormously all day, and got up at midnight to\neat more. But I can assure you it was a busy time of year with the\nfarmers, when they found the summer coming upon them with such a rush.\nNor must I forget to say that all the birds in the whole world hopped\nabout upon the newly blossoming trees, and sang together in a prodigious\necstasy of joy.\n\nMother Ceres had returned to her deserted home, and was sitting\ndisconsolately on the doorstep, with her torch burning in her hand. She\nhad been idly watching the flame for some moments past, when all at once\nit flickered and went out.\n\n\"What does this mean?\" thought she. \"It was an enchanted torch, and\nshould have kept burning till my child came back.\"\n\nLifting her eyes, she was surprised to see a sudden verdure flashing\nover the brown and barren fields, exactly as you may have observed a\ngolden hue gleaming far and wide across the landscape, from the just\nrisen sun.\n\n\"Does the earth disobey me?\" exclaimed Mother Ceres, indignantly. \"Does\nit presume to be green, when I have bidden it be barren, until my\ndaughter shall be restored to my arms?\"\n\n\"Then open your arms, dear mother,\" cried a well-known voice, \"and take\nyour little daughter into them.\"\n\nAnd Proserpina came running, and flung herself upon her mother's bosom.\nTheir mutual transport is not to be described. The grief of their\nseparation had caused both of them to shed a great many tears; and now\nthey shed a great many more, because their joy could not so well express\nitself in any other way.\n\nWhen their hearts had grown a little more quiet, Mother Ceres looked\nanxiously at Proserpina.\n\n\"My child,\" said she, \"did you taste any food while you were in King\nPluto's palace?\"\n\n\"Dearest mother,\" answered Proserpina, \"I will tell you the whole truth.\nUntil this very morning, not a morsel of food had passed my lips. But\nto-day, they brought me a pomegranate (a very dry one it was, and all\nshrivelled up, till there was little left of it but seeds and skin), and\nhaving seen no fruit for so long a time, and being faint with hunger, I\nwas tempted just to bite it. The instant I tasted it, King Pluto and\nQuicksilver came into the room. I had not swallowed a morsel; but--dear\nmother, I hope it was no harm--but six of the pomegranate seeds, I am\nafraid, remained in my mouth.\"\n\n\"Ah, unfortunate child, and miserable me!\" exclaimed Ceres. \"For each of\nthose six pomegranate seeds you must spend one month of every year in\nKing Pluto's palace. You are but half restored to your mother. Only six\nmonths with me, and six with that good-for-nothing King of Darkness!\"\n\n\"Do not speak so harshly of poor King Pluto,\" said Proserpina, kissing\nher mother. \"He has some very good qualities; and I really think I can\nbear to spend six months in his palace, if he will only let me spend the\nother six with you. He certainly did very wrong to carry me off; but\nthen, as he says, it was but a dismal sort of life for him, to live in\nthat great gloomy place, all alone; and it has made a wonderful change\nin his spirits to have a little girl to run up stairs and down. There\nis some comfort in making him so happy; and so, upon the whole, dearest\nmother, let us be thankful that he is not to keep me the whole year\nround.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE CHIM\u00c6RA\n\n\nOnce, in the old, old times (for all the strange things which I tell you\nabout happened long before anybody can remember), a fountain gushed out\nof a hillside, in the marvellous land of Greece. And, for aught I know,\nafter so many thousand years, it is still gushing out of the very\nselfsame spot. At any rate, there was the pleasant fountain, welling\nfreshly forth and sparkling adown the hillside, in the golden sunset,\nwhen a handsome young man named Bellerophon drew near its margin. In his\nhand he held a bridle, studded with brilliant gems, and adorned with a\ngolden bit. Seeing an old man, and another of middle age, and a little\nboy, near the fountain, and likewise a maiden, who was dipping up some\nof the water in a pitcher, he paused, and begged that he might refresh\nhimself with a draught.\n\n\"This is very delicious water,\" he said to the maiden as he rinsed and\nfilled her pitcher, after drinking out of it. \"Will you be kind enough\nto tell me whether the fountain has any name?\"\n\n\"Yes; it is called the Fountain of Pirene,\" answered the maiden; and\nthen she added, \"My grandmother has told me that this clear fountain was\nonce a beautiful woman; and when her son was killed by the arrows of the\nhuntress Diana, she melted all away into tears. And so the water, which\nyou find so cool and sweet, is the sorrow of that poor mother's heart!\"\n\n\"I should not have dreamed,\" observed the young stranger, \"that so clear\na well-spring, with its gush and gurgle, and its cheery dance out of the\nshade into the sunlight, had so much as one tear-drop in its bosom! And\nthis, then, is Pirene? I thank you, pretty maiden, for telling me its\nname. I have come from a far-away country to find this very spot.\"\n\nA middle-aged country fellow (he had driven his cow to drink out of the\nspring) stared hard at young Bellerophon, and at the handsome bridle\nwhich he carried in his hand.\n\n\"The watercourses must be getting low, friend, in your part of the\nworld,\" remarked he, \"if you come so far only to find the Fountain of\nPirene. But, pray, have you lost a horse? I see you carry the bridle in\nyour hand; and a very pretty one it is with that double row of bright\nstones upon it. If the horse was as fine as the bridle, you are much to\nbe pitied for losing him.\"\n\n\"I have lost no horse,\" said Bellerophon, with a smile. \"But I happen to\nbe seeking a very famous one, which, as wise people have informed me,\nmust be found hereabouts, if anywhere. Do you know whether the winged\nhorse Pegasus still haunts the Fountain of Pirene, as he used to do in\nyour forefathers' days?\"\n\nBut then the country fellow laughed.\n\nSome of you, my little friends, have probably heard that this Pegasus\nwas a snow-white steed, with beautiful silvery wings, who spent most of\nhis time on the summit of Mount Helicon. He was as wild, and as swift,\nand as buoyant, in his flight through the air, as any eagle that ever\nsoared into the clouds. There was nothing else like him in the world.\nHe had no mate; he never had been backed or bridled by a master; and,\nfor many a long year, he led a solitary and a happy life.\n\nOh, how fine a thing it is to be a winged horse! Sleeping at night, as\nhe did, on a lofty mountain-top, and passing the greater part of the day\nin the air, Pegasus seemed hardly to be a creature of the earth.\nWhenever he was seen, up very high above people's heads, with the\nsunshine on his silvery wings, you would have thought that he belonged\nto the sky, and that, skimming a little too low, he had got astray among\nour mists and vapours, and was seeking his way back again. It was very\npretty to behold him plunge into the fleecy bosom of a bright cloud, and\nbe lost in it, for a moment or two, and then break forth from the other\nside. Or, in a sullen rain storm, when there was a gray pavement of\nclouds over the whole sky, it would sometimes happen that the winged\nhorse descended right through it, and the glad light of the upper region\nwould gleam after him. In another instant, it is true, both Pegasus and\nthe pleasant light would be gone away together. But anyone that was\nfortunate enough to see this wondrous spectacle felt cheerful the whole\nday afterward, and as much longer as the storm lasted.\n\nIn the summer time, and in the beautifullest of weather, Pegasus often\nalighted on the solid earth, and, closing his silvery wings, would\ngallop over hill and dale for pastime, as fleetly as the wind. Oftener\nthan in any other place, he had been seen near the Fountain of Pirene,\ndrinking the delicious water, or rolling himself upon the soft grass of\nthe margin. Sometimes, too (but Pegasus was very dainty in his food), he\nwould crop a few of the clover blossoms that happened to be sweetest.\n\nTo the Fountain of Pirene, therefore, people's great-grandfathers had\nbeen in the habit of going (as long as they were youthful and retained\ntheir faith in winged horses), in hopes of getting a glimpse at the\nbeautiful Pegasus. But, of late years, he had been very seldom seen.\nIndeed, there were many of the country folks, dwelling within half an\nhour's walk of the fountain, who had never beheld Pegasus, and did not\nbelieve that there was any such creature in existence. The country\nfellow to whom Bellerophon was speaking chanced to be one of those\nincredulous persons.\n\nAnd that was the reason why he laughed.\n\n\"Pegasus, indeed!\" cried he, turning up his nose as high as such a flat\nnose could be turned up--\"Pegasus, indeed! A winged horse, truly! Why,\nfriend, are you in your senses? Of what use would wings be to a horse?\nCould he drag the plough so well, think you? To be sure, there might be\na little saving in the expense of shoes; but then, how would a man like\nto see his horse flying out of the stable window?--yes, or whisking him\nup above the clouds, when he only wanted to ride to mill? No, no! I\ndon't believe in Pegasus. There never was such a ridiculous kind of a\nhorse fowl made!\"\n\n\"I have some reason to think otherwise,\" said Bellerophon, quietly.\n\nAnd then he turned to an old, gray man, who was leaning on a staff, and\nlistening very attentively, with his head stretched forward and one hand\nat his ear, because, for the last twenty years, he had been getting\nrather deaf.\n\n\"And what say you, venerable sir?\" inquired he, \"In your younger days, I\nshould imagine, you must frequently have seen the winged steed!\"\n\n\"Ah, young stranger, my memory is very poor!\" said the aged man. \"When I\nwas a lad, if I remember rightly, I used to believe there was such a\nhorse, and so did everybody else. But, nowadays, I hardly know what to\nthink, and very seldom think about the winged horse at all. If I ever\nsaw the creature, it was a long, long while ago; and, to tell you the\ntruth, I doubt whether I ever did see him. One day, to be sure, when I\nwas quite a youth, I remember seeing some hoof tramps round about the\nbrink of the fountain. Pegasus might have made those hoof marks; and so\nmight some other horse.\"\n\n\"And have you never seen him, my fair maiden?\" asked Bellerophon of the\ngirl, who stood with the pitcher on her head, while this talk went on.\n\"You certainly could see Pegasus, if anybody can, for your eyes are very\nbright.\"\n\n\"Once I thought I saw him,\" replied the maiden, with a smile and a\nblush. \"It was either Pegasus or a large white bird, a very great way up\nin the air. And one other time, as I was coming to the fountain with my\npitcher, I heard a neigh. Oh, such a brisk and melodious neigh as that\nwas! My very heart leaped with delight at the sound. But it startled me,\nnevertheless; so that I ran home without filling my pitcher.\"\n\n\"That was truly a pity!\" said Bellerophon.\n\nAnd he turned to the child, whom I mentioned at the beginning of the\nstory, and who was gazing at him, as children are apt to gaze at\nstrangers, with his rosy mouth wide open.\n\n\"Well, my little fellow,\" cried Bellerophon, playfully pulling one of\nhis curls, \"I suppose you have often seen the winged horse.\"\n\n\"That I have,\" answered the child, very readily. \"I saw him yesterday,\nand many times before.\"\n\n\"You are a fine little man!\" said Bellerophon, drawing the child closer\nto him. \"Come, tell me all about it.\"\n\n\"Why,\" replied the child, \"I often come here to sail little boats in the\nfountain, and to gather pretty pebbles out of its basin. And sometimes,\nwhen I look down into the water, I see the image of the winged horse in\nthe picture of the sky that is there. I wish he would come down, and\ntake me on his back, and let me ride him up to the moon! But, if I so\nmuch as stir to look at him, he flies far away out of sight.\"\n\nAnd Bellerophon put his faith in the child, who had seen the image of\nPegasus in the water, and in the maiden, who had heard him neigh so\nmelodiously, rather than in the middle-aged clown, who believed only in\ncart horses, or in the old man who had forgotten the beautiful things of\nhis youth.\n\nTherefore, he haunted about the Fountain of Pirene for a great many days\nafterward. He kept continually on the watch, looking upward at the sky,\nor else down into the water, hoping forever that he should see either\nthe reflected image of the winged horse, or the marvellous reality. He\nheld the bridle, with its bright gems and golden bit, always ready in\nhis hand. The rustic people who dwelt in the neighbourhood, and drove\ntheir cattle to the fountain to drink, would often laugh at poor\nBellerophon, and sometimes take him pretty severely to task. They told\nhim that an able-bodied young man like himself ought to have better\nbusiness than to be wasting his time in such an idle pursuit. They\noffered to sell him a horse, if he wanted one; and when Bellerophon\ndeclined the purchase, they tried to drive a bargain with him for his\nfine bridle.\n\nEven the country boys thought him so very foolish that they used to have\na great deal of sport about him, and were rude enough not to care a fig,\nalthough Bellerophon saw and heard it. One little urchin, for example,\nwould play Pegasus, and cut the oddest imaginable capers, by way of\nflying; while one of his schoolfellows would scamper after him, holding\nforth a twist of bulrushes, which was intended to represent\nBellerophon's ornamental bridle. But the gentle child, who had seen the\npicture of Pegasus in the water, comforted the young stranger more than\nall the naughty boys could torment him. The dear little fellow, in his\nplay hours, often sat down beside him, and, without speaking a word,\nwould look down into the fountain and up toward the sky, with so\ninnocent a faith that Bellerophon could not help feeling encouraged.\n\nNow you will, perhaps, wish to be told why it was that Bellerophon had\nundertaken to catch the winged horse. And we shall find no better\nopportunity to speak about this matter than while he is waiting for\nPegasus to appear.\n\nIf I were to relate the whole of Bellerophon's previous adventures, they\nmight easily grow into a very long story. It will be quite enough to say\nthat, in a certain country of Asia, a terrible monster, called a\nChim\u00e6ra, had made its appearance, and was doing more mischief than could\nbe talked about between now and sunset. According to the best accounts\nwhich I have been able to obtain, this Chim\u00e6ra was nearly, if not quite,\nthe ugliest and most poisonous creature, and the strangest and\nunaccountablest, and the hardest to fight with, and the most difficult\nto run away from, that ever came out of the earth's inside. It had a\ntail like a boa-constrictor; its body was like I do not care what; and\nit had three separate heads, one of which was a lion's, the second a\ngoat's, and the third an abominably great snake's. And a hot blast of\nfire came flaming out of each of its three mouths! Being an earthly\nmonster, I doubt whether it had any wings; but, wings or no, it ran like\na goat and a lion, and wriggled along like a serpent, and thus contrived\nto make about as much speed as all the three together.\n\nOh, the mischief, and mischief, and mischief that this naughty creature\ndid! With its flaming breath, it could set a forest on fire, or burn up\na field of grain, or, for that matter, a village, with all its fences\nand houses. It laid waste the whole country round about, and used to eat\nup people and animals alive, and cook them afterward in the burning oven\nof its stomach. Mercy on us, little children, I hope neither you nor I\nwill ever happen to meet a Chim\u00e6ra!\n\nWhile the hateful beast (if a beast we can anywise call it) was doing\nall these horrible things, it so chanced that Bellerophon came to that\npart of the world, on a visit to the king. The king's name was Iobates,\nand Lycia was the country which he ruled over. Bellerophon was one of\nthe bravest youths in the world, and desired nothing so much as to do\nsome valiant and beneficent deed, such as would make all mankind admire\nand love him. In those days, the only way for a young man to distinguish\nhimself was by fighting battles, either with the enemies of his country,\nor with wicked giants, or with troublesome dragons, or with wild beasts,\nwhen he could find nothing more dangerous to encounter. King Iobates,\nperceiving the courage of his youthful visitor, proposed to him to go\nand fight the Chim\u00e6ra, which everybody else was afraid of, and which,\nunless it should be soon killed, was likely to convert Lycia into a\ndesert. Bellerophon hesitated not a moment, but assured the king that he\nwould either slay this dreaded Chim\u00e6ra, or perish in the attempt.\n\nBut, in the first place, as the monster was so prodigiously swift, he\nbethought himself that he should never win the victory by fighting on\nfoot. The wisest thing he could do, therefore, was to get the very best\nand fleetest horse that could anywhere be found. And what other horse in\nall the world was half so fleet as the marvellous horse Pegasus, who had\nwings as well as legs, and was even more active in the air than on the\nearth? To be sure, a great many people denied that there was any such\nhorse with wings, and said that the stories about him were all poetry\nand nonsense. But, wonderful as it appeared, Bellerophon believed that\nPegasus was a real steed, and hoped that he himself might be fortunate\nenough to find him; and, once fairly mounted on his back, he would be\nable to fight the Chim\u00e6ra at better advantage.\n\nAnd this was the purpose with which he had travelled from Lycia to\nGreece, and had brought the beautifully ornamented bridle in his hand.\nIt was an enchanted bridle. If he could only succeed in putting the\ngolden bit into the mouth of Pegasus, the winged horse would be\nsubmissive, and would own Bellerophon for his master, and fly\nwhithersoever he might choose to turn the rein.\n\nBut, indeed, it was a weary and anxious time, while Bellerophon waited\nand waited for Pegasus, in hopes that he would come and drink at the\nFountain of Pirene. He was afraid lest King Iobates should imagine that\nhe had fled from the Chim\u00e6ra. It pained him, too, to think how much\nmischief the monster was doing, while he himself, instead of righting\nwith it, was compelled to sit idly poring over the bright waters of\nPirene, as they gushed out of the sparkling sand. And as Pegasus came\nthither so seldom in these latter years, and scarcely alighted there\nmore than once in a lifetime, Bellerophon feared that he might grow an\nold man, and have no strength left in his arms nor courage in his heart,\nbefore the winged horse would appear. Oh, how heavily passes the time,\nwhile an adventurous youth is yearning to do his part in life, and to\ngather in the harvest of his renown! How hard a lesson it is to wait!\nOur life is brief, and how much of it is spent in teaching us only this!\n\nWell was it for Bellerophon that the gentle child had grown so fond of\nhim, and was never weary of keeping him company. Every morning the child\ngave him a new hope to put in his bosom, instead of yesterday's withered\none.\n\n\"Dear Bellerophon,\" he would cry, looking up hopefully into his face, \"I\nthink we shall see Pegasus to-day!\"\n\nAnd, at length, if it had not been for the little boy's unwavering\nfaith, Bellerophon would have given up all hope, and would have gone\nback to Lycia, and have done his best to slay the Chim\u00e6ra without the\nhelp of the winged horse. And in that case poor Bellerophon would at\nleast have been terribly scorched by the creature's breath, and would\nmost probably have been killed and devoured. Nobody should ever try to\nfight an earth-born Chim\u00e6ra, unless he can first get upon the back of an\na\u00ebrial steed.\n\nOne morning the child spoke to Bellerophon even more hopefully than\nusual.\n\n\"Dear, dear Bellerophon,\" cried he, \"I know not why it is, but I feel as\nif we should certainly see Pegasus to-day!\"\n\nAnd all that day he would not stir a step from Bellerophon's side; so\nthey ate a crust of bread together, and drank some of the water of the\nfountain. In the afternoon, there they sat, and Bellerophon had thrown\nhis arm around the child, who likewise had put one of his little hands\ninto Bellerophon's. The latter was lost in his own thoughts, and was\nfixing his eyes vacantly on the trunks of the trees that overshadowed\nthe fountain, and on the grapevines that clambered up among their\nbranches. But the gentle child was gazing down into the water; he was\ngrieved, for Bellerophon's sake, that the hope of another day should be\ndeceived, like so many before it; and two or three quiet tear-drops fell\nfrom his eyes, and mingled with what were said to be the many tears of\nPirene, when she wept for her slain children.\n\nBut, when he least thought of it, Bellerophon felt the pressure of the\nchild's little hand, and heard a soft, almost breathless, whisper.\n\n\"See there, dear Bellerophon! There is an image in the water!\"\n\nThe young man looked down into the dimpling mirror of the fountain, and\nsaw what he took to be the reflection of a bird which seemed to be\nflying at a great height in the air, with a gleam of sunshine on its\nsnowy or silvery wings.\n\n\"What a splendid bird it must be!\" said he. \"And how very large it\nlooks, though it must really be flying higher than the clouds!\"\n\n\"It makes me tremble!\" whispered the child. \"I am afraid to look up into\nthe air! It is very beautiful, and yet I dare only look at its image in\nthe water. Dear Bellerophon, do you not see that it is no bird? It is\nthe winged horse Pegasus!\"\n\nBellerophon's heart began to throb! He gazed keenly upward, but could\nnot see the winged creature, whether bird or horse; because, just then,\nit had plunged into the fleecy depths of a summer cloud. It was but a\nmoment, however, before the object reappeared, sinking lightly down out\nof the cloud, although still at a vast distance from the earth.\nBellerophon caught the child in his arms, and shrank back with him, so\nthat they were both hidden among the thick shrubbery which grew all\naround the fountain. Not that he was afraid of any harm, but he dreaded\nlest, if Pegasus caught a glimpse of them, he would fly far away, and\nalight in some inaccessible mountain-top. For it was really the winged\nhorse. After they had expected him so long, he was coming to quench his\nthirst with the water of Pirene.\n\nNearer and nearer came the a\u00ebrial wonder, flying in great circles, as\nyou may have seen a dove when about to alight. Downward came Pegasus, in\nthose wide, sweeping circles, which grew narrower, and narrower still,\nas he gradually approached the earth. The nigher the view of him, the\nmore beautiful he was, and the more marvellous the sweep of his silvery\nwings. At last, with so light a pressure as hardly to bend the grass\nabout the fountain, or imprint a hoof tramp in the sand of its margin,\nhe alighted, and, stooping his wild head, began to drink. He drew in the\nwater, with long and pleasant sighs, and tranquil pauses of enjoyment;\nand then another draught, and another, and another. For, nowhere in the\nworld, or up among the clouds, did Pegasus love any water as he loved\nthis of Pirene. And when his thirst was slaked, he cropped a few of the\nhoney blossoms of the clover, delicately tasting them, but not caring to\nmake a hearty meal, because the herbage just beneath the clouds, on the\nlofty sides of Mount Helicon, suited his palate better than this\nordinary grass.\n\nAfter thus drinking to his heart's content, and in his dainty fashion\ncondescending to take a little food, the winged horse began to caper to\nand fro, and dance as it were, out of mere idleness and sport. There\nnever was a more playful creature made than this very Pegasus. So there\nhe frisked, in a way that it delights me to think about, fluttering his\ngreat wings as lightly as ever did a linnet, and running little races,\nhalf on earth and half in air, and which I know not whether to call a\nflight or a gallop. When a creature is perfectly able to fly, he\nsometimes chooses to run, just for the pastime of the thing; and so did\nPegasus, although it cost him some little trouble to keep his hoofs so\nnear the ground. Bellerophon, meanwhile, holding the child's hand,\npeeped forth from the shrubbery, and thought that never was any sight so\nbeautiful as this, nor ever a horse's eyes so wild and spirited as those\nof Pegasus. It seemed a sin to think of bridling him and riding on his\nback.\n\nOnce or twice, Pegasus stopped, and snuffed the air, pricking up his\nears, tossing his head, and turning it on all sides, as if he partly\nsuspected some mischief or other. Seeing nothing, however, and hearing\nno sound, he soon began his antics again.\n\nAt length--not that he was weary, but only idle and luxurious--Pegasus\nfolded his wings, and lay down on the soft green turf. But, being too\nfull of a\u00ebrial life to remain quiet for many moments together, he soon\nrolled over on his back, with his four slender legs in the air. It was\nbeautiful to see him, this one solitary creature, whose mate had never\nbeen created, but who needed no companion, and, living a great many\nhundred years, was as happy as the centuries were long. The more he did\nsuch things as mortal horses are accustomed to do, the less earthly and\nthe more wonderful he seemed. Bellerophon and the child almost held\ntheir breaths, partly from a delightful awe, but still more because they\ndreaded lest the slightest stir or murmur should send him up, with the\nspeed of an arrow flight, into the farthest blue of the sky.\n\nFinally, when he had had enough of rolling over and over, Pegasus turned\nhimself about, and, indolently, like any other horse, put out his fore\nlegs, in order to rise from the ground; and Bellerophon, who had guessed\nthat he would do so, darted suddenly from the thicket, and leaped\nastride of his back.\n\nYes, there he sat, on the back of the winged horse!\n\nBut what a bound did Pegasus make, when, for the first time, he felt the\nweight of a mortal man upon his loins! A bound, indeed! Before he had\ntime to draw a breath Bellerophon found himself five hundred feet aloft,\nand still shooting upward, while the winged horse snorted and trembled\nwith terror and anger. Upward he went, up, up, up, until he plunged into\nthe cold misty bosom of a cloud, at which, only a little while before,\nBellerophon had been gazing, and fancying it a very pleasant spot. Then\nagain, out of the heart of the cloud, Pegasus shot down like a\nthunderbolt, as if he meant to dash both himself and his rider headlong\nagainst a rock. Then he went through about a thousand of the wildest\ncaprioles that had ever been performed either by a bird or a horse.\n\nI cannot tell you half that he did. He skimmed straight forward, and\nsideways, and backward. He reared himself erect, with his fore legs on a\nwreath of mist, and his hind legs on nothing at all. He flung out his\nheels behind, and put down his head between his legs, with his wings\npointing right upward. At about two miles' height above the earth, he\nturned a somerset, so that Bellerophon's heels were where his head\nshould have been, and he seemed to look down into the sky, instead of\nup. He twisted his head about, and, looking Bellerophon in the face,\nwith fire flashing from his eyes, made a terrible attempt to bite him.\nHe fluttered his pinions so wildly that one of the silver feathers was\nshaken out, and floating earthward, was picked up by the child, who kept\nit as long as he lived, in memory of Pegasus and Bellerophon.\n\nBut the latter (who, as you may judge, was as good a horseman as ever\ngalloped) had been watching his opportunity, and at last clapped the\ngolden bit of the enchanted bridle between the winged steed's jaws. No\nsooner was this done, than Pegasus became as manageable as if he had\ntaken food all his life out of Bellerophon's hand. To speak what I\nreally feel, it was almost a sadness to see so wild a creature grow\nsuddenly so tame. And Pegasus seemed to feel it so, likewise. He looked\nround to Bellerophon, with the tears in his beautiful eyes, instead of\nthe fire that so recently flashed from them. But when Bellerophon patted\nhis head, and spoke a few authoritative yet kind and soothing words,\nanother look came into the eyes of Pegasus; for he was glad at heart,\nafter so many lonely centuries, to have found a companion and a master.\n\nThus it always is with winged horses, and with all such wild and\nsolitary creatures. If you can catch and overcome them, it is the surest\nway to win their love.\n\nWhile Pegasus had been doing his utmost to shake Bellerophon off his\nback, he had flown a very long distance; and they had come within sight\nof a lofty mountain by the time the bit was in his mouth. Bellerophon\nhad seen this mountain before, and knew it to be Helicon, on the summit\nof which was the winged horse's abode. Thither (after looking gently\ninto his rider's face, as if to ask leave) Pegasus now flew, and,\nalighting, waited patiently until Bellerophon should please to dismount.\nThe young man, accordingly, leaped from his steed's back, but still held\nhim fast by the bridle. Meeting his eyes, however, he was so affected by\nthe gentleness of his aspect, and by the thought of the free life which\nPegasus had heretofore lived, that he could not bear to keep him a\nprisoner, if he really desired his liberty.\n\nObeying this generous impulse he slipped the enchanted bridle off the\nhead of Pegasus, and took the bit from his mouth.\n\n\"Leave me, Pegasus!\" said he. \"Either leave me, or love me.\"\n\nIn an instant, the winged horse shot almost out of sight, soaring upward\nfrom the summit of Mount Helicon. Being long after sunset, it was now\ntwilight on the mountain-top, and dusky evening over all the country\nround about. But Pegasus flew so high that he overtook the departed day,\nand was bathed in the upper radiance of the sun. Ascending higher and\nhigher, he looked like a bright speck, and, at last, could no longer be\nseen in the hollow waste of the sky. And Bellerophon was afraid that he\nshould never behold him more. But, while he was lamenting his own folly,\nthe bright speck reappeared, and drew nearer and nearer, until it\ndescended lower than the sunshine; and, behold, Pegasus had come back!\nAfter this trial there was no more fear of the winged horse's making his\nescape. He and Bellerophon were friends, and put loving faith in one\nanother.\n\nThat night they lay down and slept together, with Bellerophon's arm\nabout the neck of Pegasus, not as a caution, but for kindness. And they\nawoke at peep of day, and bade one another good-morning, each in his own\nlanguage.\n\nIn this manner, Bellerophon and the wondrous steed spent several days,\nand grew better acquainted and fonder of each other all the time. They\nwent on long a\u00ebrial journeys, and sometimes ascended so high that the\nearth looked hardly bigger than--the moon. They visited distant\ncountries, and amazed the inhabitants, who thought that the beautiful\nyoung man, on the back of the winged horse, must have come down out of\nthe sky. A thousand miles a day was no more than an easy space for the\nfleet Pegasus to pass over. Bellerophon was delighted with this kind of\nlife, and would have liked nothing better than to live always in the\nsame way, aloft in the clear atmosphere; for it was always sunny weather\nup there, however cheerless and rainy it might be in the lower region.\nBut he could not forget the horrible Chim\u00e6ra, which he had promised King\nIobates to slay. So, at last, when he had become well accustomed, to\nfeats of horsemanship in the air, and could manage Pegasus with the\nleast motion of his hand, and had taught him to obey his voice, he\ndetermined to attempt the performance of this perilous adventure.\n\nAt daybreak, therefore, as soon as he unclosed his eyes, he gently\npinched the winged horse's ear, in order to arouse him. Pegasus\nimmediately started from the ground, and pranced about a quarter of a\nmile aloft, and made a grand sweep around the mountain-top, by way of\nshowing that he was wide awake, and ready for any kind of an excursion.\nDuring the whole of this little flight, he uttered a loud, brisk, and\nmelodious neigh, and finally came down at Bellerophon's side, as lightly\nas ever you saw a sparrow hop upon a twig.\n\n\"Well done, dear Pegasus! well done, my sky-skimmer!\" cried\nBellerophon, fondly stroking the horse's neck. \"And now, my fleet and\nbeautiful friend, we must break our fast. To-day we are to fight the\nterrible Chim\u00e6ra.\"\n\nAs soon as they had eaten their morning meal, and drank some sparkling\nwater from a spring called Hippocrene, Pegasus held out his head, of his\nown accord, so that his master might put on the bridle. Then, with a\ngreat many playful leaps and airy caperings, he showed his impatience to\nbe gone; while Bellerophon was girding on his sword, and hanging his\nshield about his neck, and preparing himself for battle. When everything\nwas ready, the rider mounted, and (as was his custom, when going a long\ndistance) ascended five miles perpendicularly, so as the better to see\nwhither he was directing his course. He then turned the head of Pegasus\ntoward the east, and set out for Lycia. In their flight they overtook an\neagle, and came so nigh him, before he could get out of their way, that\nBellerophon might easily have caught him by the leg. Hastening onward at\nthis rate, it was still early in the forenoon when they beheld the lofty\nmountains of Lycia, with their deep and shaggy valleys. If Bellerophon\nhad been told truly, it was in one of those dismal valleys that the\nhideous Chim\u00e6ra had taken up its abode.\n\nBeing now so near their journey's end, the winged horse gradually\ndescended with his rider; and they took advantage of some clouds that\nwere floating over the mountain-tops, in order to conceal themselves.\nHovering on the upper surface of a cloud, and peeping over its edge,\nBellerophon had a pretty distinct view of the mountainous part of Lycia,\nand could look into all its shadowy vales at once. At first there\nappeared to be nothing remarkable. It was a wild, savage, and rocky\ntract of high and precipitous hills. In the more level part of the\ncountry, there were the ruins of houses that had been burnt, and, here\nand there, the carcasses of dead cattle, strewn about the pastures where\nthey had been feeding.\n\n\"The Chim\u00e6ra must have done this mischief,\" thought Bellerophon. \"But\nwhere can the monster be?\"\n\nAs I have already said, there was nothing remarkable to be detected, at\nfirst sight, in any of the valleys and dells that lay among the\nprecipitous heights of the mountains. Nothing at all; unless, indeed, it\nwere three spires of black smoke, which issued from what seemed to be\nthe mouth of a cavern, and clambered sullenly into the atmosphere.\nBefore reaching the mountain-top, these three black smoke wreaths\nmingled themselves into one. The cavern was almost directly beneath the\nwinged horse and his rider, at the distance of about a thousand feet.\nThe smoke, as it crept heavily upward, had an ugly, sulphurous, stifling\nscent, which caused Pegasus to snort and Bellerophon to sneeze. So\ndisagreeable was it to the marvellous steed (who was accustomed to\nbreathe only the purest air), that he waved his wings, and shot half a\nmile out of the range of this offensive vapour.\n\nBut, on looking behind him, Bellerophon saw something that induced him\nfirst to draw the bridle, and then to turn Pegasus about. He made a\nsign, which the winged horse understood, and sunk slowly through the\nair, until his hoofs were scarcely more than a man's height above the\nrocky bottom of the valley. In front, as far off as you could throw a\nstone, was the cavern's mouth, with the three smoke wreaths oozing out\nof it. And what else did Bellerophon behold there?\n\nThere seemed to be a heap of strange and terrible creatures curled up\nwithin the cavern. Their bodies lay so close together that Bellerophon\ncould not distinguish them apart; but, judging by their heads, one of\nthese creatures was a huge snake, the second a fierce lion, and the\nthird an ugly goat. The lion and the goat were asleep; the snake was\nbroad awake, and kept staring around him with a great pair of fiery\neyes. But--and this was the most wonderful part of the matter--the three\nspires of smoke evidently issued from the nostrils of these three heads!\nSo strange was the spectacle, that, though Bellerophon had been all\nalong expecting it, the truth did not immediately occur to him, that\nhere was the terrible three-headed Chim\u00e6ra. He had found out the\nChim\u00e6ra's cavern. The snake, the lion, and the goat, as he supposed them\nto be, were not three separate creatures, but one monster!\n\nThe wicked, hateful thing! Slumbering as two-thirds of it were, it still\nheld, in its abominable claws, the remnant of an unfortunate lamb--or\npossibly (but I hate to think so) it was a dear little boy--which its\nthree mouths had been gnawing, before two of them fell asleep!\n\nAll at once, Bellerophon started as from a dream, and knew it to be the\nChim\u00e6ra. Pegasus seemed to know it, at the same instant, and sent forth\na neigh that sounded like the call of a trumpet to battle. At this sound\nthe three heads reared themselves erect, and belched out great flashes\nof flame. Before Bellerophon had time to consider what to do next, the\nmonster flung itself out of the cavern and sprung straight toward him,\nwith its immense claws extended, and its snaky tail twisting itself\nvenomously behind. If Pegasus had not been as nimble as a bird, both he\nand his rider would have been overthrown by the Chim\u00e6ra's headlong rush,\nand thus the battle have been ended before it was well begun. But the\nwinged horse was not to be caught so. In the twinkling of an eye he was\nup aloft, half way to the clouds, snorting with anger. He shuddered,\ntoo, not with affright, but with utter disgust at the loathsomeness of\nthis poisonous thing with three heads.\n\nThe Chim\u00e6ra, on the other hand, raised itself up so as to stand\nabsolutely on the tip end of its tail, with its talons pawing fiercely\nin the air, and its three heads sputtering fire at Pegasus and his\nrider. My stars, how it roared, and hissed, and bellowed! Bellerophon,\nmeanwhile, was fitting his shield on his arm, and drawing his sword.\n\n\"Now, my beloved Pegasus,\" he whispered in the winged horse's ear, \"thou\nmust help me to slay this insufferable monster; or else thou shalt fly\nback to thy solitary mountain peak without thy friend Bellerophon. For\neither the Chim\u00e6ra dies, or its three mouths shall gnaw this head of\nmine, which has slumbered upon thy neck!\"\n\nPegasus whinnied, and, turning back his head, rubbed his nose tenderly\nagainst his rider's cheek. It was his way of telling him that, though he\nhad wings and was an immortal horse, yet he would perish, if it were\npossible for immortality to perish, rather than leave Bellerophon\nbehind.\n\n\"I thank you, Pegasus,\" answered Bellerophon. \"Now, then, let us make a\ndash at the monster!\"\n\nUttering these words, he shook the bridle; and Pegasus darted down\naslant, as swift as the flight of an arrow, right toward the Chim\u00e6ra's\nthreefold head, which, all this time, was poking itself as high as it\ncould into the air. As he came within arm's length, Bellerophon made a\ncut at the monster, but was carried onward by his steed, before he could\nsee whether the blow had been successful. Pegasus continued his course,\nbut soon wheeled round, at about the same distance from the Chim\u00e6ra as\nbefore. Bellerophon then perceived that he had cut the goat's head of\nthe monster almost off, so that it dangled downward by the skin, and\nseemed quite dead.\n\nBut, to make amends, the snake's head and the lion's head had taken all\nthe fierceness of the dead one into themselves, and spit flame, and\nhissed, and roared, with a vast deal more fury than before.\n\n\"Never mind, my brave Pegasus!\" cried Bellerophon. \"With another stroke\nlike that, we will stop either its hissing or its roaring.\"\n\nAnd again he shook the bridle. Dashing aslantwise, as before, the winged\nhorse made another arrow-flight toward the Chim\u00e6ra, and Bellerophon\naimed another downright stroke at one of the two remaining heads, as he\nshot by. But this time, neither he nor Pegasus escaped so well as at\nfirst. With one of its claws, the Chim\u00e6ra had given the young man a deep\nscratch in his shoulder, and had slightly damaged the left wing of the\nflying steed with the other. On his part, Bellerophon had mortally\nwounded the lion's head of the monster, insomuch that it now hung\ndownward, with its fire almost extinguished, and sending out gasps of\nthick black smoke. The snake's head, however (which was the only one now\nleft), was twice as fierce and venomous as ever before. It belched forth\nshoots of fire five hundred yards long, and emitted hisses so loud, so\nharsh, and so ear-piercing, that King Iobates heard them, fifty miles\noff, and trembled till the throne shook under him.\n\n\"Well-a-day!\" thought the poor king; \"the Chim\u00e6ra is certainly coming to\ndevour me!\"\n\nMeanwhile Pegasus had again paused in the air, and neighed angrily,\nwhile sparkles of a pure crystal flame darted out of his eyes. How\nunlike the lurid fire of the Chim\u00e6ra! The a\u00ebrial steed's spirit was all\naroused, and so was that of Bellerophon.\n\n\"Dost thou bleed, my immortal horse?\" cried the young man, caring less\nfor his own hurt than for the anguish of this glorious creature, that\nought never to have tasted pain. \"The execrable Chim\u00e6ra shall pay for\nthis mischief with his last head!\"\n\nThen he shook the bridle, shouted loudly, and guided Pegasus, not\naslantwise as before, but straight at the monster's hideous front. So\nrapid was the onset that it seemed but a dazzle and a flash before\nBellerophon was at close grips with his enemy.\n\nThe Chim\u00e6ra, by this time, after losing its second head, had got into a\nred-hot passion of pain and rampant rage. It so flounced about, half on\nearth and partly in the air, that it was impossible to say which element\nit rested upon. It opened its snake jaws to such an abominable width,\nthat Pegasus might almost, I was going to say, have flown right down its\nthroat, wings outspread, rider and all! At their approach it shot out a\ntremendous blast of its fiery breath, and enveloped Bellerophon and his\nsteed in a perfect atmosphere of flame, singeing the wings of Pegasus,\nscorching off one whole side of the young man's golden ringlets, and\nmaking them both far hotter than was comfortable, from head to foot.\n\nBut this was nothing to what followed.\n\nWhen the airy rush of the winged horse had brought him within the\ndistance of a hundred yards, the Chim\u00e6ra gave a spring, and flung its\nhuge, awkward, venomous, and utterly detestable carcass right upon poor\nPegasus, clung round him with might and main, and tied up its snaky tail\ninto a knot! Up flew the a\u00ebrial steed, higher, higher, higher, above the\nmountain-peak, above the clouds, and almost out of sight of the solid\nearth. But still the earth-born monster kept its hold, and was borne\nupward, along with the creature of light and air. Bellerophon,\nmeanwhile, turning about, found himself face to face with the ugly\ngrimness of the Chim\u00e6ra's visage, and could only avoid being scorched to\ndeath, or bitten right in twain, by holding up his shield. Over the\nupper edge of the shield, he looked sternly into the savage eyes of the\nmonster.\n\nBut the Chim\u00e6ra was so mad and wild with pain that it did not guard\nitself so well as might else have been the case. Perhaps, after all,\nthe best way to fight a Chim\u00e6ra is by getting as close to it as you can.\nIn its efforts to stick its horrible iron claws into its enemy the\ncreature left its own breast quite exposed; and perceiving this,\nBellerophon thrust his sword up to the hilt into its cruel heart.\nImmediately the snaky tail untied its knot. The monster let go its hold\nof Pegasus, and fell from that vast height downward; while the fire\nwithin its bosom, instead of being put out, burned fiercer than ever,\nand quickly began to consume the dead carcass. Thus it fell out of the\nsky, all a-flame, and (it being nightfall before it reached the earth)\nwas mistaken for a shooting star or a comet. But, at early sunrise, some\ncottagers were going to their day's labour, and saw, to their\nastonishment, that several acres of ground were strewn with black ashes.\nIn the middle of a field, there was a heap of whitened bones, a great\ndeal higher than a haystack. Nothing else was ever seen of the dreadful\nChim\u00e6ra!\n\nAnd when Bellerophon had won the victory, he bent forward and kissed\nPegasus, while the tears stood in his eyes.\n\n\"Back now, my beloved steed!\" said he. \"Back to the Fountain of Pirene!\"\n\nPegasus skimmed through the air, quicker than ever he did before, and\nreached the fountain in a very short time. And there he found the old\nman leaning on his staff, and the country fellow watering his cow, and\nthe pretty maiden filling her pitcher.\n\n\"I remember now,\" quoth the old man, \"I saw this winged horse once\nbefore, when I was quite a lad. But he was ten times handsomer in those\ndays.\"\n\n\"I own a cart horse worth three of him!\" said the country fellow. \"If\nthis pony were mine, the first thing I should do would be to clip his\nwings!\"\n\nBut the poor maiden said nothing, for she had always the luck to be\nafraid at the wrong time. So she ran away, and let her pitcher tumble\ndown, and broke it.\n\n\"Where is the gentle child,\" asked Bellerophon, \"who used to keep me\ncompany, and never lost his faith, and never was weary of gazing into\nthe fountain?\"\n\n\"Here am I, dear Bellerophon!\" said the child, softly.\n\nFor the little boy had spent day after day on the margin of Pirene,\nwaiting for his friend to come back; but when he perceived Bellerophon\ndescending through the clouds, mounted on the winged horse, he had\nshrunk back into the shrubbery. He was a delicate and tender child, and\ndreaded lest the old man and the country fellow should see the tears\ngushing from his eyes.\n\n\"Thou hast won the victory,\" said he, joyfully, running to the knee of\nBellerophon, who still sat on the back of Pegasus. \"I knew thou\nwouldst.\"\n\n\"Yes, dear child!\" replied Bellerophon, alighting from the winged horse.\n\"But if thy faith had not helped me, I should never have waited for\nPegasus, and never have gone up above the clouds, and never have\nconquered the terrible Chim\u00e6ra. Thou, my beloved little friend, hast\ndone it all. And now let us give Pegasus his liberty.\"\n\nSo he slipped off the enchanted bridle from the head of the marvellous\nsteed.\n\n\"Be free, forevermore, my Pegasus!\" cried he, with a shade of sadness in\nhis tone. \"Be as free as thou art fleet!\"\n\nBut Pegasus rested his head on Bellerophon's shoulder, and would not be\npersuaded to take flight.\n\n\"Well then,\" said Bellerophon, caressing the airy horse, \"thou shalt be\nwith me as long as thou wilt; and we will go together, forthwith, and\ntell King Iobates that the Chim\u00e6ra is destroyed.\"\n\nThen Bellerophon embraced the gentle child, and promised to come to him\nagain, and departed. But, in after years, that child took higher flights\nupon the a\u00ebrial steed than ever did Bellerophon, and achieved more\nhonourable deeds than his friend's victory over the Chim\u00e6ra. For, gentle\nand tender as he was, he grew to be a mighty poet!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE GOLDEN TOUCH\n\n\nOnce upon a time, there lived a very rich man, and a king besides, whose\nname was Midas; and he had a little daughter, whom nobody but myself\never heard of, and whose name I either never knew, or have entirely\nforgotten. So, because I love odd names for little girls, I choose to\ncall her Marygold.\n\nThis King Midas was fonder of gold than of anything else in the world.\nHe valued his royal crown chiefly because it was composed of that\nprecious metal. If he loved anything better, or half so well, it was the\none little maiden who played so merrily around her father's footstool.\nBut the more Midas loved his daughter, the more did he desire and seek\nfor wealth. He thought, foolish man! that the best thing he could\npossibly do for this dear child would be to bequeath her the immensest\npile of yellow, glistening coin, that had ever been heaped together\nsince the world was made. Thus, he gave all his thoughts and all his\ntime to this one purpose. If ever he happened to gaze for an instant at\nthe gold-tinted clouds of sunset, he wished that they were real gold,\nand that they could be squeezed safely into his strong box. When little\nMarygold ran to meet him, with a bunch of buttercups and dandelions, he\nused to say, \"Poh, poh, child! If these flowers were as golden as they\nlook, they would be worth the plucking!\"\n\nAnd yet, in his earlier days, before he was so entirely possessed of\nthis insane desire for riches, King Midas had shown a great taste for\nflowers. He had planted a garden, in which grew the biggest and\nbeautifullest and sweetest roses that any mortal ever saw or smelt.\nThese roses were still growing in the garden, as large, as lovely, and\nas fragrant as when Midas used to pass whole hours in gazing at them,\nand inhaling their perfume. But now, if he looked at them at all, it was\nonly to calculate how much the garden would be worth if each of the\ninnumerable rose petals were a thin plate of gold. And though he once\nwas fond of music (in spite of an idle story about his ears, which were\nsaid to resemble those of an ass), the only music for poor Midas, now,\nwas the chink of one coin against another.\n\nAt length (as people always grow more and more foolish, unless they take\ncare to grow wiser and wiser), Midas had got to be so exceedingly\nunreasonable that he could scarcely bear to see or touch any object that\nwas not gold. He made it his custom, therefore, to pass a large portion\nof every day in a dark and dreary apartment, under ground, at the\nbasement of his palace. It was here that he kept his wealth. To this\ndismal hole--for it was little better than a dungeon--Midas betook\nhimself, whenever he wanted to be particularly happy. Here, after\ncarefully locking the door, he would take a bag of gold coin, or a gold\ncup as big as a washbowl, or a heavy golden bar, or a peck measure of\ngold dust, and bring them from the obscure corners of the room into the\none bright and narrow sunbeam that fell from the dungeon-like window. He\nvalued the sunbeam for no other reason but that his treasure would not\nshine without its help. And then would he reckon over the coins in the\nbag; toss up the bar, and catch it as it came down; sift the gold dust\nthrough his fingers; look at the funny image of his own face, as\nreflected in the burnished circumference of the cup, and whisper to\nhimself, \"O Midas, rich King Midas, what a happy man art thou!\" But it\nwas laughable to see how the image of his face kept grinning at him, out\nof the polished surface of the cup. It seemed to be aware of his foolish\nbehaviour, and to have a naughty inclination to make fun of him.\n\nMidas called himself a happy man, but felt that he was not yet quite so\nhappy as he might be. The very tiptop of enjoyment would never be\nreached, unless the whole world were to become his treasure room, and be\nfilled with yellow metal which should be all his own.\n\nNow, I need hardly remind such wise little people as you are, that in\nthe old, old times, when King Midas was alive, a great many things came\nto pass, which we should consider wonderful if they were to happen in\nour own day and country. And, on the other hand, a great many things\ntake place nowadays, which seem not only wonderful to us, but at which\nthe people of old times would have stared their eyes out. On the whole,\nI regard our own times as the strangest of the two; but, however that\nmay be, I must go on with my story.\n\nMidas was enjoying himself in his treasure room, one day, as usual, when\nhe perceived a shadow fall over the heaps of gold; and, looking suddenly\nup, what should he behold but the figure of a stranger, standing in the\nbright and narrow sunbeam! It was a young man, with a cheerful and ruddy\nface. Whether it was that the imagination of King Midas threw a yellow\ntinge over everything, or whatever the cause might be, he could not\nhelp fancying that the smile with which the stranger regarded him had a\nkind of golden radiance in it. Certainly, although his figure\nintercepted the sunshine, there was now a brighter gleam upon all the\npiled-up treasures than before. Even the remotest corners had their\nshare of it, and were lighted up, when the stranger smiled, as with tips\nof flame and sparkles of fire.\n\nAs Midas knew that he had carefully turned the key in the lock, and that\nno mortal strength could possibly break into his treasure room, he, of\ncourse, concluded that his visitor must be something more than mortal.\nIt is no matter about telling you who he was. In those days, when the\nearth was comparatively a new affair, it was supposed to be often the\nresort of beings endowed with supernatural power, and who used to\ninterest themselves in the joys and sorrows of men, women, and children,\nhalf playfully and half seriously. Midas had met such beings before now,\nand was not sorry to meet one of them again. The stranger's aspect,\nindeed, was so good humoured and kindly, if not beneficent, that it\nwould have been unreasonable to suspect him of intending any mischief.\nIt was far more probable that he came to do Midas a favour. And what\ncould that favour be, unless to multiply his heaps of treasure?\n\nThe stranger gazed about the room; and when his lustrous smile had\nglistened upon all the golden objects that were there, he turned again\nto Midas.\n\n\"You are a wealthy man, friend Midas!\" he observed. \"I doubt whether any\nother four walls, on earth, contain so much gold as you have contrived\nto pile up in this room.\"\n\n\"I have done pretty well--pretty well,\" answered Midas, in a\ndiscontented tone. \"But, after all, it is but a trifle, when you\nconsider that it has taken me my whole life to get it together. If one\ncould live a thousand years, he might have time to grow rich!\"\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed the stranger. \"Then you are not satisfied?\"\n\nMidas shook his head.\n\n\"And pray what would satisfy you?\" asked the stranger. \"Merely for the\ncuriosity of the thing, I should be glad to know.\"\n\nMidas paused and meditated. He felt a presentiment that this stranger,\nwith such a golden lustre in his good-humoured smile, had come hither\nwith both the power and the purpose of gratifying his utmost wishes.\nNow, therefore, was the fortunate moment, when he had but to speak, and\nobtain whatever possible, or seemingly impossible thing, it might come\ninto his head to ask. So he thought, and thought, and thought, and\nheaped up one golden mountain upon another, in his imagination, without\nbeing able to imagine them big enough. At last, a bright idea occurred\nto King Midas. It seemed really as bright as the glistening metal which\nhe loved so much.\n\nRaising his head, he looked the lustrous stranger in the face.\n\n\"Well, Midas,\" observed his visitor, \"I see that you have at length hit\nupon something that will satisfy you. Tell me your wish.\"\n\n\"It is only this,\" replied Midas. \"I am weary of collecting my treasures\nwith so much trouble, and beholding the heap so diminutive, after I have\ndone my best. I wish everything that I touch to be changed to gold!\"\n\nThe stranger's smile grew so very broad, that it seemed to fill the room\nlike an outburst of the sun, gleaming into a shadowy dell, where the\nyellow autumnal leaves--for so looked the lumps and particles of\ngold--lie strewn in the glow of light.\n\n\"The Golden Touch!\" exclaimed he. \"You certainly deserve credit, friend\nMidas, for striking out so brilliant a conception. But are you quite\nsure that this will satisfy you?\"\n\n\"How could it fail?\" said Midas.\n\n\"And will you never regret the possession of it?\"\n\n\"What could induce me?\" asked Midas. \"I ask nothing else, to render me\nperfectly happy.\"\n\n\"Be it as you wish, then,\" replied the stranger, waving his hand in\ntoken of farewell. \"To-morrow, at sunrise, you will find yourself gifted\nwith the Golden Touch.\"\n\nThe figure of the stranger then became exceedingly bright, and Midas\ninvoluntarily closed his eyes. On opening them again, he beheld only one\nyellow sunbeam in the room, and, all around him, the glistening of the\nprecious metal which he had spent his life in hoarding up.\n\nWhether Midas slept as usual that night, the story does not say. Asleep\nor awake, however, his mind was probably in the state of a child's, to\nwhom a beautiful new plaything has been promised in the morning. At any\nrate, day had hardly peeped over the hills, when King Midas was broad\nawake, and, stretching his arms out of bed, began to touch the objects\nthat were within reach. He was anxious to prove whether the Golden Touch\nhad really come, according to the stranger's promise. So he laid his\nfinger on a chair by the bedside, and on various other things, but was\ngrievously disappointed to perceive that they remained of exactly the\nsame substance as before. Indeed, he felt very much afraid that he had\nonly dreamed about the lustrous stranger, or else that the latter had\nbeen making game of him. And what a miserable affair would it be, if,\nafter all his hopes, Midas must content himself with what little gold he\ncould scrape together by ordinary means, instead of creating it by a\ntouch!\n\nAll this while, it was only the gray of the morning, with but a streak\nof brightness along the edge of the sky, where Midas could not see it.\nHe lay in a very disconsolate mood, regretting the downfall of his hopes\nand kept growing sadder and sadder, until the earliest sunbeam shone\nthrough the window, and gilded the ceiling over his head. It seemed to\nMidas that this bright yellow sunbeam was reflected in rather a singular\nway on the white covering of the bed. Looking more closely, what was his\nastonishment and delight, when he found that this linen fabric had been\ntransmuted to what seemed a woven texture of the purest and brightest\ngold! The Golden Touch had come to him with the first sunbeam!\n\nMidas started up, in a kind of joyful frenzy, and ran about the room,\ngrasping at everything that happened to be in his way. He seized one of\nthe bedposts, and it became immediately a fluted golden pillar. He\npulled aside a window curtain, in order to admit a clear spectacle of\nthe wonders which he was performing; and the tassel grew heavy in his\nhand--a mass of gold. He took up a book from the table. At his first\ntouch, it assumed the appearance of such a splendidly bound and\ngilt-edged volume as one often meets with, nowadays; but, on running his\nfingers through the leaves, behold! it was a bundle of thin golden\nplates, in which all the wisdom of the book had grown illegible. He\nhurriedly put on his clothes, and was enraptured to see himself in a\nmagnificent suit of gold cloth, which retained its flexibility and\nsoftness, although it burdened him a little with its weight. He drew out\nhis handkerchief, which little Marygold had hemmed for him. That was\nlikewise gold, with the dear child's neat and pretty stitches running\nall along the border, in gold thread!\n\nSomehow or other, this last transformation did not quite please King\nMidas. He would rather that his little daughter's handiwork should have\nremained just the same as when she climbed his knee and put it into his\nhand.\n\nBut it was not worth while to vex himself about a trifle. Midas now took\nhis spectacles from his pocket, and put them on his nose, in order that\nhe might see more distinctly what he was about. In those days,\nspectacles for common people had not been invented, but were already\nworn by kings: else, how could Midas have had any? To his great\nperplexity, however, excellent as the glasses were, he discovered that\nhe could not possibly see through them. But this was the most natural\nthing in the world; for, on taking them off, the transparent crystals\nturned out to be plates of yellow metal, and, of course, were worthless\nas spectacles, though valuable as gold. It struck Midas, as rather\ninconvenient that, with all his wealth, he could never again be rich\nenough to own a pair of serviceable spectacles.\n\n\"It is no great matter, nevertheless,\" said he to himself, very\nphilosophically. \"We cannot expect any great good, without its being\naccompanied with some small inconvenience. The Golden Touch is worth\nthe sacrifice of a pair of spectacles, at least, if not of one's very\neyesight. My own eyes will serve for ordinary purposes, and little\nMarygold will soon be old enough to read to me.\"\n\nWise King Midas was so exalted by his good fortune, that the palace\nseemed not sufficiently spacious to contain him. He therefore went\ndownstairs, and smiled, on observing that the balustrade of the\nstaircase became a bar of burnished gold, as his hand passed over it, in\nhis descent. He lifted the doorlatch (it was brass only a moment ago,\nbut golden when his fingers quitted it), and emerged into the garden.\nHere, as it happened, he found a great number of beautiful roses in full\nbloom, and others in all the stages of lovely bud and blossom. Very\ndelicious was their fragrance in the morning breeze. Their delicate\nblush was one of the fairest sights in the world; so gentle, so modest,\nand so full of sweet tranquillity, did these roses seem to be.\n\nBut Midas knew a way to make them far more precious, according to his\nway of thinking, than roses had ever been before. So he took great pains\nin going from bush to bush, and exercised his magic touch most\nindefatigably; until every individual flower and bud, and even the worms\nat the heart of some of them, were changed to gold. By the time this\ngood work was completed, King Midas was summoned to breakfast; and as\nthe morning air had given him an excellent appetite, he made haste back\nto the palace.\n\nWhat was usually a king's breakfast in the days of Midas, I really do\nnot know, and cannot stop now to investigate. To the best of my belief,\nhowever, on this particular morning, the breakfast consisted of hot\ncakes, some nice little brook trout, roasted potatoes, fresh boiled\neggs, and coffee, for King Midas himself, and a bowl of bread and milk\nfor his daughter Marygold. At all events, this is a breakfast fit to set\nbefore a king; and, whether he had it or not, King Midas could not have\nhad a better.\n\nLittle Marygold had not yet made her appearance. Her father ordered her\nto be called, and, seating himself at table, awaited the child's coming,\nin order to begin his own breakfast. To do Midas justice, he really\nloved his daughter, and loved her so much the more this morning, on\naccount of the good fortune which had befallen him. It was not a great\nwhile before he heard her coming along the passageway crying bitterly.\nThis circumstance surprised him, because Marygold was one of the\ncheerfullest little people whom you would see in a summer's day, and\nhardly shed a thimbleful of tears in a twelvemonth. When Midas heard her\nsobs, he determined to put little Marygold into better spirits, by an\nagreeable surprise; so, leaning across the table, he touched his\ndaughter's bowl (which was a china one, with pretty figures all around\nit), and transmuted it to gleaming gold.\n\nMeanwhile, Marygold slowly and disconsolately opened the door, and\nshowed herself with her apron at her eyes, still sobbing as if her heart\nwould break.\n\n\"How now, my little lady!\" cried Midas. \"Pray what is the matter with\nyou, this bright morning?\"\n\nMarygold, without taking the apron from her eyes, held out her hand, in\nwhich was one of the roses which Midas had so recently transmuted.\n\n\"Beautiful!\" exclaimed her father. \"And what is there in this\nmagnificent golden rose to make you cry?\"\n\n\"Ah, dear father!\" answered the child, as well as her sobs would let\nher; \"it is not beautiful, but the ugliest flower that ever grew! As\nsoon as I was dressed I ran into the garden to gather some roses for\nyou; because I know you like them, and like them the better when\ngathered by your little daughter. But, oh dear, dear me. What do you\nthink has happened? Such a misfortune! All the beautiful roses, that\nsmelled so sweetly and had so many lovely blushes, are blighted and\nspoilt! They are grown quite yellow, as you see this one, and have no\nlonger any fragrance! What can have been the matter with them?\"\n\n\"Poh, my dear little girl--pray don't cry about it!\" said Midas, who was\nashamed to confess that he himself had wrought the change which so\ngreatly afflicted her, \"Sit down and eat your bread and milk! You will\nfind it easy enough to exchange a golden rose like that (which will last\nhundreds of years) for an ordinary one which would wither in a day.\"\n\n\"I don't care for such roses as this!\" cried Marygold, tossing it\ncontemptuously away. \"It has no smell, and the hard petals prick my\nnose!\"\n\nThe child now sat down to table, but was so occupied with her grief for\nthe blighted roses that she did not even notice the wonderful\ntransmutation of her china bowl. Perhaps this was all the better; for\nMarygold was accustomed to take pleasure in looking at the queer\nfigures, and strange trees and houses, that were painted on the\ncircumference of the bowl; and these ornaments were now entirely lost in\nthe yellow hue of the metal.\n\nMidas, meanwhile, had poured out a cup of coffee, and, as a matter of\ncourse, the Coffee-pot, whatever metal it may have been when he took it\nup, was gold when he set it down. He thought to himself, that it was\nrather an extravagant style of splendour, in a king of his simple\nhabits, to breakfast off a service of gold, and began to be puzzled with\nthe difficulty of keeping his treasures safe. The cupboard and the\nkitchen would no longer be a secure place of deposit for articles so\nvaluable as golden bowls and coffee-pots.\n\nAmid these thoughts, he lifted a spoonful of coffee to his lips, and,\nsipping it, was astonished to perceive that, the instant his lips\ntouched the liquid, it became molten gold, and, the next moment,\nhardened into a lump!\n\n\"Ha!\" exclaimed Midas, rather aghast.\n\n\"What is the matter, father?\" asked little Marygold, gazing at him, with\nthe tears still standing in her eyes.\n\n\"Nothing, child, nothing!\" said Midas. \"Eat your milk, before it gets\nquite cold.\"\n\nHe took one of the nice little trouts on his plate, and, by way of\nexperiment, touched its tail with his finger. To his horror, it was\nimmediately transmuted from an admirably fried brook trout into a\ngold-fish, though not one of those gold-fishes which people often keep\nin glass globes, as ornaments for the parlour. No; but it was really a\nmetallic fish, and looked as if it had been very cunningly made by the\nnicest goldsmith in the world. Its little bones were now golden wires;\nits fins and tail were thin plates of gold; and there were the marks of\nthe fork in it, and all the delicate, frothy appearance of a nicely\nfried fish, exactly imitated in metal. A very pretty piece of work, as\nyou may suppose; only King Midas, just at that moment, would much rather\nhave had a real trout in his dish than this elaborate and valuable\nimitation of one.\n\n\"I don't quite see,\" thought he to himself, \"how I am to get any\nbreakfast!\"\n\nHe took one of the smoking-hot cakes, and had scarcely broken it, when,\nto his cruel mortification, though, a moment before, it had been of the\nwhitest wheat, it assumed the yellow hue of Indian meal. To say the\ntruth, if it had really been a hot Indian cake, Midas would have prized\nit a good deal more than he now did, when its solidity and increased\nweight made him too bitterly sensible that it was gold. Almost in\ndespair, he helped himself to a boiled egg, which immediately underwent\na change similar to those of the trout and the cake. The egg, indeed,\nmight have been mistaken for one of those which the famous goose, in the\nstory book, was in the habit of laying; but King Midas was the only\ngoose that had had anything to do with the matter.\n\n\"Well, this is a quandary!\" thought he, leaning back in his chair, and\nlooking quite enviously at little Marygold, who was now eating her bread\nand milk with great satisfaction. \"Such a costly breakfast before me,\nand nothing that can be eaten!\"\n\nHoping that, by dint of great dispatch, he might avoid what he now felt\nto be a considerable inconvenience, King Midas next snatched a hot\npotato, and attempted to cram it into his mouth, and swallow it in a\nhurry. But the Golden Touch was too nimble for him. He found his mouth\nfull, not of mealy potato, but of solid metal, which so burnt his tongue\nthat he roared aloud, and, jumping up from the table, began to dance and\nstamp about the room, both with pain and affright.\n\n\"Father, dear father!\" cried little Marygold, who was a very\naffectionate child, \"pray what is the matter? Have you burnt your\nmouth?\"\n\n\"Ah, dear child,\" groaned Midas, dolefully, \"I don't know what is to\nbecome of your poor father!\"\n\nAnd, truly, my dear little folks, did you ever hear of such a pitiable\ncase in all your lives? Here was literally the richest breakfast that\ncould be set before a king, and its very richness made it absolutely\ngood for nothing. The poorest labourer, sitting down to his crust of\nbread and cup of water, was far better off than King Midas, whose\ndelicate food was really worth its weight in gold. And what was to be\ndone? Already, at breakfast, Midas was excessively hungry. Would he be\nless so by dinner-time? And how ravenous would be his appetite for\nsupper, which must undoubtedly consist of the same sort of indigestible\ndishes as those now before him! How many days, think you, would he\nsurvive a continuance of this rich fare?\n\nThese reflections so troubled wise King Midas, that he began to doubt\nwhether, after all, riches are the one desirable thing in the world, or\neven the most desirable. But this was only a passing thought. So\nfascinated was Midas with the glitter of the yellow metal, that he would\nstill have refused to give up the Golden Touch for so paltry a\nconsideration as a breakfast. Just imagine what a price for one meal's\nvictuals! It would have been the same as paying millions and millions of\nmoney (and as many millions more as would take forever to reckon up) for\nsome fried trout, an egg, a potato, a hot cake, and a cup of coffee!\n\n\"It would be quite too dear,\" thought Midas.\n\nNevertheless, so great was his hunger, and the perplexity of his\nsituation, that he again groaned aloud, and very grievously, too. Our\npretty Marygold could endure it no longer. She sat, a moment, gazing at\nher father, and trying, with all the might of her little wits, to find\nout what was the matter with him. Then, with a sweet and sorrowful\nimpulse to comfort him, she started from her chair, and, running to\nMidas, threw her arms affectionately about his knees. He bent down and\nkissed her. He felt that his little daughter's love was worth a thousand\ntimes more than he had gained by the Golden Touch.\n\n\"My precious, precious Marygold!\" cried he.\n\nBut Marygold made no answer.\n\nAlas, what had he done? How fatal was the gift which the stranger\nbestowed! The moment the lips of Midas touched Marygold's forehead, a\nchange had taken place. Her sweet, rosy face, so full of affection as it\nhad been, assumed a glittering yellow colour, with yellow tear-drops\ncongealing on her cheeks. Her beautiful brown ringlets took the same\ntint. Her soft and tender little form grew hard and inflexible within\nher father's encircling arms. Oh, terrible misfortune! The victim of his\ninsatiable desire for wealth, little Marygold was a human child no\nlonger, but a golden statue!\n\nYes, there she was, with the questioning look of love, grief, and pity,\nhardened into her face. It was the prettiest and most woeful sight that\never mortal saw. All the features and tokens of Marygold were there;\neven the beloved little dimple remained in her golden chin. But, the\nmore perfect was the resemblance, the greater was the father's agony at\nbeholding this golden image, which was all that was left him of a\ndaughter. It had been a favourite phrase of Midas, whenever he felt\nparticularly fond of the child, to say that she was worth her weight in\ngold. And now the phrase had become literally true. And, now, at last,\nwhen it was too late, he felt how infinitely a warm and tender heart,\nthat loved him, exceeded in value all the wealth that could be piled up\nbetwixt the earth and sky!\n\nIt would be too sad a story, if I were to tell you how Midas, in the\nfulness of all his gratified desires, began to wring his hands and\nbemoan himself; and how he could neither bear to look at Marygold, nor\nyet to look away from her. Except when his eyes were fixed on the image,\nhe could not possibly believe that she was changed to gold. But,\nstealing another glance, there was the precious little figure, with a\nyellow tear-drop on its yellow cheek, and a look so piteous and tender,\nthat it seemed as if that very expression must needs soften the gold,\nand make it flesh again. This, however, could not be. So Midas had only\nto wring his hands, and to wish that he were the poorest man in the wide\nworld, if the loss of all his wealth might bring back the faintest rose\ncolour to his dear child's face.\n\nWhile he was in this tumult of despair, he suddenly beheld a stranger\nstanding near the door. Midas bent down his head, without speaking; for\nhe recognised the same figure which had appeared to him, the day before,\nin the treasure-room, and had bestowed on him this disastrous faculty of\nthe Golden Touch. The stranger's countenance still wore a smile, which\nseemed to shed a yellow lustre all about the room, and gleamed on little\nMarygold's image, and on the other objects that had been transmuted by\nthe touch of Midas.\n\n\"Well, friend Midas,\" said the stranger, \"pray how do you succeed with\nthe Golden Touch?\"\n\nMidas shook his head.\n\n\"I am very miserable,\" said he.\n\n\"Very miserable, indeed!\" exclaimed the stranger.\n\n\"And how happens that? Have I not faithfully kept my promise with you?\nHave you not everything that your heart desired?\"\n\n\"Gold is not everything,\" answered Midas. \"And I have lost all that my\nheart really cared for.\"\n\n\"Ah! So you have made a discovery, since yesterday?\" observed the\nstranger. \"Let us see, then. Which of these two things do you think is\nreally worth the most--the gift of the Golden Touch, or one cup of clear\ncold water?\"\n\n\"O blessed water!\" exclaimed Midas. \"I will never moisten my parched\nthroat again!\"\n\n\"The Golden Touch,\" continued the stranger, \"or a crust of bread?\"\n\n\"A piece of bread,\" answered Midas, \"is worth all the gold on earth!\"\n\n\"The Golden Touch,\" asked the stranger, \"or your own little Marygold,\nwarm, soft, and loving as she was an hour ago?\"\n\n\"Oh, my child, my dear child!\" cried poor Midas, wringing his hands. \"I\nwould not have given that one small dimple in her chin for the power of\nchanging this whole big earth into a solid lump of gold!\"\n\n\"You are wiser than you were, King Midas!\" said the stranger, looking\nseriously at him. \"Your own heart, I perceive, has not been entirely\nchanged from flesh to gold. Were it so, your case would indeed be\ndesperate. But you appear to be still capable of understanding that the\ncommonest things, such as lie within everybody's grasp, are more\nvaluable than the riches which so many mortals sigh and struggle after.\nTell me, now, do you sincerely desire to rid yourself of this Golden\nTouch?\"\n\n\"It is hateful to me!\" replied Midas.\n\nA fly settled on his nose, but immediately fell to the floor; for it,\ntoo, had become gold. Midas shuddered.\n\n\"Go, then,\" said the stranger, \"and plunge into the river that glides\npast the bottom of your garden. Take likewise a vase of the same water,\nand sprinkle it over any object that you may desire to change back again\nfrom gold into its former substance. If you do this in earnestness and\nsincerity, it may possibly repair the mischief which your avarice has\noccasioned.\"\n\nKing Midas bowed low; and when he lifted his head, the lustrous stranger\nhad vanished.\n\nYou will easily believe that Midas lost no time in snatching up a great\nearthen pitcher (but, alas me! it was no longer earthen after he touched\nit), and hastening to the river-side. As he scampered along, and forced\nhis way through the shrubbery, it was positively marvellous to see how\nthe foliage turned yellow behind him, as if the autumn had been there,\nand nowhere else. On reaching the river's brink, he plunged headlong in,\nwithout waiting so much as to pull off his shoes.\n\n\"Poof! poof! poof!\" snorted King Midas, as his head emerged out of the\nwater. \"Well; this is really a refreshing bath, and I think it must have\nquite washed away the Golden Touch. And now for filling my pitcher!\"\n\nAs he dipped the pitcher into the water, it gladdened his very heart to\nsee it change from gold into the same good, honest earthen vessel which\nit had been before he touched it. He was conscious, also, of a change\nwithin himself. A cold, hard, and heavy weight seemed to have gone out\nof his bosom. No doubt, his heart had been gradually losing its human\nsubstance, and transmuting itself into insensible metal, but had now\nsoftened back again into flesh. Perceiving a violet, that grew on the\nbank of the river, Midas touched it with his finger, and was overjoyed\nto find that the delicate flower retained its purple hue, instead of\nundergoing a yellow blight. The curse of the Golden Touch had,\ntherefore, really been removed from him.\n\nKing Midas hastened back to the palace; and, I suppose, the servants\nknew not what to make of it when they saw their royal master so\ncarefully bringing home an earthen pitcher of water. But that water,\nwhich was to undo all the mischief that his folly had wrought, was more\nprecious to Midas than an ocean of molten gold could have been. The\nfirst thing he did, as you need hardly be told, was to sprinkle it by\nhandfuls over the golden figure of little Marygold.\n\nNo sooner did it fall on her than you would have laughed to see how the\nrosy colour came back to the dear child's cheek! and how she began to\nsneeze and sputter!--and how astonished she was to find herself dripping\nwet, and her father still throwing more water over her!\n\n\"Pray do not, dear father!\" cried she. \"See how you have wet my nice\nfrock, which I put on only this morning!\"\n\nFor Marygold did not know that she had been a little golden statue; nor\ncould she remember anything that had happened since the moment when she\nran with outstretched arms to comfort poor King Midas.\n\nHer father did not think it necessary to tell his beloved child how very\nfoolish he had been, but contented himself with showing how much wiser\nhe had now grown. For this purpose, he led little Marygold into the\ngarden, where he sprinkled all the remainder of the water over the\nrose-bushes, and with such good effect that above five thousand roses\nrecovered their beautiful bloom. There were two circumstances, however,\nwhich, as long as he lived, used to put King Midas in mind of the Golden\nTouch. One was, that the sands of the river sparkled like gold; the\nother, that little Marygold's hair had now a golden tinge, which he had\nnever observed in it before she had been transmuted by the effect of his\nkiss. This change of hue was really an improvement, and made Marygold's\nhair richer than in her babyhood.\n\nWhen King Midas had grown quite an old man, and used to trot Marygold's\nchildren on his knee, he was fond of telling them this marvellous story,\npretty much as I have now told it to you. And then would he stroke their\nglossy ringlets, and tell them that their hair, likewise, had a rich\nshade of gold, which they had inherited from their mother.\n\n\"And to tell you the truth, my precious little folks,\" quoth King Midas,\ndiligently trotting the children all the while, \"ever since that\nmorning, I have hated the very sight of all other gold, save this!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE GORGON'S HEAD\n\n\nPerseus was the son of Dana\u00eb, who was the daughter of a king. And when\nPerseus was a very little boy, some wicked people put his mother and\nhimself into a chest, and set them afloat upon the sea. The wind blew\nfreshly, and drove the chest away from the shore, and the uneasy billows\ntossed it up and down; while Dana\u00eb clasped her child closely to her\nbosom, and dreaded that some big wave would dash its foamy crest over\nthem both. The chest sailed on, however, and neither sank nor was upset;\nuntil, when night was coming, it floated so near an island that it got\nentangled in a fisherman's nets, and was drawn out high and dry upon the\nsand. The island was called Seriphus, and it was reigned over by King\nPolydectes, who happened to be the fisherman's brother.\n\nThis fisherman, I am glad to tell you, was an exceedingly humane and\nupright man. He showed great kindness to Dana\u00eb and her little boy; and\ncontinued to befriend them, until Perseus had grown to be a handsome\nyouth, very strong and active, and skilful in the use of arms. Long\nbefore this time, King Polydectes had seen the two strangers--the mother\nand her child--who had come to his dominions in a floating chest. As he\nwas not good and kind, like his brother the fisherman, but extremely\nwicked, he resolved to send Perseus on a dangerous enterprise, in which\nhe would probably be killed, and then to do some great mischief to Dana\u00eb\nherself. So this bad-hearted king spent a long while in considering what\nwas the most dangerous thing that a young man could possibly undertake\nto perform. At last, having hit upon an enterprise that promised to turn\nout as fatally as he desired, he sent for the youthful Perseus.\n\nThe young man came to the palace, and found the king sitting upon his\nthrone.\n\n\"Perseus,\" said King Polydectes, smiling craftily upon him, \"you are\ngrown up a fine young man. You and your good mother have received a\ngreat deal of kindness from myself, as well as from my worthy brother\nthe fisherman, and I suppose you would not be sorry to repay some of\nit.\"\n\n\"Please, Your Majesty,\" answered Perseus, \"I would willingly risk my\nlife to do so.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" continued the king, still with a cunning smile on his\nlips, \"I have a little adventure to propose to you; and, as you are a\nbrave and enterprising youth, you will doubtless look upon it as a great\npiece of good luck to have so rare an opportunity of distinguishing\nyourself. You must know, my good Perseus, I think of getting married to\nthe beautiful Princess Hippodamia; and it is customary, on these\noccasions, to make the bride a present of some far-fetched and elegant\ncuriosity. I have been a little perplexed, I must honestly confess,\nwhere to obtain anything likely to please a princess of her exquisite\ntaste. But, this morning, I flatter myself, I have thought of precisely\nthe article.\"\n\n\"And can I assist Your Majesty in obtaining it?\" cried Perseus,\neagerly.\n\n\"You can, if you are as brave a youth as I believe you to be,\" replied\nKing Polydectes, with the utmost graciousness of manner. \"The bridal\ngift which I have set my heart on presenting to the beautiful Hippodamia\nis the head of the Gorgon Medusa with the snaky locks; and I depend on\nyou, my dear Perseus, to bring it to me. So, as I am anxious to settle\naffairs with the princess, the sooner you go in quest of the Gorgon, the\nbetter I shall be pleased.\"\n\n\"I will set out to-morrow morning,\" answered Perseus.\n\n\"Pray do so, my gallant youth,\" rejoined the king. \"And, Perseus, in\ncutting off the Gorgon's head, be careful to make a clean stroke, so as\nnot to injure its appearance. You must bring it home in the very best\ncondition, in order to suit the exquisite taste of the beautiful\nPrincess Hippodamia.\"\n\nPerseus left the palace, but was scarcely out of hearing before\nPolydectes burst into a laugh; being greatly amused, wicked king that he\nwas, to find how readily the young man fell into the snare. The news\nquickly spread abroad that Perseus had undertaken to cut off the head of\nMedusa with the snaky locks. Everybody was rejoiced; for most of the\ninhabitants of the island were as wicked as the king himself, and would\nhave liked nothing better than to see some enormous mischief happen to\nDana\u00eb and her son. The only good man in this unfortunate island of\nSeriphus appears to have been the fisherman. As Perseus walked along,\ntherefore, the people pointed after him, and made mouths, and winked to\none another, and ridiculed him as loudly as they dared.\n\n\"Ho, ho!\" cried they; \"Medusa's snakes will sting him soundly!\"\n\nNow, there were three Gorgons alive at that period; and they were the\nmost strange and terrible monsters that had ever been since the world\nwas made, or that have been seen in after days, or that are likely to be\nseen in all time to come. I hardly know what sort of creature or\nhobgoblin to call them. They were three sisters, and seem to have borne\nsome distant resemblance to women, but were really a very frightful and\nmischievous species of dragon. It is, indeed, difficult to imagine what\nhideous beings these three sisters were. Why, instead of locks of hair,\nif you can believe me, they had each of them a hundred enormous snakes\ngrowing on their heads, all alive, twisting, wriggling, curling, and\nthrusting out their venomous tongues, with forked stings at the end! The\nteeth of the Gorgons were terribly long tusks; their hands were made of\nbrass; and their bodies were all over scales, which, if not iron, were\nsomething as hard and impenetrable. They had wings, too, and exceedingly\nsplendid ones, I can assure you; for every feather in them was pure,\nbright, glittering, burnished gold, and they looked very dazzlingly, no\ndoubt, when the Gorgons were flying about in the sunshine.\n\nBut when people happened to catch a glimpse of their glittering\nbrightness, aloft in the air, they seldom stopped to gaze, but ran and\nhid themselves as speedily as they could. You will think, perhaps, that\nthey were afraid of being stung by the serpents that served the Gorgons\ninstead of hair--or of having their heads bitten off by their ugly\ntusks--or of being torn all to pieces by their brazen claws. Well, to be\nsure, these were some of the dangers, but by no means the greatest, nor\nthe most difficult to avoid. For the worst thing about these abominable\nGorgons was, that, if once a poor mortal fixed his eyes full upon one\nof their faces, he was certain, that very instant, to be changed from\nwarm flesh and blood into cold and lifeless stone!\n\nThus, as you will easily perceive, it was a very dangerous adventure\nthat the wicked King Polydectes had contrived for this innocent young\nman. Perseus himself, when he had thought over the matter, could not\nhelp seeing that he had very little chance of coming safely through it,\nand that he was far more likely to become a stone image than to bring\nback the head of Medusa with the snaky locks. For, not to speak of other\ndifficulties, there was one which it would have puzzled an older man\nthan Perseus to get over. Not only must he fight with and slay this\ngolden-winged, iron-scaled, long-tusked, brazen-clawed, snaky-haired\nmonster, but he must do it with his eyes shut, or, at least, without so\nmuch as a glance at the enemy with whom he was contending. Else, while\nhis arm was lifted to strike, he would stiffen into stone, and stand\nwith that uplifted arm for centuries, until time, and the wind and\nweather, should crumble him quite away. This would be a very sad thing\nto befall a young man who wanted to perform a great many brave deeds,\nand to enjoy a great deal of happiness, in this bright and beautiful\nworld.\n\nSo disconsolate did these thoughts make him, that Perseus could not bear\nto tell his mother what he had undertaken to do. He therefore took his\nshield, girded on his sword, and crossed over from the island to the\nmainland, where he sat down in a solitary place, and hardly refrained\nfrom shedding tears.\n\nBut, while he was in this sorrowful mood, he heard a voice close beside\nhim.\n\n\"Perseus,\" said the voice, \"why are you sad?\"\n\nHe lifted his head from his hands, in which he had hidden it, and,\nbehold! all alone as Perseus had supposed himself to be, there was a\nstranger in the solitary place. It was a brisk, intelligent, and\nremarkably shrewd-looking young man, with a cloak over his shoulders, an\nodd sort of cap on his head, a strangely twisted staff in his hand, and\na short and very crooked sword hanging by his side. He was exceedingly\nlight and active in his figure, like a person much accustomed to\ngymnastic exercises, and well able to leap or run. Above all, the\nstranger had such a cheerful, knowing, and helpful aspect (though it was\ncertainly a little mischievous, into the bargain), that Perseus could\nnot help feeling his spirits grow livelier as he gazed at him. Besides,\nbeing really a courageous youth, he felt greatly ashamed that anybody\nshould have found him with tears in his eyes, like a timid little\nschoolboy, when, after all, there might be no occasion for despair. So\nPerseus wiped his eyes, and answered the stranger pretty briskly,\nputting on as brave a look as he could.\n\n\"I am not so very sad,\" said he, \"only thoughtful about an adventure\nthat I have undertaken.\"\n\n\"Oho!\" answered the stranger. \"Well, tell me all about it, and possibly\nI may be of service to you. I have helped a good many young men through\nadventures that looked difficult enough beforehand. Perhaps you may have\nheard of me. I have more names than one; but the name of Quicksilver\nsuits me as well as any other. Tell me what the trouble is, and we will\ntalk the matter over, and see what can be done.\"\n\nThe stranger's words and manner put Perseus into quite a different mood\nfrom his former one. He resolved to tell Quicksilver all his\ndifficulties, since he could not easily be worse off than he already\nwas, and, very possibly, his new friend might give him some advice that\nwould turn out well in the end. So he let the stranger know, in few\nwords, precisely what the case was,--how that King Polydectes wanted the\nhead of Medusa with the snaky locks as a bridal gift for the beautiful\nPrincess Hippodamia, and how that he had undertaken to get it for him,\nbut was afraid of being turned into stone.\n\n\"And that would be a great pity,\" said Quicksilver, with his mischievous\nsmile. \"You would make a very handsome marble statue, it is true, and it\nwould be a considerable number of centuries before you crumbled away;\nbut, on the whole, one would rather be a young man for a few years, than\na stone image for a great many.\"\n\n\"Oh, far rather!\" exclaimed Perseus, with the tears again standing in\nhis eyes. \"And, besides, what would my dear mother do, if her beloved\nson were turned into a stone?\"\n\n\"Well, well, let us hope that the affair will not turn out so very\nbadly,\" replied Quicksilver, in an encouraging tone. \"I am the very\nperson to help you, if anybody can. My sister and myself will do our\nutmost to bring you safe through the adventure, ugly as it now looks.\"\n\n\"Your sister?\" repeated Perseus.\n\n\"Yes, my sister,\" said the stranger. \"She is very wise, I promise you;\nand as for myself, I generally have all my wits about me, such as they\nare. If you show yourself bold and cautious, and follow our advice, you\nneed not fear being a stone image yet awhile. But, first of all, you\nmust polish your shield, till you can see your face in it as distinctly\nas in a mirror.\"\n\nThis seemed to Perseus rather an odd beginning of the adventure; for he\nthought it of far more consequence that the shield should be strong\nenough to defend him from the Gorgon's brazen claws, than that it should\nbe bright enough to show him the reflection of his face. However,\nconcluding that Quicksilver knew better than himself, he immediately set\nto work, and scrubbed the shield with so much diligence and good-will,\nthat it very quickly shone like the moon at harvest time. Quicksilver\nlooked at it with a smile, and nodded his approbation. Then, taking off\nhis own short and crooked sword, he girded it about Perseus, instead of\nthe one which he had before worn.\n\n\"No sword but mine will answer your purpose,\" observed he; \"the blade\nhas a most excellent temper, and will cut through iron and brass as\neasily as through the slenderest twig. And now we will set out. The next\nthing is to find the Three Gray Women, who will tell us where to find\nthe Nymphs.\"\n\n\"The Three Gray Women!\" cried Perseus, to whom this seemed only a new\ndifficulty in the path of his adventure; \"pray who may the Three Gray\nWomen be? I never heard of them before.\"\n\n\"They are three very strange old ladies,\" said Quicksilver, laughing.\n\"They have but one eye among them, and only one tooth. Moreover, you\nmust find them out by starlight, or in the dusk of the evening; for they\nnever show themselves by the light either of the sun or moon.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Perseus, \"why should I waste my time with these Three Gray\nWomen? Would it not be better to set out at once in search of the\nterrible Gorgons?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered his friend. \"There are other things to be done,\nbefore you can find your way to the Gorgons. There is nothing for it but\nto hunt up these old ladies; and when we meet with them, you may be sure\nthat the Gorgons are not a great way off. Come, let us be stirring!\"\n\nPerseus, by this time, felt so much confidence in his companion's\nsagacity, that he made no more objections, and professed himself ready\nto begin the adventure immediately. They accordingly set out, and walked\nat a pretty brisk pace; so brisk, indeed, that Perseus found it rather\ndifficult to keep up with his nimble friend Quicksilver. To say the\ntruth, he had a singular idea that Quicksilver was furnished with a pair\nof winged shoes, which, of course, helped him along marvellously. And\nthen, too, when Perseus looked sideways at him out of the corner of his\neye, he seemed to see wings on the side of his head; although, if he\nturned a full gaze, there were no such things to be perceived, but only\nan odd kind of cap. But, at all events, the twisted staff was evidently\na great convenience to Quicksilver, and enabled him to proceed so fast,\nthat Perseus, though a remarkably active young man, began to be out of\nbreath.\n\n\"Here!\" cried Quicksilver, at last--for he knew well enough, rogue that\nhe was, how hard Perseus found it to keep pace with him--\"take you the\nstaff, for you need it a great deal more than I. Are there no better\nwalkers than yourself in the island of Seriphus?\"\n\n\"I could walk pretty well,\" said Perseus, glancing slyly at his\ncompanion's feet, \"if I had only a pair of winged shoes.\"\n\n\"We must see about getting you a pair,\" answered Quicksilver.\n\nBut the staff helped Perseus along so bravely, that he no longer felt\nthe slightest weariness. In fact, the stick seemed to be alive in his\nhand, and to lend some of its life to Perseus. He and Quicksilver now\nwalked onward at their ease, talking very sociably together; and\nQuicksilver told so many pleasant stories about his former adventures,\nand how well his wits had served him on various occasions, that Perseus\nbegan to think him a very wonderful person. He evidently knew the world;\nand nobody is so charming to a young man as a friend who has that kind\nof knowledge. Perseus listened the more eagerly, in the hope of\nbrightening his own wits by what he heard.\n\nAt last, he happened to recollect that Quicksilver had spoken of a\nsister, who was to lend her assistance in the adventure which they were\nnow bound upon.\n\n\"Where is she?\" he inquired. \"Shall we not meet her soon?\"\n\n\"All at the proper time,\" said his companion. \"But this sister of mine,\nyou must understand, is quite a different sort of character from myself.\nShe is very grave and prudent, seldom smiles, never laughs, and makes it\na rule not to utter a word unless she has something particularly\nprofound to say. Neither will she listen to any but the wisest\nconversation.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" ejaculated Perseus; \"I shall be afraid to say a syllable.\"\n\n\"She is a very accomplished person, I assure you,\" continued\nQuicksilver, \"and has all the arts and sciences at her fingers' ends. In\nshort, she is so immoderately wise, that many people call her wisdom\npersonified. But, to tell you the truth, she has hardly vivacity enough\nfor my taste; and I think you would scarcely find her so pleasant a\ntravelling companion as myself. She has her good points, nevertheless;\nand you will find the benefit of them, in your encounter with the\nGorgons.\"\n\nBy this time it had grown quite dusk. They were now come to a very wild\nand desert place, overgrown with shaggy bushes, and so silent and\nsolitary that nobody seemed ever to have dwelt or journeyed there. All\nwas waste and desolate, in the gray twilight, which grew every moment\nmore obscure. Perseus looked about him, rather disconsolately, and asked\nQuicksilver whether they had a great deal farther to go.\n\n\"Hist! hist!\" whispered his companion. \"Make no noise! This is just the\ntime and place to meet the Three Gray Women. Be careful that they do not\nsee you before you see them; for, though they have but a single eye\namong the three, it is as sharp sighted as half a dozen common eyes.\"\n\n\"But what must I do,\" asked Perseus, \"when we meet them?\"\n\nQuicksilver explained to Perseus how the Three Gray Women managed with\ntheir one eye. They were in the habit, it seems, of changing it from one\nto another, as if it had been a pair of spectacles, or--which would have\nsuited them better--a quizzing glass. When one of the three had kept the\neye a certain time, she took it out of the socket and passed it to one\nof her sisters, whose turn it might happen to be, and who immediately\nclapped it into her own head, and enjoyed a peep at the visible world.\nThus it will easily be understood that only one of the Three Gray Women\ncould see, while the other two were in utter darkness; and, moreover, at\nthe instant when the eye was passing from hand to hand, neither of the\npoor old ladies was able to see a wink. I have heard of a great many\nstrange things, in my day, and have witnessed not a few; but none, it\nseems to me, that can compare with the oddity of these Three Gray Women,\nall peeping through a single eye.\n\nSo thought Perseus, likewise, and was so astonished that he almost\nfancied his companion was joking with him, and that there were no such\nold women in the world.\n\n\"You will soon find whether I tell the truth or no,\" observed\nQuicksilver. \"Hark! hush! hist! hist! There they come, now!\"\n\nPerseus looked earnestly through the dusk of the evening, and there,\nsure enough, at no great distance off, he descried the Three Gray Women.\nThe light being so faint, he could not well make out what sort of\nfigures they were; only he discovered that they had long gray hair; and,\nas they came nearer, he saw that two of them had but the empty socket of\nan eye, in the middle of their foreheads. But, in the middle of the\nthird sister's forehead, there was a very large, bright, and piercing\neye, which sparkled like a great diamond in a ring; and so penetrating\ndid it seem to be, that Perseus could not help thinking it must possess\nthe gift of seeing in the darkest midnight just as perfectly as at\nnoonday. The sight of three persons' eyes was melted and collected into\nthat single one.\n\nThus the three old dames got along about as comfortably, upon the whole,\nas if they could all see at once. She who chanced to have the eye in her\nforehead led the other two by the hands, peeping sharply about her, all\nthe while; insomuch that Perseus dreaded lest she should see right\nthrough the thick clump of bushes behind which he and Quicksilver had\nhidden themselves. My stars! it was positively terrible to be within\nreach of so very sharp an eye!\n\nBut, before they reached the clump of bushes, one of the Three Gray\nWomen spoke.\n\n\"Sister! Sister Scarecrow!\" cried she, \"you have had the eye long\nenough. It is my turn now!\"\n\n\"Let me keep it a moment longer, Sister Nightmare,\" answered Scarecrow.\n\"I thought I had a glimpse of something behind that thick bush.\"\n\n\"Well, and what of that?\" retorted Nightmare, peevishly. \"Can't I see\ninto a thick bush as easily as yourself? The eye is mine as well as\nyours; and I know the use of it as well as you, or maybe a little\nbetter. I insist upon taking a peep immediately!\"\n\nBut here the third sister, whose name was Shakejoint, began to complain,\nand said that it was her turn to have the eye, and that Scarecrow and\nNightmare wanted to keep it all to themselves. To end the dispute, old\nDame Scarecrow took the eye out of her forehead, and held it forth in\nher hand.\n\n\"Take it, one of you,\" cried she, \"and quit this foolish quarrelling.\nFor my part, I shall be glad of a little thick darkness. Take it\nquickly, however, or I must clap it into my own head again!\"\n\nAccordingly, both Nightmare and Shakejoint put out their hands, groping\neagerly to snatch the eye out of the hand of Scarecrow. But, being both\nalike blind, they could not easily find where Scarecrow's hand was; and\nScarecrow, being now just as much in the dark as Shakejoint and\nNightmare, could not at once meet either of their hands, in order to put\nthe eye into it. Thus (as you will see, with half an eye, my wise little\nauditors), these good old dames had fallen into a strange perplexity.\nFor, though the eye shone and glistened like a star, as Scarecrow held\nit out, yet the Gray Women caught not the least glimpse of its light,\nand were all three in utter darkness, from too impatient a desire to\nsee.\n\nQuicksilver was so much tickled at beholding Shakejoint and Nightmare\nboth groping for the eye, and each finding fault with Scarecrow and one\nanother, that he could scarcely help laughing aloud.\n\n\"Now is your time!\" he whispered to Perseus. \"Quick, quick! before they\ncan clap the eye into either of their heads. Rush out upon the old\nladies, and snatch it from Scarecrow's hand!\"\n\nIn an instant, while the Three Gray Women were still scolding each\nother, Perseus leaped from behind the clump of bushes, and made himself\nmaster of the prize. The marvellous eye, as he held it in his hand,\nshone very brightly, and seemed to look up into his face with a knowing\nair, and an expression as if it would have winked, had it been provided\nwith a pair of eyelids for that purpose. But the Gray Women knew nothing\nof what had happened; and, each supposing that one of her sisters was in\npossession of the eye, they began their quarrel anew. At last, as\nPerseus did not wish to put these respectable dames to greater\ninconvenience than was really necessary, he thought it right to explain\nthe matter.\n\n\"My good ladies,\" said he, \"pray do not be angry with one another. If\nanybody is in fault, it is myself; for I have the honour to hold your\nvery brilliant and excellent eye in my own hand!\"\n\n\"You! you have our eye! And who are you?\" screamed the Three Gray Women,\nall in a breath; for they were terribly frightened, of course, at\nhearing a strange voice, and discovering that their eyesight had got\ninto the hands of they could not guess whom. \"Oh, what shall we do,\nsisters? what shall we do? We are all in the dark! Give us our eye! Give\nus our one, precious, solitary eye! You have two of your own! Give us\nour eye!\"\n\n\"Tell them,\" whispered Quicksilver to Perseus, \"that they shall have\nback the eye as soon as they direct you where to find the Nymphs who\nhave the flying slippers, the magic wallet, and the helmet of darkness.\"\n\n\"My dear, good, admirable old ladies,\" said Perseus, addressing the Gray\nWomen, \"there is no occasion for putting yourselves into such a fright.\nI am by no means a bad young man. You shall have back your eye, safe and\nsound, and as bright as ever, the moment you tell me where to find the\nNymphs.\"\n\n\"The Nymphs! Goodness me! sisters, what Nymphs does he mean?\" screamed\nScarecrow. \"There are a great many Nymphs, people say; some that go a\nhunting in the woods, and some that live inside of trees, and some that\nhave a comfortable home in fountains of water. We know nothing at all\nabout them. We are three unfortunate old souls, that go wandering about\nin the dusk, and never had but one eye amongst us, and that one you have\nstolen away. Oh, give it back, good stranger!--whoever you are, give it\nback!\"\n\nAll this while the Three Gray Women were groping with their outstretched\nhands, and trying their utmost to get hold of Perseus. But he took good\ncare to keep out of their reach.\n\n\"My respectable dames,\" said he--for his mother had taught him always to\nuse the greatest civility--\"I hold your eye fast in my hand, and shall\nkeep it safely for you, until you please to tell me where to find these\nNymphs. The Nymphs, I mean, who keep the enchanted wallet, the flying\nslippers, and the what is it?--the helmet of invisibility.\"\n\n\"Mercy on us, sisters! what is the young man talking about?\" exclaimed\nScarecrow, Nightmare and Shakejoint, one to another, with great\nappearance of astonishment. \"A pair of flying slippers, quoth he! His\nheels would quickly fly higher than his head, if he was silly enough to\nput them on. And a helmet of invisibility! How could a helmet make him\ninvisible, unless it were big enough for him to hide under it? And an\nenchanted wallet! What sort of a contrivance may that be, I wonder? No,\nno, good stranger! we can tell you nothing of these marvellous things.\nYou have two eyes of your own, and we have but a single one amongst us\nthree. You can find out such wonders better than three blind old\ncreatures, like us.\"\n\nPerseus, hearing them talk in this way, began really to think that the\nGray Women knew nothing of the matter; and, as it grieved him to have\nput them to so much trouble, he was just on the point of restoring their\neye and asking pardon for his rudeness in snatching it away. But\nQuicksilver caught his hand.\n\n\"Don't let them make a fool of you!\" said he. \"These Three Gray Women\nare the only persons in the world that can tell you where to find the\nNymphs; and, unless you get that information, you will never succeed in\ncutting off the head of Medusa with the snaky locks. Keep fast hold of\nthe eye, and all will go well.\"\n\nAs it turned out, Quicksilver was in the right. There are but few things\nthat people prize so much as they do their eyesight; and the Gray Women\nvalued their single eye as highly as if it had been half a dozen, which\nwas the number they ought to have had. Finding that there was no other\nway of recovering it, they at last told Perseus what he wanted to know.\nNo sooner had they done so, than he immediately, and with the utmost\nrespect, clapped the eye into the vacant socket in one of their\nforeheads, thanked them for their kindness, and bade them farewell.\nBefore the young man was out of hearing, however, they had got into a\nnew dispute, because he happened to have given the eye to Scarecrow, who\nhad already taken her turn of it when their trouble with Perseus\ncommenced.\n\nIt is greatly to be feared that the Three Gray Women were very much in\nthe habit of disturbing their mutual harmony by bickerings of this sort;\nwhich was the more pity, as they could not conveniently do without one\nanother, and were evidently intended to be inseparable companions. As a\ngeneral rule, I would advise all people, whether sisters or brothers,\nold or young, who chance to have but one eye amongst them, to cultivate\nforbearance, and not all insist upon peeping through it at once.\n\nQuicksilver and Perseus, in the meantime, were making the best of their\nway in quest of the Nymphs. The old dames had given them such particular\ndirections that they were not long in finding them out. They proved to\nbe very different persons from Nightmare, Shakejoint and Scarecrow; for,\ninstead of being old, they were young and beautiful; and instead of one\neye amongst the sisterhood, each Nymph had two exceedingly bright eyes\nof her own, with which she looked very kindly at Perseus. They seemed to\nbe acquainted with Quicksilver; and, when he told them the adventure\nwhich Perseus had undertaken, they made no difficulty about giving him\nthe valuable articles that were in their custody. In the first place,\nthey brought out what appeared to be a small purse, made of deer skin,\nand curiously embroidered, and bade him be sure and keep it safe. This\nwas the magic wallet. The Nymphs next produced a pair of shoes, or\nslippers, or sandals, with a nice little pair of wings at the heel of\neach.\n\n\"Put them on, Perseus,\" said Quicksilver. \"You will find yourself as\nlight heeled as you can desire for the remainder of our journey.\"\n\nSo Perseus proceeded to put one of the slippers on, while he laid the\nother on the ground by his side. Unexpectedly, however, this other\nslipper spread its wings, fluttered up off the ground, and would\nprobably have flown away, if Quicksilver had not made a leap, and\nluckily caught it in the air.\n\n\"Be more careful,\" said he, as he gave it back to Perseus. \"It would\nfrighten the birds, up aloft, if they should see a flying slipper\namongst them.\"\n\nWhen Perseus had got on both of these wonderful slippers, he was\naltogether too buoyant to tread on earth. Making a step or two, lo and\nbehold! upward he popped into the air, high above the heads of\nQuicksilver and the Nymphs, and found it very difficult to clamber down\nagain. Winged slippers, and all such high-flying contrivances, are\nseldom quite easy to manage until one grows a little accustomed to them.\nQuicksilver laughed at his companion's involuntary activity, and told\nhim that he must not be in so desperate a hurry, but must wait for the\ninvisible helmet.\n\nThe good-natured Nymphs had the helmet, with its dark tuft of waving\nplumes, all in readiness to put upon his head. And now there happened\nabout as wonderful an incident as anything that I have yet told you.\nThe instant before the helmet was put on, there stood Perseus, a\nbeautiful young man, with golden ringlets and rosy cheeks, the crooked\nsword by his side, and the brightly polished shield upon his arm--a\nfigure that seemed all made up of courage, sprightliness, and glorious\nlight. But when the helmet had descended over his white brow, there was\nno longer any Perseus to be seen! Nothing but empty air! Even the\nhelmet, that covered him with its invisibility, had vanished!\n\n\"Where are you, Perseus?\" asked Quicksilver.\n\n\"Why, here, to be sure!\" answered Perseus, very quietly, although his\nvoice seemed to come out of the transparent atmosphere. \"Just where I\nwas a moment ago. Don't you see me?\"\n\n\"No, indeed!\" answered his friend. \"You are hidden under the helmet.\nBut, if I cannot see you, neither can the Gorgons. Follow me, therefore,\nand we will try your dexterity in using the winged slippers.\"\n\nWith these words, Quicksilver's cap spread its wings, as if his head\nwere about to fly away from his shoulders; but his whole figure rose\nlightly into the air, and Perseus followed. By the time they had\nascended a few hundred feet, the young man began to feel what a\ndelightful thing it was to leave the dull earth so far beneath him, and\nto be able to flit about like a bird.\n\nIt was now deep night. Perseus looked upward, and saw the round, bright,\nsilvery moon, and thought that he should desire nothing better than to\nsoar up thither, and spend his life there. Then he looked downward\nagain, and saw the earth, with its seas and lakes, and the silver\ncourses of its rivers, and its snowy mountain peaks, and the breadth of\nits fields, and the dark cluster of its woods, and its cities of white\nmarble; and, with the moonshine sleeping over the whole scene, it was as\nbeautiful as the moon or any star could be. And, among other objects, he\nsaw the island of Seriphus, where his dear mother was. Sometimes he and\nQuicksilver approached a cloud, that, at a distance, looked as if it\nwere made of fleecy silver; although, when they plunged into it, they\nfound themselves chilled and moistened with gray mist. So swift was\ntheir flight, however, that, in an instant, they emerged from the cloud\ninto the moonlight again. Once, a high-soaring eagle flew right against\nthe invisible Perseus. The bravest sights were the meteors, that gleamed\nsuddenly out, as if a bonfire had been kindled in the sky, and made the\nmoonshine pale for as much as a hundred miles around them.\n\nAs the two companions flew onward, Perseus fancied that he could hear\nthe rustle of a garment close by his side; and it was on the side\nopposite to the one where he beheld Quicksilver, yet only Quicksilver\nwas visible.\n\n\"Whose garment is this,\" inquired Perseus, \"that keeps rustling close\nbeside me in the breeze?\"\n\n\"Oh, it is my sister's!\" answered Quicksilver. \"She is coming along with\nus, as I told you she would. We could do nothing without the help of my\nsister. You have no idea how wise she is. She has such eyes, too! Why,\nshe can see you, at this moment, just as distinctly as if you were not\ninvisible; and I'll venture to say, she will be the first to discover\nthe Gorgons.\"\n\nBy this time, in their swift voyage through the air, they had come\nwithin sight of the great ocean, and were soon flying over it. Far\nbeneath them, the waves tossed themselves tumultuously in mid-sea, or\nrolled a white surf line upon the long beaches, or foamed against the\nrocky cliffs, with a roar that was thunderous, in the lower world;\nalthough it became a gentle murmur, like the voice of a baby half\nasleep, before it reached the ears of Perseus. Just then a voice spoke\nin the air close by him. It seemed to be a woman's voice, and was\nmelodious, though not exactly what might be called sweet, but grave and\nmild.\n\n\"Perseus,\" said the voice, \"there are the Gorgons.\"\n\n\"Where?\" exclaimed Perseus. \"I cannot see them.\"\n\n\"On the shore of that island beneath you,\" replied the voice. \"A pebble,\ndropped from your hand, would strike in the midst of them.\"\n\n\"I told you she would be the first to discover them,\" said Quicksilver\nto Perseus. \"And there they are!\"\n\nStraight downward, two or three thousand feet below him, Perseus\nperceived a small island, with the sea breaking into white foam all\naround its rocky shore, except on one side, where there was a beach of\nsnowy sand. He descended toward it, and, looking earnestly at a cluster\nor heap of brightness, at the foot of a precipice of black rocks,\nbehold, there were the terrible Gorgons! They lay fast asleep, soothed\nby the thunder of the sea; for it required a tumult that would have\ndeafened everybody else to lull such fierce creatures into slumber. The\nmoonlight glistened on their steely scales, and on their golden wings,\nwhich drooped idly over the sand. Their brazen claws, horrible to look\nat, were thrust out, and clutched the wave-beaten fragments of rock,\nwhile the sleeping Gorgons dreamed of tearing some poor mortal all to\npieces. The snakes that served them instead of hair seemed likewise to\nbe asleep; although, now and then, one would writhe, and lift its head,\nand thrust out its forked tongue, emitting a drowsy hiss, and then let\nitself subside among its sister snakes.\n\nThe Gorgons were more like an awful, gigantic kind of insect--immense,\ngolden-winged beetles, or dragon-flies, or things of that sort--at once\nugly and beautiful--than like anything else; only that they were a\nthousand and a million times as big. And, with all this, there was\nsomething partly human about them, too. Luckily for Perseus, their faces\nwere completely hidden from him by the posture in which they lay; for,\nhad he but looked one instant at them, he would have fallen heavily out\nof the air, an image of senseless stone.\n\n\"Now,\" whispered Quicksilver, as he hovered by the side of Perseus--\"now\nis your time to do the deed! Be quick; for, if one of the Gorgons should\nawake, you are too late!\"\n\n\"Which shall I strike at?\" asked Perseus, drawing his sword and\ndescending a little lower. \"They all three look alike. All three have\nsnaky locks. Which of the three is Medusa?\"\n\nIt must be understood that Medusa was the only one of these dragon\nmonsters whose head Perseus could possibly cut off. As for the other\ntwo, let him have the sharpest sword that ever was forged, and he might\nhave hacked away by the hour together, without doing them the least\nharm.\n\n\"Be cautious,\" said the calm voice which had before spoken to him. \"One\nof the Gorgons is stirring in her sleep, and is just about to turn over.\nThat is Medusa. Do not look at her! The sight would turn you to stone!\nLook at the reflection of her face and figure in the bright mirror of\nyour shield.\"\n\nPerseus now understood Quicksilver's motive for so earnestly exhorting\nhim to polish his shield. In its surface he could safely look at the\nreflection of the Gorgon's face. And there it was--that terrible\ncountenance--mirrored in the brightness of the shield, with the\nmoonlight falling over it, and displaying all its horror. The snakes,\nwhose venomous natures could not altogether sleep, kept twisting\nthemselves over the forehead. It was the fiercest and most horrible face\nthat ever was seen or imagined, and yet with a strange, fearful, and\nsavage kind of beauty in it. The eyes were closed, and the Gorgon was\nstill in a deep slumber; but there was an unquiet expression disturbing\nher features, as if the monster was troubled with an ugly dream. She\ngnashed her white tusks, and dug into the sand with her brazen claws.\n\nThe snakes, too, seemed to feel Medusa's dream, and to be made more\nrestless by it. They twined themselves into tumultuous knots, writhed\nfiercely, and uplifted a hundred hissing heads, without opening their\neyes.\n\n\"Now, now!\" whispered Quicksilver, who was growing impatient. \"Make a\ndash at the monster!\"\n\n\"But be calm,\" said the grave, melodious voice at the young man's side.\n\"Look in your shield, as you fly downward, and take care that you do not\nmiss your first stroke.\"\n\nPerseus flew cautiously downward, still keeping his eyes on Medusa's\nface, as reflected in his shield. The nearer he came, the more terrible\ndid the snaky visage and metallic body of the monster grow. At last,\nwhen he found himself hovering over her within arm's length, Perseus\nuplifted his sword, while, at the same instant, each separate snake upon\nthe Gorgon's head stretched threateningly upward, and Medusa unclosed\nher eyes. But she awoke too late. The sword was sharp; the stroke fell\nlike a lightning flash; and the head of the wicked Medusa tumbled from\nher body!\n\n\"Admirably done!\" cried Quicksilver. \"Make haste, and clap the head into\nyour magic wallet.\"\n\nTo the astonishment of Perseus, the small, embroidered wallet, which he\nhad hung about his neck, and which had hitherto been no bigger than a\npurse, grew all at once large enough to contain Medusa's head. As quick\nas thought, he snatched it up, with the snakes still writhing upon it,\nand thrust it in.\n\n\"Your task is done,\" said the calm voice. \"Now fly; for the other\nGorgons will do their utmost to take vengeance for Medusa's death.\"\n\nIt was, indeed, necessary to take flight; for Perseus had not done the\ndeed so quietly but that the clash of his sword, and the hissing of the\nsnakes, and the thump of Medusa's head as it tumbled upon the sea-beaten\nsand, awoke the other two monsters. There they sat, for an instant,\nsleepily rubbing their eyes with their brazen fingers, while all the\nsnakes on their heads reared themselves on end with surprise, and with\nvenomous malice against they knew not what. But when the Gorgons saw the\nscaly carcass of Medusa, headless, and her golden wings all ruffled and\nhalf spread out on the sand, it was really awful to hear what yells and\nscreeches they set up. And then the snakes! They sent forth a\nhundredfold hiss, with one consent, and Medusa's snakes answered them\nout of the magic wallet.\n\nNo sooner were the Gorgons broad awake than they hurtled upward into the\nair, brandishing their brass talons, gnashing their horrible tusks, and\nflapping their huge wings so wildly, that some of the golden feathers\nwere shaken out, and floated down upon the shore. And there, perhaps,\nthose very feathers lie scattered till this day. Up rose the Gorgons, as\nI tell you, staring horribly about, in hopes of turning somebody to\nstone. Had Perseus looked them in the face, or had he fallen into their\nclutches, his poor mother would never have kissed her boy again! But he\ntook good care to turn his eyes another way; and, as he wore the helmet\nof invisibility, the Gorgons knew not in what direction to follow him;\nnor did he fail to make the best use of the winged slippers, by soaring\nupward a perpendicular mile or so. At that height, when the screams of\nthose abominable creatures sounded faintly beneath him, he made a\nstraight course for the island of Seriphus, in order to carry Medusa's\nhead to King Polydectes.\n\nI have no time to tell you of several marvellous things that befell\nPerseus on his way homeward; such as his killing a hideous sea monster,\njust as it was on the point of devouring a beautiful maiden; nor how he\nchanged an enormous giant into a mountain of stone, merely by showing\nhim the head of the Gorgon. If you doubt this latter story, you may make\na voyage to Africa, some day or other, and see the very mountain, which\nis still known by the ancient giant's name.\n\nFinally, our brave Perseus arrived at the island, where he expected to\nsee his dear mother. But, during his absence, the wicked king had\ntreated Dana\u00eb so very ill that she was compelled to make her escape, and\nhad taken refuge in a temple, where some good old priests were extremely\nkind to her. These praiseworthy priests, and the kind-hearted fisherman,\nwho had first shown hospitality to Dana\u00eb and little Perseus when he\nfound them afloat in the chest, seem to have been the only persons on\nthe island who cared about doing right. All the rest of the people, as\nwell as King Polydectes himself, were remarkably ill behaved, and\ndeserved no better destiny than that which was now to happen.\n\nNot finding his mother at home, Perseus went straight to the palace, and\nwas immediately ushered into the presence of the king. Polydectes was by\nno means rejoiced to see him; for he had felt almost certain, in his own\nevil mind, that the Gorgons would have torn the poor young man to\npieces, and have eaten him up, out of the way. However, seeing him\nsafely returned, he put the best face he could upon the matter and asked\nPerseus how he had succeeded.\n\n\"Have you performed your promise?\" inquired he. \"Have you brought me the\nhead of Medusa with the snaky locks? If not, young man, it will cost you\ndear; for I must have a bridal present for the beautiful Princess\nHippodamia, and there is nothing else that she would admire so much.\"\n\n\"Yes, please Your Majesty,\" answered Perseus, in a quiet way, as if it\nwere no very wonderful deed for such a young man as he to perform. \"I\nhave brought you the Gorgon's head, snaky locks and all!\"\n\n\"Indeed! Pray let me see it,\" quoth King Polydectes. \"It must be a very\ncurious spectacle, if all that travellers tell about it be true!\"\n\n\"Your Majesty is in the right,\" replied Perseus. \"It is really an object\nthat will be pretty certain to fix the regards of all who look at it.\nAnd, if Your Majesty think fit, I would suggest that a holiday be\nproclaimed, and that all Your Majesty's subjects be summoned to behold\nthis wonderful curiosity. Few of them, I imagine, have seen a Gorgon's\nhead before, and perhaps never may again!\"\n\nThe king well knew that his subjects were an idle set of reprobates, and\nvery fond of sightseeing, as idle persons usually are. So he took the\nyoung man's advice, and sent out heralds and messengers, in all\ndirections, to blow the trumpet at the street corners, and in the market\nplaces, and wherever two roads met, and summon everybody to court.\nThither, accordingly, came a great multitude of good-for-nothing\nvagabonds, all of whom, out of pure love of mischief, would have been\nglad if Perseus had met with some ill-hap in his encounter with the\nGorgons. If there were any better people in the island (as I really hope\nthere may have been, although the story tells nothing about any such),\nthey stayed quietly at home, minding their business, and taking care of\ntheir little children. Most of the inhabitants, at all events, ran as\nfast as they could to the palace, and shoved, and pushed, and elbowed\none another in their eagerness to get near a balcony, on which Perseus\nshowed himself, holding the embroidered wallet in his hand.\n\nOn a platform, within full view of the balcony, sat the mighty King\nPolydectes, amid his evil counsellors, and with his flattering courtiers\nin a semi-circle round about him. Monarch, counsellors, courtiers, and\nsubjects, all gazed eagerly toward Perseus.\n\n\"Show us the head! Show us the head!\" shouted the people; and there was\na fierceness in their cry as if they would tear Perseus to pieces,\nunless he should satisfy them with what he had to show. \"Show us the\nhead of Medusa with the snaky locks!\"\n\nA feeling of sorrow and pity came over the youthful Perseus.\n\n\"O King Polydectes,\" cried he, \"and ye many people, I am very loath to\nshow you the Gorgon's head!\"\n\n\"Ah, the villain and coward!\" yelled the people, more fiercely than\nbefore. \"He is making game of us! He has no Gorgon's head! Show us the\nhead if you have it, or we will take your own head for a football!\"\n\nThe evil counsellors whispered bad advice in the king's ear; the\ncourtiers murmured, with one consent, that Perseus had shown disrespect\nto their royal lord and master; and the great King Polydectes himself\nwaved his hand, and ordered him, with the stern, deep voice of\nauthority, on his peril, to produce the head.\n\n\"Show me the Gorgon's head, or I will cut off your own!\"\n\nAnd Perseus sighed.\n\n\"This instant,\" repeated Polydectes, \"or you die!\"\n\n\"Behold it then!\" cried Perseus, in a voice like the blast of a trumpet.\n\nAnd, suddenly holding up the head, not an eyelid had time to wink before\nthe wicked King Polydectes, his evil counsellors, and all his fierce\nsubjects were no longer anything but the mere images of a monarch and\nhis people. They were all fixed, forever, in the look and attitude of\nthat moment! At the first glimpse of the terrible head of Medusa, they\nwhitened into marble! And Perseus thrust the head back into his wallet,\nand went to tell his dear mother that she need no longer be afraid of\nthe wicked King Polydectes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE DRAGON'S TEETH\n\n\nCadmus, Ph\u0153nix, and Cilix, the three sons of King Agenor, and their\nlittle sister Europa (who was a very beautiful child) were at play\ntogether, near the seashore, in their father's kingdom of Ph\u0153nicia.\nThey had rambled to some distance from the palace where their parents\ndwelt, and were now in a verdant meadow, on one side of which lay the\nsea, all sparkling and dimpling in the sunshine, and murmuring gently\nagainst the beach. The three boys were very happy, gathering flowers,\nand twining them into garlands, with which they adorned the little\nEuropa. Seated on the grass, the child was almost hidden under an\nabundance of buds and blossoms, whence her rosy face peeped merrily out,\nand, as Cadmus said, was the prettiest of all the flowers.\n\nJust then, there came a splendid butterfly, fluttering along the meadow;\nand Cadmus, Ph\u0153nix, and Cilix set off in pursuit of it, crying out\nthat it was a flower with wings. Europa, who was a little wearied with\nplaying all day long, did not chase the butterfly with her brothers, but\nsat still where they had left her, and closed her eyes. For a while, she\nlistened to the pleasant murmur of the sea, which was like a voice\nsaying \"Hush!\" and bidding her go to sleep. But the pretty child, if she\nslept at all, could not have slept more than a moment, when she heard\nsomething trample on the grass, not far from her, and peeping out from\nthe heap of flowers, beheld a snow-white bull.\n\nAnd whence could this bull have come? Europa and her brothers had been a\nlong time playing in the meadow, and had seen no cattle, nor other\nliving thing, either there or on the neighbouring hills.\n\n\"Brother Cadmus!\" cried Europa, starting up out of the midst of the\nroses and lilies. \"Ph\u0153nix! Cilix! Where are you all? Help! Help! Come\nand drive away this bull!\"\n\nBut her brothers were too far off to hear; especially as the fright took\naway Europa's voice, and hindered her from calling very loudly. So there\nshe stood, with her pretty mouth wide open, as pale as the white lilies\nthat were twisted among the other flowers in her garlands.\n\nNevertheless, it was the suddenness with which she had perceived the\nbull, rather than anything frightful in his appearance, that caused\nEuropa so much alarm. On looking at him more attentively, she began to\nsee that he was a beautiful animal, and even fancied a particularly\namiable expression in his face. As for his breath--the breath of cattle,\nyou know, is always sweet--it was as fragrant as if he had been grazing\non no other food than rosebuds, or, at least, the most delicate of\nclover blossoms. Never before did a bull have such bright and tender\neyes, and such smooth horns of ivory, as this one. And the bull ran\nlittle races, and capered sportively around the child; so that she quite\nforgot how big and strong he was, and, from the gentleness and\nplayfulness of his actions, soon came to consider him as innocent a\ncreature as a pet lamb.\n\nThus, frightened as she at first was, you might by and by have seen\nEuropa stroking the bull's forehead with her small white hand, and\ntaking the garlands off her own head to hang them on his neck and ivory\nhorns. Then she pulled up some blades of grass, and he ate them out of\nher hand, not as if he were hungry, but because he wanted to be friends\nwith the child, and took pleasure in eating what she had touched. Well,\nmy stars! was there ever such a gentle, sweet, pretty, and amiable\ncreature as this bull, and ever such a nice playmate for a little girl?\n\nWhen the animal saw (for the bull had so much intelligence that it is\nreally wonderful to think of), when he saw that Europa was no longer\nafraid of him, he grew overjoyed, and could hardly contain himself for\ndelight. He frisked about the meadow, now here, now there, making\nsprightly leaps, with as little effort as a bird expends in hopping from\ntwig to twig. Indeed, his motion was as light as if he were flying\nthrough the air, and his hoofs seemed hardly to leave their print in the\ngrassy soil over which he trod. With his spotless hue, he resembled a\nsnowdrift, wafted along by the wind. Once he galloped so far away that\nEuropa feared lest she might never see him again; so, setting up her\nchildish voice, she called him back.\n\n\"Come back, pretty creature!\" she cried. \"Here is a nice clover\nblossom.\"\n\nAnd then it was delightful to witness the gratitude of this amiable\nbull, and how he was so full of joy and thankfulness that he capered\nhigher than ever. He came running, and bowed his head before Europa, as\nif he knew her to be a king's daughter, or else recognised the important\ntruth that a little girl is everybody's queen. And not only did the bull\nbend his neck, he absolutely knelt down at her feet, and made such\nintelligent nods, and other inviting gestures, that Europa understood\nwhat he meant just as well as if he had put it in so many words.\n\n\"Come, dear child,\" was what he wanted to say, \"let me give you a ride\non my back.\"\n\nAt the first thought of such a thing, Europa drew back. But then she\nconsidered in her wise little head that there could be no possible harm\nin taking just one gallop on the back of this docile and friendly\nanimal, who would certainly set her down the very instant she desired\nit. And how it would surprise her brothers to see her riding across the\ngreen meadow! And what merry times they might have, either taking turns\nfor a gallop, or clambering on the gentle creature, all four children\ntogether, and careering round the field with shouts of laughter that\nwould be heard as far off as King Agenor's palace!\n\n\"I think I will do it,\" said the child to herself.\n\nAnd, indeed, why not? She cast a glance around, and caught a glimpse of\nCadmus, Ph\u0153nix, and Cilix, who were still in pursuit of the\nbutterfly, almost at the other end of the meadow. It would be the\nquickest way of rejoining them, to get upon the white bull's back. She\ncame a step nearer to him, therefore; and--sociable creature that he\nwas--he showed so much joy at this mark of her confidence, that the\nchild could not find it in her heart to hesitate any longer. Making one\nbound (for this little princess was as active as a squirrel), there sat\nEuropa on the beautiful bull, holding an ivory horn in each hand, lest\nshe should fall off.\n\n\"Softly, pretty bull, softly!\" she said, rather frightened at what she\nhad done. \"Do not gallop too fast.\"\n\nHaving got the child on his back, the animal gave a leap into the air,\nand came down so like a feather that Europa did not know when his hoofs\ntouched the ground. He then began a race to that part of the flowery\nplain where her three brothers were, and where they had just caught\ntheir splendid butterfly. Europa screamed with delight; and Ph\u0153nix,\nCilix, and Cadmus stood gaping at the spectacle of their sister mounted\non a white bull, not knowing whether to be frightened or to wish the\nsame good luck for themselves. The gentle and innocent creature (for who\ncould possibly doubt that he was so?) pranced round among the children\nas sportively as a kitten. Europa all the while looked down upon her\nbrothers, nodding and laughing, but yet with a sort of stateliness in\nher rosy little face. As the bull wheeled about to take another gallop\nacross the meadow, the child waved her hand, and said, \"Good-by,\"\nplayfully pretending that she was now bound on a distant journey, and\nmight not see her brothers again for nobody could tell how long.\n\n\"Good-by,\" shouted Cadmus, Ph\u0153nix, and Cilix, all in one breath.\n\nBut, together with her enjoyment of the sport, there was still a little\nremnant of fear in the child's heart; so that her last look at the three\nboys was a troubled one, and made them feel as if their dear sister were\nreally leaving them forever. And what do you think the snowy bull did\nnext? Why, he set off, as swift as the wind, straight down to the\nseashore, scampered across the sand, took an airy leap, and plunged\nright in among the foaming billows. The white spray rose in a shower\nover him and little Europa, and fell spattering down upon the water.\n\nThen what a scream of terror did the poor child send forth! The three\nbrothers screamed manfully, likewise, and ran to the shore as fast as\ntheir legs would carry them, with Cadmus at their head. But it was too\nlate. When they reached the margin of the sand, the treacherous animal\nwas already far away in the wide blue sea, with only his snowy head and\ntail emerging, and poor little Europa between them, stretching out one\nhand toward her dear brothers, while she grasped the bull's ivory horn\nwith the other. And there stood Cadmus, Ph\u0153nix, and Cilix, gazing at\nthis sad spectacle, through their tears, until they could no longer\ndistinguish the bull's snowy head from the white-capped billows that\nseemed to boil up out of the sea's depths around him. Nothing more was\never seen of the white bull--nothing more of the beautiful child.\n\nThis was a mournful story, as you may well think, for the three boys to\ncarry home to their parents. King Agenor, their father, was the ruler of\nthe whole country; but he loved his little daughter Europa better than\nhis kingdom, or than all his other children, or than anything else in\nthe world. Therefore, when Cadmus and his two brothers came crying home,\nand told him how that a white bull had carried off their sister, and\nswam with her over the sea, the king was quite beside himself with grief\nand rage. Although it was now twilight, and fast growing dark, he bade\nthem set out instantly in search of her.\n\n\"Never shall you see my face again,\" he cried, \"unless you bring me back\nmy little Europa, to gladden me with her smiles and her pretty ways.\nBegone, and enter my presence no more, till you come leading her by the\nhand.\"\n\nAs King Agenor said this, his eyes flashed fire (for he was a very\npassionate king), and he looked so terribly angry that the poor boys did\nnot even venture to ask for their suppers, but slunk away out of the\npalace, and only paused on the steps a moment to consult whither they\nshould go first. While they were standing there, all in dismay, their\nmother, Queen Telephassa (who happened not to be by when they told the\nstory to the king), came hurrying after them, and said that she, too,\nwould go in quest of her daughter.\n\n\"Oh no, mother!\" cried the boys. \"The night is dark, and there is no\nknowing what troubles and perils we may meet with.\"\n\n\"Alas! my dear children,\" answered poor Queen Telephassa, weeping\nbitterly, \"that is only another reason why I should go with you. If I\nshould lose you, too, as well as my little Europa, what would become of\nme?\"\n\n\"And let me go likewise!\" said their playfellow Thasus, who came running\nto join them.\n\nThasus was the son of a seafaring person in the neighbourhood; he had\nbeen brought up with the young princess, and was their intimate friend,\nand loved Europa very much; so they consented that he should accompany\nthem. The whole party, therefore, set forth together; Cadmus, Ph\u0153nix,\nCilix and Thasus clustered round Queen Telephassa, grasping her skirts,\nand begging her to lean upon their shoulders whenever she felt weary. In\nthis manner they went down the palace steps, and began a journey which\nturned out to be a great deal longer than they dreamed of. The last that\nthey saw of King Agenor, he came to the door, with a servant holding a\ntorch beside him, and called after them into the gathering darkness:\n\n\"Remember! Never ascend these steps again without the child!\"\n\n\"Never!\" sobbed Queen Telephassa; and the three brothers and Thasus\nanswered, \"Never! Never! Never! Never!\"\n\nAnd they kept their word. Year after year King Agenor sat in the\nsolitude of his beautiful palace, listening in vain for their returning\nfootsteps, hoping to hear the familiar voice of the queen, and the\ncheerful talk of his sons and their playfellow Thasus, entering the\ndoor together, and the sweet, childish accents of little Europa in the\nmidst of them. But so long a time went by, that, at last, if they had\nreally come, the king would not have known that this was the voice of\nTelephassa, and these the younger voices that used to make such joyful\nechoes when the children were playing about the palace. We must now\nleave King Agenor to sit on his throne, and must go along with Queen\nTelephassa and her four youthful companions.\n\nThey went on and on, and travelled a long way, and passed over mountains\nand rivers, and sailed over seas. Here, and there, and everywhere, they\nmade continual inquiry if any person could tell them what had become of\nEuropa. The rustic people, of whom they asked this question, paused a\nlittle while from their labours in the field, and looked very much\nsurprised. They thought it strange to behold a woman in the garb of a\nqueen (for Telephassa, in her haste, had forgotten to take off her crown\nand her royal robes), roaming about the country, with four lads around\nher, on such an errand as this seemed to be. But nobody could give them\nany tidings of Europa; nobody had seen a little girl dressed like a\nprincess, and mounted on a snow-white bull, which galloped as swiftly as\nthe wind.\n\nI cannot tell you how long Queen Telephassa, and Cadmus, Ph\u0153nix, and\nCilix, her three sons, and Thasus, their playfellow, went wandering\nalong the highways and bypaths, or through the pathless wildernesses of\nthe earth, in this manner. But certain it is, that, before they reached\nany place of rest, their splendid garments were quite worn out. They all\nlooked very much travel stained, and would have had the dust of many\ncountries on their shoes, if the streams, through which they waded, had\nnot washed it all away. When they had been gone a year, Telephassa threw\naway her crown, because it chafed her forehead.\n\n\"It has given me many a headache,\" said the poor queen, \"and it cannot\ncure my heartache.\"\n\nAs fast as their princely robes got torn and tattered, they exchanged\nthem for such mean attire as ordinary people wore. By and by they came\nto have a wild and homeless aspect; so that you would much sooner have\ntaken them for a gypsy family than a queen and three princes, and a\nyoung nobleman, who had once a palace for their home, and a train of\nservants to do their bidding. The four boys grew up to be tall young\nmen, with sunburnt faces. Each of them girded on a sword, to defend\nthemselves against the perils of the way. When the husbandmen, at whose\nfarmhouses they sought hospitality, needed their assistance in the\nharvest field, they gave it willingly; and Queen Telephassa (who had\ndone no work in her palace, save to braid silk threads with golden ones)\ncame behind them to bind the sheaves. If payment was offered, they shook\ntheir heads, and only asked for tidings of Europa.\n\n\"There are bulls enough in my pasture,\" the old farmers would reply;\n\"but I never heard of one like this you tell me of. A snow-white bull\nwith a little princess on his back! Ho! ho! I ask your pardon, good\nfolks; but there never was such a sight seen hereabouts.\"\n\nAt last, when his upper lip began to have the down on it, Ph\u0153nix grew\nweary of rambling hither and thither to no purpose. So, one day, when\nthey happened to be passing through a pleasant and solitary tract of\ncountry, he sat himself down on a heap of moss.\n\n\"I can go no farther,\" said Ph\u0153nix. \"It is a mere foolish waste of\nlife, to spend it, as we do, in always wandering up and down, and never\ncoming to any home at nightfall. Our sister is lost, and never will be\nfound. She probably perished in the sea; or, to whatever shore the white\nbull may have carried her, it is now so many years ago, that there would\nbe neither love nor acquaintance between us should we meet again. My\nfather has forbidden us to return to his palace; so I shall build me a\nhut of branches, and dwell here.\"\n\n\"Well, son Ph\u0153nix,\" said Telephassa, sorrowfully, \"you have grown to\nbe a man, and must do as you judge best. But, for my part, I will still\ngo in quest of my poor child.\"\n\n\"And we three will go along with you!\" cried Cadmus and Cilix, and their\nfaithful friend Thasus.\n\nBut, before setting out, they all helped Ph\u0153nix to build a\nhabitation. When completed, it was a sweet rural bower, roofed overhead\nwith an arch of living boughs. Inside there were two pleasant rooms, one\nof which had a soft heap of moss for a bed, while the other was\nfurnished with a rustic seat or two, curiously fashioned out of the\ncrooked roots of trees. So comfortable and homelike did it seem, that\nTelephassa and her three companions could not help sighing, to think\nthat they must still roam about the world, instead of spending the\nremainder of their lives in some such cheerful abode as they had here\nbuilt for Ph\u0153nix. But, when they bade him farewell, Ph\u0153nix shed\ntears, and probably regretted that he was no longer to keep them\ncompany.\n\nHowever, he had fixed upon an admirable place to dwell in. And by and by\nthere came other people, who chanced to have no homes; and, seeing how\npleasant a spot it was, they built themselves huts in the neighbourhood\nof Ph\u0153nix's habitation. Thus, before many years went by, a city had\ngrown up there, in the centre of which was seen a stately palace of\nmarble, wherein dwelt Ph\u0153nix, clothed in a purple robe, and wearing a\ngolden crown upon his head. For the inhabitants of the new city, finding\nthat he had royal blood in his veins, had chosen him to be their king.\nThe very first decree of state which King Ph\u0153nix issued was, that if\na maiden happened to arrive in the kingdom, mounted on a snow-white\nbull, and calling herself Europa, his subjects should treat her with the\ngreatest kindness and respect, and immediately bring her to the palace.\nYou may see, by this, that Ph\u0153nix's conscience never quite ceased to\ntrouble him, for giving up the quest of his dear sister, and sitting\nhimself down to be comfortable, while his mother and her companions went\nonward.\n\nBut often and often, at the close of a weary day's journey, did\nTelephassa and Cadmus, Cilix and Thasus, remember the pleasant spot in\nwhich they had left Ph\u0153nix. It was a sorrowful prospect for these\nwanderers, that on the morrow they must again set forth, and that, after\nmany nightfalls, they would perhaps be no nearer the close of their\ntoilsome pilgrimage than now. These thoughts made them all melancholy at\ntimes, but appeared to torment Cilix more than the rest of the party. At\nlength, one morning, when they were taking their staffs in hand to set\nout, he thus addressed them:\n\n\"My dear mother, and you good brother Cadmus, and my friend Thasus,\nmethinks we are like people in a dream. There is no substance in the\nlife which we are leading. It is such a dreary length of time since the\nwhite bull carried off my sister Europa, that I have quite forgotten\nhow she looked, and the tones of her voice, and, indeed, almost doubt\nwhether such a little girl ever lived in the world. And whether she once\nlived or no, I am convinced that she no longer survives, and that\ntherefore it is the merest folly to waste our own lives and happiness in\nseeking her. Were we to find her, she would now be a woman grown, and\nwould look upon us all as strangers. So, to tell you the truth, I have\nresolved to take up my abode here; and I entreat you, mother, brother,\nand friend, to follow my example.\"\n\n\"Not I, for one,\" said Telephassa; although the poor queen, firmly as\nshe spoke, was so travel worn that she could hardly put her foot to the\nground--\"not I, for one! In the depths of my heart, little Europa is\nstill the rosy child who ran to gather flowers so many years ago. She\nhas not grown to womanhood, nor forgotten me. At noon, at night,\njourneying onward, sitting down to rest, her childish voice is always in\nmy ears, calling, 'Mother! mother!' Stop here who may, there is no\nrepose for me.\"\n\n\"Nor for me,\" said Cadmus, \"while my dear mother pleases to go onward.\"\n\nAnd the faithful Thasus, too, was resolved to bear them company. They\nremained with Cilix a few days, however, and helped him to build a\nrustic bower, resembling the one which they had formerly built for\nPh\u0153nix.\n\nWhen they were bidding him farewell, Cilix burst into tears, and told\nhis mother that it seemed just as melancholy a dream to stay there, in\nsolitude, as to go onward. If she really believed that they would ever\nfind Europa, he was willing to continue the search with them, even now.\nBut Telephassa bade him remain there, and be happy, if his own heart\nwould let him. So the pilgrims took their leave of him, and departed,\nand were hardly out of sight before some other wandering people came\nalong that way, and saw Cilix's habitation, and were greatly delighted\nwith the appearance of the place. There being abundance of unoccupied\nground in the neighbourhood, these strangers built huts for themselves,\nand were soon joined by a multitude of new settlers, who quickly formed\na city. In the middle of it was seen a magnificent palace of coloured\nmarble, on the balcony of which, every noontide, appeared Cilix, in a\nlong purple robe, and with a jewelled crown upon his head; for the\ninhabitants, when they found out that he was a king's son, had\nconsidered him the fittest of all men to be a king himself.\n\nOne of the first acts of King Cilix's government was to send out an\nexpedition, consisting of a grave ambassador and an escort of bold and\nhardy young men, with orders to visit the principal kingdoms of the\nearth, and inquire whether a young maiden had passed through those\nregions, galloping swiftly on a white bull. It is, therefore, plain to\nmy mind, that Cilix secretly blamed himself for giving up the search for\nEuropa, as long as he was able to put one foot before the other.\n\nAs for Telephassa, and Cadmus, and the good Thasus, it grieves me to\nthink of them, still keeping up that weary pilgrimage. The two young men\ndid their best for the poor queen, helping her over the rough places,\noften carrying her across rivulets in their faithful arms, and seeking\nto shelter her at nightfall, even when they themselves lay on the\nground. Sad, sad it was to hear them asking of every passerby if he had\nseen Europa, so long after the white bull had carried her away. But,\nthough the gray years thrust themselves between, and made the child's\nfigure dim in their remembrance, neither of these true-hearted three\never dreamed of giving up the search.\n\nOne morning, however, poor Thasus found that he had sprained his ankle,\nand could not possibly go a step farther.\n\n\"After a few days, to be sure,\" said he, mournfully, \"I might make shift\nto hobble along with a stick. But that would only delay you, and perhaps\nhinder you from finding dear little Europa, after all your pains and\ntrouble. Do you go forward, therefore, my beloved companions, and leave\nme to follow as I may.\"\n\n\"Thou hast been a true friend, dear Thasus,\" said Queen Telephassa,\nkissing his forehead. \"Being neither my son, nor the brother of our lost\nEuropa, thou hast shown thyself truer to me and her than Ph\u0153nix and\nCilix did, whom we have left behind us. Without thy loving help, and\nthat of my son Cadmus, my limbs could not have borne me half so far as\nthis. Now, take thy rest, and be at peace. For--and it is the first time\nI have owned it to myself--I begin to question whether we shall ever\nfind my beloved daughter in this world.\"\n\nSaying this, the poor queen shed tears, because it was a grievous trial\nto the mother's heart to confess that her hopes were growing faint. From\nthat day forward, Cadmus noticed that she never travelled with the same\nalacrity of spirit that had heretofore supported her. Her weight was\nheavier upon his arm.\n\nBefore setting out, Cadmus helped Thasus build a bower; while\nTelephassa, being too infirm to give any great assistance, advised them\nhow to fit it up and furnish it, so that it might be as comfortable as a\nhut of branches could. Thasus, however, did not spend all his days in\nthis green bower. For it happened to him, as to Ph\u0153nix and Cilix,\nthat other homeless people visited the spot and liked it, and built\nthemselves habitations in the neighbourhood. So here, in the course of\na few years, was another thriving city with a red freestone palace in\nthe centre of it, where Thasus set upon a throne, doing justice to the\npeople, with a purple robe over his shoulders, a sceptre in his hand,\nand a crown upon his head. The inhabitants had made him king, not for\nthe sake of any royal blood (for none was in his veins), but because\nThasus was an upright, true-hearted, and courageous man, and therefore\nfit to rule.\n\nBut, when the affairs of his kingdom were all settled, King Thasus laid\naside his purple robe, and crown, and sceptre, and bade his worthiest\nsubject distribute justice to the people in his stead. Then, grasping\nthe pilgrim's staff that had supported him so long, he set forth again,\nhoping still to discover some hoof mark of the snow-white bull, some\ntrace of the vanished child. He returned, after a lengthened absence,\nand sat down wearily upon his throne. To his latest hour, nevertheless,\nKing Thasus showed his true-hearted remembrance of Europa, by ordering\nthat a fire should always be kept burning in his palace, and a bath\nsteaming hot, and food ready to be served up, and a bed with snow-white\nsheets, in case the maiden should arrive, and require immediate\nrefreshment. And though Europa never came, the good Thasus had the\nblessings of many a poor traveller, who profited by the food and lodging\nwhich were meant for the little playmate of the king's boyhood.\n\nTelephassa and Cadmus were now pursuing their weary way, with no\ncompanion but each other. The queen leaned heavily upon her son's arm,\nand could walk only a few miles a day. But for all her weakness and\nweariness, she would not be persuaded to give up the search. It was\nenough to bring tears into the eyes of bearded men to hear the\nmelancholy tone with which she inquired of every stranger whether he\ncould tell her any news of the lost child.\n\n\"Have you seen a little girl--no, no, I mean a young maiden of full\ngrowth--passing by this way, mounted on a snow-white bull, which gallops\nas swiftly as the wind?\"\n\n\"We have seen no such wondrous sight,\" the people would reply; and very\noften, taking Cadmus aside, they whispered to him, \"Is this stately and\nsad-looking woman your mother? Surely she is not in her right mind; and\nyou ought to take her home, and make her comfortable, and do your best\nto get this dream out of her fancy.\"\n\n\"It is no dream,\" said Cadmus. \"Everything else is a dream, save that.\"\n\nBut, one day, Telephassa seemed feebler than usual, and leaned almost\nher whole weight on the arm of Cadmus, and walked more slowly than ever\nbefore. At last they reached a solitary spot, where she told her son\nthat she must needs lie down, and take a good, long rest.\n\n\"A good, long rest!\" she repeated, looking Cadmus tenderly in the\nface--\"a good, long rest, thou dearest one!\"\n\n\"As long as you please, dear mother,\" answered Cadmus.\n\nTelephassa bade him sit down on the turf beside her, and then she took\nhis hand.\n\n\"My son,\" said she, fixing her dim eyes most lovingly upon him, \"this\nrest that I speak of will be very long indeed! You must not wait till it\nis finished. Dear Cadmus, you do not comprehend me. You must make a\ngrave here, and lay your mother's weary frame into it. My pilgrimage is\nover.\"\n\nCadmus burst into tears, and, for a long time, refused to believe that\nhis dear mother was now to be taken from him. But Telephassa reasoned\nwith him, and kissed him, and at length made him discern that it was\nbetter for her spirit to pass away out of the toil, the weariness, the\ngrief, and disappointment which had burdened her on earth, ever since\nthe child was lost. He therefore repressed his sorrow, and listened to\nher last words.\n\n\"Dearest Cadmus,\" said she, \"thou hast been the truest son that ever\nmother had, and faithful to the very last. Who else would have borne\nwith my infirmities as thou hast! It is owing to thy care, thou\ntenderest child, that my grave was not dug long years ago, in some\nvalley, or on some hillside, that lies far, far behind us. It is enough.\nThou shalt wander no more on this hopeless search. But when thou hast\nlaid thy mother in the earth, then go, my son, to Delphi, and inquire of\nthe oracle what thou shalt do next.\"\n\n\"O mother, mother,\" cried Cadmus, \"couldst thou but have seen my sister\nbefore this hour!\"\n\n\"It matters little now,\" answered Telephassa, and there was a smile upon\nher face. \"I go now to the better world, and, sooner or later, shall\nfind my daughter there.\"\n\nI will not sadden you, my little hearers, with telling how Telephassa\ndied and was buried, but will only say, that her dying smile grew\nbrighter, instead of vanishing from her dead face; so that Cadmus felt\nconvinced that, at her very first step into the better world, she had\ncaught Europa in her arms. He planted some flowers on his mother's\ngrave, and left them to grow there, and make the place beautiful, when\nhe should be far away.\n\nAfter performing this last sorrowful duty, he set forth alone, and took\nthe road toward the famous oracle of Delphi, as Telephassa had advised\nhim. On his way thither, he still inquired of most people whom he met\nwhether they had seen Europa; for, to say the truth, Cadmus had grown so\naccustomed to ask the question, that it came to his lips as readily as a\nremark about the weather. He received various answers. Some told him one\nthing, and some another. Among the rest, a mariner affirmed, that, many\nyears before, in a distant country, he had heard a rumour about a white\nbull, which came swimming across the sea with a child on his back,\ndressed up in flowers that were blighted by the sea water. He did not\nknow what had become of the child or the bull; and Cadmus suspected,\nindeed, by a queer twinkle in the mariner's eyes, that he was putting a\njoke upon him, and had never really heard anything about the matter.\n\nPoor Cadmus found it more wearisome to travel alone than to bear all his\ndear mother's weight while she had kept him company. His heart, you will\nunderstand, was now so heavy that it seemed impossible, sometimes, to\ncarry it any farther. But his limbs were strong and active and well\naccustomed to exercise. He walked swiftly along, thinking of King Agenor\nand Queen Telephassa, and his brothers, and the friendly Thasus, all of\nwhom he had left behind him, at one point of his pilgrimage or another,\nand never expected to see them any more. Full of these remembrances, he\ncame within sight of a lofty mountain, which the people thereabouts told\nhim was called Parnassus. On the slope of Mount Parnassus was the famous\nDelphi, whither Cadmus was going.\n\nThis Delphi was supposed to be the very midmost spot of the whole world.\nThe place of the oracle was a certain cavity in the mountain side, over\nwhich, when Cadmus came thither, he found a rude bower of branches. It\nreminded him of those which he had helped to build for Phoenix and\nCilix, and afterward for Thasus. In later times, when multitudes of\npeople came from great distances to put questions to the oracle, a\nspacious temple of marble was erected over the spot. But in the days of\nCadmus, as I have told you, there was only this rustic bower, with its\nabundance of green foliage, and a tuft of shrubbery, that ran wild over\nthe mysterious hole in the hillside.\n\nWhen Cadmus had thrust a passage through the tangled boughs, and made\nhis way into the bower, he did not at first discern the half-hidden\ncavity. But soon he felt a cold stream of air rushing out of it, with so\nmuch force that it shook the ringlets on his cheek. Pulling away the\nshrubbery which clustered over the hole, he bent forward, and spoke in a\ndistinct but reverential tone, as if addressing some unseen personage\ninside of the mountain.\n\n\"Sacred oracle of Delphi,\" said he, \"whither shall I go next in quest of\nmy dear sister Europa?\"\n\nThere was at first a deep silence, and then a rushing sound, or a noise\nlike a long sigh, proceeding out of the interior of the earth. This\ncavity, you must know, was looked upon as a sort of fountain of truth,\nwhich sometimes gushed out in audible words; although, for the most\npart, these words were such a riddle that they might just as well have\nstayed at the bottom of the hole. But Cadmus was more fortunate than\nmany others who went to Delphi in search of truth. By and by, the\nrushing noise began to sound like articulate language. It repeated, over\nand over again, the following sentence, which, after all, was so like\nthe vague whistle of a blast of air, that Cadmus really did not quite\nknow whether it meant anything or not:\n\n\"Seek her no more! Seek her no more! Seek her no more!\"\n\n\"What, then, shall I do?\" asked Cadmus.\n\nFor, ever since he was a child, you know, it had been the great object\nof his life to find his sister. From the very hour that he left\nfollowing the butterfly in the meadow, near his father's palace, he had\ndone his best to follow Europa, over land and sea. And now, if he must\ngive up the search, he seemed to have no more business in the world.\n\nBut again the sighing gust of air grew into something like a hoarse\nvoice.\n\n\"Follow the cow!\" it said. \"Follow the cow! Follow the cow!\"\n\nAnd when these words had been repeated until Cadmus was tired of hearing\nthem (especially as he could not imagine what cow it was, or why he was\nto follow her), the gusty hole gave vent to another sentence.\n\n\"Where the stray cow lies down, there is your home.\"\n\nThese words were pronounced but a single time, and died away into a\nwhisper before Cadmus was fully satisfied that he had caught the\nmeaning. He put other questions, but received no answer; only the gust\nof wind sighed continually out of the cavity, and blew the withered\nleaves rustling along the ground before it.\n\n\"Did there really come any words out of the hole?\" thought Cadmus; \"or\nhave I been dreaming all this while?\"\n\nHe turned away from the oracle, and thought himself no wiser than when\nhe came thither. Caring little what might happen to him, he took the\nfirst path that offered itself, and went along at a sluggish pace; for,\nhaving no object in view, nor any reason to go one way more than\nanother, it would certainly have been foolish to make haste. Whenever he\nmet anybody, the old question was at his tongue's end:\n\n\"Have you seen a beautiful maiden, dressed like a king's daughter, and\nmounted on a snow-white bull, that gallops as swiftly as the wind?\"\n\nBut, remembering what the oracle had said, he only half uttered the\nwords, and then mumbled the rest indistinctly; and from his confusion,\npeople must have imagined that this handsome young man had lost his\nwits.\n\nI know not how far Cadmus had gone, nor could he himself have told you,\nwhen, at no great distance before him, he beheld a brindled cow. She was\nlying down by the wayside, and quietly chewing her cud; nor did she take\nany notice of the young man until he had approached pretty nigh. Then,\ngetting leisurely upon her feet, and giving her head a gentle toss, she\nbegan to move along at a moderate pace, often pausing just long enough\nto crop a mouthful of grass. Cadmus loitered behind, whistling idly to\nhimself, and scarcely noticing the cow; until the thought occurred to\nhim, whether this could possibly be the animal which, according to the\noracle's response, was to serve him for a guide. But he smiled at\nhimself for fancying such a thing. He could not seriously think that\nthis was the cow, because she went along so quietly, behaving just like\nany other cow. Evidently she neither knew nor cared so much as a wisp of\nhay about Cadmus, and was only thinking how to get her living along the\nwayside, where the herbage was green and fresh. Perhaps she was going\nhome to be milked.\n\n\"Cow, cow, cow!\" cried Cadmus. \"Hey, Brindle, hey! Stop, my good cow.\"\n\nHe wanted to come up with the cow, so as to examine her, and see if she\nwould appear to know him, or whether there were any peculiarities to\ndistinguish her from a thousand other cows, whose only business is to\nfill the milk pail, and sometimes kick it over. But still the brindled\ncow trudged on, whisking her tail to keep the flies away, and taking as\nlittle notice of Cadmus as she well could. If he walked slowly, so did\nthe cow, and seized the opportunity to graze. If he quickened his pace,\nthe cow went just so much the faster; and once, when Cadmus tried to\ncatch her by running, she threw out her heels, stuck her tail straight\non end, and set off at a gallop, looking as queerly as cows generally\ndo, while putting themselves to their speed.\n\nWhen Cadmus saw that it was impossible to come up with her, he walked on\nmoderately, as before. The cow, too, went leisurely on, without looking\nbehind. Wherever the grass was greenest, there she nibbled a mouthful or\ntwo. Where a brook glistened brightly across the path, there the cow\ndrank, and breathed a comfortable sigh, and drank again, and trudged\nonward at the pace that best suited herself and Cadmus.\n\n\"I do believe,\" thought Cadmus, \"that this may be the cow that was\nforetold me. If it be the one, I suppose she will lie down somewhere\nhereabouts.\"\n\nWhether it were the oracular cow or some other one, it did not seem\nreasonable that she should travel a great way farther. So, whenever they\nreached a particularly pleasant spot on a breezy hillside, or in a\nsheltered vale, or flowery meadow, on the shore of a calm lake, or along\nthe bank of a clear stream, Cadmus looked eagerly around to see if the\nsituation would suit him for a home. But still, whether he liked the\nplace or no, the brindled cow never offered to lie down. On she went at\nthe quiet pace of a cow going homeward to the barnyard; and, every\nmoment Cadmus expected to see a milkmaid approaching with a pail, or a\nherdsman running to head the stray animal, and turn her back toward the\npasture. But no milkmaid came; no herdsman drove her back; and Cadmus\nfollowed the stray brindle till he was almost ready to drop down with\nfatigue.\n\n\"O brindled cow,\" cried he, in a tone of despair, \"do you never mean to\nstop?\"\n\nHe had now grown too intent on following her to think of lagging behind,\nhowever long the way, and whatever might be his fatigue. Indeed, it\nseemed as if there were something about the animal that bewitched\npeople. Several persons who happened to see the brindled cow, and Cadmus\nfollowing behind, began to trudge after her, precisely as he did. Cadmus\nwas glad of somebody to converse with, and therefore talked very freely\nto these good people. He told them all his adventures, and how he had\nleft King Agenor in his palace, and Ph\u0153nix at one place, and Cilix at\nanother, and Thasus at a third, and his dear mother, Queen Telephassa,\nunder a flowery sod; so that now he was quite alone, both friendless and\nhomeless. He mentioned, likewise, that the oracle had bidden him be\nguided by a cow, and inquired of the strangers whether they supposed\nthat this brindled animal could be the one.\n\n\"Why, 'tis a very wonderful affair,\" answered one of his new companions.\n\"I am pretty well acquainted with the ways of cattle, and I never knew a\ncow, of her own accord, to go so far without stopping. If my legs will\nlet me, I'll never leave following the beast till she lies down.\"\n\n\"Nor I!\" said a second.\n\n\"Nor I!\" cried a third. \"If she goes a hundred miles farther, I'm\ndetermined to see the end of it.\"\n\nThe secret of it was, you must know, that the cow was an enchanted cow,\nand that, without their being conscious of it, she threw some of her\nenchantment over everybody that took so much as half a dozen steps\nbehind her. They could not possibly help following her, though, all the\ntime, they fancied themselves doing it of their own accord. The cow was\nby no means very nice in choosing her path; so that sometimes they had\nto scramble over rocks, or wade through mud and mire, and were all in a\nterribly bedraggled condition, and tired to death, and very hungry, into\nthe bargain. What a weary business it was!\n\nBut still they kept trudging stoutly forward, and talking as they went.\nThe strangers grew very fond of Cadmus, and resolved never to leave him,\nbut to help him build a city wherever the cow might lie down. In the\ncentre of it there should be a noble palace, in which Cadmus might\ndwell, and be their king, with a throne, a crown and sceptre, a purple\nrobe, and everything else that a king ought to have; for in him there\nwas the royal blood, and the royal heart, and the head that knew how to\nrule.\n\nWhile they were talking of these schemes, and beguiling the tediousness\nof the way with laying out the plan of the new city, one of the company\nhappened to look at the cow.\n\n\"Joy! joy!\" cried he, clapping his hands. \"Brindle is going to lie\ndown.\"\n\nThey all looked; and, sure enough, the cow had stopped and was staring\nleisurely about her, as other cows do when on the point of lying down.\nAnd slowly, slowly did she recline herself on the soft grass, first\nbending her fore legs, and then crouching her hind ones. When Cadmus and\nhis companions came up with her, there was the brindled cow taking her\nease, chewing her cud, and looking them quietly in the face; as if this\nwas just the spot she had been seeking for, and as if it were all a\nmatter of course.\n\n\"This, then,\" said Cadmus, gazing around him, \"this is to be my home.\"\n\nIt was a fertile and lovely plain, with great trees flinging their\nsun-speckled shadows over it, and hills fencing it in from the rough\nweather. At no great distance, they beheld a river gleaming in the\nsunshine. A home feeling stole into the heart of poor Cadmus. He was\nvery glad to know that here he might awake in the morning, without the\nnecessity of putting on his dusty sandals to travel farther and farther.\nThe days and the years would pass over him, and find him still in this\npleasant spot. If he could have had his brothers with him, and his\nfriend Thasus, and could have seen his dear mother under a roof of his\nown, he might here have been happy, after all their disappointments.\nSome day or other, too, his sister Europa might have come quietly to the\ndoor of his home, and smiled round upon the familiar faces. But, indeed,\nsince there was no hope of regaining the friends of his boyhood, or ever\nseeing his dear sister again, Cadmus resolved to make himself happy with\nthese new companions, who had grown so fond of him while following the\ncow.\n\n\"Yes, my friends,\" said he to them, \"this is to be our home. Here we\nwill build our habitations. The brindled cow, which has led us hither,\nwill supply us with milk. We will cultivate the neighbouring soil, and\nlead an innocent and happy life.\"\n\nHis companions joyfully assented to this plan; and, in the first place,\nbeing very hungry and thirsty, they looked about them for the means of\nproviding a comfortable meal. Not far off, they saw a tuft of trees,\nwhich appeared as if there might be a spring of water beneath them. They\nwent thither to fetch some, leaving Cadmus stretched on the ground\nalong with the brindled cow; for, now that he had found a place of rest,\nit seemed as if all the weariness of his pilgrimage, ever since he left\nKing Agenor's palace, had fallen upon him at once. But his new friends\nhad not long been gone, when he was suddenly startled by cries, shouts,\nand screams, and the noise of a terrible struggle, and in the midst of\nit all, a most awful hissing, which went right through his ears like a\nrough saw.\n\nRunning toward the tuft of trees, he beheld the head and fiery eyes of\nan immense serpent or dragon, with the widest jaws that ever a dragon\nhad, and a vast many rows of horribly sharp teeth. Before Cadmus could\nreach the spot, this pitiless reptile had killed his poor companions,\nand was busily devouring them, making but a mouthful of each man.\n\nIt appears that the fountain of water was enchanted, and that the dragon\nhad been set to guard it, so that no mortal might ever quench his thirst\nthere. As the neighbouring inhabitants carefully avoided the spot, it\nwas now a long time (not less than a hundred years, or thereabouts)\nsince the monster had broken his fast; and, as was natural enough, his\nappetite had grown to be enormous, and was not half satisfied by the\npoor people whom he had just eaten up. When he caught sight of Cadmus,\ntherefore, he set up another abominable hiss, and flung back his immense\njaws, until his mouth looked like a great red cavern, at the farther end\nof which were seen the legs of his last victim, whom he had hardly had\ntime to swallow.\n\nBut Cadmus was so enraged at the destruction of his friends, that he\ncared neither for the size of the dragon's jaws nor for his hundreds of\nsharp teeth. Drawing his sword, he rushed at the monster, and flung\nhimself right into his cavernous mouth. This bold method of attacking\nhim took the dragon by surprise; for, in fact, Cadmus had leaped so far\ndown into his throat, that the rows of terrible teeth could not close\nupon him, nor do him the least harm in the world. Thus, though the\nstruggle was a tremendous one, and though the dragon shattered the tuft\nof trees into small splinters by the lashing of his tail, yet, as Cadmus\nwas all the while slashing and stabbing at his very vitals, it was not\nlong before the scaly wretch bethought himself of slipping away. He had\nnot gone his length, however, when the brave Cadmus gave him a sword\nthrust that finished the battle; and, creeping out of the gateway of the\ncreature's jaws, there he beheld him still wriggling his vast bulk,\nalthough there was no longer life enough in him to harm a little child.\n\nBut do not you suppose that it made Cadmus sorrowful to think of the\nmelancholy fate which had befallen those poor, friendly people, who had\nfollowed the cow along with him? It seemed as if he were doomed to lose\neverybody whom he loved, or to see them perish in one way or another.\nAnd here he was, after all his toils and troubles, in a solitary place,\nwith not a single human being to help him build a hut.\n\n\"What shall I do?\" cried he aloud. \"It were better for me to have been\ndevoured by the dragon, as my poor companions were.\"\n\n\"Cadmus,\" said a voice--but whether it came from above or below him, or\nwhether it spoke within his own breast, the young man could not\ntell--\"Cadmus, pluck out the dragon's teeth, and plant them in the\nearth.\"\n\nThis was a strange thing to do; nor was it very easy, I should imagine,\nto dig out all those deep-rooted fangs from the dead dragon's jaws. But\nCadmus toiled and tugged, and after pounding the monstrous head almost\nto pieces with a great stone, he at last collected as many teeth as\nmight have filled a bushel or two. The next thing was to plant them.\nThis, likewise, was a tedious piece of work, especially as Cadmus was\nalready exhausted with killing the dragon and knocking his head to\npieces, and had nothing to dig the earth with, that I know of, unless it\nwere his sword blade. Finally, however, a sufficiently large tract of\nground was turned up, and sown with this new kind of seed; although half\nof the dragon's teeth still remained to be planted some other day.\n\nCadmus, quite out of breath, stood leaning upon his sword, and wondering\nwhat was to happen next. He had waited but a few moments, when he began\nto see a sight, which was as great a marvel as the most marvellous thing\nI ever told you about.\n\nThe sun was shining slantwise over the field, and showed all the moist,\ndark soil just like any other newly planted piece of ground. All at\nonce, Cadmus fancied he saw something glisten very brightly, first at\none spot, then at another, and then at a hundred and a thousand spots\ntogether. Soon he perceived them to be the steel heads of spears,\nsprouting up everywhere like so many stalks of grain, and continually\ngrowing taller and taller. Next appeared a vast number of bright sword\nblades, thrusting themselves up in the same way. A moment afterward, the\nwhole surface of the ground was broken up by a multitude of polished\nbrass helmets, coming up like a crop of enormous beans. So rapidly did\nthey grow, that Cadmus now discerned the fierce countenance of a man\nbeneath every one. In short, before he had time to think what a\nwonderful affair it was, he beheld an abundant harvest of what looked\nlike human beings, armed with helmets and breastplates, shields, swords\nand spears; and before they were well out of the earth, they brandished\ntheir weapons, and clashed them one against another, seeming to think,\nlittle while as they had yet lived, that they had wasted too much of\nlife without a battle. Every tooth of the dragon had produced one of\nthese sons of deadly mischief.\n\nUp sprouted, also, a great many trumpeters; and with the first breath\nthat they drew, they put their brazen trumpets to their lips, and\nsounded a tremendous and ear-shattering blast; so that the whole space,\njust now so quiet and solitary, reverberated with the clash and clang of\narms, the bray of warlike music, and the shouts of angry men. So enraged\ndid they all look, that Cadmus fully expected them to put the whole\nworld to the sword. How fortunate would it be for a great conqueror, if\nhe could get a bushel of the dragon's teeth to sow!\n\n\"Cadmus,\" said the same voice which he had before heard, \"throw a stone\ninto the midst of the armed men.\"\n\nSo Cadmus seized a large stone, and, flinging it into the middle of the\nearth army, saw it strike the breast-plate of a gigantic and\nfierce-looking warrior. Immediately on feeling the blow, he seemed to\ntake it for granted that somebody had struck him; and, uplifting his\nweapon, he smote his next neighbour a blow that cleft his helmet\nasunder, and stretched him on the ground. In an instant, those nearest\nthe fallen warrior began to strike at one another with their swords and\nstab with their spears. The confusion spread wider and wider. Each man\nsmote down his brother, and was himself smitten down before he had time\nto exult in his victory. The trumpeters, all the while, blew their\nblasts shriller and shriller; each soldier shouted a battle cry and\noften fell with it on his lips. It was the strangest spectacle of\ncauseless wrath, and of mischief for no good end, that had ever been\nwitnessed; but, after all, it was neither more foolish nor more wicked\nthan a thousand battles that have since been fought, in which men have\nslain their brothers with just as little reason as these children of the\ndragon's teeth. It ought to be considered, too, that the dragon people\nwere made for nothing else; whereas other mortals were born to love and\nhelp one another.\n\nWell, this memorable battle continued to rage until the ground was\nstrewn with helmeted heads that had been cut off. Of all the thousands\nthat began the fight, there were only five left standing. These now\nrushed from different parts of the field, and, meeting in the middle of\nit, clashed their swords, and struck at each other's hearts as fiercely\nas ever.\n\n\"Cadmus,\" said the voice again, \"bid those five warriors to sheathe\ntheir swords. They will help you to build the city.\"\n\nWithout hesitating an instant, Cadmus stepped forward, with the aspect\nof a king and a leader, and extending his drawn sword amongst them,\nspoke to the warriors in a stern and commanding voice.\n\n\"Sheathe your weapons!\" said he.\n\nAnd forthwith, feeling themselves bound to obey him, the five remaining\nsons of the dragon's teeth made him a military salute with their swords,\nreturned them to the scabbards, and stood before Cadmus in a rank,\neyeing him as soldiers eye their captain, while awaiting the word of\ncommand.\n\nThese five men had probably sprung from the biggest of the dragon's\nteeth, and were the boldest and strongest of the whole army. They were\nalmost giants, indeed, and had good need to be so, else they never could\nhave lived through so terrible a fight. They still had a very furious\nlook, and, if Cadmus happened to glance aside, would glare at one\nanother, with fire flashing out of their eyes. It was strange, too, to\nobserve how the earth, out of which they had so lately grown, was\nincrusted, here and there, on their bright breastplates, and even\nbegrimed their faces, just as you may have seen it clinging to beets and\ncarrots when pulled out of their native soil. Cadmus hardly knew whether\nto consider them as men, or some odd kind of vegetable; although, on the\nwhole, he concluded that there was human nature in them, because they\nwere so fond of trumpets and weapons, and so ready to shed blood.\n\nThey looked him earnestly in the face, waiting for his next order, and\nevidently desiring no other employment than to follow him from one\nbattlefield to another, all over the wide world. But Cadmus was wiser\nthan these earth-born creatures, with the dragon's fierceness in them,\nand knew better how to use their strength and hardihood.\n\n\"Come!\" said he. \"You are sturdy fellows. Make yourselves useful! Quarry\nsome stones with those great swords of yours, and help me to build a\ncity.\"\n\nThe five soldiers grumbled a little, and muttered that it was their\nbusiness to overthrow cities, not to build them up. But Cadmus looked at\nthem with a stern eye, and spoke to them in, a tone of authority, so\nthat they knew him for their master, and never again thought of\ndisobeying his commands. They set to work in good earnest, and toiled so\ndiligently, that, in a very short time, a city began to make its\nappearance. At first, to be sure, the workmen showed a quarrelsome\ndisposition. Like savage beasts, they would doubtless have done one\nanother a mischief, if Cadmus had not kept watch over them and quelled\nthe fierce old serpent that lurked in their hearts, when he saw it\ngleaming out of their wild eyes. But, in course of time, they got\naccustomed to honest labour, and had sense enough to feel that there was\nmore true enjoyment in living at peace, and doing good to one's\nneighbour, than in striking at him with a two-edged sword. It may not be\ntoo much to hope that the rest of mankind will by and by grow as wise\nand peaceable as these five earth-begrimed warriors, who sprang from the\ndragon's teeth.\n\nAnd now the city was built, and there was a home in it for each of the\nworkmen. But the palace of Cadmus was not yet erected, because they had\nleft it till the last, meaning to introduce all the new improvements of\narchitecture, and make it very commodious, as well as stately and\nbeautiful. After finishing the rest of their labours, they all went to\nbed betimes, in order to rise in the gray of the morning, and get at\nleast the foundation of the edifice laid before nightfall. But, when\nCadmus arose, and took his way toward the site where the palace was to\nbe built, followed by his five sturdy workmen marching all in a row,\nwhat do you think he saw?\n\nWhat should it be but the most magnificent palace that had ever been\nseen in the world? It was built of marble and other beautiful kinds of\nstone, and rose high into the air, with a splendid dome and a portico\nalong the front, and carved pillars, and everything else that befitted\nthe habitation of a mighty king. It had grown up out of the earth in\nalmost as short a time as it had taken the armed host to spring from the\ndragon's teeth; and what made the matter more strange, no seed of this\nstately edifice had ever been planted.\n\nWhen the five workmen beheld the dome, with the morning sunshine making\nit look golden and glorious, they gave a great shout.\n\n\"Long live King Cadmus,\" they cried, \"in his beautiful palace.\"\n\nAnd the new king, with his five faithful followers at his heels,\nshouldering their pickaxes and marching in a rank (for they still had a\nsoldier-like sort of behaviour, as their nature was), ascended the\npalace steps. Halting at the entrance, they gazed through a long vista\nof lofty pillars that were ranged from end to end of a great hall. At\nthe farther extremity of this hall, approaching slowly toward him,\nCadmus beheld a female figure, wonderfully beautiful, and adorned with a\nroyal robe, and a crown of diamonds over her golden ringlets, and the\nrichest necklace that ever a queen wore. His heart thrilled with\ndelight. He fancied it his long-lost sister Europa, now grown to\nwomanhood, coming to make him happy, and to repay him, with her sweet\nsisterly affection, for all those weary wanderings in quest of her since\nhe left King Agenor's palace--for the tears that he had shed, on parting\nwith Ph\u0153nix, and Cilix, and Thasus--for the heart-breakings that had\nmade the whole world seem dismal to him over his dear mother's grave.\n\nBut, as Cadmus advanced to meet the beautiful stranger, he saw that her\nfeatures were unknown to him, although, in the little time that it\nrequired to tread along the hall, he had already felt a sympathy betwixt\nhimself and her.\n\n\"No, Cadmus,\" said the same voice that had spoken to him in the field of\nthe armed men, \"this is not that dear sister Europa whom you have sought\nso faithfully all over the wide world. This is Harmonia, a daughter of\nthe sky, who is given you instead of sister, and brothers, and friend,\nand mother. You will find all those dear ones in her alone.\"\n\nSo King Cadmus dwelt in the palace, with his new friend Harmonia, and\nfound a great deal of comfort in his magnificent abode, but would\ndoubtless have found as much, if not more, in the humblest cottage by\nthe wayside. Before many years went by, there was a group of rosy little\nchildren (but how they came thither has always been a mystery to me)\nsporting in the great hall, and on the marble steps of the palace, and\nrunning joyfully to meet King Cadmus when affairs of state left him at\nleisure to play with them. They called him father, and Queen Harmonia\nmother. The five old soldiers of the dragon's teeth grew very fond of\nthese small urchins, and were never weary of showing them how to\nshoulder sticks, flourish wooden swords, and march in military order,\nblowing a penny trumpet, or beating an abominable rub-a-dub upon a\nlittle drum.\n\nBut King Cadmus, lest there should be too much of the dragon's tooth in\nhis children's disposition, used to find time from his kingly duties to\nteach them their A B C--which he invented for their benefit, and for\nwhich many little people, I am afraid, are not half so grateful to him\nas they ought to be.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE MIRACULOUS PITCHER\n\n\nOne evening, in times long ago, old Philemon and his old wife Baucis sat\nat their cottage door, enjoying the calm and beautiful sunset. They had\nalready eaten their frugal supper, and intended now to spend a quiet\nhour or two before bedtime. So they talked together about their garden,\nand their cow, and their bees, and their grapevine, which clambered over\nthe cottage wall, and on which the grapes were beginning to turn purple.\nBut the rude shouts of children, and the fierce barking of dogs, in the\nvillage near at hand, grew louder and louder, until, at last, it was\nhardly possible for Baucis and Philemon to hear each other speak.\n\n\"Ah, wife,\" cried Philemon, \"I fear some poor traveller is seeking\nhospitality among our neighbours yonder, and, instead of giving him food\nand lodging, they have set their dogs at him, as their custom is!\"\n\n\"Well-a-day!\" answered old Baucis, \"I do wish our neighbours felt a\nlittle more kindness for their fellow creatures. And only think of\nbringing up their children in this naughty way, and patting them on the\nhead when they fling stones at strangers!\"\n\n\"Those children will never come to any good,\" said Philemon, shaking his\nwhite head. \"To tell you the truth, wife, I should not wonder if some\nterrible thing were to happen to all the people in the village, unless\nthey mend their manners. But, as for you and me, so long as Providence\naffords us a crust of bread, let us be ready to give half to any poor,\nhomeless stranger that may come along and need it.\"\n\n\"That's right, husband!\" said Baucis. \"So we will!\"\n\nThese old folks, you must know, were quite poor, and had to work pretty\nhard for a living. Old Philemon toiled diligently in his garden, while\nBaucis was always busy with her distaff, or making a little butter and\ncheese with their cow's milk, or doing one thing and another about the\ncottage. Their food was seldom anything but bread, milk, and vegetables,\nwith sometimes a portion of honey from their beehive, and now and then a\nbunch of grapes that had ripened against the cottage wall. But they were\ntwo of the kindest old people in the world, and would cheerfully have\ngone without their dinners, any day, rather than refuse a slice of their\nbrown loaf, a cup of new milk, and a spoonful of honey, to the weary\ntraveller who might pause before their door. They felt as if such guests\nhad a sort of holiness, and that they ought, therefore, to treat them\nbetter and more bountifully than their own selves.\n\nTheir cottage stood on a rising ground, at some short distance from a\nvillage, which lay in a hollow valley that was about half a mile in\nbreadth. This valley, in past ages, when the world was new, had probably\nbeen the bed of a lake. There, fishes had glided to and fro in the\ndepths, and water weeds had grown along the margin, and trees and hills\nhad seen their reflected images in the broad and peaceful mirror. But,\nas the waters subsided, men had cultivated the soil, and built houses on\nit, so that it was now a fertile spot, and bore no traces of the ancient\nlake, except a very small brook, which meandered through the midst of\nthe village, and supplied the inhabitants with water. The valley had\nbeen dry land so long that oaks had sprung up, and grown great and high,\nand perished with old age, and been succeeded by others, as tall and\nstately as the first. Never was there a prettier or more fruitful\nvalley. The very sight of the plenty around them should have made the\ninhabitants kind and gentle, and ready to show their gratitude to\nProvidence by doing good to their fellow creatures.\n\nBut, we are sorry to say, the people of this lovely village were not\nworthy to dwell in a spot on which Heaven had smiled so beneficently.\nThey were a very selfish and hard-hearted people, and had no pity for\nthe poor, nor sympathy with the homeless. They would only have laughed,\nhad anybody told them that human beings owe a debt of love to one\nanother, because there is no other method of paying the debt of love and\ncare which all of us owe to Providence. You will hardly believe what I\nam going to tell you. These naughty people taught their children to be\nno better than themselves, and used to clap their hands, by way of\nencouragement, when they saw the little boys and girls run after some\npoor stranger, shouting at his heels, and pelting him with stones. They\nkept large and fierce dogs, and whenever a traveller ventured to show\nhimself in the village street, this pack of disagreeable curs scampered\nto meet him, barking, snarling, and showing their teeth. Then they would\nseize him by his leg, or by his clothes, just as it happened; and if he\nwere ragged when he came, he was generally a pitiable object before he\nhad time to run away. This was a very terrible thing to poor travellers,\nas you may suppose, especially when they chanced to be sick, or feeble,\nor lame, or old. Such persons (if they once knew how badly these unkind\npeople, and their unkind children and curs, were in the habit of\nbehaving) would go miles and miles out of their way, rather than try to\npass through the village again.\n\nWhat made the matter seem worse, if possible, was that when rich persons\ncame in their chariots, or riding on beautiful horses, with their\nservants in rich liveries attending on them, nobody could be more civil\nand obsequious than the inhabitants of the village. They would take off\ntheir hats, and make the humblest bows you ever saw. If the children\nwere rude, they were pretty certain to get their ears boxed; and as for\nthe dogs, if a single cur in the pack presumed to yelp, his master\ninstantly beat him with a club, and tied him up without any supper. This\nwould have been all very well, only it proved that the villagers cared\nmuch about the money that a stranger had in his pocket, and nothing\nwhatever for the human soul, which lives equally in the beggar and the\nprince.\n\nSo now you can understand why old Philemon spoke so sorrowfully, when he\nheard the shouts of the children and the barking of the dogs, at the\nfarther extremity of the village street. There was a confused din, which\nlasted a good while, and seemed to pass quite through the breadth of the\nvalley.\n\n\"I never heard the dogs so loud!\" observed the good old man.\n\n\"Nor the children so rude!\" answered his good old wife.\n\nThey sat shaking their heads, one to another, while the noise came\nnearer and nearer; until, at the foot of the little eminence on which\ntheir cottage stood, they saw two travellers approaching on foot. Close\nbehind them came the fierce dogs, snarling at their very heels. A little\nfarther off, ran a crowd of children, who sent up shrill cries, and\nflung stones at the two strangers, with all their might. Once or twice,\nthe younger of the two men (he was a slender and very active figure)\nturned about and drove back the dogs with a staff which he carried in\nhis hand. His companion, who was a very tall person, walked calmly\nalong, as if disdaining to notice either the naughty children, or the\npack of curs, whose manners the children seemed to imitate.\n\nBoth of the travellers were very humbly clad, and looked as if they\nmight not have money enough in their pockets to pay for a night's\nlodging. And this, I am afraid, was the reason why the villagers had\nallowed their children and dogs to treat them so rudely.\n\n\"Come, wife,\" said Philemon to Baucis, \"let us go and meet these poor\npeople. No doubt, they feel almost too heavy hearted to climb the hill.\"\n\n\"Go you and meet them,\" answered Baucis, \"while I make haste within\ndoors, and see whether we can get them anything for supper. A\ncomfortable bowl of bread and milk would do wonders toward raising their\nspirits.\"\n\nAccordingly, she hastened into the cottage. Philemon, on his part, went\nforward, and extended his hand with so hospitable an aspect that there\nwas no need of saying what nevertheless he did say, in the heartiest\ntone imaginable:\n\n\"Welcome, strangers! welcome!\"\n\n\"Thank you!\" replied the younger of the two, in a lively kind of way,\nnotwithstanding his weariness and trouble. \"This is quite another\ngreeting than we have met with yonder in the village. Pray, why do you\nlive in such a bad neighbourhood?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" observed old Philemon, with a quiet and benign smite, \"Providence\nput me here, I hope, among other reasons, in order that I may make you\nwhat amends I can for the inhospitality of my neighbours.\"\n\n\"Well said, old father!\" cried the traveller, laughing; \"and, if the\ntruth must be told, my companion and myself need some amends. Those\nchildren (the little rascals!) have bespattered us finely with their mud\nballs; and one of the curs has torn my cloak, which was ragged enough\nalready. But I took him across the muzzle with my staff; and I think you\nmay have heard him yelp, even thus far off.\"\n\nPhilemon was glad to see him in such good spirits; nor, indeed, would\nyou have fancied, by the traveller's look and manner, that he was weary\nwith a long day's journey, besides being disheartened by rough treatment\nat the end of it. He was dressed in rather an odd way, with a sort of\ncap on his head, the brim of which stuck out over both ears. Though it\nwas a summer evening, he wore a cloak, which he kept wrapt closely about\nhim, perhaps because his undergarments were shabby. Philemon perceived,\ntoo, that he had on a singular pair of shoes; but, as it was now growing\ndusk, and as the old man's eyesight was none the sharpest, he could not\nprecisely tell in what the strangeness consisted. One thing, certainly,\nseemed queer. The traveller was so wonderfully light and active that it\nappeared as if his feet sometimes rose from the ground of their own\naccord, or could only be kept down by an effort.\n\n\"I used to be light footed, in my youth,\" said Philemon to the\ntraveller. \"But I always found my feet grow heavier toward nightfall.\"\n\n\"There is nothing like a good staff to help one along,\" answered the\nstranger; \"and I happen to have an excellent one, as you see.\"\n\nThis staff, in fact, was the oddest-looking staff that Philemon had ever\nbeheld. It was made of olive wood, and had something like a little pair\nof wings near the top. Two snakes, carved in the wood, were represented\nas twining themselves about the staff, and were so very skilfully\nexecuted that old Philemon (whose eyes, you know, were getting rather\ndim) almost thought them alive, and that he could see them wriggling and\ntwisting.\n\n\"A curious piece of work, sure enough!\" said he. \"A staff with wings! It\nwould be an excellent kind of stick for a little boy to ride astride\nof!\"\n\nBy this time, Philemon and his two guests had reached the cottage door.\n\n\"Friends,\" said the old man, \"sit down and rest yourselves here on this\nbench. My good wife Baucis has gone to see what you can have for supper.\nWe are poor folks; but you shall be welcome to whatever we have in the\ncupboard.\"\n\nThe younger stranger threw himself carelessly on the bench, letting his\nstaff fall as he did so. And here happened something rather marvellous,\nthough trifling enough, too. The staff seemed to get up from the ground\nof its own accord, and, spreading its little pair of wings, it half\nhopped, half flew, and leaned itself against the wall of the cottage.\nThere it stood quite still, except that the snakes continued to wriggle.\nBut, in my private opinion, old Philemon's eyesight had been playing him\ntricks again.\n\nBefore he could ask any questions, the elder stranger drew his attention\nfrom the wonderful staff, by speaking to him.\n\n\"Was there not,\" asked the stranger, in a remarkably deep tone of voice,\n\"a lake, in very ancient times, covering the spot where now stands\nyonder village?\"\n\n\"Not in my day, friend,\" answered Philemon; \"and yet I am an old man, as\nyou see. There were always the fields and meadows, just as they are now,\nand the old trees, and the little stream murmuring through the midst of\nthe valley. My father, nor his father before him, ever saw it otherwise,\nso far as I know; and doubtless it will still be the same, when old\nPhilemon shall be gone and forgotten!\"\n\n\"That is more than can be safely foretold,\" observed the stranger; and\nthere was something very stern in his deep voice. He shook his head,\ntoo, so that his dark and heavy curls were shaken with the movement.\n\"Since the inhabitants of yonder village have forgotten the affections\nand sympathies of their nature, it were better that the lake should be\nrippling over their dwellings again!\"\n\nThe traveller looked so stern that Philemon was really almost\nfrightened; the more so, that, at his frown, the twilight seemed\nsuddenly to grow darker, and that, when he shook his head, there was a\nroll as of thunder in the air.\n\nBut, in a moment afterward, the stranger's face became so kindly and\nmild, that the old man quite forgot his terror. Nevertheless, he could\nnot help feeling that this elder traveller must be no ordinary\npersonage, although he happened now to be attired so humbly and to be\njourneying on foot. Not that Philemon fancied him a prince in disguise,\nor any character of that sort; but rather some exceedingly wise man, who\nwent about the world in this poor garb, despising wealth and all worldly\nobjects, and seeking everywhere to add a mite to his wisdom. This idea\nappeared the more probable, because, when Philemon raised his eyes to\nthe stranger's face, he seemed to see more thought there, in one look,\nthan he could have studied out in a lifetime.\n\nWhile Baucis was getting the supper, the travellers both began to talk\nvery sociably with Philemon. The younger, indeed, was extremely\nloquacious, and made such shrewd and witty remarks, that the good old\nman continually burst out a-laughing, and pronounced him the merriest\nfellow whom he had seen for many a day.\n\n\"Pray, my young friend,\" said he, as they grew familiar together, \"what\nmay I call your name?\"\n\n\"Why, I am very nimble, as you see,\" answered the traveller. \"So, if you\ncall me Quicksilver, the name will fit tolerably well.\"\n\n\"Quicksilver? Quicksilver?\" repeated Philemon, looking in the\ntraveller's face, to see if he were making fun of him. \"It is a very odd\nname! And your companion there? Has he as strange a one?\"\n\n\"You must ask the thunder to tell it you!\" replied Quicksilver, putting\non a mysterious look. \"No other voice is loud enough.\"\n\nThis remark, whether it were serious or in jest, might have caused\nPhilemon to conceive a very great awe of the elder stranger, if, on\nventuring to gaze at him, he had not beheld so much beneficence in his\nvisage. But, undoubtedly, here was the grandest figure that ever sat so\nhumbly beside a cottage door. When the stranger conversed, it was with\ngravity, and in such a way that Philemon felt irresistibly moved to\ntell him everything which he had most at heart. This is always the\nfeeling that people have, when they meet with anyone wise enough to\ncomprehend all their good and evil, and to despise not a tittle of it.\n\nBut Philemon, simple and kind-hearted old man that he was, had not many\nsecrets to disclose. He talked, however, quite garrulously, about the\nevents of his past life, in the whole course of which he had never been\na score of miles from this very spot. His wife Baucis and himself had\ndwelt in the cottage from their youth upward, earning their bread by\nhonest labour, always poor, but still contented. He told what excellent\nbutter and cheese Baucis made, and how nice were the vegetables which he\nraised in his garden. He said, too, that, because they loved one another\nso very much, it was the wish of both that death might not separate\nthem, but that they should die, as they had lived, together.\n\nAs the stranger listened, a smile beamed over his countenance, and made\nits expression as sweet as it was grand.\n\n\"You are a good old man,\" said he to Philemon, \"and you have a good old\nwife to be your helpmeet. It is fit that your wish be granted.\"\n\nAnd it seemed to Philemon, just then, as if the sunset clouds threw up a\nbright flash from the west, and kindled a sudden light in the sky.\n\nBaucis had now got supper ready, and, coming to the door, began to make\napologies for the poor fare which she was forced to set before her\nguests.\n\n\"Had we known you were coming,\" said she, \"my good man and myself would\nhave gone without a morsel, rather than you should lack a better supper.\nBut I took the most part of to-day's milk to make cheese; and our last\nloaf is already half eaten. Ah me! I never feel the sorrow of being\npoor, save when a poor traveller knocks at our door.\"\n\n\"All will be very well; do not trouble yourself, my good dame,\" replied\nthe elder stranger, kindly. \"An honest, hearty welcome to a guest works\nmiracles with the fare, and is capable of turning the coarsest food to\nnectar and ambrosia.\"\n\n\"A welcome you shall have,\" cried Baucis, \"and likewise a little honey\nthat we happen to have left, and a bunch of purple grapes besides.\"\n\n\"Why, Mother Baucis, it is a feast!\" exclaimed Quicksilver, laughing,\n\"an absolute feast! and you shall see how bravely I will play my part at\nit! I think I never felt hungrier in my life.\"\n\n\"Mercy on us!\" whispered Baucis to her husband. \"If the young man has\nsuch a terrible appetite, I am afraid there will not be half enough\nsupper!\"\n\nThey all went into the cottage.\n\nAnd, now, my little auditors, shall I tell you something that will make\nyou open your eyes very wide? It is really one of the oddest\ncircumstances in the who|e story. Quicksilver's staff, you recollect,\nhad set itself up against the wall of the cottage. Well; when its master\nentered the door, leaving this wonderful staff behind, what should it do\nbut immediately spread its little wings, and go hopping and fluttering\nup the door-steps! Tap, tap, went the staff, on the kitchen floor; nor\ndid it rest until it had stood itself on end, with the greatest gravity\nand decorum, beside Quicksilver's chair. Old Philemon, however, as well\nas his wife, was so taken up in attending to their guests, that no\nnotice was given to what the staff had been about.\n\nAs Baucis had said, there was but a scanty supper for two hungry\ntravellers. In the middle of the table was the remnant of a brown loaf,\nwith a piece of cheese on one side of it, and a dish of honeycomb on the\nother. There was a pretty good bunch of grapes for each of the guests. A\nmoderately sized earthen pitcher, nearly full of milk, stood at a corner\nof the board; and when Baucis had filled two bowls, and set them before\nthe strangers, only a little milk remained in the bottom of the pitcher.\nAlas! it is a very sad business, when a bountiful heart finds itself\npinched and squeezed among narrow circumstances. Poor Baucis kept\nwishing that she might starve for a week to come, if it were possible,\nby so doing, to provide these hungry folks a more plentiful supper.\n\nAnd, since the supper was so exceedingly small, she could not help\nwishing that their appetites had not been quite so large. Why, at their\nvery first sitting down, the travellers both drank off all the milk in\ntheir two bowls, at a draught.\n\n\"A little more milk, kind Mother Baucis, if you please,\" said\nQuicksilver. \"The day has been hot, and I am very much athirst.\"\n\n\"Now, my dear people,\" answered Baucis, in great confusion, \"I am so\nsorry and ashamed! But the truth is, there is hardly a drop more milk in\nthe pitcher. O husband! husband! why didn't we go without our supper?\"\n\n\"Why, it appears to me,\" cried Quicksilver, starting up from the table\nand taking the pitcher by the handle, \"it really appears to me that\nmatters are not quite so bad as you represent them. Here is certainly\nmore milk in the pitcher.\"\n\nSo saying, and to the vast astonishment of Baucis, he proceeded to fill,\nnot only his own bowl, but his companion's likewise, from the pitcher,\nthat was supposed to be almost empty. The good woman could scarcely\nbelieve her eyes. She had certainly poured out nearly all the milk, and\nhad peeped in afterward, and seen the bottom of the pitcher, as she set\nit down upon the table.\n\n\"But I am old,\" thought Baucis to herself, \"and apt to be forgetful I\nsuppose I must have made a mistake. At all events, the pitcher cannot\nhelp being empty now, after filling the bowls twice over.\"\n\n\"What excellent milk!\" observed Quicksilver, after quaffing the contents\nof the second bowl, \"Excuse me, my kind hostess, but I must really ask\nyou for a little more.\"\n\nNow Baucis had seen, as plainly as she could see anything, that\nQuicksilver had turned the pitcher upside down, and consequently had\npoured out every drop of milk, in filling the last bowl. Of course,\nthere could not possibly be any left. However, in order to let him know\nprecisely how the case was, she lifted the pitcher, and made a gesture\nas if pouring milk into Quicksilver's bowl, but without the remotest\nidea that any milk would stream forth. What was her surprise, therefore,\nwhen such an abundant cascade fell bubbling into the bowl, that it was\nimmediately filled to the brim, and overflowed upon the table! The two\nsnakes that were twisted about Quicksilver's staff (but neither Baucis\nnor Philemon happened to observe this circumstance) stretched out their\nheads, and began to lap up the spilt milk.\n\nAnd then what a delicious fragrance the milk had! It seemed as if\nPhilemon's only cow must have pastured, that day, on the richest herbage\nthat could be found anywhere in the world. I only wish that each of\nyou, my beloved little souls, could have a bowl of such nice milk, at\nsupper time!\n\n\"And now a slice of your brown loaf, Mother Baucis,\" said Quicksilver,\n\"and a little of that honey!\"\n\nBaucis cut him a slice, accordingly; and though the loaf, when she and\nher husband ate of it, had been rather too dry and crusty to be\npalatable, it was now as light and moist as if but a few hours out of\nthe oven. Tasting a crumb, which had fallen on the table, she found it\nmore delicious than bread ever was before, and could hardly believe that\nit was a loaf of her own kneading and baking. Yet, what other loaf could\nit possibly be?\n\nBut, oh the honey! I may just as well let it alone, without trying to\ndescribe how exquisitely it smelt and looked. Its colour was that of the\npurest and most transparent gold; and it had the odour of a thousand\nflowers; but of such flowers as never grew in an earthly garden, and to\nseek which the bees must have flown high above the clouds. The wonder\nis, that, after alighting on a flower bed of so delicious fragrance and\nimmortal bloom, they should have been content to fly down again to their\nhive in Philemon's garden. Never was such honey tasted, seen, or smelt.\nThe perfume floated around the kitchen, and made it so delightful, that,\nhad you closed your eyes, you would instantly have forgotten the low\nceiling and smoky walls, and have fancied yourself in an arbour, with\ncelestial honeysuckles creeping over it.\n\nAlthough good Mother Baucis was a simple old dame, she could not but\nthink that there was something rather out of the common way, in all that\nhad been going on. So, after helping the guests to bread and honey, and\nlaying a bunch of grapes by each of their plates, she sat down by\nPhilemon, and told him what she had seen, in a whisper.\n\n\"Did you ever hear the like?\" asked she.\n\n\"No, I never did,\" answered Philemon, with a smile. \"And I rather think,\nmy dear old wife, you have been walking about in a sort of a dream. If I\nhad poured out the milk, I should have seen through the business at\nonce. There happened to be a little more in the pitcher than you\nthought--that is all.\"\n\n\"Ah, husband,\" said Baucis, \"say what you will, these are very uncommon\npeople.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" replied Philemon, still smiling, \"perhaps they are. They\ncertainly do look as if they had seen better days; and I am heartily\nglad to see them making so comfortable a supper.\"\n\nEach of the guests had now taken his bunch of grapes upon his plate.\nBaucis (who rubbed her eyes, in order to see the more clearly) was of\nopinion that the clusters had grown larger and richer, and that each\nseparate grape seemed to be on the point of bursting with ripe juice. It\nwas entirely a mystery to her how such grapes could ever have been\nproduced from the old stunted vine that climbed against the cottage\nwall.\n\n\"Very admirable grapes these!\" observed Quicksilver, as he swallowed one\nafter another, without apparently diminishing his cluster. \"Pray, my\ngood host, whence did you gather them?\"\n\n\"From my own vine,\" answered Philemon. \"You may see one of its branches\ntwisting across the window, yonder. But wife and I never thought the\ngrapes very fine ones.\"\n\n\"I never tasted better,\" said the guest. \"Another cup of this delicious\nmilk, if you please, and I shall then have supped better than a prince.\"\n\nThis time, old Philemon bestirred himself, and took up the pitcher; for\nhe was curious to discover whether there was any reality in the marvels\nwhich Baucis had whispered to him. He knew that his good old wife was\nincapable of falsehood, and that she was seldom mistaken in what she\nsupposed to be true; but this was so very singular a case, that he\nwanted to see into it with his own eyes. On taking up the pitcher,\ntherefore, he slyly peeped into it, and was fully satisfied that it\ncontained not so much as a single drop. All at once, however, he beheld\na little white fountain, which gushed up from the bottom of the pitcher,\nand speedily filled it to the brim with foaming and deliciously fragrant\nmilk. It was lucky that Philemon, in his surprise, did not drop the\nmiraculous pitcher from his hand.\n\n\"Who are ye, wonder-working strangers!\" cried he, even more bewildered\nthan his wife had been.\n\n\"Your guests, my good Philemon, and your friends,\" replied the elder\ntraveller, in his mild, deep voice, that had something at once sweet and\nawe-inspiring in it. \"Give me likewise a cup of the milk; and may your\npitcher never be empty for kind Baucis and yourself, any more than for\nthe needy wayfarer!\"\n\nThe supper being now over, the strangers requested to be shown to their\nplace of repose. The old people would gladly have talked with them a\nlittle longer, and have expressed the wonder which they felt, and their\ndelight at finding the poor and meagre supper prove so much better and\nmore abundant than they hoped. But the elder traveller had inspired them\nwith such reverence, that they dared not ask him any questions. And\nwhen Philemon drew Quicksilver aside, and inquired how under the sun a\nfountain of milk could have got into an old earthen pitcher, this latter\npersonage pointed to his staff.\n\n\"There is the whole mystery of the affair,\" quoth Quicksilver; \"and if\nyou can make it out, I'll thank you to let me know. I can't tell what to\nmake of my staff. It is always playing such odd tricks as this;\nsometimes getting me a supper, and, quite as often, stealing it away. If\nI had any faith in such nonsense, I should say the stick was bewitched!\"\n\nHe said no more, but looked so slyly in their faces, that they rather\nfancied he was laughing at them. The magic staff went hopping at his\nheels, as Quicksilver quitted the room. When left alone, the good old\ncouple spent some little time in conversation about the events of the\nevening, and then lay down on the floor, and fell fast asleep. They had\ngiven up their sleeping room to the guests, and had no other bed for\nthemselves, save these planks, which I wish had been as soft as their\nown hearts.\n\nThe old man and his wife were stirring, betimes, in the morning, and the\nstrangers likewise arose with the sun, and made their preparations to\ndepart. Philemon hospitably entreated them to remain a little longer,\nuntil Baucis could milk the cow, and bake a cake upon the hearth, and,\nperhaps, find them a few fresh eggs for breakfast. The guests, however,\nseemed to think it better to accomplish a good part of their journey\nbefore the heat of the day should come on. They, therefore, persisted in\nsetting out immediately, but asked Philemon and Baucis to walk forth\nwith them a short distance, and show them the road which they were to\ntake.\n\nSo they all four issued from the cottage, chatting together like old\nfriends. It was very remarkable, indeed, how familiar the old couple\ninsensibly grew with the elder traveller, and how their good and simple\nspirits melted into his, even as two drops of water would melt into the\nillimitable ocean. And as for Quicksilver, with his keen, quick,\nlaughing wits, he appeared to discover every little thought that but\npeeped into their minds, before they suspected it themselves. They\nsometimes wished, it is true, that he had not been quite so\nquick-witted, and also that he would fling away his staff, which looked\nso mysteriously mischievous, with the snakes always writhing about it.\nBut then, again, Quicksilver showed himself so very good humoured that\nthey would have been rejoiced to keep him in their cottage, staff,\nsnakes, and all, every day, and the whole day long.\n\n\"Ah me! Well-a-day!\" exclaimed Philemon, when they had walked a little\nway from their door. \"If our neighbours only knew what a blessed thing\nit is to show hospitality to strangers, they would tie up all their\ndogs, and never allow their children to fling another stone.\"\n\n\"It is a sin and shame for them to behave so--that it is!\" cried good\nold Baucis, vehemently. \"And I mean to go this very day, and tell some\nof them what naughty people they are!\"\n\n\"I fear,\" remarked Quicksilver, slyly smiling, \"that you will find none\nof them at home.\"\n\nThe elder traveller's brow, just then, assumed such a grave, stern, and\nawful grandeur, yet serene withal, that neither Baucis nor Philemon\ndared to speak a word. They gazed reverently into his face, as if they\nhad been gazing at the sky.\n\n\"When men do not feel toward the humblest stranger as if he were a\nbrother,\" said the traveller, in tones so deep that they sounded like\nthose of an organ, \"they are unworthy to exist on earth, which was\ncreated as the abode of a great human brotherhood!\"\n\n\"And, by the by, my dear old people,\" cried Quicksilver, with the\nliveliest look of fun and mischief in his eyes, \"where is this same\nvillage that you talk about? On which side of us does it lie? Methinks I\ndo not see it hereabouts.\"\n\nPhilemon and his wife turned toward the valley, where, at sunset, only\nthe day before, they had seen the meadows, the houses, the gardens, the\nclumps of trees, the wide, green-margined street, with children playing\nin it, and all the tokens of business, enjoyment, and prosperity. But\nwhat was their astonishment! There was no longer any appearance of a\nvillage! Even the fertile vale, in the hollow of which it lay, had\nceased to have existence. In its stead, they beheld the broad, blue\nsurface of a lake, which filled the great basin of the valley from brim\nto brim, and reflected the surrounding hills in its bosom with as\ntranquil an image as if it had been there ever since the creation of the\nworld. For an instant, the lake remained perfectly smooth. Then a little\nbreeze sprang up, and caused the water to dance, glitter, and sparkle in\nthe early sunbeams, and to dash, with a pleasant rippling murmur,\nagainst the hither shore.\n\nThe lake seemed so strangely familiar that the old couple were greatly\nperplexed, and felt as if they could only have been dreaming about a\nvillage having lain there. But, the next moment, they remembered the\nvanished dwellings, and the faces and characters of the inhabitants, far\ntoo distinctly for a dream. The village had been there yesterday, and\nnow was gone!\n\n\"Alas!\" cried the kind-hearted old people, \"what has become of our poor\nneighbours?\"\n\n\"They exist no longer as men and women,\" said the elder traveller, in\nhis grand and deep voice, while a roll of thunder seemed to echo it at a\ndistance. \"There was neither use nor beauty in such a life as theirs;\nfor they never softened or sweetened the hard lot of mortality by the\nexercise of kindly affections between man and man. They retained no\nimage of the better life in their bosoms; therefore, the lake, that was\nof old, has spread itself forth again, to reflect the sky!\"\n\n\"And as for those foolish people,\" said Quicksilver, with his\nmischievous smile, \"they are all transformed to fishes. There needed but\nlittle change, for they were already a scaly set of rascals, and the\ncoldest-blooded beings in existence. So, kind Mother Baucis, whenever\nyou or your husband have an appetite for a dish of broiled trout, he can\nthrow in a line, and pull out half a dozen of your old neighbours!\"\n\n\"Ah,\" cried Baucis, shuddering, \"I would not, for the world, put one of\nthem on the gridiron!\"\n\n\"No,\" added Philemon, making a wry face, \"we could never relish them!\"\n\n\"As for you, good Philemon,\" continued the elder traveller--\"and you,\nkind Baucis--you, with your scanty means, have mingled so much heartfelt\nhospitality with your entertainment of the homeless stranger, that the\nmilk became an inexhaustible fount of nectar, and the brown loaf and\nthe honey were ambrosia. Thus, the divinities have feasted, at your\nboard, off the same viands that supply their banquets on Olympus. You\nhave done well, my dear old friends. Wherefore, request whatever favour\nyou have most at heart, and it is granted.\"\n\nPhilemon and Baucis looked at one another, and then--I know not which of\nthe two it was who spoke, but that one uttered the desire of both their\nhearts.\n\n\"Let us live together, while we live, and leave the world at the same\ninstant, when we die! For we have always loved one another!\"\n\n\"Be it so!\" replied the stranger, with majestic kindness, \"Now, look\ntoward your cottage!\"\n\nThey did so. But what was their surprise on beholding a tall edifice of\nwhite marble, with a wide-open portal, occupying the spot where their\nhumble residence had so lately stood!\n\n\"There is your home,\" said the stranger, beneficently smiling on them\nboth. \"Exercise your hospitality in yonder palace as freely as in the\npoor hovel to which you welcomed us last evening.\"\n\nThe old folks fell on their knees to thank him; but, behold! neither he\nnor Quicksilver was there.\n\nSo Philemon and Baucis took up their residence in the marble palace, and\nspent their time, with vast satisfaction to themselves, in making\neverybody jolly and comfortable who happened to pass that way. The milk\npitcher, I must not forget to say, retained its marvellous quality of\nbeing never empty, when it was desirable to have it full. Whenever an\nhonest, good-humoured, and free-hearted guest took a draught from this\npitcher, he invariably found it the sweetest and most invigorating fluid\nthat ever ran down his throat. But, if a cross and disagreeable\ncurmudgeon happened to sip, he was pretty certain to twist his visage\ninto a hard knot, and pronounce it a pitcher of sour milk!\n\nThus the old couple lived in their palace a great, great while, and grew\nolder and older, and very old indeed. At length, however, there came a\nsummer morning when Philemon and Baucis failed to make their appearance,\nas on other mornings, with one hospitable smile overspreading both their\npleasant faces, to invite the guests of over night to breakfast. The\nguests searched everywhere, from top to bottom of the spacious palace,\nand all to no purpose. But, after a great deal of perplexity, they\nespied, in front of the portal, two venerable trees, which nobody could\nremember to have seen there the day before. Yet there they stood, with\ntheir roots fastened deep into the soil, and a huge breadth of foliage\novershadowing the whole front of the edifice. One was an oak, and the\nother a linden tree. Their boughs--it was strange and beautiful to\nsee--were intertwined together, and embraced one another, so that each\ntree seemed to live in the other tree's bosom much more than in its own.\n\nWhile the guests were marvelling how these trees, that must have\nrequired at least a century to grow, could have come to be so tall and\nvenerable in a single night, a breeze sprang up, and set their\nintermingled boughs astir. And then there was a deep, broad murmur in\nthe air, as if the two mysterious trees were speaking.\n\n\"I am old Philemon!\" murmured the oak.\n\n\"I am old Baucis!\" murmured the linden tree.\n\nBut, as the breeze grew stronger, the trees both spoke at\nonce--\"Philemon! Baucis! Baucis! Philemon!\"--as if one were both and\nboth were one, and talked together in the depths of their mutual heart.\nIt was plain enough to perceive that the good old couple had renewed\ntheir age, and were now to spend a quiet and delightful hundred years or\nso, Philemon as an oak, and Baucis as a linden tree. And oh, what a\nhospitable shade did they fling around them. Whenever a wayfarer paused\nbeneath it, he heard a pleasant whisper of the leaves above his head,\nand wondered how the sound should so much resemble words like these:\n\n\"Welcome, welcome, dear traveller, welcome!\"\n\nAnd some kind soul, that knew what would have pleased old Baucis and old\nPhilemon best, built a circular seat around both their trunks, where,\nfor a great while afterward the weary, and the hungry, and the thirsty\nused to repose themselves, and quaff milk abundantly out of the\nmiraculous pitcher.\n\nAnd I wish, for all our sakes, that we had the pitcher here now!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE PARADISE OF CHILDREN\n\n\nLong, long ago, when this old world was in its tender infancy, there was\na child, named Epimetheus, who never had either father or mother; and,\nthat he might not be lonely, another child, fatherless and motherless\nlike himself, was sent from a far country, to live with him, and be his\nplayfellow and helpmate. Her name was Pandora.\n\nThe first thing that Pandora saw, when she entered the cottage where\nEpimetheus dwelt, was a great box. And almost the first question which\nshe put to him, after crossing the threshold, was this:\n\n\"Epimetheus, what have you in that box?\"\n\n\"My dear little Pandora,\" answered Epimetheus, \"that is a secret, and\nyou must be kind enough not to ask any questions about it. The box was\nleft here to be kept safely, and I do not myself know what it contains.\"\n\n\"But who gave it to you?\" asked Pandora. \"And where did it come from?\"\n\n\"That is a secret, too,\" replied Epimetheus.\n\n\"How provoking!\" exclaimed Pandora, pouting her lip. \"I wish the great\nugly box were out of the way!\"\n\n\"Oh, come, don't think of it any more,\" cried Epimetheus. \"Let us run\nout of doors, and have some nice play with the other children.\"\n\nIt is thousands of years since Epimetheus and Pandora were alive; and\nthe world, nowadays, is a very different sort of thing from what it was\nin their time. Then, everybody was a child. There needed no fathers and\nmothers to take care of the children; because there was no danger, nor\ntrouble of any kind, and no clothes to be mended, and there was always\nplenty to eat and drink. Whenever a child wanted his dinner, he found it\ngrowing on a tree; and, if he looked at the tree in the morning, he\ncould see the expanding blossom of that night's supper; or, at eventide,\nhe saw the tender bud of to-morrow's breakfast. It was a very pleasant\nlife indeed. No labour to be done, no tasks to be studied; nothing but\nsports and dances, and sweet voices of children talking, or carolling\nlike birds, or gushing out in merry laughter, throughout the livelong\nday.\n\nWhat was most wonderful of all, the children never quarrelled among\nthemselves; neither had they any crying fits; nor, since time first\nbegan, had a single one of these little mortals ever gone apart into a\ncorner, and sulked. Oh, what a good time was that to be alive in! The\ntruth is, those ugly little winged monsters, called Troubles, which are\nnow almost as numerous as mosquitoes, had never yet been seen on the\nearth. It is probable that the very greatest disquietude which a child\nhad ever experienced was Pandora's vexation at not being able to\ndiscover the secret of the mysterious box.\n\nThis was at first only the faint shadow of a Trouble; but, every day, it\ngrew more and more substantial, until, before a great while, the cottage\nof Epimetheus and Pandora was less sunshiny than those of the other\nchildren.\n\n\"Whence can the box have come?\" Pandora continually kept saying to\nherself and to Epimetheus. \"And what in the world can be inside of it?\"\n\n\"Always talking about this box!\" said Epimetheus, at last; for he had\ngrown extremely tired of the subject. \"I wish, dear Pandora, you would\ntry to talk of something else. Come, let us go and gather some ripe\nfigs, and eat them under the trees, for our supper. And I know a vine\nthat has the sweetest and juiciest grapes you ever tasted.\"\n\n\"Always talking about grapes and figs!\" cried Pandora, pettishly.\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Epimetheus, who was a very good-tempered child, like\na multitude of children in those days, \"let us run out and have a merry\ntime with our playmates.\"\n\n\"I am tired of merry times, and don't care if I never have any more!\"\nanswered our pettish little Pandora. \"And, besides, I never do have any.\nThis ugly box! I am so taken up with thinking about it all the time. I\ninsist upon your telling me what is inside of it.\"\n\n\"As I have already said, fifty times over, I do not know!\" replied\nEpimetheus, getting a little vexed. \"How, then, can I tell you what is\ninside?\"\n\n\"You might open it,\" said Pandora, looking sideways at Epimetheus, \"and\nthen we could see for ourselves.\"\n\n\"Pandora, what are you thinking of?\" exclaimed Epimetheus.\n\nAnd his face expressed so much horror at the idea of looking into a box,\nwhich had been confided to him on the condition of his never opening it,\nthat Pandora thought it best not to suggest it any more. Still, however,\nshe could not help thinking and talking about the box.\n\n\"At least,\" said she, \"you can tell me how it came here.\"\n\n\"It was left at the door,\" replied Epimetheus, \"just before you came, by\na person who looked very smiling and intelligent, and who could hardly\nforbear laughing as he put it down. He was dressed in an odd kind of a\ncloak, and had on a cap that seemed to be made partly of feathers, so\nthat it looked almost as if it had wings.\"\n\n\"What sort of a staff had he?\" asked Pandora.\n\n\"Oh, the most curious staff you ever saw!\" cried Epimetheus. \"It was\nlike two serpents twisting around a stick, and was carved so naturally\nthat I, at first, thought the serpents were alive.\"\n\n\"I know him,\" said Pandora, thoughtfully. \"Nobody else has such a staff.\nIt was Quicksilver; and he brought me hither, as well as the box. No\ndoubt he intended it for me; and, most probably, it contains pretty\ndresses for me to wear, or toys for you and me to play with, or\nsomething very nice for us both to eat!\"\n\n\"Perhaps so,\" answered Epimetheus, turning away. \"But until Quicksilver\ncomes back and tells us so, we have neither of us any right to lift the\nlid of the box.\"\n\n\"What a dull boy he is!\" muttered Pandora, as Epimetheus left the\ncottage. \"I do wish he had a little more enterprise!\"\n\nFor the first time since her arrival, Epimetheus had gone out without\nasking Pandora to accompany him. He went to gather figs and grapes by\nhimself, or to seek whatever amusement he could find, in other society\nthan his little playfellow's. He was tired to death of hearing about the\nbox, and heartily wished that Quicksilver, or whatever was the\nmessenger's name, had left it at some other child's door, where Pandora\nwould never have set eyes on it. So perseveringly as did she babble\nabout this one thing! The box, the box, and nothing but the box! It\nseemed as if the box were bewitched, and as if the cottage were not big\nenough to hold it, without Pandora's continually stumbling over it, and\nmaking Epimetheus stumble over it likewise, and bruising all four of\ntheir shins.\n\nWell, it was really hard that poor Epimetheus should have a box in his\nears from morning till night; especially as the little people of the\nearth were so unaccustomed to vexations, in those happy days, that they\nknew not how to deal with them. Thus, a small vexation made as much\ndisturbance then as a far bigger one would in our own times.\n\nAfter Epimetheus was gone, Pandora stood gazing at the box. She had\ncalled it ugly, above a hundred times; but, in spite of all that she had\nsaid against it, it was positively a very handsome article of furniture,\nand would have been quite an ornament to any room in which it should be\nplaced. It was made of a beautiful kind of wood, with dark and rich\nveins spreading over its surface, which was so highly polished that\nlittle Pandora could see her face in it. As the child had no other\nlooking glass, it is odd that she did not value the box, merely on this\naccount.\n\nThe edges and corners of the box were carved with most wonderful skill.\nAround the margin there were figures of graceful men and women, and the\nprettiest children ever seen, reclining or sporting amid a profusion of\nflowers and foliage; and these various objects were so exquisitely\nrepresented, and were wrought together in such harmony, that flowers,\nfoliage, and human beings seemed to combine into a wreath of mingled\nbeauty. But here and there, peeping forth from behind the carved\nfoliage, Pandora once or twice fancied that she saw a face not so\nlovely, or something or other that was disagreeable, and which stole the\nbeauty out of all the rest. Nevertheless, on looking more closely, and\ntouching the spot with her finger, she could discover nothing of the\nkind. Some face that was really beautiful had been made to look ugly by\nher catching a sideway glimpse at it.\n\nThe most beautiful face of all was done in what is called high relief,\nin the centre of the lid. There was nothing else, save the dark, smooth\nrichness of the polished wood, and this one face in the centre, with a\ngarland of flowers about its brow. Pandora had looked at this face a\ngreat many times, and imagined that the mouth could smile if it liked,\nor be grave when it chose, the same as any living mouth. The features,\nindeed, all wore a very lively and rather mischievous expression, which\nlooked almost as if it needs must burst out of the carved lips, and\nutter itself in words.\n\nHad the mouth spoken, it would probably have been something like this:\n\n\"Do not be afraid, Pandora! What harm can there be in opening the box?\nNever mind that poor, simple Epimetheus! You are wiser than he, and have\nten times as much spirit. Open the box, and see if you do not find\nsomething very pretty!\"\n\nThe box, I had almost forgotten to say, was fastened; not by a lock, nor\nby any other such contrivance, but by a very intricate knot of gold\ncord. There appeared to be no end to this knot, and no beginning. Never\nwas a knot so cunningly twisted, nor with so many ins and outs, which\nroguishly defied the skilfullest fingers to disentangle them. And yet,\nby the very difficulty that there was in it, Pandora was the more\ntempted to examine the knot, and just see how it was made. Two or three\ntimes, already, she had stooped over the box, and taken the knot between\nher thumb and forefinger, but without positively trying to undo it.\n\n\"I really believe,\" said she to herself, \"that I begin to see how it was\ndone. Nay, perhaps I could tie it up again, after undoing it. There\nwould be no harm in that, surely. Even Epimetheus would not blame me for\nthat. I need not open the box, and should not, of course, without the\nfoolish boy's consent, even if the knot were untied.\"\n\nIt might have been better for Pandora if she had had a little work to\ndo, or anything to employ her mind upon, so as not to be so constantly\nthinking of this one subject. But children led so easy a life, before\nany Troubles came into the world, that they had really a great deal too\nmuch leisure. They could not be forever playing at hide-and-seek among\nthe flower shrubs, or at blind-man's-buff with garlands over their eyes,\nor at whatever other games had been found out, while Mother Earth was in\nher babyhood. When life is all sport, toil is the real play. There was\nabsolutely nothing to do. A little sweeping and dusting about the\ncottage, I suppose, and the gathering of fresh flowers (which were only\ntoo abundant everywhere), and arranging them in vases--and poor little\nPandora's day's work was over. And then, for the rest of the day, there\nwas the box!\n\nAfter all, I am not quite sure that the box was not a blessing to her in\nits way. It supplied her with such a variety of ideas to think of, and\nto talk about, whenever she had anybody to listen! When she was in good\nhumour, she could admire the bright polish of its sides, and the rich\nborder of beautiful faces and foliage that ran all around it. Or, if she\nchanced to be ill-tempered, she could give it a push, or kick it with\nher naughty little foot. And many a kick did the box--(but it was a\nmischievous box, as we shall see, and deserved all it got)--many a kick\ndid it receive. But, certain it is, if it had not been for the box, our\nactive-minded little Pandora would not have known half so well how to\nspend her time as she now did.\n\nFor it was really an endless employment to guess what was inside. What\ncould it be, indeed? Just imagine, my little hearers, how busy your wits\nwould be, if there were a great box in the house, which, as you might\nhave reason to suppose, contained something new and pretty for your\nChristmas or New Year's gifts. Do you think that you should be less\ncurious than Pandora? If you were left alone with the box, might you not\nfeel a little tempted to lift the lid? But you would not do it. Oh, fie!\nNo, no! Only, if you thought there were toys in it, it would be so very\nhard to let slip an opportunity of taking just one peep! I know not\nwhether Pandora expected any toys; for none had yet begun to be made,\nprobably, in those days, when the world itself was one great plaything\nfor the children that dwelt upon it. But Pandora was convinced that\nthere was something very beautiful and valuable in the box; and\ntherefore she felt just as anxious to take a peep as any of these little\ngirls, here around me, would have felt. And, possibly, a little more so;\nbut of that I am not quite so certain.\n\nOn this particular day, however, which we have so long been talking\nabout her curiosity grew so much greater than it usually was, that, at\nlast, she approached the box. She was more than half determined to open\nit, if she could. Ah, naughty Pandora!\n\nFirst, however, she tried to lift it. It was heavy; quite too heavy for\nthe slender strength of a child like Pandora. She raised one end of the\nbox a few inches from the floor, and let it fall again, with a pretty\nloud thump. A moment afterward, she almost fancied that she heard\nsomething stir inside of the box. She applied her ear as closely as\npossible, and listened. Positively, there did seem to be a kind of\nstifled murmur within! Or was it merely the singing in Pandora's ears?\nOr could it be the beating of her heart? The child could not quite\nsatisfy herself whether she had heard anything or no. But, at all\nevents, her curiosity was stronger than ever.\n\nAs she drew back her head, her eyes fell upon the knot of gold cord.\n\n\"It must have been a very ingenious person who tied this knot,\" said\nPandora to herself. \"But I think I could untie it nevertheless. I am\nresolved, at least, to find the two ends of the cord.\"\n\nSo she took the golden knot in her fingers, and pried into its\nintricacies as sharply as she could. Almost without intending it, or\nquite knowing what she was about, she was soon busily engaged in\nattempting to undo it. Meanwhile, the bright sunshine came through the\nopen window; as did likewise the merry voices of the children, playing\nat a distance, and perhaps the voice of Epimetheus among them. Pandora\nstopped to listen. What a beautiful day it was! Would it not be wiser if\nshe were to let the troublesome knot alone, and think no more about the\nbox, but run and join her little playfellow and be happy?\n\nAll this time, however, her fingers were half unconsciously busy with\nthe knot; and happening to glance at the flower-wreathed face on the lid\nof the enchanted box, she seemed to perceive it slyly grinning at her.\n\n\"That face looks very mischievous,\" thought Pandora. \"I wonder whether\nit smiles because I am doing wrong! I have the greatest mind in the\nworld to run away!\"\n\nBut just then, by the merest accident, she gave the knot a kind of\ntwist, which produced a wonderful result. The gold cord untwined itself,\nas if by magic, and left the box without a fastening.\n\n\"This is the strangest thing I ever knew!\" said Pandora. \"What will\nEpimetheus say? And how can I possibly tie it up again?\"\n\nShe made one or two attempts to restore the knot, but soon found it\nquite beyond her skill. It had disentangled itself so suddenly that she\ncould not in the least remember how the strings had been doubled into\none another; and when she tried to recollect the shape and appearance of\nthe knot, it seemed to have gone entirely out of her mind. Nothing was\nto be done, therefore, but to let the box remain as it was until\nEpimetheus should come in.\n\n\"But,\" said Pandora, \"when he finds the knot untied, he will know that I\nhave done it. How shall I make him believe that I have not looked into\nthe box?\"\n\nAnd then the thought came into her naughty little heart, that, since she\nwould be suspected of having looked into the box, she might just as well\ndo so at once. Oh, very naughty and very foolish Pandora! You should\nhave thought only of doing what was right, and of leaving undone what\nwas wrong, and not of what your playfellow Epimetheus would have said\nor believed. And so perhaps she might, if the enchanted face on the lid\nof the box had not looked so bewitchingly persuasive at her, and if she\nhad not seemed to hear, more distinctly, than before, the murmur of\nsmall voices within. She could not tell whether it was fancy or no; but\nthere was quite a little tumult of whispers in her ear--or else it was\nher curiosity that whispered:\n\n\"Let us out, dear Pandora--pray let us out! We will be such nice pretty\nplayfellows for you! Only let us out!\"\n\n\"What can it be?\" thought Pandora. \"Is there something alive in the box?\nWell--yes!--I am resolved to take just one peep! Only one peep; and then\nthe lid shall be shut down as safely as ever! There cannot possibly be\nany harm in just one little peep!\"\n\nBut it is now time for us to see what Epimetheus was doing.\n\nThis was the first time, since his little playmate had come to dwell\nwith him, that he had attempted to enjoy any pleasure in which she did\nnot partake. But nothing went right; nor was he nearly so happy as on\nother days. He could not find a sweet grape or a ripe fig (if Epimetheus\nhad a fault, it was a little too much fondness for figs); or, if ripe at\nall, they were overripe, and so sweet as to be cloying. There was no\nmirth in his heart, such as usually made his voice gush out, of its own\naccord, and swell the merriment of his companions. In short, he grew so\nuneasy and discontented, that the other children could not imagine what\nwas the matter with Epimetheus. Neither did he himself know what ailed\nhim, any better than they did. For you must recollect that, at the time\nwe are speaking of, it was everybody's nature, and constant habit, to be\nhappy. The world had not yet learned to be otherwise. Not a single soul\nor body, since these children were first sent to enjoy themselves on the\nbeautiful earth, had ever been sick or out of sorts.\n\nAt length, discovering that, somehow or other, he put a stop to all the\nplay, Epimetheus judged it best to go back to Pandora, who was in a\nhumour better suited to his own. But, with a hope of giving her\npleasure, he gathered some flowers, and made them into a wreath, which\nhe meant to put upon her head. The flowers were very lovely--roses, and\nlilies, and orange blossoms, and a great many more, which left a trail\nof fragrance behind, as Epimetheus carried them along; and the wreath\nwas put together with as much skill as could reasonably be expected of a\nboy. The fingers of little girls, it has always appeared to me, are the\nfittest to twine flower wreaths; but boys could do it, in those days,\nrather better than they can now.\n\nAnd here I must mention that a great black cloud had been gathering in\nthe sky, for some time past, although it had not yet overspread the sun.\nBut, just as Epimetheus reached the cottage door, this cloud began to\nintercept the sunshine, and thus to make a sudden and sad obscurity.\n\nHe entered softly, for he meant, if possible, to steal behind Pandora,\nand fling the wreath of flowers over her head, before she should be\naware of his approach. But, as it happened, there was no need of his\ntreading so very lightly. He might have trod as heavily as he\npleased--as heavily as a grown man--as heavily, I was going to say, as\nan elephant--without much probability of Pandora's hearing his\nfootsteps. She was too intent upon her purpose. At the moment of his\nentering the cottage, the naughty child had put her hand to the lid,\nand was on the point of opening the mysterious box. Epimetheus beheld\nher. If he had cried out, Pandora would probably have withdrawn her\nhand, and the fatal mystery of the box might never have been known.\n\nBut Epimetheus himself, although he said very little about it, had his\nown share of curiosity to know what was inside. Perceiving that Pandora\nwas resolved to find out the secret, he determined that his playfellow\nshould not be the only wise person in the cottage. And if there were\nanything pretty or valuable in the box, he meant to take half of it to\nhimself. Thus, after all his sage speeches to Pandora about restraining\nher curiosity, Epimetheus turned out to be quite as foolish, and nearly\nas much in fault as she. So, whenever we blame Pandora for what\nhappened, we must not forget to shake our heads at Epimetheus likewise.\n\nAs Pandora raised the lid, the cottage grew very dark and dismal; for\nthe black cloud had now swept quite over the sun, and seemed to have\nburied it alive. There had for a little while past been a low growling\nand muttering, which all at once broke into a heavy peal of thunder. But\nPandora, heeding nothing of all this, lifted the lid nearly upright, and\nlooked inside. It seemed as if a sudden swarm of winged creatures\nbrushed past her, taking flight out of the box, while, at the same\ninstant, she heard the voice of Epimetheus, with a lamentable tone, as\nif he were in pain.\n\n\"Oh, I am stung!\" cried he. \"I am stung! Naughty Pandora! why have you\nopened this wicked box?\"\n\nPandora let fall the lid, and, starting up, looked about her, to see\nwhat had befallen Epimetheus. The thunder cloud had so darkened the room\nthat she could not very clearly discern what was in it. But she heard a\ndisagreeable buzzing, as if a great many huge flies, or gigantic\nmosquitoes, or those insects which we call dor bugs, and pinching dogs,\nwere darting about. And, as her eyes grew more accustomed to the\nimperfect light, she saw a crowd of ugly little shapes, with bats'\nwings, looking abominably spiteful, and armed with terribly long stings\nin their tails. It was one of these that had stung Epimetheus. Nor was\nit a great while before Pandora herself began to scream, in no less pain\nand affright than her playfellow, and making a vast deal more hubbub\nabout it. An odious little monster had settled on her forehead, and\nwould have stung her I know not how deeply, if Epimetheus had not run\nand brushed it away.\n\nNow, if you wish to know what these ugly things might be, which had made\ntheir escape out of the box, I must tell you that they were the whole\nfamily of earthly Troubles. There were evil Passions; there were a great\nmany species of Cares; there were more than a hundred and fifty Sorrows;\nthere were Diseases, in a vast number of miserable and painful shapes;\nthere were more kinds of Naughtiness than it would be of any use to talk\nabout. In short, everything that has since afflicted the souls and\nbodies of mankind had been shut up in the mysterious box, and given to\nEpimetheus and Pandora to be kept safely, in order that the happy\nchildren of the world might never be molested by them. Had they been\nfaithful to their trust, all would have gone well. No grown person would\never have been sad, nor any child have had cause to shed a single tear,\nfrom that hour until this moment.\n\nBut--and you may see by this how a wrong act of any one mortal is a\ncalamity to the whole world--by Pandora's lifting the lid of that\nmiserable box, and by the fault of Epimetheus, too, in not preventing\nher, these Troubles have obtained a foothold among us, and do not seem\nvery likely to be driven away in a hurry. For it was impossible, as you\nwill easily guess, that the two children should keep the ugly swarms in\ntheir own little cottage. On the contrary, the first thing that they did\nwas to fling open the doors and windows, in hopes of getting rid of\nthem; and, sure enough, away flew the winged Troubles all abroad, and so\npestered and tormented the small people, everywhere about, that none of\nthem so much as smiled for many days afterward. And, what was very\nsingular, all the flowers and dewy blossoms on earth not one of which\nhad hitherto faded, now began to droop and shed their leaves, after a\nday or two. The children, moreover, who before seemed immortal in their\nchildhood, now grew older, day by day, and came soon to be youths and\nmaidens, and men and women by and by, and aged people, before they\ndreamed of such a thing.\n\nMeanwhile, the naughty Pandora, and hardly less naughty Epimetheus,\nremained in their cottage. Both of them had been grievously stung, and\nwere in a good deal of pain, which seemed the more intolerable to them,\nbecause it was the very first pain that had ever been felt since the\nworld began. Of course, they were entirely unaccustomed to it, and could\nhave no idea what it meant. Besides all this, they were in exceedingly\nbad humour, both with themselves and with one another. In order to\nindulge it to the utmost, Epimetheus sat down sullenly in a corner with\nhis back toward Pandora; while Pandora flung herself upon the floor and\nrested her head on the fatal and abominable box. She was crying\nbitterly, and sobbing as if her heart would break.\n\nSuddenly there was a gentle little tap on the inside of the lid.\n\n\"What can that be?\" cried Pandora, lifting her head.\n\nBut either Epimetheus had not heard the tap, or was too much out of\nhumour to notice it. At any rate, he made no answer.\n\n\"You are very unkind,\" said Pandora, sobbing anew, \"not to speak to me!\"\n\nAgain the tap! It sounded like the tiny knuckles of a fairy's hand,\nknocking lightly and playfully on the inside of the box.\n\n\"Who are you?\" asked Pandora, with a little of her former curiosity.\n\"Who are you, inside of this naughty box?\"\n\nA sweet little voice spoke from within--\n\n\"Only lift the lid, and you shall see.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered Pandora, again beginning to sob, \"I have had enough\nof lifting the lid! You are inside of the box, naughty creature, and\nthere you shall stay! There are plenty of your ugly brothers and sisters\nalready flying about the world. You need never think that I shall be so\nfoolish as to let you out!\"\n\nShe looked toward Epimetheus, as she spoke, perhaps expecting that he\nwould commend her for her wisdom. But the sullen boy only muttered that\nshe was wise a little too late.\n\n\"Ah,\" said the sweet little voice again, \"you had much better let me\nout. I am not like those naughty creatures that have stings in their\ntails. They are no brothers and sisters of mine, as you would see at\nonce, if you were only to get a glimpse of me. Come, come, my pretty\nPandora! I am sure you will let me out!\"\n\nAnd, indeed, there was a kind of cheerful witchery in the tone, that\nmade it almost impossible to refuse anything which this little voice\nasked. Pandora's heart had insensibly grown lighter, at every word that\ncame from within the box. Epimetheus, too, though still in the corner,\nhad turned half round, and seemed to be in rather better spirits than\nbefore.\n\n\"My dear Epimetheus,\" cried Pandora, \"have you heard this little voice?\"\n\n\"Yes, to be sure I have,\" answered he, but in no very good humour as\nyet. \"And what of it?\"\n\n\"Shall I lift the lid again?\" asked Pandora.\n\n\"Just as you please,\" said Epimetheus. \"You have done so much mischief\nalready, that perhaps you may as well do a little more. One other\nTrouble, in such a swarm as you have set adrift about the world, can\nmake no very great difference.\"\n\n\"You might speak a little more kindly!\" murmured Pandora, wiping her\neyes.\n\n\"Ah, naughty boy!\" cried the little voice within the box, in an arch and\nlaughing tone. \"He knows he is longing to see me. Come, my dear Pandora,\nlift up the lid. I am in a great hurry to comfort you. Only let me have\nsome fresh air, and you shall soon see that matters are not quite so\ndismal as you think them!\"\n\n\"Epimetheus,\" exclaimed Pandora, \"come what may, I am resolved to open\nthe box!\"\n\n\"And, as the lid seems very heavy,\" cried Epimetheus, running across the\nroom, \"I will help you!\"\n\nSo, with one consent, the two children again lifted the lid. Out flew a\nsunny and smiling little personage, and Hovered about the room, throwing\na light wherever she went. Have you never made the sunshine dance into\ndark corners, by reflecting it from a bit of looking glass? Well, so\nlooked the winged cheerfulness of this fairy-like stranger, amid the\ngloom of the cottage. She flew to Epimetheus, and laid the least touch\nof her finger on the inflamed spot where the Trouble had stung him, and\nimmediately the anguish of it was gone. Then she kissed Pandora on the\nforehead, and her hurt was cured likewise.\n\nAfter performing these good offices, the bright stranger fluttered\nsportively over the children's heads, and looked so sweetly at them,\nthat they both began to think it not so very much amiss to have opened\nthe box, since, otherwise, their cheery guest must have been kept a\nprisoner among those naughty imps with stings in their tails.\n\n\"Pray, who are you, beautiful creature?\" inquired Pandora.\n\n\"I am to be called Hope!\" answered the sunshiny figure. \"And because I\nam such a cheery little body, I was packed into the box, to make amends\nto the human race for that swarm of ugly Troubles, which was destined to\nbe let loose among them. Never fear! we shall do pretty well in spite\nof them all.\"\n\n\"Your wings are coloured like the rainbow!\" exclaimed Pandora. \"How very\nbeautiful!\"\n\n\"Yes, they are like the rainbow,\" said Hope, \"because, glad as my nature\nis, I am partly made of tears as well as smiles.\"\n\n\"And will you stay with us,\" asked Epimetheus, \"forever and ever?\"\n\n\"As long as you need me,\" said Hope, with her pleasant smile--\"and that\nwill be as long as you live in the world--I promise never to desert you.\nThere may come times and seasons, now and then, when you will think\nthat I have utterly vanished. But again, and again, and again, when\nperhaps you least dream of it, you shall see the glimmer of my wings on\nthe ceiling of your cottage. Yes, my dear children, and I know something\nvery good and beautiful that is to be given you hereafter!\"\n\n\"Oh tell us,\" they exclaimed--\"tell us what it is!\"\n\n\"Do not ask me,\" replied Hope, putting her finger on her rosy mouth.\n\"But do not despair, even if it should never happen while you live on\nthis earth. Trust in my promise, for it is true.\"\n\n\"We do trust you!\" cried Epimetheus and Pandora, both in one breath.\n\nAnd so they did; and not only they, but so has everybody trusted Hope,\nthat has since been alive. And to tell you the truth, I cannot help\nbeing glad--(though, to be sure, it was an uncommonly naughty thing for\nher to do)--but I cannot help being glad that our foolish Pandora peeped\ninto the box. No doubt--no doubt--the Troubles are still flying about\nthe world, and have increased in multitude, rather than lessened, and\nare a very ugly set of imps, and carry most venomous stings in their\ntails. I have felt them already, and expect to feel them more, as I grow\nolder. But then that lovely and lightsome little figure of Hope! What in\nthe world could we do without her? Hope spiritualises the earth; Hope\nmakes it always new; and, even in the earth's best and brightest aspect,\nHope shows it to be only the shadow of an infinite bliss hereafter!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE CYCLOPS\n\n\nWhen the great city of Troy was taken, all the chiefs who had fought\nagainst it set sail for their homes. But there was wrath in heaven\nagainst them, for indeed they had borne themselves haughtily and cruelly\nin the day of their victory. Therefore they did not all find a safe and\nhappy return. For one was shipwrecked, and another was shamefully slain\nby his false wife in his palace, and others found all things at home\ntroubled and changed, and were driven to seek new dwellings elsewhere.\nAnd some, whose wives and friends and people had been still true to them\nthrough those ten long years of absence, were driven far and wide about\nthe world before they saw their native land again. And of all, the wise\nUlysses was he who wandered farthest and suffered most.\n\nHe was well-nigh the last to sail, for he had tarried many days to do\npleasure to Agamemnon, lord of all the Greeks. Twelve ships he had with\nhim--twelve he had brought to Troy--and in each there were some fifty\nmen, being scarce half of those that had sailed in them in the old days,\nso many valiant heroes slept the last sleep by Simo\u00efs and Scamander, and\nin the plain and on the seashore, slain in battle or by the shafts of\nApollo.\n\nFirst they sailed northwest to the Thracian coast, where the Ciconians\ndwelt, who had helped the men of Troy. Their city they took, and in it\nmuch plunder, slaves and oxen, and jars of fragrant wine, and might\nhave escaped unhurt, but that they stayed to hold revel on the shore.\nFor the Ciconians gathered their neighbours, being men of the same\nblood, and did battle with the invaders, and drove them to their ship.\nAnd when Ulysses numbered his men, he found that he had lost six out of\neach ship.\n\nScarce had he set out again when the wind began to blow fiercely; so,\nseeing a smooth sandy beach, they drave the ships ashore and dragged\nthem out of reach of the waves, and waited till the storm should abate.\nAnd the third morning being fair, they sailed again, and journeyed\nprosperously till they came to the very end of the great Peloponnesian\nland, where Cape Malea looks out upon the southern sea. But contrary\ncurrents baffled them, so that they could not round it, and the north\nwind blew so strongly that they must fain drive before it. And on the\ntenth day they came to the land where the lotus grows--a wondrous fruit,\nof which whosoever eats cares not to see country or wife or children\nagain. Now the Lotus eaters, for so they call the people of the land,\nwere a kindly folk, and gave of the fruit to some of the sailors, not\nmeaning them any harm, but thinking it to be the best that they had to\ngive. These, when they had eaten, said that they would not sail any more\nover the sea; which, when the wise Ulysses heard, he bade their comrades\nbind them and carry them, sadly complaining, to the ships.\n\nThen, the wind having abated, they took to their oars, and rowed for\nmany days till they came to the country where the Cyclopes dwell. Now, a\nmile or so from the shore there was an island, very fair and fertile,\nbut no man dwells there or tills the soil, and in the island a harbour\nwhere a ship may be safe from all winds, and at the head of the harbour\na stream falling from the rock, and whispering alders all about it. Into\nthis the ships passed safely, and were hauled up on the beach, and the\ncrews slept by them, waiting for the morning. And the next day they\nhunted the wild goats, of which there was great store on the island, and\nfeasted right merrily on what they caught, with draughts of red wine\nwhich they had carried off from the town of the Ciconians.\n\nBut on the morrow, Ulysses, for he was ever fond of adventure, and would\nknow of every land to which he came what manner of men they were that\ndwelt there, took one of his twelve ships and bade row to the land.\nThere was a great hill sloping to the shore, and there rose up here and\nthere a smoke from the caves where the Cyclopes dwelt apart, holding no\nconverse with each other, for they were a rude and savage folk, but\nruled each his own household, not caring for others. Now very close to\nthe shore was one of these caves, very huge and deep, with laurels round\nabout the mouth, and in front a fold with walls built of rough stone,\nand shaded by tall oaks and pines. So Ulysses chose out of the crew the\ntwelve bravest, and bade the rest guard the ship, and went to see what\nmanner of dwelling this was, and who abode there. He had his sword by\nhis side, and on his shoulder a mighty skin of wine, sweet smelling and\nstrong, with which he might win the heart of some fierce savage, should\nhe chance to meet with such, as indeed his prudent heart forecasted that\nhe might.\n\nSo they entered the cave, and judged that it was the dwelling of some\nrich and skilful shepherd. For within there were pens for the young of\nthe sheep and of the goats, divided all according to their age, and\nthere were baskets full of cheeses, and full milkpails ranged along the\nwall. But the Cyclops himself was away in the pastures. Then the\ncompanions of Ulysses besought him that he would depart, taking with\nhim, if he would, a store of cheeses and sundry of the lambs and of the\nkids. But he would not, for he wished to see, after his wont, what\nmanner of host this strange shepherd might be. And truly he saw it to\nhis cost!\n\nIt was evening when the Cyclops came home, a mighty giant, twenty feet\nin height, or more. On his shoulder he bore a vast bundle of pine logs\nfor his fire, and threw them down outside the cave with a great crash,\nand drove the flocks within, and closed the entrance with a huge rock,\nwhich twenty wagons and more could not bear. Then he milked the ewes and\nall the she goats, and half of the milk he curdled for cheese, and half\nhe set ready for himself, when he should sup. Next he kindled a fire\nwith the pine logs, and the flame lighted up all the cave, showing him\nUlysses and his comrades.\n\n\"Who are ye?\" cried Polyphemus, for that was the giant's name. \"Are ye\ntraders, or, haply, pirates?\"\n\nFor in those days it was not counted shame to be called a pirate.\n\nUlysses shuddered at the dreadful voice and shape, but bore him bravely,\nand answered, \"We are no pirates, mighty sir, but Greeks, sailing back\nfrom Troy, and subjects of the great King Agamemnon, whose fame is\nspread from one end of heaven to the other. And we are come to beg\nhospitality of thee in the name of Zeus, who rewards or punishes hosts\nand guests according as they be faithful the one to the other, or no.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the giant, \"it is but idle talk to tell me of Zeus and the\nother gods. We Cyclopes take no account of gods, holding ourselves to\nbe much better and stronger than they. But come, tell me where have you\nleft your ship?\"\n\nBut Ulysses saw his thought when he asked about the ship, how he was\nminded to break it, and take from them all hope of flight. Therefore he\nanswered him craftily:\n\n\"Ship have we none, for that which was ours King Poseidon brake, driving\nit on a jutting rock on this coast, and we whom thou seest are all that\nare escaped from the waves.\"\n\nPolyphemus answered nothing, but without more ado caught up two of the\nmen, as a man might catch up the whelps of a dog, and dashed them on the\nground, and tore them limb from limb, and devoured them, with huge\ndraughts of milk between, leaving not a morsel, not even the very bones.\nBut the others, when they saw the dreadful deed, could only weep and\npray to Zeus for help. And when the giant had ended his foul meal, he\nlay down among his sheep and slept.\n\nThen Ulysses questioned much in his heart whether he should slay the\nmonster as he slept, for he doubted not that his good sword would pierce\nto the giant's heart, mighty as he was. But, being very wise, he\nremembered that, should he slay him, he and his comrades would yet\nperish miserably. For who should move away the great rock that lay\nagainst the door of the cave? So they waited till the morning. And the\nmonster woke, and milked his flocks, and afterward, seizing two men,\ndevoured them for his meal. Then he went to the pastures, but put the\ngreat rock on the mouth of the cave, just as a man puts down the lid\nupon his quiver.\n\nAll that day the wise Ulysses was thinking what he might best do to save\nhimself and his companions, and the end of his thinking was this: There\nwas a mighty pole in the cave, green wood of an olive tree, big as a\nship's mast, which Polyphemus purposed to use, when the smoke should\nhave dried it, as a walking staff. Of this he cut off a fathom's length,\nand his comrades sharpened it and hardened it in the fire, and then hid\nit away. At evening the giant came back, and drove his sheep into the\ncave, nor left the rams outside, as he had been wont to do before, but\nshut them in. And having duly done his shepherd's work, he made his\ncruel feast as before. Then Ulysses came forward with the wine skin in\nhis hand, and said:\n\n\"Drink, Cyclops, now that thou hast feasted. Drink, and see what\nprecious things we had in our ship. But no one hereafter will come to\nthee with such like, if thou dealest with strangers as cruelly as thou\nhast dealt with us.\"\n\nThen the Cyclops drank, and was mightily pleased, and said, \"Give me\nagain to drink, and tell me thy name, stranger, and I will give thee a\ngift such as a host should give. In good truth this is a rare liquor.\nWe, too, have vines, but they bear not wine like this, which indeed must\nbe such as the gods drink in heaven.\"\n\nThen Ulysses gave him the cup again, and he drank. Thrice he gave it to\nhim, and thrice he drank, not knowing what it was, and how it would work\nwithin his brain.\n\nThen Ulysses spake to him. \"Thou didst ask my name, Cyclops. Lo! my name\nis No Man. And now that thou knowest my name, thou shouldst give me thy\ngift.\"\n\nAnd he said, \"My gift shall be that I will eat thee last of all thy\ncompany.\"\n\nAnd as he spake he fell back in a drunken sleep. Then Ulysses bade his\ncomrades be of good courage, for the time was come when they should be\ndelivered. And they thrust the stake of olive wood into the fire till it\nwas ready, green as it was, to burst into flame, and they thrust it into\nthe monster's eye; for he had but one eye, and that in the midst of his\nforehead, with the eyebrow below it. And Ulysses leant with all his\nforce upon the stake, and thrust it in with might and main. And the\nburning wood hissed in the eye, just as the red-hot iron hisses in the\nwater when a man seeks to temper steel for a sword.\n\nThen the giant leapt up, and tore away the stake, and cried aloud, so\nthat all the Cyclopes who dwelt on the mountain side heard him and came\nabout his cave, asking him, \"What aileth thee, Polyphemus, that thou\nmakest this uproar in the peaceful night, driving away sleep? Is any one\nrobbing thee of thy sheep, or seeking to slay thee by craft or force?\"\n\nAnd the giant answered, \"No Man slays me by craft.\"\n\n\"Nay, but,\" they said, \"if no man does thee wrong, we cannot help thee.\nThe sickness which great Zeus may send, who can avoid? Pray to our\nfather, Poseidon, for help.\"\n\nThen they departed; and Ulysses was glad at heart for the good success\nof his device, when he said that he was No Man.\n\nBut the Cyclops rolled away the great stone from the door of the cave,\nand sat in the midst stretching out his hands, to feel whether perchance\nthe men within the cave would seek to go out among the sheep.\n\nLong did Ulysses think how he and his comrades should best escape. At\nlast he lighted upon a good device, and much he thanked Zeus for that\nthis once the giant had driven the rams with the other sheep into the\ncave. For, these being great and strong, he fastened his comrades under\nthe bellies of the beasts, tying them with osier twigs, of which the\ngiant made his bed. One ram he took, and fastened a man beneath it, and\ntwo others he set, one on either side. So he did with the six, for but\nsix were left out of the twelve who had ventured with him from the ship.\nAnd there was one mighty ram, far larger than all the others, and to\nthis Ulysses clung, grasping the fleece tight with both his hands. So\nthey waited for the morning. And when the morning came, the rams rushed\nforth to the pasture; but the giant sat in the door and felt the back of\neach as it went by, nor thought to try what might be underneath. Last of\nall went the great ram. And the Cyclops knew him as he passed and said:\n\n\"How is this, thou, who art the leader of the flock? Thou art not wont\nthus to lag behind. Thou hast always been the first to run to the\npastures and streams in the morning, and the first to come back to the\nfold when evening fell; and now thou art last of all. Perhaps thou art\ntroubled about thy master's eye, which some wretch--No Man, they call\nhim--has destroyed, having first mastered me with wine. He has not\nescaped, I ween. I would that thou couldst speak, and tell me where he\nis lurking. Of a truth I would dash out his brains upon the ground, and\navenge me of this No Man.\"\n\nSo speaking, he let him pass out of the cave. But when they were out of\nreach of the giant, Ulysses loosed his hold of the ram, and then unbound\nhis comrades. And they hastened to their ship, not forgetting to drive\nbefore them a good store of the Cyclops' fat sheep. Right glad were\nthose that had abode by the ship to see them. Nor did they lament for\nthose that had died, though they were fain to do so, for Ulysses\nforbade, fearing lest the noise of their weeping should betray them to\nthe giant, where they were. Then they all climbed into the ship, and\nsitting well in order on the benches, smote the sea with their oars,\nlaying-to right lustily, that they might the sooner get away from the\naccursed land. And when they had rowed a hundred yards or so, so that a\nman's voice could yet be heard by one who stood upon the shore, Ulysses\nstood up in the ship and shouted:\n\n\"He was no coward, O Cyclops, whose comrades thou didst so foully slay\nin thy den. Justly art thou punished, monster, that devourest thy guests\nin thy dwelling. May the gods make thee suffer yet worse things than\nthese!\"\n\nThen the Cylops, in his wrath, broke off the top of a great hill, a\nmighty rock, and hurled it where he had heard the voice. Right in front\nof the ship's bow it fell, and a great wave rose as it sank, and washed\nthe ship back to the shore. But Ulysses seized a long pole with both\nhands and pushed the ship from the land, and bade his comrades ply their\noars, nodding with his head, for he was too wise to speak, lest the\nCyclops should know where they were. Then they rowed with all their\nmight and main.\n\nAnd when they had gotten twice as far as before, Ulysses made as if he\nwould speak again; but his comrades sought to hinder him, saying, \"Nay,\nmy lord, anger not the giant any more. Surely we thought before we were\nlost, when he threw the great rock, and washed our ship back to the\nshore. And if he hear thee now, he may crush our ship and us, for the\nman throws a mighty bolt, and throws it far.\"\n\nBut Ulysses would not be persuaded, but stood up and said, \"Hear,\nCyclops! If any man ask who blinded thee, say that it was the warrior\nUlysses, son of Laertes, dwelling in Ithaca.\"\n\nAnd the Cyclops answered with a groan, \"Of a truth, the old oracles are\nfulfilled, for long ago there came to this land one Telemus, a prophet,\nand dwelt among us even to old age. This man foretold me that one\nUlysses would rob me of my sight. But I looked for a great man and a\nstrong, who should subdue me by force, and now a weakling has done the\ndeed, having cheated me with wine. But come thou hither, Ulysses, and I\nwill be a host indeed to thee. Or, at least, may Poseidon give thee such\na voyage to thy home as I would wish thee to have. For know that\nPoseidon is my sire. May be that he may heal me of my grievous wound.\"\n\nAnd Ulysses said, \"Would to God, I could send thee down to the abode of\nthe dead, where thou wouldst be past all healing, even from Poseidon's\nself.\"\n\nThen Cyclops lifted up his hands to Poseidon and prayed:\n\n\"Hear me, Poseidon, if I am indeed thy son and thou my father. May this\nUlysses never reach his home! or, if the Fates have ordered that he\nshould reach it, may he come alone, all his comrades lost, and come to\nfind sore trouble in his house!\"\n\nAnd as he ended he hurled another mighty rock, which almost lighted on\nthe rudder's end, yet missed it as if by a hair's breadth. So Ulysses\nand his comrades escaped, and came to the island of the wild goats,\nwhere they found their comrades, who indeed had waited long for them, in\nsore fear lest they had perished. Then Ulysses divided among his company\nall the sheep which they had taken from the Cyclops. And all, with one\nconsent, gave him for his share the great ram which had carried him out\nof the cave, and he sacrificed it to Zeus. And all that day they feasted\nright merrily on the flesh of sheep and on sweet wine, and when the\nnight was come, they lay down upon the shore and slept.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE ARGONAUTS\n\n\nI\n\n_How the Centaur Trained the Heroes on Pelion_\n\nI have told you of a hero who fought with wild beasts and with wild men;\nbut now I have a tale of heroes who sailed away into a distant land to\nwin themselves renown forever, in the adventure of the Golden Fleece.\n\nWhither they sailed, my children, I cannot clearly tell. It all happened\nlong ago; so long that it has all grown dim, like a dream which you\ndreamed last year. And why they went, I cannot tell; some say that it\nwas to win gold. It may be so; but the noblest deeds which have been\ndone on earth, have not been done for gold. It was not for the sake of\ngold that the Lord came down and died, and the Apostles went out to\npreach the good news in all lands. The Spartans looked for no reward in\nmoney when they fought and died at Thermopyl\u00e6; and Socrates the wise\nasked no pay from his countrymen, but lived poor and barefoot all his\ndays, only caring to make men good. And there are heroes in our days\nalso, who do noble deeds, but not for gold. Our discoverers did not go\nto make themselves rich, when they sailed out one after another into the\ndreary frozen seas; nor did the ladies, who went out last year, to\ndrudge in the hospitals of the East, making themselves poor, that they\nmight be rich in noble works. And young men, too, whom you know,\nchildren, and some of them of your own kin, did they say to themselves,\n\"How much money shall I earn?\" when they went out to the war, leaving\nwealth, and comfort, and a pleasant home, and all that money can give,\nto face hunger and thirst, and wounds and death, that they might fight\nfor their country and their Queen? No, children, there is a better thing\non earth than wealth, a better thing than life itself; and that is, to\nhave done something before you die, for which good men may honour you,\nand God your Father smile upon your work.\n\nTherefore we will believe--why should we not--of these same Argonauts of\nold, that they, too, were noble men, who planned and did a noble deed;\nand that therefore their fame has lived, and been told in story and in\nsong, mixed up, no doubt, with dreams and fables, yet true and right at\nheart. So we will honour these old Argonauts, and listen to their story\nas it stands; and we will try to be like them, each of us in our place;\nfor each of us has a Golden Fleece to seek, and a wild sea to sail over,\nere we reach it, and dragons to fight ere it be ours.\n\nAnd what was that first Golden Fleece? I do not know, nor care. The old\nHellenes said that it hung in Colchis, which we call the Circassian\ncoast, nailed to a beech tree in the war-god's wood; and that it was the\nfleece of the wondrous ram, who bore Phrixus and Helle across the Euxine\nSea. For Phrixus and Helle were the children of the cloud nymph, and of\nAthamas the Minuan king. And when a famine came upon the land, their\ncruel stepmother, Ino, wished to kill them, that her own children might\nreign, and said that they must be sacrificed on an altar, to turn away\nthe anger of the gods. So the poor children were brought to the altar,\nand the priest stood ready with his knife, when out of the clouds came\nthe Golden Ram, and took them on his back, and vanished. Then madness\ncame upon that foolish king Athamas, and ruin upon Ino and her children.\nFor Athamas killed one of them in his fury, and Ino fled from him with\nthe other in her arms, and leaped from a cliff into the sea, and was\nchanged into a dolphin, such as you have seen, which wanders over the\nwaves forever sighing, with its little one clasped to its breast.\n\nBut the people drove out King Athamas, because he had killed his child;\nand he roamed about in his misery, till he came to the Oracle in Delphi.\nAnd the Oracle told him that he must wander for his sin, till the wild\nbeasts should feast him as their guest. So he went on in hunger and\nsorrow for many a weary day, till he saw a pack of wolves. The wolves\nwere tearing a sheep; but when they saw Athamas they fled, and left the\nsheep for him, and he ate of it; and then he knew that the oracle was\nfulfilled at last. So he wandered no more; but settled, and built a\ntown, and became a king again.\n\nBut the ram carried the two children far away over land and sea, till he\ncame to the Thracian Chersonese, and there Helle fell into the sea. So\nthose narrow straits are called \"Hellespont,\" after her; and they bear\nthat name until this day.\n\nThen the ram flew on with Phrixus to the northeast across the sea which\nwe call the Black Sea now; but the Hellenes called it Euxine. And at\nlast, they say, he stopped at Colchis, on the steep Circassian coast;\nand there Phrixus married Chalchiope, the daughter of Aietes the king;\nand offered the ram in sacrifice; and Aietes nailed the ram's fleece to\na beech, in the grove of Ares the war god.\n\nAnd after awhile Phrixus died, and was buried, but his spirit had no\nrest; for he was buried far from his native land, and the pleasant hills\nof Hellas. So he came in dreams to the heroes of the Minuai, and called\nsadly by their beds: \"Come and set my spirit free, that I may go home to\nmy fathers and to my kinsfolk, and the pleasant Minuan land.\"\n\nAnd they asked: \"How shall we set your spirit free?\"\n\n\"You must sail over the sea to Colchis, and bring home the golden\nfleece; and then my spirit will come back with it, and I shall sleep\nwith my fathers and have rest.\"\n\nHe came thus, and called to them often, but when they woke they looked\nat each other, and said: \"Who dare sail to Colchis, or bring home the\ngolden fleece?\" And in all the country none was brave enough to try it;\nfor the man and the time were not come.\n\nPhrixus had a cousin called \u00c6son, who was king in Iolcos by the sea.\nThere he ruled over the rich Minuan heroes, as Athamas his uncle ruled\nin B\u0153otia; and like Athamas, he was an unhappy man. For he had a\nstepbrother named Pelias, of whom some said that he was a nymph's son,\nand there were dark and sad tales about his birth. When he was a babe he\nwas cast out on the mountains, and a wild mare came by and kicked him.\nBut a shepherd passing found the baby, with its face all blackened by\nthe blow; and took him home, and called him Pelias, because his face was\nbruised and black. And he grew up fierce and lawless, and did many a\nfearful deed; and at last he drove out \u00c6son his stepbrother, and then\nhis own brother Neleus, and took the kingdom to himself, and ruled over\nthe rich Minuan heroes, in Iolcos by the sea.\n\nAnd \u00c6son, when he was driven out, went sadly away out of the town,\nleading his little son by the hand; and he said to himself, \"I must hide\nthe child in the mountains; or Pelias will surely kill him, because he\nis the heir.\"\n\nSo he went up from the sea across the valley, through the vineyards and\nthe olive groves, and across the torrent of Anauros, toward Pelion the\nancient mountain, whose brows are white with snow.\n\nHe went up and up into the mountain over marsh, and crag, and down, till\nthe boy was tired and footsore, and \u00c6son had to bear him in his arms,\ntill he came to the mouth of a lonely cave, at the foot of a mighty\ncliff.\n\nAbove the cliff the snow wreaths hung, dripping and cracking in the sun.\nBut at its foot around the cave's mouth grew all fair flowers and herbs,\nas if in a garden, ranged in order, each sort by itself. There they grew\ngayly in the sunshine, and the spray of the torrent from above; while\nfrom the cave came the sound of music, and a man's voice singing to the\nharp.\n\nThen \u00c6son put down the lad, and whispered:\n\n\"Fear not, but go in, and whomsoever you shall find, lay your hands upon\nhis knees, and say, 'In the name of Zeus the father of gods and men, I\nam your guest from this day forth.'\"\n\nThen the lad went in without trembling, for he, too, was a hero's son;\nbut when he was within, he stopped in wonder, to listen to that magic\nsong.\n\nAnd there he saw the singer lying upon bear skins and fragrant boughs;\nCheiron, the ancient centaur, the wisest of all things beneath the sky.\nDown to the waist he was a man; but below he was a noble horse; his\nwhite hair rolled down over his broad shoulders, and his white beard\nover his broad brown chest; and his eyes were wise and mild, and his\nforehead like a mountain wall.\n\nAnd in his hands he held a harp of gold, and struck it with a golden\nkey; and as he struck, he sang till his eyes glittered, and filled all\nthe cave with light.\n\nAnd he sang of the birth of Time, and of the heavens and the dancing\nstars; and of the ocean, and the ether, and the fire, and the shaping of\nthe wondrous earth. And he sang of the treasures of the hills, and the\nhidden jewels of the mine, and the veins of fire and metal, and the\nvirtues of all healing herbs, and of the speech of birds, and of\nprophecy, and of hidden things to come.\n\nThen he sang of health, and strength, and manhood, and a valiant heart;\nand of music, and hunting, and wrestling, and all the games which heroes\nlove; and of travel, and wars, and sieges, and a noble death in fight;\nand then he sang of peace and plenty, and of equal justice in the land;\nand as he sang, the boy listened wide eyed, and forgot his errand in the\nsong.\n\nAnd at the last old Cheiron was silent, and called the lad with a soft\nvoice.\n\nAnd the lad ran trembling to him, and would have laid his hands upon his\nknees; but Cheiron smiled, and said, \"Call hither your father \u00c6son, for\nI know you, and all that has befallen, and saw you both afar in the\nvalley, even before you left the town.\"\n\nThen \u00c6son came in sadly, and Cheiron asked him, \"Why came you not\nyourself to me, \u00c6son the \u00c6olid?\"\n\nAnd \u00c6son said:\n\n\"I thought, Cheiron will pity the lad if he sees him come alone; and I\nwished to try whether he was fearless, and dare venture like a hero's\nson. But now I entreat you by Father Zeus, let the boy be your guest\ntill better times, and train him among the sons of the heroes, that he\nmay avenge his father's house.\"\n\nThen Cheiron smiled, and drew the lad to him, and laid his hand upon his\ngolden locks, and said, \"Are you afraid of my horse's hoofs, fair boy,\nor will you be my pupil from this day?\"\n\n\"I would gladly have horse's hoofs like you, if I could sing such songs\nas yours.\"\n\nAnd Cheiron laughed, and said, \"Sit here by me till sundown, when your\nplayfellows will come home, and you shall learn like them to be a king,\nworthy to rule over gallant men.\"\n\nThen he turned to \u00c6son, and said, \"Go back in peace, and bend before the\nstorm like a prudent man. This boy shall not cross the Anauros again,\ntill he has become a glory to you and to the house of \u00c6olus.\"\n\nAnd \u00c6son wept over his son and went away; but the boy did not weep, so\nfull was his fancy of that strange cave, and the Centaur, and his song,\nand the playfellows whom he was to see.\n\nThen Cheiron put the lyre into his hands, and taught him how to play it,\ntill the sun sank low behind the cliff, and a shout was heard outside.\n\nAnd then in came the sons of the heroes, \u00c6neas, and Heracles, and\nPeleus, and many another mighty name.\n\nAnd great Cheiron leapt up joyfully, and his hoofs made the cave\nresound, as they shouted, \"Come out, Father Cheiron; come out and see\nour game.\" And one cried, \"I have killed two deer,\" and another, \"I took\na wildcat among the crags\"; and Heracles dragged a wild goat after him\nby its horns, for he was as huge as a mountain crag; and C\u00e6neus carried\na bear cub under each arm, and laughed when they scratched and bit; for\nneither tooth nor steel could wound him.\n\nAnd Cheiron praised them all, each according to his deserts.\n\nOnly one walked apart and silent, Asclepius, the too-wise child, with\nhis bosom full of herbs and flowers, and round his wrist a spotted\nsnake; he came with downcast eyes to Cheiron, and whispered how he had\nwatched the snake cast his old skin, and grow young again before his\neyes, and how he had gone down into a village in the vale, and cured a\ndying man with a herb which he had seen a sick goat eat.\n\nAnd Cheiron smiled, and said: \"To each Athen\u00e9 and Apollo give some gift,\nand each is worthy in his place; but to this child they have given an\nhonour beyond all honours, to cure while others kill.\"\n\nThen the lads brought in wood, and split it, and lighted a blazing fire;\nand others skinned the deer and quartered them, and set them to roast\nbefore the fire; and while the venison was cooking they bathed in the\nsnow torrent, and washed away the dust and sweat.\n\nAnd then all ate till they could eat no more (for they had tasted\nnothing since the dawn), and drank of the clear spring water, for wine\nis not fit for growing lads. And when the remnants were put away, they\nall lay down upon the skins and leaves about the fire, and each took the\nlyre in turn, and sang and played with all his heart.\n\nAnd after a while they all went out to a plot of grass at the cave's\nmouth, and there they boxed, and ran, and wrestled, and laughed till the\nstones fell from the cliffs.\n\nThen Cheiron took his lyre, and all the lads joined hands; and as he\nplayed, they danced to his measure, in and out, and round and round.\nThere they danced hand in hand, till the night fell over land and sea,\nwhile the black glen shone with their broad white limbs, and the gleam\nof their golden hair.\n\nAnd the lad danced with them, delighted, and then slept a wholesome\nsleep, upon fragrant leaves of bay, and myrtle, and marjoram, and\nflowers of thyme; and rose at the dawn, and bathed in the torrent, and\nbecame a schoolfellow to the heroes' sons, and forgot Iolcos, and his\nfather, and all his former life. But he grew strong, and brave and\ncunning, upon the pleasant downs of Pelion, in the keen hungry mountain\nair. And he learnt to wrestle, and to box, and to hunt, and to play upon\nthe harp; and next he learnt to ride, for old Cheiron used to mount him\non his back; and he learnt the virtues of all herbs, and how to cure all\nwounds; and Cheiron called him Jason the healer, and that is his name\nuntil this day.\n\n\nPART II\n\n_How Jason Lost His Sandal in Anauros_\n\nAnd ten years came and went, and Jason was grown to be a mighty man.\nSome of his fellows were gone, and some were growing up by his side.\nAsclepius was gone into Peloponnese, to work his wondrous cures on men;\nand some say he used to raise the dead to life. And Heracles was gone to\nThebes, to fulfil those famous labours which have become a proverb among\nmen. And Peleus had married a sea nymph, and his wedding is famous to\nthis day. And \u00c6neas was gone home to Troy, and many a noble tale you\nwill read of him, and of all the other gallant heroes, the scholars of\nCheiron the just. And it happened on a day that Jason stood on the\nmountain, and looked north and south and east and west; and Cheiron\nstood by him and watched him, for he knew that the time was come.\n\nAnd Jason looked and saw the plains of Thessaly, where the Lapithai\nbreed their horses; and the lake of Boib\u00e9, and the stream which runs\nnorthward to Peneus and Tempe; and he looked north, and saw the mountain\nwall which guards the Magnesian shore; Olympus, the seat of the\nImmortals, and Ossa, and Pelion, where he stood. Then he looked east and\nsaw the bright blue sea, which stretched away forever toward the dawn.\nThen he looked south, and saw a pleasant land, with white-walled towns\nand farms, nestling along the shore of a land-locked bay, while the\nsmoke rose blue among the trees; and he knew it for the bay of Pagasai,\nand the rich lowlands of H\u00e6monia, and Iolcos by the sea.\n\nThen he sighed, and asked: \"Is it true what the heroes tell me, that I\nam heir of that fair land?\"\n\n\"And what good would it be to you, Jason, if you were heir of that fair\nland?\"\n\n\"I would take it and keep it.\"\n\n\"A strong man has taken it and kept it long. Are you stronger than\nPelias the terrible?\"\n\n\"I can try my strength with his,\" said Jason. But Cheiron sighed and\nsaid:\n\n\"You have many a danger to go through before you rule in Iolcos by the\nsea; many a danger, and many a woe; and strange troubles in strange\nlands, such as man never saw before.\"\n\n\"The happier I,\" said Jason, \"to see what man never saw before.\"\n\nAnd Cheiron sighed again, and said: \"The eaglet must leave the nest when\nit is fledged. Will you go to Iolcos by the sea? Then promise me two\nthings before you go.\"\n\nJason promised, and Cheiron answered: \"Speak harshly to no soul whom you\nmay meet, and stand by the word which you shall speak.\"\n\nJason wondered why Cheiron asked this of him; but he knew that the\nCentaur was a prophet, and saw things long before they came. So he\npromised, and leapt down the mountain, to take his fortune like a man.\n\nHe went down through the arbutus thickets, and across the downs of\nthyme, till he came to the vineyard walls, and the pomegranates and the\nolives in the glen; and among the olives roared Anauros, all foaming\nwith a summer flood.\n\nAnd on the bank of Anauros sat a woman, all wrinkled gray, and old; her\nhead shook palsied on her breast, and her hands shook palsied on her\nknees; and when she saw Jason, she spoke whining: \"Who will carry me\nacross the flood?\"\n\nJason was bold and hasty, and was just going to leap into the flood; and\nyet he thought twice before he leapt, so loud roared the torrent down,\nall brown from the mountain rains, and silver veined with melting snow;\nwhile underneath he could hear the boulders rumbling like the tramp of\nhorsemen or the roll of wheels, as they ground along the narrow channel,\nand shook the rocks on which he stood.\n\nBut the old woman whined all the more: \"I am weak and old, fair youth.\nFor Hera's sake, carry me over the torrent.\"\n\nAnd Jason was going to answer her scornfully, when Cheiron's words came\nto his mind.\n\nSo he said: \"For Hera's sake, the Queen of the Immortals on Olympus, I\nwill carry you over the torrent, unless we both are drowned midway.\"\n\nThen the old dame leapt upon his back, as nimbly as a goat; and Jason\nstaggered in, wondering; and the first step was up to his knees.\n\nThe first step was up to his knees, and the second step was up to his\nwaist; and the stones rolled about his feet, and his feet slipped about\nthe stones; so he went on staggering and panting, while the old woman\ncried from off his back:\n\n\"Fool, you have wet my mantle! Do you make game of poor old souls like\nme?\"\n\nJason had half a mind to drop her, and let her get through the torrent\nby herself; but Cheiron's words were in his mind, and he said only:\n\"Patience, mother; the best horse may stumble some day.\"\n\nAt last he staggered to the shore, and set her down upon the bank; and a\nstrong man he needed to have been, or that wild water he never would\nhave crossed.\n\nHe lay panting awhile upon the bank, and then leapt up to go upon his\njourney; but he cast one look at the old woman, for he thought, \"She\nshould thank me once at least.\"\n\nAnd as he looked, she grew fairer than all women, and taller than all\nmen on earth; and her garments shone like the summer sea, and her jewels\nlike the stars of heaven; and over her forehead was a veil, woven of the\ngolden clouds of sunset; and through the veil she looked down on him,\nwith great soft heifer's eyes; with great eyes, mild and awful, which\nfilled all the glen with light.\n\nAnd Jason fell upon his knees, and hid his face between his hands.\n\nAnd she spoke: \"I am the Queen of Olympus, Hera the wife of Zeus. As\nthou hast done to me, so will I do to thee. Call on me in the hour of\nneed, and try if the Immortals can forget.\"\n\nAnd when Jason looked up, she rose from off the earth, like a pillar of\ntall white cloud, and floated away across the mountain peaks, toward\nOlympus the holy hill.\n\nThen a great fear fell on Jason; but after a while he grew light of\nheart; and he blessed old Cheiron, and said: \"Surely the Centaur is a\nprophet, and guessed what would come to pass, when he bade me speak\nharshly to no soul whom I might meet.\"\n\nThen he went down toward Iolcos, and as he walked, he found that he had\nlost one of his sandals in the flood.\n\nAnd as he went through the streets, the people came out to look at him,\nso tall and fair was he; but some of the elders whispered together; and\nat last one of them stopped Jason, and called to him: \"Fair lad, who are\nyou, and whence come you; and what is your errand in the town?\"\n\n\"My name, good father, is Jason, and I come from Pelion up above; and my\nerrand is to Pelias your king; tell me then where his palace is.\"\n\nBut the old man started, and grew pale, and said, \"Do you not know the\noracle, my son, that you go so boldly through the town, with but one\nsandal on?\"\n\n\"I am a stranger here, and know of no oracle; but what of my one sandal?\nI lost the other in Anauros, while I was struggling with the flood.\"\n\nThen the old man looked back to his companions; and one sighed and\nanother smiled; at last he said: \"I will tell you, lest you rush upon\nyour ruin unawares. The oracle in Delphi has said, that a man wearing\none sandal should take the kingdom from Pelias, and keep it for\nhimself. Therefore beware how you go up to his palace, for he is the\nfiercest and most cunning of all kings.\"\n\nThen Jason laughed a great laugh, like a war horse in his pride: \"Good\nnews, good father, both for you and me. For that very end I came into\nthe town.\"\n\nThen he strode on toward the palace of Pelias, while all the people\nwondered at his bearing.\n\nAnd he stood in the doorway and cried, \"Come out, come out, Pelias the\nvaliant, and fight for your kingdom like a man.\"\n\nPelias came out wondering, and \"Who are you, bold youth?\" he cried.\n\n\"I am Jason, the son of \u00c6son, the heir of all this land.\"\n\nThen Pelias lifted up his hands and eyes, and wept, or seemed to weep;\nand blessed the heavens which had brought his nephew to him, never to\nleave him more. \"For,\" said he, \"I have but three daughters, and no son\nto be my heir. You shall be my heir then, and rule the kingdom after me,\nand marry whichsoever of my daughters you shall choose; though a sad\nkingdom you will find it, and whosoever rules it a miserable man. But\ncome in, come in, and feast.\"\n\nSo he drew Jason in, whether he would or not, and spoke to him so\nlovingly and feasted him so well, that Jason's anger passed; and after\nsupper his three cousins came into the hall, and Jason thought that he\nshould like well enough to have one of them for his wife.\n\nBut at last he said to Pelias, \"Why do you look so sad, my uncle? And\nwhat did you mean just now, when you said that this was a doleful\nkingdom, and its ruler a miserable man?\"\n\nThen Pelias sighed heavily again and again and again, like a man who\nhad to tell some dreadful story and was afraid to begin; but at last:\n\n\"For seven long years and more have I never known a quiet night; and no\nmore will he who comes after me, till the golden fleece be brought\nhome.\"\n\nThen he told Jason the story of Phrixus, and of the golden fleece; and\ntold him, too, which was a lie, that Phrixus's spirit tormented him,\ncalling to him day and night. And his daughters came, and told the same\ntale (for their father had taught them their parts) and wept, and said,\n\"Oh, who will bring home the golden fleece, that our uncle's spirit may\nhave rest; and that we may have rest also, whom he never lets sleep in\npeace?\"\n\nJason sat awhile, sad and silent; for he had often heard of that golden\nfleece; but he looked on it as a thing hopeless and impossible for any\nmortal man to win it.\n\nBut when Pelias saw him silent, he began to talk of other things, and\ncourted Jason more and more, speaking to him as if he was certain to be\nhis heir, and asking his advice about the kingdom; till Jason who was\nyoung and simple, could not help saying to himself, \"Surely he is not\nthe dark man whom people call him. Yet why did he drive my father out?\"\nAnd he asked Pelias boldly, \"Men say that you are terrible, and a man of\nblood; but I find you a kind and hospitable man; and as you are to me,\nso will I be to you. Yet why did you drive my father out?\"\n\nPelias smiled and sighed: \"Men have slandered me in that, as in all\nthings. Your father was growing old and weary, and he gave the kingdom\nup to me of his own will. You shall see him to-morrow, and ask him; and\nhe will tell you the same.\"\n\nJason's heart leapt in him, when he heard that he was to see his\nfather; and he believed all that Pelias said, forgetting that his father\nmight not dare to tell the truth.\n\n\"One thing more there is,\" said Pelias, \"on which I need your advice;\nfor though you are young, I see in you a wisdom beyond your years. There\nis one neighbour of mine, whom I dread more than all men on earth. I am\nstronger than he now, and can command him; but I know that if he stay\namong us, he will work my ruin in the end. Can you give me a plan,\nJason, by which I can rid myself of that man?\"\n\nAfter awhile, Jason answered, half laughing, \"Were I you, I would send\nhim to fetch that same golden fleece; for if he once set forth after it\nyou would never be troubled with him more.\"\n\nAnd at that a bitter smile came across Pelias's lips, and a flash of\nwicked joy into his eyes; and Jason saw it, and started; and over his\nmind came the warning of the old man, and his own one sandal, and the\noracle, and he saw that he was taken in a trap.\n\nBut Pelias only answered gently, \"My son, he shall be sent forthwith.\"\n\n\"You mean me?\" cried Jason, starting up, \"because I came here with one\nsandal?\" And he lifted his fist angrily, while Pelias stood up to him\nlike a wolf at bay; and whether of the two was the stronger and the\nfiercer, it would be hard to tell.\n\nBut after a moment Pelias spoke gently, \"Why then so rash, my son? You,\nand not I, have said what is said; why blame me for what I have not\ndone? Had you bid me love the man of whom I spoke, and make him my\nson-in-law and heir, I would have obeyed you; and what if I obey you\nnow, and send the man to win himself immortal fame? I have not harmed\nyou, or him. One thing at least I know, that he will go, and that\ngladly; for he has a hero's heart within him; loving glory, and scorning\nto break the word which he has given.\"\n\nJason saw that he was entrapped; but his second promise to Cheiron came\ninto his mind, and he thought, \"What if the Centaur were a prophet in\nthat also, and meant that I should win the fleece!\" Then he cried aloud:\n\n\"You have well spoken, cunning uncle of mine! I love glory, and I dare\nkeep to my word. I will go and fetch this golden fleece. Promise me but\nthis in return, and keep your word as I keep mine. Treat my father\nlovingly while I am gone, for the sake of the all-seeing Zeus; and give\nme up the kingdom for my own, on the day that I bring back the golden\nfleece.\"\n\nThen Pelias looked at him and almost loved him, in the midst of all his\nhate; and said, \"I promise, and I will perform. It will be no shame to\ngive up my kingdom to the man who wins that fleece.\"\n\nThen they swore a great oath between them; and afterward both went in,\nand lay down to sleep.\n\nBut Jason could not sleep, for thinking of his mighty oath, and how he\nwas to fulfil it, all alone, and without wealth or friends. So he tossed\na long time upon his bed, and thought of this plan and of that; and\nsometimes Phrixus seemed to call him, in a thin voice, faint and low, as\nif it came from far across the sea, \"Let me come home to my fathers and\nhave rest.\" And sometimes he seemed to see the eyes of Hera, and to hear\nher words again, \"Call on me in the hour of need, and see if the\nImmortals can forget.\"\n\nAnd on the morrow he went to Pelias, and said, \"Give me a victim, that I\nmay sacrifice to Hera.\" So he went up, and offered his sacrifice; and\nas he stood by the altar, Hera sent a thought into his mind; and he went\nback to Pelias, and said:\n\n\"If you are indeed in earnest, give me two heralds, that they may go\nround to all the princes of the Minuai who were pupils of the Centaur\nwith me, that we may fit out a ship together, and take what shall\nbefall.\"\n\nAt that Pelias praised his wisdom, and hastened to send the heralds out;\nfor he said in his heart: \"Let all the princes go with him, and like\nhim, never return; for so I shall be lord of all the Minuai, and the\ngreatest king in Hellas.\"\n\n\nPART III\n\n_How They Built the Ship Argo in Iolcos_\n\nSo the heralds went out, and cried to all the heroes of the Minuai, \"Who\ndare come to the adventure of the golden fleece?\"\n\nAnd Hera stirred the hearts of all the princes, and they came from all\ntheir valleys to the yellow sands of Pagasai. And first came Heracles\nthe mighty, with his lion's skin and club, and behind him Hylas his\nyoung squire, who bore his arrows and his bow; and Tiphys, the skilful\nsteersman; and Butes, the fairest of all men; and Castor and Polydeuces\nthe twins, the sons of the magic swan; and Caineus, the strongest of\nmortals, whom the Centaurs tried in vain to kill, and overwhelmed him\nwith trunks of pine trees, but even so he would not die; and thither\ncame Zetes and Calais, the winged sons of the north wind; and Peleus,\nthe father of Achilles, whose bride was silver-footed Thetis the goddess\nof the sea. And thither came Telamon and Oileus, the fathers of the two\nAiantes, who fought upon the plains of Troy; and Mopsus, the wise\nsoothsayer, who knew the speech of birds; and Idmon, to whom Ph\u0153bus\ngave a tongue to prophesy of things to come; and Ancaios, who could read\nthe stars, and knew all the circles of the heavens; and Argus, the famed\nshipbuilder, and many a hero more, in helmets of brass and gold with\ntall dyed horsehair crests, and embroidered shirts of linen beneath\ntheir coats of mail, and greaves of polished tin to guard their knees in\nfight; with each man his shield upon his shoulder, of many a fold of\ntough bull's hide, and his sword of tempered bronze in his\nsilver-studded belt, and in his right hand a pair of lances, of the\nheavy white-ash stave.\n\nSo they came down to Iolcos, and all the city came out to meet them, and\nwere never tired with looking at their height, and their beauty, and\ntheir gallant bearing, and the glitter of their inlaid arms. And some\nsaid, \"Never was such a gathering of the heroes since the Hellenes\nconquered the land.\" But the women sighed over them, and whispered,\n\"Alas! they are all going to the death.\"\n\nThen they felled the pines on Pelion, and shaped them with the axe, and\nArgus taught them to build a galley, the first long ship which ever\nsailed the seas. They pierced her for fifty oars, an oar for each hero\nof the crew, and pitched her with coal-black pitch, and painted her bows\nwith vermilion; and they named her Argo after Argus, and worked at her\nall day long. And at night Pelias feasted them like a king, and they\nslept in his palace porch.\n\nBut Jason went away to the northward, and into the land of Thrace, till\nhe found Orpheus, the prince of minstrels, where he dwelt in his cave\nunder Rhodope, among the savage Cicon tribes. And he asked him: \"Will\nyou leave your mountains, Orpheus, my fellow scholar in old times, and\ncross Strymon once more with me, to sail with the heroes of the Minuai,\nand bring home the golden fleece, and charm for us all men and all\nmonsters with your magic harp and song?\"\n\nThen Orpheus sighed: \"Have I not had enough of toil and of weary\nwandering far and wide, since I lived in Cheiron's cave, above Iolcos by\nthe sea? In vain is the skill and the voice which my goddess mother gave\nme; in vain have I sung and laboured; in vain I went down to the dead,\nand charmed all the kings of Hades, to win back Eurydice my bride. For I\nwon her, my beloved, and lost her again the same day, and wandered away\nin my madness, even to Egypt and the Libyan sands, and the isles of all\nthe seas, driven on by the terrible gadfly, while I charmed in vain the\nhearts of men, and the savage forest beasts, and the trees, and the\nlifeless stones, with my magic harp and song, giving rest, but finding\nnone. But at last Calliope, my mother, delivered me, and brought me home\nin peace; and I dwell here in the cave alone, among the savage Cicon\ntribes, softening their wild hearts with music and the gentle laws of\nZeus. And now I must go out again, to the ends of all the earth, far\naway into the misty darkness, to the last wave of the Eastern Sea. But\nwhat is doomed must be, and a friend's demand obeyed; for prayers are\nthe daughters of Zeus, and who honours them honours him.\"\n\nThen Orpheus rose up sighing, and took his harp, and went over Strymon.\nAnd he led Jason to the southwest, up the banks of Haliacmon and over\nthe spurs of Pindus, to Dodona the town of Zeus, where it stood by the\nside of the sacred lake, and the fountain which breathed out fire, in\nthe darkness of the ancient oak wood, beneath the mountain of the\nhundred springs. And he led him to the holy oak, where the black dove\nsettled in old times, and was changed into the priestess of Zeus, and\ngave oracles to all nations round. And he bade him cut down a bough, and\nsacrifice to Hera and to Zeus; and they took the bough and came to\nIolcos, and nailed it to the beak head of the ship.\n\nAnd at last the ship was finished, and they tried to launch her down the\nbeach; but she was too heavy for them to move her, and her keel sank\ndeep in the sand. Then all the heroes looked at each other blushing; but\nJason spoke, and said, \"Let us ask the magic bough; perhaps it can help\nus in our need.\"\n\nThen a voice came from the bough, and Jason heard the words it said, and\nbade Orpheus play upon the harp, while the heroes waited round, holding\nthe pine-trunk rollers, to help her toward the sea.\n\nThen Orpheus took his harp, and began his magic song: \"How sweet it is\nto ride upon the surges, and to leap from wave to wave, while the wind\nsings cheerful in the cordage, and the oars flash fast among the foam!\nHow sweet it is to roam across the ocean, and see new towns and wondrous\nlands, and to come home laden with treasure, and to win undying fame!\"\n\nAnd the good ship Argo heard him, and longed to be away and out at sea;\ntill she stirred in every timber, and heaved from stem to stern, and\nleapt up from the sand upon the rollers, and plunged onward like a\ngallant horse; and the heroes fed her path with pine trunks, till she\nrushed into the whispering sea.\n\nThen they stored her well with food and water, and pulled the ladder up\non board, and settled themselves each man to his oar, and kept time to\nOrpheus's harp; and away across the bay they rowed southward, while the\npeople lined the cliffs; and the women wept while the men shouted, at\nthe starting of that gallant crew.\n\n\nPART IV\n\n_How the Argonauts Sailed to Colchis_\n\nAnd what happened next, my children, whether it be true or not, stands\nwritten in ancient songs, which you shall read for yourselves some day.\nAnd grand old songs they are, written in grand old rolling verse; and\nthey call them the Songs of Orpheus, or the Orphics, to this day. And\nthey tell how the heroes came to Aphetai, across the bay, and waited for\nthe southwest wind, and chose themselves a captain from their crew: and\nhow all called for Heracles, because he was the strongest and most huge;\nbut Heracles refused, and called for Jason, because he was the wisest of\nthem all. So Jason was chosen captain: and Orpheus heaped a pile of wood\nand slew a bull, and offered it to Hera, and called all the heroes to\nstand round, each man's head crowned with olive, and to strike their\nswords into the bull. Then he filled a golden goblet with the bull's\nblood, and with wheaten flour, and honey, and wine, and the bitter salt\nsea water, and bade the heroes taste. So each tasted the goblet, and\npassed it round, and vowed an awful vow; and they vowed before the sun,\nand the night, and the blue-haired sea who shakes the land, to stand by\nJason faithfully, in the adventure of the golden fleece; and whosoever\nshrank back, or disobeyed, or turned traitor to his vow, then justice\nshould witness against him, and the Erinnes who track guilty men.\n\nThen Jason lighted the pile, and burnt the carcass of the bull; and they\nwent to their ship and sailed eastward, like men who have a work to do;\nand the place from which they went was called Aphetai, the sailing\nplace, from that day forth. Three thousand years ago and more they\nsailed away, into the unknown Eastern seas; and great nations have come\nand gone since then, and many a storm has swept the earth; and many a\nmighty armament, to which Argo would be but one small boat, have sailed\nthose waters since; yet the fame of that small Argo lives forever, and\nher name is become a proverb among men.\n\nSo they sailed past the Isle of Sciathos, with the Cape of Sepius on\ntheir left, and turned to the northward toward Pelion, up the long\nMagnesian shore. On their right hand was the open sea, and on their left\nold Pelion rose, while the clouds crawled round his dark pine forests,\nand his caps of summer snow. And their hearts yearned for the dear old\nmountain, as they thought of pleasant days gone by, and of the sports of\ntheir boyhood, and their hunting, and their schooling in the cave\nbeneath the cliff. And at last Peleus spoke: \"Let us land here, friends,\nand climb the dear old hill once more. We are going on a fearful\njourney: who knows if we shall see Pelion again? Let us go up to Cheiron\nour master, and ask his blessing ere we start. And I have a boy, too,\nwith him, whom he trains as he trained me once, the son whom Thetis\nbrought me, the silver-footed lady of the sea, whom I caught in the\ncave, and tamed her though she changed her shape seven times. For she\nchanged, as I held her, into water, and to vapour, and to burning flame,\nand to a rock, and to a black-maned lion, and to a tall and stately\ntree. But I held her and held her ever till she took her own shape\nagain, and led her to my father's house, and won her for my bride. And\nall the rulers of Olympus came to our wedding, and the heavens and the\nearth rejoiced together, when an immortal wedded mortal man. And now let\nme see my son; for it is not often I shall see him upon earth; famous he\nwill be, but short lived, and die in the flower of youth.\"\n\nSo Tiphys, the helmsman, steered them to the shore under the crags of\nPelion; and they went up through the dark pine forests toward the\nCentaur's cave.\n\nAnd they came into the misty hall, beneath the snow-crowned crag; and\nsaw the great Centaur lying with his huge limbs spread upon the rock;\nand beside him stood Achilles, the child whom no steel could wound, and\nplayed upon his harp right sweetly, while Cheiron watched and smiled.\n\nThen Cheiron leapt up and welcomed them, and kissed them every one, and\nset a feast before them, of swine's flesh, and venison, and good wine;\nand young Achilles served them, and carried the golden goblet round. And\nafter supper all the heroes clapped their hands, and called on Orpheus\nto sing; but he refused, and said, \"How can I, who am the younger, sing\nbefore our ancient host?\" So they called on Cheiron to sing, and\nAchilles brought him his harp; and he began a wondrous song; a famous\nstory of old time, of the fight between Centaurs and the Lapithai, which\nyou may still see carved in stone. He sang how his brothers came to ruin\nby their folly, when they were mad with wine; and how they and the\nheroes fought, with fists, and teeth, and the goblets from which they\ndrank; and how they tore up the pine trees in their fury, and hurled\ngreat crags of stone, while the mountains thundered with the battle, and\nthe land was wasted far and wide; till the Lapithai drove them from\ntheir home in the rich Thessalian plains to the lonely glens of Pindus,\nleaving Cheiron all alone. And the heroes praised his song right\nheartily; for some of them had helped in that great fight.\n\nThen Orpheus took the lyre, and sang of Chaos, and the making of the\nwondrous World, and how all things sprang from Love, who could not live\nalone in the Abyss. And as he sang, his voice rose from the cave, above\nthe crags, and through the tree tops, and the glens of oak and pine. And\nthe trees bowed their heads when they heard it, and the gray rocks\ncracked and rang, and the forest beasts crept near to listen, and the\nbirds forsook their nests and hovered round. And old Cheiron clapt his\nhands together, and beat his hoofs upon the ground, for wonder at that\nmagic song.\n\nThen Peleus kissed his boy, and wept over him, and they went down to the\nship; and Cheiron came down with them, weeping, and kissed them one by\none, and blest them, and promised to them great renown. And the heroes\nwept when they left him, till their great hearts could weep no more; for\nhe was kind and just and pious, and wiser than all beasts and men. Then\nhe went up to a cliff, and prayed for them, that they might come home\nsafe and well; while the heroes rowed away, and watched him standing on\nhis cliff above the sea, with his great hands raised toward heaven, and\nhis white locks waving in the wind; and they strained their eyes to\nwatch him to the last, for they felt that they should look on him no\nmore.\n\nSo they rowed on over the long swell of the sea, past Olympus, the seat\nof die immortals, and past the wooded bays of Athos, and Samothrace, the\nsacred isle; and they came past Lemnos to the Hellespont, and through\nthe narrow strait of Abydos, and so on into the Propontis, which we call\nMarmora now. And there they met with Cyzicus, ruling in Asia over the\nDolions, who, the songs say, was the son of \u00c6neas, of whom you will hear\nmany a tale some day. For Homer tells us how he fought at Troy; and\nVirgil how he sailed away and founded Rome; and men believed until late\nyears that from him sprang the old British kings. Now Cyzicus, the songs\nsay, welcomed the heroes; for his father had been one of Cheiron's\nscholars; so he welcomed them, and feasted them, and stored their ship\nwith corn and wine, and cloaks and rugs, the songs say, and shirts, of\nwhich no doubt they stood in need.\n\nBut at night, while they lay sleeping, came down on them terrible men,\nwho lived with the bears in the mountains, like Titans or giants in\nshape; for each of them had six arms, and they fought with young firs\nand pines. But Heracles killed them all before morn with his deadly\npoisoned arrows; but among them, in the darkness, he slew Cyzicus the\nkindly prince.\n\nThen they got to their ship and to their oars, and Tiphys bade them cast\noff the hawsers, and go to sea. But as he spoke a whirlwind came, and\nspun the Argo round, and twisted the hawsers together, so that no man\ncould loose them. Then Tiphys dropped the rudder from his hand, and\ncried, \"This comes from the Gods above.\" But Jason went forward, and\nasked counsel of the magic bough.\n\nThen the magic bough spoke and answered: \"This is because you have\nslain Cyzicus your friend. You must appease his soul, or you will never\nleave this shore.\"\n\nJason went back sadly, and told the heroes what he had heard. And they\nleapt on shore, and searched till dawn; and at dawn they found the body,\nall rolled in dust and blood, among the corpses of those monstrous\nbeasts. And they wept over their kind host, and laid him on a fair bed,\nand heaped a huge mound over him, and offered black sheep at his tomb,\nand Orpheus sang a magic song to him, that his spirit might have rest.\nAnd then they held games at the tomb, after the custom of those times,\nand Jason gave prizes to each winner. To Anc\u00e6us he gave a golden cup,\nfor he wrestled best of all; and to Heracles a silver one, for he was\nthe strongest of all; and to Castor, who rode best, a golden crest; and\nPolydeuces the boxer had a rich carpet, and to Orpheus for his song, a\nsandal with golden wings. But Jason himself was the best of all the\narchers, and the Minuai crowned him with an olive crown; and so, the\nsongs say, the soul of good Cyzicus was appeased, and the heroes went on\ntheir way in peace.\n\nBut when Cyzicus's wife heard that he was dead, she died likewise of\ngrief; and her tears became a fountain of clear water, which flows the\nwhole year round.\n\nThen they rowed away, the songs say, along the Mysian shore, and past\nthe mouth of Rhindacus, till they found a pleasant bay, sheltered by the\nlong ridges of Arganthus, and by high walls of basalt rock. And there\nthey ran the ship ashore upon the yellow sand, and furled the sail, and\ntook the mast down, and lashed it in its crutch. And next they let down\nthe ladder, and went ashore to sport and rest.\n\nAnd there Heracles went away into the woods, bow in hand, to hunt wild\ndeer; and Hylas the fair boy slipt away after him, and followed him by\nstealth, until he lost himself among the glens, and sat down weary to\nrest himself by the side of a lake; and there the water nymphs came up\nto look at him, and loved him, and carried him down under the lake to be\ntheir playfellow, forever happy and young. And Heracles sought for him\nin vain, shouting his name till all the mountains rang; but Hylas never\nheard him, far down under the sparkling lake. So while Heracles wandered\nsearching for him, a fair breeze sprang up, and Heracles was nowhere to\nbe found; and the Argo sailed away, and Heracles was left behind, and\nnever saw the noble Phasian stream.\n\nThen the Minuai came to a doleful land, where Amycus the giant ruled,\nand cared nothing for the laws of Zeus, but challenged all strangers to\nbox with him, and those whom he conquered he slew. But Polydeuces the\nboxer struck him a harder blow than he ever felt before, and slew him;\nand the Minuai went on up the Bosphorus, till they came to the city of\nPhineus, the fierce Bithynian king; for Zetes and Calais bade Jason land\nthere, because they had a work to do.\n\nAnd they went up from the shore toward the city, through forests white\nwith snow; and Phineus came out to meet them with a lean and woeful\nface, and said, \"Welcome, gallant heroes, to the land of bitter blasts,\na land of cold and misery; yet I will feast you as best I can.\" And he\nled them in, and set meat before them; but before they could put their\nhands to their mouths, down came two fearful monsters, the like of whom\nman never saw; for they had the faces and the hair of fair maidens, but\nthe wings and claws of hawks; and they snatched the meat from off the\ntable, and flew shrieking out above the roofs.\n\nThen Phineus beat his breast and cried, \"These are the Harpies, whose\nnames are the Whirlwind and the Swift, the daughters of Wonder and of\nthe Amber nymph, and they rob us night and day. They carried off the\ndaughters of Pandareus, whom all the Gods had blest; for Aphrodite fed\nthem on Olympus with honey and milk and wine; and Hera gave them beauty\nand wisdom, and Athene skill in all the arts; but when they came to\ntheir wedding, the Harpies snatched them both away, and gave them to be\nslaves to the Erinnues, and live in horror all their days. And now they\nhaunt me, and my people, and the Bosphorus, with fearful storms; and\nsweep away our food from off our tables, so that we starve in spite of\nall our wealth.\"\n\nThen up rose Zetes and Calais, the winged sons of the North wind, and\nsaid, \"Do you not know us, Phineus, and these wings which grow upon our\nbacks?\" And Phineus hid his face in terror; but he answered not a word.\n\n\"Because you have been a traitor, Phineus, the Harpies haunt you night\nand day. Where is Cleopatra our sister, your wife, whom you keep in\nprison? and where are her two children, whom you blinded in your rage,\nat the bidding of an evil woman, and cast them out upon the rocks? Swear\nto us that you will right our sister, and cast out that wicked woman;\nand then we will free you from your plague, and drive the whirlwind\nmaidens from the south; but if not, we will put out your eyes, as you\nput out the eyes of your own sons.\"\n\nThen Phineus swore an oath to them, and drove out the wicked woman; and\nJason took those two poor children, and cured their eyes with magic\nherbs.\n\nBut Zetes and Calais rose up sadly; and said: \"Farewell now, heroes\nall; farewell, our dear companions, with whom we played on Pelion in old\ntimes; for a fate is laid upon us, and our day is come at last, in which\nwe may hunt the whirlwinds, over land and sea forever; and if we catch\nthem they die, and if not, we die ourselves.\"\n\nAt that all the heroes wept; but the two young men sprang up, and aloft\ninto the air after the Harpies, and the battle of the winds began.\n\nThe heroes trembled in silence as they heard the shrieking of the\nblasts; while the palace rocked and all the city, and great stones were\ntorn from the crags, and the forest pines were hurled eastward, north\nand south and east and west, and the Bosphorus boiled white with foam,\nand the clouds were dashed against the cliffs.\n\nBut at last the battle ended, and the Harpies fled screaming toward the\nsouth, and the sons of the North wind rushed after them, and brought\nclear sunshine where they passed. For many a league they followed them,\nover all the isles of the Cyclades, and away to the southwest across\nHellas, till they came to the Ionian Sea, and there they fell upon the\nEchinades, at the mouth of the Achelous; and those isles were called the\nWhirlwind Isles for many a hundred years. But what became of Zetes and\nCalais I know not; for the heroes never saw them again; and some say\nthat Heracles met them, and quarrelled with them, and slew them with his\narrows; and some say that they fell down from weariness and the heat of\nthe summer sun, and that the Sun god buried them among the Cyclades, in\nthe pleasant Isle of Tenos; and for many hundred years their grave was\nshown there, and over it a pillar, which turned to every wind. But those\ndark storms and whirlwinds haunt the Bosphorus until this day.\n\nBut the Argonauts went eastward, and out into the open sea, which we now\ncall the Black Sea, but it was called the Euxine then. No Hellen had\never crossed it, and all feared that dreadful sea, and its rocks, and\nshoals, and fogs, and bitter freezing storms; and they told strange\nstories of it, some false and some half true, how it stretched northward\nto the ends of the earth, and the sluggish Putrid Sea, and the\neverlasting night, and the regions of the dead. So the heroes trembled,\nfor all their courage, as they came into that wild Black Sea, and saw it\nstretching out before them, without a shore, as far as eye could see.\n\nAnd first Orpheus spoke, and warned them: \"We shall come now to the\nwandering blue rocks; my mother warned me of them, Calliope, the\nimmortal muse.\"\n\nAnd soon they saw the blue rocks shining, like spires and castles of\ngray glass, while an ice-cold wind blew from them, and chilled all the\nheroes' hearts. And as they neared, they could see them heaving, as they\nrolled upon the long sea waves, crashing and grinding together, till the\nroar went up to heaven. The sea sprang up in spouts between them, and\nswept round them in white sheets of foam; but their heads swung nodding\nhigh in air, while the wind whistled shrill among the crags.\n\nThe heroes' hearts sank within them, and they lay upon their oars in\nfear; but Orpheus called to Tiphys the helmsman: \"Between them we must\npass; so look ahead for an opening, and be brave, for Hera is with us.\"\nBut Tiphys the cunning helmsman stood silent, clenching his teeth, till\nhe saw a heron come flying mast high toward the rocks, and hover awhile\nbefore them, as if looking for a passage through. Then he cried, \"Hera\nhas sent us a pilot; let us follow the cunning bird.\"\n\nThen the heron flapped to and fro a moment, till he saw a hidden gap,\nand into it he rushed like an arrow, while the heroes watched what would\nbefall.\n\nAnd the blue rocks clashed together as the bird fled swiftly through;\nbut they struck but a feather from his tail, and then rebounded apart at\nthe shock.\n\nThen Tiphys cheered the heroes, and they shouted; and the oars bent like\nwithes beneath their strokes, as they rushed between those toppling ice\ncrags, and the cold blue lips of death. And ere the rocks could meet\nagain they had passed them, and were safe out in the open sea.\n\nAnd after that they sailed on wearily along the Asian coast, by the\nBlack Cape and Thyneis, where the hot stream of Thymbris falls into the\nsea, and Sangarius, whose waters float on the Euxine, till they came to\nWolf the river, and to Wolf the kindly king. And there died two brave\nheroes, Idmon and Tiphys the wise helmsman; one died of an evil\nsickness, and one a wild boar slew. So the heroes heaped a mound above\nthem, and set upon it an oar on high, and left them there to sleep\ntogether, on the far-off Lycian shore. But Idas killed the boar, and\navenged Tiphys; and Ancaios took the rudder and was helmsman, and\nsteered them on toward the east.\n\nAnd they went on past Sinope, and many a mighty river's mouth, and past\nmany a barbarous tribe, and the cities of the Amazons, the warlike women\nof the East, till all night they heard the clank of anvils and the roar\nof furnace blasts, and the forge fires shone like sparks through the\ndarkness, in the mountain glens aloft; for they were come to the shores\nof the Chalybes, the smiths who never tire, but serve Ares the cruel War\ngod, forging weapons day and night.\n\nAnd at day dawn they looked eastward, and midway between the sea and the\nsky they saw white snow peaks hanging glittering sharp and bright above\nthe clouds. And they knew that they were come to Caucasus, at the end of\nall the earth; Caucasus the highest of all mountains, the father of the\nrivers of the East. On his peak lies chained the Titan, while a vulture\ntears his heart; and at his feet are piled dark forests round the magic\nColchian land.\n\nAnd they rowed three days to the eastward, while Caucasus rose higher\nhour by hour, till they saw the dark stream of Phasis rushing headlong\nto the sea, and shining above the treetops, the golden roofs of King\nAietes, the child of the sun.\n\nThen out spoke Ancaios the helmsman: \"We are come to our goal at last;\nfor there are the roofs of Aietes, and the woods where all poisons grow;\nbut who can tell us where among them is hid the golden fleece? Many a\ntoil must we bear ere we find it, and bring it home to Greece.\"\n\nBut Jason cheered the heroes, for his heart was high and bold; and he\nsaid: \"I will go alone up to Aietes, though he be the child of the sun,\nand win him with soft words. Better so than to go altogether, and to\ncome to blows at once.\" But the Minuai would not stay behind, so they\nrowed boldly up the stream.\n\nAnd a dream came to Aietes, and filled his heart with fear. He thought\nhe saw a shining star, which fell into his daughter's lap; and that\nMedeia his daughter took it gladly, and carried it to the river side,\nand cast it in, and there the whirling river bore it down, and out into\nthe Euxine Sea.\n\nThen he leapt up in fear, and bade his servants bring his chariot, that\nhe might go down to the riverside and appease the nymphs, and the heroes\nwhose spirits haunt the bank. So he went down in his golden chariot, and\nhis daughters by his side, Medeia the fair witch maiden, and Chalciope,\nwho had been Phrixus's wife, and behind him a crowd of servants and\nsoldiers, for he was a rich and mighty prince.\n\nAnd as he drove down by the reedy river, he saw Argo sliding up beneath\nthe bank, and many a hero in her, like immortals for beauty and for\nstrength, as their weapons glittered round them in the level morning\nsunlight, through the white mist of the stream. But Jason was the\nnoblest of all; for Hera who loved him gave him beauty, and tallness,\nand terrible manhood.\n\nAnd when they came near together and looked into each other's eyes, the\nheroes were awed before Aietes as he shone in his chariot, like his\nfather the glorious Sun; for his robes were of rich gold tissue, and the\nrays of his diadem flashed fire; and in his hand he bore a jewelled\nsceptre, which glittered like the stars; and sternly he looked at them\nunder his brows, and sternly he spoke and loud:\n\n\"Who are you, and what want you here, that you come to the shore of\nCutaia? Do you take no account of my rule, nor of my people the\nColchians who serve me, who never tired yet in the battle, and know well\nhow to face an invader?\"\n\nAnd the heroes sat silent awhile before the face of that ancient king.\nBut Hera the awful goddess put courage into Jason's heart, and he rose\nand shouted loudly in answer: \"We are no pirates, nor lawless men. We\ncome not to plunder and to ravage, or carry away slaves from your land;\nbut my uncle, the son of Poseidon, Pelias the Minuan king, he it is who\nhas set me on a quest to bring home the golden fleece. And these, too,\nmy bold comrades, they are no nameless men; for some are the sons of\nimmortals, and some of heroes far renowned. And we, too, never tire in\nbattle, and know well how to give blows and to take; yet we wish to be\nguests at your table; it will be better so for both.\"\n\nThen Aietes's rage rushed up like a whirlwind, and his eyes flashed fire\nas he heard; but he crushed his anger down in his breast, and spoke\nmildly a cunning speech:\n\n\"If you will fight for the fleece with my Colchians, then many a man\nmust die. But do you indeed expect to win from me the fleece in fight?\nSo few you are, that if you be worsted, I can load your ship with your\ncorpses. But if you will be ruled by me, you will find it better far to\nchoose the best man among you, and let him fulfil the labours which I\ndemand. Then I will give him the golden fleece for a prize and a glory\nto you all.\"\n\nSo saying, he turned his horses and drove back in silence to the town.\nAnd the Minuai sat silent with sorrow, and longed for Heracles and his\nstrength; for there was no facing the thousands of the Colchians, and\nthe fearful chance of war.\n\nBut Chalciope, Phrixus's widow, went weeping to the town; for she\nremembered her Minuan husband, and all the pleasures of her youth, while\nshe watched the fair faces of his kinsmen, and their long locks of\ngolden hair. And she whispered to Medeia her sister: \"Why should all\nthese brave men die? why does not my father give them up the fleece,\nthat my husband's spirit may have rest?\"\n\nAnd Medeia's heart pitied the heroes, and Jason most of all; and she\nanswered, \"Our father is stern and terrible, and who can win the golden\nfleece?\" But Chalciope said: \"These men are not like our men; there is\nnothing which they cannot dare nor do.\"\n\nAnd Medeia thought of Jason and his brave countenance, and said: \"If\nthere was one among them who knew no fear, I could show him how to win\nthe fleece.\"\n\nSo in the dusk of evening they went down to the riverside, Chalciope and\nMedeia the witch maiden, and Argus, Phrixus's son. And Argus the boy\ncrept forward, among the beds of reeds, till he came where the heroes\nwere sleeping, on the thwarts of the ship, beneath the bank, while Jason\nkept ward on shore, and leant upon his lance full of thought. And the\nboy came to Jason, and said:\n\n\"I am the son of Phrixus, your cousin; and Chalciope my mother waits for\nyou, to talk about the golden fleece.\"\n\nThen Jason went boldly with the boy, and found the two princesses\nstanding; and when Chalciope saw him she wept, and took his hands, and\ncried:\n\n\"O cousin of my beloved, go home before you die!\"\n\n\"It would be base to go home now, fair princess, and to have sailed all\nthese seas in vain.\" Then both the princesses besought him: but Jason\nsaid, \"It is too late.\"\n\n\"But you know not,\" said Medeia, \"what he must do who would win the\nfleece. He must tame the two brazen-footed bulls, who breathe devouring\nflame; and with them he must plough ere nightfall four acres in the\nfield of Ares; and he must sow them with serpents' teeth, of which each\ntooth springs up into an armed man. Then he must fight with all those\nwarriors; and little will it profit him to conquer them; for the fleece\nis guarded by a serpent, more huge than any mountain pine; and over his\nbody you must step, if you would reach the golden fleece.\"\n\nThen Jason laughed bitterly. \"Unjustly is that fleece kept here, and by\nan unjust and lawless king; and unjustly shall I die in my youth, for I\nwill attempt it ere another sun be set.\"\n\nThen Medeia trembled, and said: \"No mortal man can reach that fleece,\nunless I guide him through. For round it, beyond the river, is a wall\nfull nine ells high, with lofty towers and buttresses, and mighty gates\nof threefold brass; and over the gates the wall is arched, with golden\nbattlements above. And over the gateway sits Brimo, the wild witch\nhuntress of the woods, brandishing a pine torch in her hands, while her\nmad hounds howl around. No man dare meet her or look on her, but only I\nher priestess, and she watches far and wide lest any stranger should\ncome near.\"\n\n\"No wall so high but it may be climbed at last, and no wood so thick but\nit may be crawled through; no serpent so wary but he may be charmed, or\nwitch queen so fierce but spells may soothe her; and I may yet win the\ngolden fleece, if a wise maiden help bold men.\"\n\nAnd he looked at Medeia cunningly, and held her with his glittering eye,\ntill she blushed and trembled, and said:\n\n\"Who can face the fire of the bulls' breath, and fight ten thousand\narmed men?\"\n\n\"He whom you help,\" said Jason, flattering her, \"for your fame is spread\nover all the earth. Are you not the queen of all enchantresses, wiser\neven than your sister Circe, in her fairy island in the West?\"\n\n\"Would that I were with my sister Circe in her fairy island in the West,\nfar away from sore temptation, and thoughts which tear the heart! But\nif it must be so--for why should you die?--I have an ointment here; I\nmade it from the magic ice flower which sprang from Prometheus's wound,\nabove the clouds on Caucasus, in the dreary fields of snow. Anoint\nyourself with that, and you shall have in you seven men's strength; and\nanoint your shield with it, and neither fire nor sword can harm you. But\nwhat you begin you must end before sunset, for its virtue lasts only one\nday. And anoint your helmet with it before you sow the serpents' teeth;\nand when the sons of earth spring up, cast your helmet among their\nranks, and the deadly crop of the War-god's field will mow itself, and\nperish.\"\n\nThen Jason fell on his knees before her, and thanked her and kissed her\nhands; and she gave him the vase of ointment, and fled trembling through\nthe reeds. And Jason told his comrades what had happened, and showed\nthem the box of ointment; and all rejoiced but Idas and he grew mad with\nenvy.\n\nAnd at sunrise Jason went and bathed, and anointed himself from head to\nfoot, and his shield, and his helmet, and his weapons, and bade his\ncomrades try the spell. So they tried to bend his lance, but it stood\nlike an iron bar; and Idas in spite hewed at it with his sword, but the\nblade flew to splinters in his face. Then they hurled their lances at\nhis shield, but the spear points turned like lead; and Caineus tried to\nthrow him, but he never stirred a foot; and Polydeuces struck him with\nhis fist a blow which would have killed an ox; but Jason only smiled,\nand the heroes danced about him with delight; and he leapt and ran, and\nshouted, in the joy of that enormous strength, till the sun rose, and it\nwas time to go and to claim Aietes's promise.\n\nSo he sent up Telamon and Aithalides to tell Aietes that he was ready\nfor the fight; and they went up among the marble walls, and beneath the\nroofs of gold, and stood in Aietes's hall, while he grew pale with rage.\n\n\"Fulfil your promise to us, child of the blazing sun. Give us the\nserpents' teeth, and let loose the fiery bulls; for we have found a\nchampion among us who can win the golden fleece.\"\n\nAnd Aietes bit his lips, for he fancied that they had fled away by\nnight; but he could not go back from his promise; so he gave them the\nserpents' teeth.\n\nThen he called for his chariot and his horses, and sent heralds through\nall the town; and all the people went out with him to the dreadful\nWar-god's field.\n\nAnd there Aietes sat upon his throne, with his warriors on each hand,\nthousands and tens of thousands, clothed from head to foot in\nsteel-chain mail. And the people and the women crowded to every window,\nand bank and wall; while the Minuai stood together, a mere handful in\nthe midst of that great host.\n\nAnd Chalciope was there and Argus, trembling, and Medeia, wrapped\nclosely in her veil; but Aietes did not know that she was muttering\ncunning spells between her lips.\n\nThen Jason cried, \"Fulfil your promise, and let your fiery bulls come\nforth.\"\n\nThen Aietes bade open the gates, and the magic bulls leapt out. Their\nbrazen hoofs rang upon the ground, and their nostrils sent out sheets of\nflame, as they rushed with lowered heads upon Jason; but he never\nflinched a step. The flame of their breath swept round him, but it\nsinged not a hair of his head; and the bulls stopped short and trembled,\nwhen Medeia began her spell.\n\nThen Jason sprang upon the nearest, and seized him by the horn; and up\nand down they wrestled, till the bull fell grovelling on his knees; for\nthe heart of the brute died within him, and his mighty limbs were loosed\nbeneath the steadfast eye of that dark witch maiden, and the magic\nwhisper of her lips.\n\nSo both the bulls were tamed and yoked; and Jason bound them to the\nplough, and goaded them onward with his lance, till he had ploughed the\nsacred field.\n\nAnd all the Minuai shouted; but Aietes bit his lips with rage; for the\nhalf of Jason's work was over, and the sun was yet high in heaven.\n\nThen he took the serpents' teeth and sowed them, and waited what would\nbefall. But Medeia looked at him and at his helmet, lest he should\nforget the lesson she had taught.\n\nAnd every furrow heaved and bubbled, and out of every clod rose a man.\nOut of the earth they rose by thousands, each clad from head to foot in\nsteel, and drew their swords and rushed on Jason, where he stood in the\nmidst alone. Then the Minuai grew pale with fear for him; but Aietes\nlaughed a bitter laugh. \"See! if I had not warriors enough already round\nme, I could call them out of the bosom of the earth.\"\n\nBut Jason snatched off his helmet, and hurled it into the thickest of\nthe throng. And blind madness came upon them, suspicion, hate, and fear;\nand one cried to his fellow, \"Thou didst strike me!\" and another, \"Thou\nart Jason; thou shalt die!\" So fury seized those earth-born phantoms,\nand each turned his hand against the rest; and they fought and were\nnever weary, till they all lay dead upon the ground. Then the magic\nfurrows opened, and the kind earth took them home into her breast; and\nthe grass grew up all green again above them, and Jason's work was done.\n\nThen the Minuai rose and shouted, till Prometheus heard them from his\ncrag. And Jason cried: \"Lead me to the fleece this moment, before the\nsun goes down.\"\n\nBut Aietes thought: \"He has conquered the bulls; and sown and reaped the\ndeadly crop. Who is this who is proof against all magic? He may kill the\nserpent yet.\" So he delayed, and sat taking counsel with his princes,\ntill the sun went down and all was dark. Then he bade a herald cry,\n\"Every man to his home for to-night. To-morrow we will meet these\nheroes, and speak about the golden fleece.\"\n\nThen he turned and looked at Medeia: \"This is your doing, false witch\nmaid! You have helped these yellow-haired strangers, and brought shame\nupon your father and yourself!\"\n\nMedeia shrank and trembled, and her face grew pale with fear; and Aietes\nknew that she was guilty, and whispered, \"If they win the fleece, you\ndie!\"\n\nBut the Minuai marched toward their ship, growling like lions cheated of\ntheir prey; for they saw that Aietes meant to mock them, and to cheat\nthem out of all their toil. And Oileus said, \"Let us go to the grove\ntogether, and take the fleece by force.\"\n\nAnd Idas the rash cried, \"Let us draw lots who shall go in first; for\nwhile the dragon is devouring one, the rest can slay him, and carry off\nthe fleece in peace.\" But Jason held them back, though he praised them;\nfor he hoped for Medeia's help.\n\nAnd after awhile Medeia came trembling, and wept a long while before she\nspoke. And at last:\n\n\"My end is come, and I must die; for my father has found out that I\nhave helped you. You he would kill if he dared; but he will not harm\nyou, because you have been his guests. Go then, go, and remember poor\nMedeia when you are far away across the sea.\" But all the heroes cried:\n\n\"If you die, we die with you; for without you we cannot win the fleece,\nand home we will not go without it, but fall here fighting to the last\nman.\"\n\n\"You need not die,\" said Jason. \"Flee home with us across the sea. Show\nus first how to win the fleece; for you can do it. Why else are you the\npriestess of the grove? Show us but how to win the fleece, and come with\nus, and you shall be my queen, and rule over the rich princes of the\nMinuai, in Iolcos by the sea.\"\n\nAnd all the heroes pressed round, and vowed to her that she should be\ntheir queen.\n\nMedeia wept, and shuddered, and hid her face in her hands; for her heart\nyearned after her sisters and her playfellows, and the home where she\nwas brought up as a child. But at last she looked up at Jason, and spoke\nbetween her sobs:\n\n\"Must I leave my home and my people, to wander with strangers across the\nsea? The lot is cast, and I must endure it. I will show you how to win\nthe golden fleece. Bring up your ship to the woodside, and moor her\nthere against the bank and let Jason come up at midnight, and one brave\ncomrade with him, and meet me beneath the wall.\"\n\nThen all the heroes cried together: \"I will go!\" \"and I!\" \"and I!\" And\nIdas the rash grew mad with envy; for he longed to be foremost in all\nthings. But Medeia calmed them, and said: \"Orpheus shall go with Jason,\nand bring his magic harp; for I hear of him that he is the king of all\nminstrels, and can charm all things on earth.\"\n\nAnd Orpheus laughed for joy, and clapped his hands, because the choice\nhad fallen on him; for in those days poets and singers were as bold\nwarriors as the best.\n\nSo at midnight they went up the bank, and found Medeia; and beside came\nAbsyrtus her young brother, leading a yearling lamb.\n\nThen Medeia brought them to a thicket, beside the War-god's gate; and\nthere she bade Jason dig a ditch, and kill the lamb and leave it there,\nand strew on it magic herbs and honey from the honeycomb.\n\nThen sprang up through the earth, with the red fire flashing before her,\nBrimo the wild witch huntress, while her mad hounds howled around. She\nhad one head like a horse's, and another like a ravening hound's, and\nanother like a hissing snake's, and a sword in either hand. And she\nleapt into the ditch with her hounds, and they ate and drank their fill,\nwhile Jason and Orpheus trembled, and Medeia hid her eyes. And at last\nthe witch queen vanished, and fled with her hounds into the woods; and\nthe bars of the gates fell down, and the brazen doors flew wide, and\nMedeia and the heroes ran forward and hurried through the poison wood,\namong the dark stems of the mighty beeches, guided by the gleam of the\ngolden fleece, until they saw it hanging on one vast tree in the midst.\nAnd Jason would have sprung to seize it; but Medeia held him back, and\npointed shuddering to the tree foot, where the mighty serpent lay,\ncoiled in and out among the roots, with a body like a mountain pine. His\ncoils stretched many a fathom, spangled with bronze and gold; and half\nof him they could see, but no more; for the rest lay in the darkness\nfar beyond.\n\nAnd when he saw them coming, he lifted up his head, and watched them\nwith his small bright eyes, and flashed his forked tongue, and roared\nlike the fire among the woodlands, till the forest tossed and groaned.\nFor his cry shook the trees from leaf to root, and swept over the long\nreaches of the river, and over \u00c6etes's hall, and woke the sleepers in\nthe city, till mothers clasped their children in their fear.\n\nBut Medeia called gently to him; and he stretched out his long spotted\nneck, and licked her hand, and looked up in her face, as if to ask for\nfood. Then she made a sign to Orpheus, and he began his magic song.\n\nAnd as he sung, the forest grew calm again, and the leaves on every tree\nhung still; and the serpent's head sank down, and his brazen coils grew\nlimp, and his glittering eyes closed lazily, till he breathed as gently\nas a child, while Orpheus called to pleasant Slumber, who gives peace to\nmen, and beasts, and waves.\n\nThen Jason leapt forward warily, and stept across that mighty snake, and\ntore the fleece from off the tree trunk; and the four rushed down the\ngarden, to the bank where the Argo lay.\n\nThere was a silence for a moment, while Jason held the golden fleece on\nhigh. Then he cried: \"Go now, good Argo, swift and steady, if ever you\nwould see Pelion more.\"\n\nAnd she went, as the heroes drove her, grim and silent all, with muffled\noars, till the pine wood bent like willow in their hands, and stout Argo\ngroaned beneath their strokes.\n\nOn and on, beneath the dewy darkness, they fled swiftly down the\nswirling stream; underneath black walls, and temples, and the castles of\nthe princes of the East; past sluice mouths, and fragrant gardens, and\ngroves of all strange fruits; past marshes where fat kine lay sleeping,\nand long beds of whispering reeds; till they heard the merry music of\nthe surge upon the bar, as it tumbled in the moonlight all alone.\n\nInto the surge they rushed, and Argo leapt the breakers like a horse;\nfor she knew the time was come to show her mettle, and win honour for\nthe heroes and herself.\n\nInto the surge they rushed, and Argo leapt the breakers like a horse,\ntill the heroes stopped all panting, each man upon his oar, as she slid\ninto the still broad sea.\n\nThen Orpheus took his harp and sang a p\u00e6an, till the heroes' hearts rose\nhigh again; and they rowed on stoutly and steadfastly, away into the\ndarkness of the West.\n\n\nPART V\n\n_How the Argonauts Were Driven into the Unknown Sea_\n\nSo they fled away in haste to the westward: but Aietes manned his fleet\nand followed them. And Lynceus the quick eyed saw him coming, while he\nwas still many a mile away, and cried: \"I see a hundred ships, like a\nflock of white swans, far in the east.\" And at that they rowed hard,\nlike heroes; but the ships came nearer every hour.\n\nThen Medeia, the dark witch maiden, laid a cruel and a cunning plot; for\nshe killed Absyrtus her young brother, and cast him into the sea, and\nsaid: \"Ere my father can take up his corpse and bury it, he must wait\nlong, and be left far behind.\"\n\nAnd all the heroes shuddered, and looked one at the other for shame; yet\nthey did not punish that dark witch woman, because she had won for them\nthe golden fleece.\n\nAnd when Aietes came to the place, he saw the floating corpse; and he\nstopped a long while, and bewailed his son, and took him up, and went\nhome. But he sent on his sailors toward the westward, and bound them by\na mighty curse: \"Bring back to me that dark witch woman, that she may\ndie a dreadful death. But if you return without her, you shall die by\nthe same death yourselves.\"\n\nSo the Argonauts escaped for that time; but Father Zeus saw that foul\ncrime; and out of the heavens he sent a storm, and swept the ship far\nfrom her course. Day after day the storm drove her, amid foam and\nblinding mist, till they knew no longer where they were, for the sun was\nblotted from the skies. And at last the ship struck on a shoal, amid low\nisles of mud and sand, and the waves rolled over her and through her,\nand the heroes lost all hope of life.\n\nThen Jason cried to Hera: \"Fair queen, who hast befriended us till now,\nwhy hast thou left us in our misery, to die here among unknown seas? It\nis hard to lose the honour which we have won with such toil and danger,\nand hard never to see Hellas again, and the pleasant bay of Pagasai.\"\n\nThen out and spoke the magic bough which stood upon the Argo's beak:\n\"Because Father Zeus is angry, all this has fallen on you; for a cruel\ncrime has been done on board, and the sacred ship is foul with blood.\"\n\nAt that some of the heroes cried: \"Medeia is the murderess. Let the\nwitch woman bear her sin, and die!\"\n\nAnd they seized Medeia, to hurl her into the sea and atone for the young\nboy's death; but the magic bough spoke again: \"Let her live till her\ncrimes are full. Vengeance waits for her, slow and sure; but she must\nlive, for you need her still. She must show you the way to her sister\nCirce, who lives among the islands of the West. To her you must sail, a\nweary way, and she shall cleanse you from your guilt.\"\n\nThen all the heroes wept aloud when they heard the sentence of the oak;\nfor they knew that a dark journey lay before them, and years of bitter\ntoil. And some upbraided the dark witch woman, and some said: \"Nay, we\nare her debtors still; without her we should never have won the fleece.\"\nBut most of them bit their lips in silence, for they feared the witch's\nspells.\n\nAnd now the sea grew calmer, and the sun shone out once more, and the\nheroes thrust the ship off the sand bank, and rowed forward on their\nweary course, under the guiding of the dark witch maiden, into the\nwastes of the unknown sea.\n\nWhither they went I cannot tell, nor how they came to Circe's isle. Some\nsay that they went to the westward, and up the Ister[A] stream, and so\ncame into the Adriatic, dragging their ship over the snowy Alps. And\nothers say that they went southward, into the Red Indian Sea, and past\nthe sunny lands where spices grow, round \u00c6thiopia toward the west; and\nthat at last they came to Libya, and dragged their ship across the\nburning sands, and over the hills into the Syrtes, where the flats and\nquicksands spread for many a mile, between rich Cyrene and the\nLotus-eaters' shore. But all these are but dreams and fables, and dim\nhints of unknown lands.\n\n[Footnote A: The Danube.]\n\nBut all say that they came to a place where they had to drag their ship\nacross the land nine days with ropes and rollers, till they came into an\nunknown sea. And the best of all the old songs tells us, how they went\naway toward the north, till they came to the slope of Caucasus, where it\nsinks into the sea; and to the narrow Cimmerian Bosphorus,[A] where the\nTitan swam across upon the bull; and thence into the lazy waters of the\nstill M\u00e6otid Lake.[B] And thence they went northward ever, up the\nTanais, which we call Don, past the Geloni and Sauromatai, and many a\nwandering shepherd tribe, and the one-eyed Arimaspi, of whom old Greek\npoets tell, who steal the gold from the Griffins, in the cold\nRhiphaian[C] hills.\n\nAnd they passed the Scythian archers, and the Tauri who eat men, and the\nwandering Hyperboreai, who feed their flocks beneath the pole star,\nuntil they came into the northern ocean, the dull dead Cronian Sea.[D]\nAnd there Argo would move on no longer; and each man clasped his elbow,\nand leaned his head upon his hand, heartbroken with toil and hunger, and\ngave himself up to death. But brave Ancaios the helmsman cheered up\ntheir hearts once more, and bade them leap on land, and haul the ship\nwith ropes and rollers for many a weary day, whether over land, or mud,\nor ice, I know not, for the song is mixed and broken like a dream. And\nit says next, how they came to the rich nation of the famous long-lived\nmen; and to the coast of the Cimmerians, who never saw the sun, buried\ndeep in the glens of the snow mountains; and to the fair land of\nHermione, where dwelt the most righteous of all nations; and to the\ngates of the world below, and to the dwelling place of dreams.\n\n[Footnote A: Between the Crim\u00e6a and Circassia.]\n\n[Footnote B: The Sea of Azov.]\n\n[Footnote C: The Ural Mountains.]\n\n[Footnote D: The Baltic.]\n\nAnd at last Ancaios shouted: \"Endure a little while, brave friends, the\nworst is surely past; for I can see the pure west wind ruffle the water,\nand hear the roar of ocean on the sands. So raise up the mast, and set\nthe sail, and face what comes like men.\"\n\nThen out spoke the magic bough: \"Ah, would that I had perished long ago,\nand been whelmed by the dread blue rocks, beneath the fierce swell of\nthe Euxine! Better so, than to wander forever, disgraced by the guilt of\nmy princes; for the blood of Absyrtus still tracks me, and woe follows\nhard upon woe. And now some dark horror will clutch me, if I come near\nthe Isle of Ierne.[A] Unless you will cling to the land, and sail\nsouthward and southward forever, I shall wander beyond the Atlantic, to\nthe ocean which has no shore.\"\n\nThen they blest the magic bough, and sailed southward along the land.\nBut ere they could pass Ierne, the land of mists and storms, the wild\nwind came down, dark and roaring, and caught the sail, and strained the\nropes. And away they drove twelve nights, on the wide wild western sea,\nthrough the foam, and over the rollers, while they saw neither sun nor\nstars. And they cried again: \"We shall perish, for we know not where we\nare. We are lost in the dreary damp darkness, and cannot tell north from\nsouth.\"\n\nBut Lynceus the long sighted called gayly from the bows: \"Take heart\nagain, brave sailors; for I see a pine-clad isle, and the halls of the\nkind Earth mother, with a crown of clouds around them.\"\n\n[Footnote A: Britain.]\n\nBut Orpheus said: \"Turn from them, for no living man can land there:\nthere is no harbour on the coast, but steep-walled cliffs all round.\"\n\nSo Ancaios turned the ship away; and for three days more they sailed on,\ntill they came to Aiaia, Circe's home, and the fairy island of the West.\n\nAnd there Jason bid them land, and seek about for any sign of living\nman. And as they went inland, Circe met them, coming down toward the\nship; and they trembled when they saw her; for her hair, and face, and\nrobes, shone like flame.\n\nAnd she came and looked at Medeia; and Medeia hid her face beneath her\nveil.\n\nAnd Circe cried, \"Ah, wretched girl, have you forgotten all your sins,\nthat you come hither to my island, where the flowers bloom all the year\nround? Where is your aged father, and the brother whom you killed?\nLittle do I expect you to return in safety with these strangers whom you\nlove. I will send you food and wine: but your ship must not stay here,\nfor it is foul with sin, and foul with sin its crew.\"\n\nAnd the heroes prayed her, but in vain, and cried, \"Cleanse us from our\nguilt!\" But she sent them away and said, \"Go on to Malea, and there you\nmay be cleansed, and return home.\"\n\nThen a fair wind rose, and they sailed eastward, by Tartessus on the\nIberian shore, till they came to the Pillars of Hercules, and the\nMediterranean Sea. And thence they sailed on through the deeps of\nSardinia, and past the Ausonian Islands, and the capes of the Tyrrhenian\nshore, till they came to a flowery island, upon a still, bright summer's\neve. And as they neared it, slowly and wearily, they heard sweet songs\nupon the shore. But when Medeia heard it, she started, and cried:\n\"Beware, all heroes, for these are the rocks of the Sirens. You must\npass close by them, for there is no other channel; but those who listen\nto that song are lost.\"\n\nThen Orpheus spoke, the king of all minstrels: \"Let them match their\nsong against mine. I have charmed stones, and trees, and dragons, how\nmuch more the hearts of man!\" So he caught up his lyre, and stood upon\nthe poop, and began his magic song.\n\nAnd now they could see the Sirens, on Anthemousa, the flowery isle;\nthree fair maidens sitting on the beach, beneath a red rock in the\nsetting sun, among beds of crimson poppies and golden asphodel. Slowly\nthey sung and sleepily, with silver voices, mild and clear, which stole\nover the golden waters, and into the hearts of all the heroes, in spite\nof Orpheus's song.\n\nAnd all things stayed around and listened; the gulls sat in white lines\nalong the rocks; on the beach great seals lay basking, and kept time\nwith lazy heads; while silver shoals of fish came up to hearken, and\nwhispered as they broke the shining calm. The Wind overhead hushed his\nwhistling, as he shepherded his clouds toward the west; and the clouds\nstood in mid blue, and listened dreaming, like a flock of golden sheep.\n\nAnd as the heroes listened, the oars fell from their hands, and their\nheads drooped on their breasts, and they closed their heavy eyes; and\nthey dreamed of bright still gardens, and of slumbers under murmuring\npines, till all their toil seemed foolishness, and they thought of their\nrenown no more.\n\nThen one lifted his head suddenly, and cried, \"What use in wandering\nforever? Let us stay here and rest awhile.\" And another, \"Let us row to\nthe shore, and hear the words they sing.\" And another, \"I care not for\nthe words, but for the music. They shall sing me to sleep, that I may\nrest.\"\n\nAnd Butes, the son of Pandion, the fairest of all mortal men, leapt out\nand swam toward the shore, crying, \"I come, I come, fair maidens, to\nlive and die here, listening to your song.\"\n\nThen Medeia clapped her hands together, and cried, \"Sing louder,\nOrpheus, sing a bolder strain; wake up these hapless sluggards, or none\nof them will see the land of Hellas more.\"\n\nThen Orpheus lifted his harp, and crashed his cunning hand across the\nstrings; and his music and his voice rose like a trumpet through the\nstill evening air; into the air it rushed like thunder, till the rocks\nrang and the sea; and into their souls it rushed like wine, till all\nhearts beat fast within their breasts.\n\nAnd he sung the song of Perseus, how the Gods led him over land and sea,\nand how he slew the loathly Gorgon, and won himself a peerless bride;\nand how he sits now with the Gods upon Olympus, a shining star in the\nsky, immortal with his immortal bride, and honoured by all men below.\n\nSo Orpheus sang, and the Sirens, answering each other across the golden\nsea, till Orpheus's voice drowned the Sirens, and the heroes caught\ntheir oars again.\n\nAnd they cried: \"We will be men like Perseus, and we will dare and\nsuffer to the last. Sing us his song again, brave Orpheus, that we may\nforget the Sirens and their spell.\"\n\nAnd as Orpheus sang, they dashed their oars into the sea, and kept time\nto his music, as they fled fast away; and the Sirens' voices died behind\nthem, in the hissing of the foam along their wake.\n\nBut Butes swam to the shore, and knelt down before the Sirens, and\ncried, \"Sing on! sing on!\" But he could say no more; for a charmed sleep\ncame over him, and a pleasant humming in his ears; and he sank all along\nupon the pebbles, and forgot all heaven and earth, and never looked at\nthat sad beach around him, all strewn with the bones of men.\n\nThen slowly rose up those three fair sisters, with a cruel smile upon\ntheir lips; and slowly they crept down toward him, like leopards who\ncreep upon their prey; and their hands were like the talons of eagles,\nas they stept across the bones of their victims to enjoy their cruel\nfeast.\n\nBut fairest Aphrodite saw him from the highest Idalian peak, and she\npitied his youth and his beauty, and leapt up from her golden throne;\nand like a falling star she cleft the sky, and left a trail of\nglittering light, till she stooped to the Isle of the Sirens, and\nsnatched their prey from their claws. And she lifted Butes as he lay\nsleeping, and wrapt him in a golden mist; and she bore him to the peak\nof Lilyb\u00e6um; and he slept there many a pleasant year.\n\nBut when the Sirens saw that they were conquered, they shrieked for envy\nand rage, and leapt from the beach into the sea, and were changed into\nrocks until this day.\n\nThen they came to the straits by Lilyb\u00e6um, and saw Sicily, the\nthree-cornered island, under which Enceladus the giant lies groaning day\nand night, and when he turns the earth quakes, and his breath bursts out\nin roaring flames from the highest cone of \u00c6tna, above the chestnut\nwoods. And there Charybdis caught them in its fearful coils of wave, and\nrolled mast-high about them, and spun them round and round; and they\ncould go neither back nor forward, while the whirlpool sucked them in.\n\nAnd while they struggled they saw near them, on the other side of the\nstrait, a rock stand in the water, with a peak wrapt round in clouds; a\nrock which no man could climb, though he had twenty hands and feet, for\nthe stone was smooth and slippery, as if polished by man's hand; and\nhalf way up a misty cave looked out toward the west.\n\nAnd when Orpheus saw it, he groaned, and struck his hands together. And\n\"Little will it help to us,\" he cried, \"to escape the jaws of the\nwhirlpool; for in that cave lives Scylla, the sea-hag with a young\nwhelp's voice; my mother warned me of her ere we sailed away from\nHellas; she has six heads, and six long necks, and hides in that dark\ncleft. And from her cave she fishes for all things which pass by, for\nsharks, and seals, and dolphins, and all the herds of Amphitrite. And\nnever ship's crew boasted that they came safe by her rock; for she bends\nher long necks down to them, and every mouth takes up a man And who will\nhelp us now? For Hera and Zeus hate us, and our ship is foul with guilt;\nso we must die, whatever befalls.\"\n\nThen out of the depths came Thetis, Peleus's silver-footed bride, for\nlove of her gallant husband, and all her nymphs around her; and they\nplayed like snow-white dolphins, diving on from wave to wave, before the\nship, and in her wake, and beside her, as dolphins play. And they caught\nthe ship, and guided her, and passed her on from hand to hand, and\ntossed her through the billows, as maidens toss the ball. And when\nScylla stooped to seize her, they struck back her ravening heads, and\nfoul Scylla whined, as a whelp whines, at the touch of their gentle\nhands. But she shrank into her cave affrighted; for all bad things\nshrink from good; and Argo leapt safe past her, while a fair breeze rose\nbehind. Then Thetis and her nymphs sank down to their gardens of green\nand purple, where live flowers of bloom all the year round; while the\nheroes went on rejoicing, yet dreading what might come next.\n\nAfter that they rowed on steadily for many a weary day, till they saw a\nlong high island, and beyond it a mountain land. And they searched till\nthey found a harbour, and there rowed boldly in. But after awhile they\nstopped, and wondered; for there stood a great city on the shore, and\ntemples and walls and gardens, and castles high in air upon the cliffs.\nAnd on either side they saw a harbour, with a narrow mouth, but wide\nwithin; and black ships without number, high and dry upon the shore.\n\nThen Ancaius, the wise helmsman, spoke: \"What new wonder is this? I know\nall isles, and harbours, and the windings of all the seas; and this\nshould be Corcyra, where a few wild goatherds dwell. But whence come\nthese new harbours, and vast works of polished stone?\"\n\nBut Jason said: \"They can be no savage people. We will go in and take\nour chance.\"\n\nSo they rowed into the harbour, among a thousand black-beaked ships,\neach larger far than Argo, toward a quay of polished stone. And they\nwondered at that mighty city, with its roofs of burnished brass, and\nlong and lofty walls of marble, with strong palisades above. And the\nquays were full of people, merchants, and mariners, and slaves, going to\nand fro with merchandise among the crowd of ships. And the heroes'\nhearts were humbled, and they looked at each other and said: \"We thought\nourselves a gallant crew when we sailed from Iolcos by the sea; but how\nsmall we look before this city, like an ant before a hive of bees.\"\n\nThen the sailors hailed them roughly from the quay:\n\n\"What men are you?--we want no strangers here, nor pirates. We keep our\nbusiness to ourselves.\"\n\nBut Jason answered gently, with many a flattering word, and praised\ntheir city and their harbour, and their fleet of gallant ships. \"Surely\nyou are the children of Poseidon, and the masters of the sea; and we are\nbut poor wandering mariners, worn out with thirst and toil. Give us but\nfood and water, and we will go on our voyage in peace.\"\n\nThen the sailors laughed and answered: \"Stranger, you are no fool; you\ntalk like an honest man, and you shall find us honest too. We are the\nchildren of Poseidon, and the masters of the sea; but come ashore to us,\nand you shall have the best that we can give.\"\n\nSo they limped ashore, all stiff and weary, with long ragged beards and\nsunburnt cheeks, and garments torn and weather-stained, and weapons\nrusted with the spray, while the sailors laughed at them (for they were\nrough-tongued, though their hearts were frank and kind). And one said;\n\"These fellows are but raw sailors; they look as if they had been\nsea-sick all the day.\" And another: \"Their legs have grown crooked with\nmuch rowing, till they waddle in their walk like ducks.\"\n\nAt that Idas the rash would have struck them; but Jason held him back,\ntill one of the merchant kings spoke to them, a tall and stately man.\n\n\"Do not be angry, strangers; the sailor boys must have their jest. But\nwe will treat you justly and kindly, for strangers and poor men come\nfrom God; and you seem no common sailors by your strength, and height,\nand weapons. Come up with me to the palace of Alcinous, the rich\nsea-going king, and we will feast you well and heartily; and after that\nyou shall tell us your name.\"\n\nBut Medeia hung back, and trembled, and whispered in Jason's ear, \"We\nare betrayed, and are going to our ruin; for I see my countrymen among\nthe crowd; dark-eyed Colchi in steel mail shirts, such as they wear in\nmy father's land.\"\n\n\"It is too late to turn,\" said Jason. And he spoke to the merchant king:\n\"What country is this, good sir; and what is this new-built town?\"\n\n\"This is the land of the Ph\u00e6aces, beloved by all the Immortals; for they\ncome hither and feast like friends with us, and sit by our side in the\nhall. Hither we came from Liburnia to escape the unrighteous Cyclopes;\nfor they robbed us, peaceful merchants, of our hard-earned wares and\nwealth. So Nausithous, the son of Poseidon, brought us hither, and died\nin peace; and now his son Alcinous rules us, and Arete the wisest of\nqueens.\"\n\nSo they went up across the square, and wondered still more as they went;\nfor along the quays lay in order great cables, and yards, and masts,\nbefore the fair temple of Poseidon, the blue-haired king of the seas.\nAnd round the square worked the shipwrights, as many in number as ants,\ntwining ropes, and hewing timber, and smoothing long yards and oars. And\nthe Minuai went on in silence through clean white marble streets, till\nthey came to the hall of Alcinous, and they wondered then still more.\nFor the lofty palace shone aloft in the sun, with walls of plated brass,\nfrom the threshold to the innermost chamber, and the doors were of\nsilver and gold. And on each side of the doorway sat living dogs of\ngold, who never grew old or died, so well Hephaistus had made them in\nhis forges in smoking Lemnos, and gave them to Alcinous to guard his\ngates by night. And within, against the walls, stood thrones on either\nside, down the whole length of the hall, strewn with rich glossy\nshawls; and on them the merchant kings of those crafty sea-roving\nPh\u00e6aces sat eating and drinking in pride, and feasting there all the\nyear round. And boys of molten gold stood each on a polished altar, and\nheld torches in their hands, to give light all night to the guests. And\nround the house sat fifty maid servants, some grinding the meal in the\nmill, some turning the spindle, some weaving at the loom, while their\nhands twinkled as they passed the shuttle, like quivering aspen leaves.\n\nAnd outside before the palace a great garden was walled round, filled\nfull of stately fruit trees, with olives and sweet figs, and\npomegranates, pears, and apples, which bore the whole year round. For\nthe rich southwest wind fed them, till pear grew ripe on pear, fig on\nfig, and grape on grape, all the winter and the spring. And at the\nfurther end gay flower beds bloomed through all seasons of the year; and\ntwo fair fountains rose, and ran, one through the garden grounds, and\none beneath the palace gate, to water all the town. Such noble gifts the\nheavens had given to Alcinous the wise.\n\nSo they went in, and saw him sitting, like Poseidon, on his throne, with\nhis golden sceptre by him, in garments stiff with gold, and in his hand\na sculptured goblet, as he pledged the merchant kings; and beside him\nstood Arete, his wise and lovely queen, and leaned against a pillar, as\nshe spun her golden threads.\n\nThen Alcinous rose, and welcomed them, and bade them sit and eat; and\nthe servants brought them tables, and bread, and meat, and wine.\n\nBut Medeia went on trembling toward Arete, the fair queen, and fell at\nher knees, and clasped them, and cried weeping as she knelt:\n\n\"I am your guest, fair queen, and I entreat you be Zeus from whom\nprayers come. Do not send me back to my father, to die some dreadful\ndeath; but let me go my way, and bear my burden. Have I not had enough\nof punishment and shame?\"\n\n\"Who are you, strange maiden? and what is the meaning of your prayer?\"\n\n\"I am Medeia, daughter of Aietes, and I saw my countrymen here to-day;\nand I know that they are come to find me, and take me home to die some\ndreadful death.\"\n\nThen Arete frowned, and said: \"Lead this girl in, my maidens; and let\nthe kings decide, not I.\"\n\nAnd Alcinous leapt up from his throne, and cried, \"Speak, strangers, who\nare you? And who is this maiden?\"\n\n\"We are the heroes of the Minuai,\" said Jason; \"and this maiden has\nspoken truth. We are the men who took the golden fleece, the men whose\nfame has run round every shore. We came hither out of the ocean, after\nsorrows such as man never saw before. We went out many, and come back\nfew, for many a noble comrade have we lost. So let us go, as you should\nlet your guests go, in peace; that the world may say, 'Alcinous is a\njust king.'\"\n\nBut Alcinous frowned, and stood deep in thought; and at last he spoke:\n\n\"Had not the deed been done, which is done, I should have said this day\nto myself, 'It is an honour to Alcinous, and to his children after him,\nthat the far-famed Argonauts are his guests.' But these Colchi are my\nguests, as you are; and for this month they have waited here with all\ntheir fleet; for they have hunted all the seas of Hellas, and could not\nfind you, and dared neither go further, nor go home.\"\n\n\"Let them choose out their champions, and we will fight them, man for\nman.\"\n\n\"No guest of ours shall fight upon our island; and if you go outside,\nthey will outnumber you. I will do justice between you; for I know and\ndo what is right.\"\n\nThen he turned to his kings, and said: \"This may stand over till\nto-morrow. To-night we will feast our guests, and hear the story of all\ntheir wanderings, and how they came hither out of the ocean.\"\n\nSo Alcinous bade the servants take the heroes in, and bathe them, and\ngive them clothes. And they were glad when they saw the warm water, for\nit was long since they had bathed. And they washed off the sea salt from\ntheir limbs, and anointed themselves from head to foot with oil, and\ncombed out their golden hair. Then they came back again into the hall,\nwhile the merchant kings rose up to do them honour. And each man said to\nhis neighbour: \"No wonder that these men won fame. How they stand now\nlike Giants, or Titans, or Immortals come down from Olympus, though many\na winter has worn them, and many a fearful storm. What must they have\nbeen when they sailed from Iolcos, in the bloom of their youth, long\nago?\"\n\nThen they went out to the garden; and the merchant princes said:\n\"Heroes, run races with us. Let us see whose feet are nimblest.\"\n\n\"We cannot race against you, for our limbs are stiff from sea; and we\nhave lost our two swift comrades, the sons of the north wind. But do not\nthink us cowards; if you wish to try our strength, we will shoot and\nbox, and wrestle, against any men on earth.\"\n\nAnd Alcinous smiled, and answered: \"I believe you, gallant guests; with\nyour long limbs and broad shoulders, we could never match you here. For\nwe care nothing here for boxing, or for shooting with the bow; but for\nfeasts, and songs, and harping, and dancing, and running races, to\nstretch our limbs on shore.\"\n\nSo they danced there and ran races, the jolly merchant kings, till the\nnight fell, and all went in.\n\nAnd then they ate and drank, and comforted their weary souls, till\nAlcinous called a herald, and bade him go and fetch the harper.\n\nThe herald went out, and fetched the harper, and led him in by the hand;\nand Alcinous cut him a piece of meat from the fattest of the haunch, and\nsent it to him, and said: \"Sing to us, noble harper, and rejoice the\nheroes' hearts.\"\n\nSo the harper played and sang, while the dancers danced strange figures;\nand after that the tumblers showed their tricks, till the heroes laughed\nagain.\n\nThen, \"Tell me, heroes,\" asked Alcinous, \"you who have sailed the ocean\nround, and seen the manners of all nations, have you seen such dancers\nas ours here? or heard such music and such singing? We hold ours to be\nthe best on earth.\"\n\n\"Such dancing we have never seen,\" said Orpheus; \"and your singer is a\nhappy man; for Ph\u0153bus himself must have taught him, or else he is the\nson of a Muse; as I am also, and have sung once or twice, though not so\nwell as he.\"\n\n\"Sing to us, then, noble stranger,\" said Alcinous; \"and we will give you\nprecious gifts.\"\n\nSo Orpheus took his magic harp, and sang to them a stirring song of\ntheir voyage from Iolcos, and their dangers, and how they won the\ngolden fleece; and of Medeia's love, and how she helped them, and went\nwith them over land and sea; and of all their fearful dangers, from\nmonsters, and rocks, and storms, till the heart of Arete was softened,\nand all the women wept. And the merchant kings rose up, each man from\noff his golden throne, and clasped their hands, and shouted: \"Hail to\nthe noble Argonauts, who sailed the unknown sea!\"\n\nThen he went on, and told their journey over the sluggish northern main,\nand through the shoreless outer ocean, to the fairy island of the West;\nand of the Sirens, and Scylla, and Charybdis, and all the wonders they\nhad seen, till midnight passed, and the day dawned; but the kings never\nthought of sleep. Each man sat still and listened, with his chin upon\nhis hand.\n\nAnd at last when Orpheus had ended, they all went thoughtful out, and\nthe heroes lay down to sleep, beneath the sounding porch outside, where\nArete had strewn them rugs and carpets, in the sweet still summer night.\n\nBut Arete pleaded hard with her husband for Medeia, for her heart was\nsoftened. And she said: \"The Gods will punish her, not we. After all,\nshe is our guest and my suppliant, and prayers are the daughters of\nZeus. And who, too, dare part man and wife, after all they have endured\ntogether?\"\n\nAnd Alcinous smiled. \"The minstrel's song has charmed you; but I must\nremember what is right; for songs cannot alter justice; and I must be\nfaithful to my name. Alcinous I am called, the man of sturdy sense, and\nAlcinous I will be.\" But for all that, Arete besought him, until she won\nhim round.\n\nSo next morning he sent a herald, and called the kings into the square,\nand said: \"This is a puzzling matter; remember but one thing. These\nMinuai live close by us, and we may meet them often on the seas; but\nAietes lives afar off, and we have only heard his name. Which, then, of\nthe two is it safer to offend, the men near us, or the men far off?\"\n\nThe princes laughed, and praised his wisdom; and Alcinous called the\nheroes to the square, and the Colchi also; and they came and stood\nopposite each other; but Medeia stayed in the palace. Then Alcinous\nspoke: \"Heroes of the Colchi, what is your errand about this lady?\"\n\n\"To carry her home with us, that she may die a shameful death; but if we\nreturn without her, we must die the death she should have died.\"\n\n\"What say you to this, Jason the \u00c6olid?\" said Alcinous, turning to the\nMinuai.\n\n\"I say,\" said the cunning Jason, \"that they are come here on a bootless\nerrand. Do you think that you can make her follow you, heroes of the\nColchi? her, who knows all spells and charms? She will cast away your\nships on quicksands, or call down on you Brimo the wild huntress; or the\nchains will fall from off her wrists, and she will escape in her dragon\ncar; or if not thus, some other way; for she has a thousand plans and\nwiles. And why return home at all, brave heroes, and face the long seas\nagain, and the Bosphorus, and the stormy Euxine, and double all your\ntoil? There is many a fair land round these coasts, which waits for\ngallant men like you. Better to settle there, and build a city, and let\nAietes and Colchis help themselves.\"\n\nThen a murmur rose among the Colchi, and some cried, \"He has spoken\nwell\"; and some, \"We have had enough of roving, we will sail the seas\nno more!\" And the chief said at last, \"Be it so, then; a plague she has\nbeen to us, and a plague to the house of her father, and a plague she\nwill be to you. Take her, since you are no wiser; and we will sail away\ntoward the north.\"\n\nThen Alcinous gave them food, and water, and garments, and rich presents\nof all sorts; and he gave the same to the Minuai, and sent them all away\nin peace.\n\nSo Jason kept the dark witch maiden to breed him woe and shame; and the\nColchi went northward into the Adriatic, and settled, and built towns\nalong the shore.\n\nThen the heroes rowed away to the eastward, to reach Hellas their\nbeloved land; but a storm came down upon them, and swept them far away\ntoward the south. And they rowed till they were spent with struggling,\nthrough the darkness and the blinding rain, but where they were they\ncould not tell, and they gave up all hope of life. And at last they\ntouched the ground, and when daylight came they waded to the shore; and\nsaw nothing round but sand, and desolate salt pools; for they had come\nto the quicksands of the Syrtis, and the dreary treeless flats, which\nlie between Numidia and Cyrene, on the burning shore of Africa. And\nthere they wandered starving for many a weary day, ere they could launch\ntheir ship again, and gain the open sea. And there Canthus was killed\nwhile he was trying to drive off sheep, by a stone which a herdsman\nthrew.\n\nAnd there, too, Mopsus died, the seer who knew the voices of all birds;\nbut he could not foretell his own end, for he was bitten in the foot by\na snake, one of those which sprang from the Gorgon's head when Perseus\ncarried it across the sands.\n\nAt last they rowed away toward the northward, for many a weary day,\ntill their water was spent, and their food eaten; and they were worn out\nwith hunger and thirst. But at last they saw a long steep island, and a\nblue peak high among the clouds; and they knew it for the peak of Ida,\nand the famous land of Crete. And they said, \"We will land in Crete, and\nsee Minos the just king, and all his glory and his wealth; at least he\nwill treat us hospitably, and let us fill our water casks upon the\nshore.\"\n\nBut when they came nearer to the island they saw a wondrous sight upon\nthe cliffs. For on a cape to the westward stood a giant, taller than any\nmountain pine; who glittered aloft against the sky like a tower of\nburnished brass. He turned and looked on all sides round him, till he\nsaw the Argo and her crew; and when he saw them he came toward them,\nmore swiftly than the swiftest horse, leaping across the glens at a\nbound, and striding at one step from down to down. And when he came\nabreast of them he brandished his arms up and down, as a ship hoists and\nlowers her yards, and shouted with his brazen throat like a trumpet from\noff the hills: \"You are pirates, you are robbers! If you dare land here,\nyou die.\"\n\nThen the heroes cried: \"We are no pirates. We are all good men and true;\nand all we ask is food and water\"; but the giant cried the more--\n\n\"You are robbers, you are pirates all; I know you; and if you land, you\nshall die the death.\"\n\nThen he waved his arms again as a signal, and they saw the people flying\ninland, driving their flocks before them, while a great flame arose\namong the hills. Then the giant ran up a valley and vanished; and the\nheroes lay on their oars in fear.\n\nBut Medeia stood watching all, from under her steep black brows, with a\ncunning smile upon her lips, and a cunning plot within her heart. At\nlast she spoke; \"I know this giant. I heard of him in the East.\nHephaistos the Fire King made him, in his forge in \u00c6tna beneath the\nearth, and called him Talus, and gave him to Minos for a servant, to\nguard the coast of Crete. Thrice a day he walks round the island, and\nnever stops to sleep; and if strangers land he leaps into his furnace,\nwhich flames there among the hills; and when he is red hot he rushes on\nthem, and burns them in his brazen hands.\"\n\nThen all the heroes cried, \"What shall we do, wise Medeia? We must have\nwater, or we die of thirst. Flesh and blood we can face fairly; but who\ncan face this red-hot brass?\"\n\n\"I can face red-hot brass, if the tale I hear be true. For they say\nthat he has but one vein in all his body, filled with liquid fire; and\nthat this vein is closed with a nail; but I know not where that nail is\nplaced. But if I can get it once into these hands, you shall water your\nship here in peace.\"\n\nThen she bade them put her on shore, and row off again, and wait what\nwould befall.\n\nAnd the heroes obeyed her unwillingly; for they were ashamed to leave\nher so alone; but Jason said, \"She is dearer to me than to any of you,\nyet I will trust her freely on shore; she has more plots than we can\ndream of, in the windings of that fair and cunning head.\"\n\nSo they left the witch maiden on the shore; and she stood there in her\nbeauty all alone, till the giant strode back red hot from head to heel,\nwhile the grass hissed and smoked beneath his tread.\n\nAnd when he saw the maiden alone, he stopped; and she looked boldly up\ninto his face without moving, and began her magic song:\n\n\"Life is short, though life is sweet; and even men of brass and fire\nmust die. The brass must rust, the fire must cool, for time gnaws all\nthings in their turn. Life is short, though life is sweet; but sweeter\nto live forever; sweeter to live ever youthful like the Gods, who have\nichor in their veins; ichor which gives life, and youth, and joy, and a\nbounding heart.\"\n\nThen Talus said, \"Who are you, strange maiden; and where is this ichor\nof youth?\"\n\nThen Medeia held up a flask of crystal, and said, \"Here is the ichor of\nyouth. I am Medeia the enchantress; my sister Circe gave me this, and\nsaid, 'Go and reward Talus the faithful servant, for his fame is gone\nout into all lands.' So come, and I will pour this into your veins, that\nyou may live forever young.\"\n\nAnd he listened to her false words, that simple Talus, and came near;\nand Medeia said, \"Dip yourself in the sea first, and cool yourself, lest\nyou burn my tender hands, then show me where the nail in your vein is,\nthat I may pour the ichor in.\"\n\nThen that simple Talus dipped himself in the sea, till it hissed, and\nroared, and smoked; and came and knelt before Medeia, and showed her the\nsecret nail.\n\nAnd she drew the nail out gently; but she poured no ichor in; and\ninstead the liquid fire spouted forth, like a stream of red-hot iron.\nAnd Talus tried to leap up, crying, \"You have betrayed me, false witch\nmaiden!\" But she lifted up her hands before him, and sang, till he sank\nbeneath her spell. And as he sank, his brazen limbs clanked heavily, and\nthe earth groaned beneath his weight; and the liquid fire ran from his\nheel, like a stream of lava to the sea; and Medeia laughed, and called\nto the heroes, \"Come ashore, and water your ship in peace.\"\n\nSo they came, and found the giant lying dead; and they fell down, and\nkissed Medeia's feet; and watered their ship, and took sheep and oxen,\nand so left that inhospitable shore.\n\nAt last, after many more adventures, they came to the Cape of Malea, at\nthe southwest point of the Peloponnese. And there they offered\nsacrifices, and Orpheus purged them from their guilt. Then they rowed\naway again to the northward, past the Laconian shore, and came all worn\nand tired by Sunium, and up the long Eub\u0153an Strait, until they saw\nonce more Pelion, and Aphetai, and Iolcos by the sea.\n\nAnd they ran the ship ashore; but they had no strength left to haul her\nup the beach; and they crawled out on the pebbles, and sat down, and\nwept till they could weep no more. For the houses and the trees were all\naltered; and all the faces which they saw were strange; and their joy\nwas swallowed up in sorrow, while they thought of their youth, and all\ntheir labour, and the gallant comrades they had lost.\n\nAnd the people crowded round, and asked them, \"Who are you, that you sit\nweeping here?\"\n\n\"We are the sons of your princes, who sailed out many a year ago. We\nwent to fetch the golden fleece; and we have brought it, and grief\ntherewith. Give us news of our fathers and our mothers, if any of them\nbe left alive on earth.\"\n\nThen there was shouting and laughing, and weeping; and all the kings\ncame to the shore, and they led away the heroes to their homes, and\nbewailed the valiant dead.\n\nThen Jason went up with Medeia to the palace of his uncle Pelias. And\nwhen he came in, Pelias sat by the hearth, crippled and blind with age;\nwhile opposite him sat \u00c6son, Jason's father, crippled and blind\nlikewise; and the two old men's heads shook together, as they tried to\nwarm themselves before the fire.\n\nAnd Jason fell down at his father's knees, and wept, and called him by\nhis name. And the old man stretched his hands out, and felt him, and\nsaid: \"Do not mock me, young hero. My son Jason is dead long ago at\nsea.\"\n\n\"I am your own son Jason, whom you trusted to the Centaur upon Pelion;\nand I have brought home the golden fleece, and a princess of the Sun's\nrace for my bride. So now give me up the kingdom, Pelias my uncle, and\nfulfil your promise as I have fulfilled mine.\"\n\nThen his father clung to him like a child, and wept, and would not let\nhim go; and cried, \"Now I shall not go down lonely to my grave. Promise\nme never to leave me till I die.\"\n\n\nPART VI\n\n_What Was the End of the Heroes_\n\nAnd now I wish that I could end my story pleasantly; but it is no fault\nof mine that I cannot. The old songs end it sadly, and I believe that\nthey are right and wise; for though the heroes were purified at Malea,\nyet sacrifices cannot make bad hearts good, and Jason had taken a wicked\nwife, and he had to bear his burden to the last.\n\nAnd first she laid a cunning plot, to punish that poor old Pelias,\ninstead of letting him die in peace.\n\nFor she told his daughters: \"I can make old things young again; I will\nshow you how easy it is to do.\" So she took an old ram and killed him,\nand put him in a cauldron with magic herbs; and whispered her spells\nover him, and he leapt out again a young lamb. So that \"Medeia's\ncauldron\" is a proverb still, by which we mean times of war and change,\nwhen the world has become old and feeble, and grows young again through\nbitter pains.\n\nThen she said to Pelias's daughters: \"Do to your father as I did to this\nram, and he will grow young and strong again.\" But she only told them\nhalf the spell; so they failed, while Medeia mocked them; and poor old\nPelias died, and his daughters came to misery. But the songs say she\ncured \u00c6son, Jason's father, and he became young and strong again.\n\nBut Jason could not love her, after all her cruel deeds. So he was\nungrateful to her, and wronged her: and she revenged herself on him. And\na terrible revenge she took--too terrible to speak of here. But you will\nhear of it yourselves when you grow up, for it has been sung in noble\npoetry and music; and whether it be true or not, it stands forever as a\nwarning to us, not to seek for help from evil persons, or to gain good\nends by evil means. For if we use an adder even against our enemies, it\nwill turn again and sting us.\n\nBut of all the other heroes there is many a brave tale left, which I\nhave no space to tell you, so you must read them for yourselves--of the\nhunting of the boar in Calydon, which Meleager killed; and of Heracles's\ntwelve famous labours; and of the seven who fought at Thebes; and of\nthe noble love of Castor and Polydeuces, the twin Dioscouroi; how when\none died, the other would not live without him, so they shared their\nimmortality between them; and Zeus changed them into the two twin stars,\nwhich never rise both at once.\n\nAnd what became of Cheiron, the good immortal beast? That, too, is a sad\nstory; for the heroes never saw him more. He was wounded by a poisoned\narrow, at Pholoc among the hills, when Heracles opened the fatal wine\njar, which Cheiron had warned him not to touch. And the Centaurs smelt\nthe wine, and flocked to it, and fought for it with Heracles; but he\nkilled them all with his poisoned arrows, and Cheiron was left alone.\nThen Cheiron took up one of the arrows, and dropped it by chance upon\nhis foot; and the poison ran like fire along his veins, and he lay down,\nand longed to die; and cried: \"Through wine I perish, the bane of all my\nrace. Why should I live forever in this agony? Who will take my\nimmortality that I may die?\"\n\nThen Prometheus answered, the good Titan, whom Heracles had set free\nfrom Caucasus: \"I will take your immortality and live forever, that I\nmay help poor mortal men.\" So Cheiron gave him his immortality, and\ndied, and had rest from pain. And Heracles and Prometheus wept over him,\nand went to bury him on Pelion; but Zeus took him up among the stars, to\nlive forever, grand and mild, low down in the far southern sky.\n\nAnd in time the heroes died, all but Nestor the silver-tongued old man;\nand left behind them valiant sons, but not so great as they had been.\nYet their fame, too, lives till this day; for they fought at the ten\nyears' siege of Troy; and their story is in the book which we call\nHomer, in two of the noblest songs on earth; the Iliad, which tells us\nof the siege of Troy, and Achilles's quarrel with the kings; and the\nOdyssey, which tells the wanderings of Odysseus, through many lands for\nmany years; and how Alcinous sent him home at last, safe to Ithaca his\nbeloved island, and to Penelope his faithful wife, and Telemachus his\nson, and Euphorbus the noble swineherd, and the old dog who licked his\nhand and died.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE GIANT BUILDER\n\n\nAges and ages ago, when the world was first made, the gods decided to\nbuild a beautiful city high above the heavens, the most glorious and\nwonderful city that ever was known. Asgard was to be its name, and it\nwas to stand on Ida Plain under the shade of Yggdrasil, the great tree\nwhose roots were underneath the earth.\n\nFirst of all they built a house with a silver roof, where there were\nseats for all the twelve chiefs. In the midst, and high above the rest,\nwas the wonder throne of Odin the All-Father, whence he could see\neverything that happened in the sky or on the earth or in the sea. Next\nthey made a fair house for Queen Frigg and her lovely daughters. Then\nthey built a smithy, with its great hammers, tongs, anvils, and bellows,\nwhere the gods could work at their favourite trade, the making of\nbeautiful things out of gold; which they did so well that folk name that\ntime the Golden Age. Afterward, as they had more leisure, they built\nseparate houses for all the \u00c6sir, each more beautiful than the\npreceding, for of course they were continually growing more skilful.\nThey saved Father Odin's palace until the last, for they meant this to\nbe the largest and the most splendid of all.\n\nGladsheim, the home of joy, was the name of Odin's house, and it was\nbuilt all of gold, set in the midst of a wood whereof the trees had\nleaves of ruddy gold--like an autumn-gilded forest. For the safety of\nAll-Father it was surrounded by a roaring river and by a high picket\nfence; and there was a great courtyard within.\n\nThe glory of Gladsheim was its wondrous hall, radiant with gold, the\nmost lovely room that time has ever seen. Valhalla, the Hall of Heroes,\nwas the name of it, and it was roofed with the mighty shields of\nwarriors. The ceiling was made of interlacing spears, and there was a\nportal at the west end before which hung a great gray wolf, while over\nhim a fierce eagle hovered. The hall was so huge that it had 540 gates,\nthrough each of which 800 men could march abreast. Indeed, there needed\nto be room, for this was the hall where every morning Odin received all\nthe brave warriors who had died in battle on the earth below; and there\nwere many heroes in those days.\n\nThis was the reward which the gods gave to courage. When a hero had\ngloriously lost his life, the Valkyries, the nine warrior daughters of\nOdin, brought his body up to Valhalla on their white horses that gallop\nthe clouds. There they lived forever after in happiness, enjoying the\nthings that they had most loved upon earth. Every morning they armed\nthemselves and went out to fight with one another in the great\ncourtyard. It was a wondrous game, wondrously played. No matter how\noften a hero was killed, he became alive again in time to return\nperfectly well to Valhalla, where he ate a delicious breakfast with the\nJisir; while the beautiful Valkyries who had first brought him thither\nwaited at table and poured the blessed mead, which only the immortal\ntaste. A happy life it was for the heroes, and a happy life for all who\ndwelt in Asgard; for this was before trouble had come among the gods,\nfollowing the mischief of Loki.\n\nThis is how the trouble began. From the beginning of time, the giants\nhad been unfriendly to the \u00c6sir, because the giants were older and huger\nand more wicked; besides, they were jealous because the good \u00c6sir were\nfast gaining more wisdom and power than the giants had ever known. It\nwas the \u00c6sir who set the fair brother and sister, Sun and Moon, in the\nsky to give light to men; and it was they also who made the jewelled\nstars out of sparks from the place of fire. The giants hated the \u00c6sir,\nand tried all in their power to injure them and the men of the earth\nbelow, whom the \u00c6sir loved and cared for. The gods had already built a\nwall around Midgard, the world of men, to keep the giants out; built it\nof the bushy eyebrows of Ymir, the oldest and hugest of giants. Between\nAsgard and the giants flowed Ifing, the great river on which ice never\nformed, and which the gods crossed on the rainbow bridge. But this was\nnot protection enough. Their beautiful new city needed a fortress.\n\nSo the word went forth in Asgard: \"We must build us a fortress against\nthe giants; the hugest, strongest, finest fortress that ever was built.\"\n\nNow one day, soon after they had announced this decision, there came a\nmighty man stalking up the rainbow bridge that led to Asgard city.\n\n\"Who goes there!\" cried Heimdal the watchman, whose eyes were so keen\nthat he could see for a hundred miles around, and whose ears were so\nsharp that he could hear the grass growing in the meadow and the wool on\nthe backs of the sheep. \"Who goes there! No one can enter Asgard if I\nsay no.\"\n\n\"I am a builder,\" said the stranger, who was a huge fellow with sleeves\nrolled up to show the iron muscles of his arms. \"I am a builder of\nstrong towers, and I have heard that the folk of Asgard need one to help\nthem raise a fair fortress in their city.\"\n\nHeimdal looked at the stranger narrowly, for there was that about him\nwhich his sharp eyes did not like. But he made no answer, only blew on\nhis golden horn, which was so loud that it sounded through all the\nworld. At this signal all the \u00c6sir came running to the rainbow bridge,\nfrom wherever they happened to be, to find out who was coming to Asgard.\nFor it was Heimdal's duty ever to warn them of the approach of the\nunknown.\n\n\"This fellow says he is a builder,\" quoth Heimdal. \"And he would fain\nbuild us a fortress in the city.\"\n\n\"Ay, that I would,\" nodded the stranger, \"Look at my iron arm; look at\nmy broad back; look at my shoulders. Am I not the workman you need?\"\n\n\"Truly, he is a mighty figure,\" vowed Odin, looking at him approvingly.\n\"How long will it take you alone to build our fortress? We can allow but\none stranger at a time within our city, for safety's sake.\"\n\n\"In three half-years,\" replied the stranger, \"I will undertake to build\nfor you a castle so strong that not even the giants, should they swarm\nhither over Midgard--not even they could enter without your leave.\"\n\n\"Aha!\" cried Father Odin, well pleased at this offer. \"And what reward\ndo you ask, friend, for help so timely?\"\n\nThe stranger hummed and hawed and pulled his long beard while he\nthought. Then he spoke suddenly, as if the idea had just come into his\nmind. \"I will name my price, friends,\" he said; \"a small price for so\ngreat a deed. I ask you to give me Freia for my wife, and those two\nsparkling jewels, the Sun and Moon.\"\n\nAt this demand the gods looked grave; for Freia was their dearest\ntreasure. She was the most beautiful maid who ever lived, the light and\nlife of heaven, and if she should leave Asgard, joy would go with her;\nwhile the Sun and Moon were the light and life of the \u00c6sir's children,\nmen, who lived in the little world below. But Loki the sly whispered\nthat they would be safe enough if they made another condition on their\npart, so hard that the builder could not fulfil it. After thinking\ncautiously, he spoke for them all.\n\n\"Mighty man,\" quoth he, \"we are willing to agree to your price--upon one\ncondition. It is too long a time that you ask; we cannot wait three\nhalf-years for our castle; that is equal to three centuries when one is\nin a hurry. See that you finish the fort without help in one winter, one\nshort winter, and you shall have fair Freia with the Sun and Moon. But\nif, on the first day of summer, one stone is wanting to the walls, or if\nanyone has given you aid in the building, then your reward is lost, and\nyou shall depart without payment.\" So spoke Loki, in the name of all the\ngods; but the plan was his own.\n\nAt first the stranger shook his head and frowned, saying that in so\nshort a time no one unaided could complete the undertaking. At last he\nmade another offer. \"Let me have but my good horse to help me, and I\nwill try,\" he urged. \"Let me bring the useful Svadilf\u00f6ri with me to the\ntask, and I will finish the work in one winter of short days, or lose my\nreward. Surely, you will not deny me this little help, from one\nfour-footed friend.\"\n\nThen again the \u00c6sir consulted, and the wiser of them were doubtful\nwhether it were best to accept the stranger's offer so strangely made.\nBut again Loki urged them to accept. \"Surely, there is no harm,\" he\nsaid. \"Even with his old horse to help him, he cannot build the castle\nin the promised time. We shall gain a fortress without trouble and with\nnever a price to pay.\"\n\nLoki was so eager that, although the other \u00c6sir did not like this crafty\nway of making bargains, they finally consented. Then in the presence of\nthe heroes, with the Valkyries and Mimer's head for witnesses, the\nstranger and the \u00c6sir gave solemn promise that the bargain should be\nkept.\n\nOn the first day of winter the strange builder began his work, and\nwondrous was the way he set about it. His strength seemed as the\nstrength of a hundred men. As for his horse Svadilf\u00f6ri, he did more work\nby half than even the mighty builder. In the night he dragged the\nenormous rocks that were to be used in building the castle, rocks as big\nas mountains of the earth; while in the daytime the stranger piled them\ninto place with his iron arms. The \u00c6sir watched him with amazement;\nnever was seen such strength in Asgard. Neither T\u0177r the stout nor\nThor the strong could match the power of the stranger. The gods began to\nlook at one another uneasily. Who was this mighty one who had come among\nthem, and what if after all he should win his reward? Freia trembled in\nher palace, and the Sun and Moon grew dim with fear.\n\nStill the work went on, and the fort was piling higher and higher, by\nday and by night. There were but three days left before the end of\nwinter, and already the building was so tall and so strong that it was\nsafe from the attacks of any giant. The \u00c6sir were delighted with their\nfine new castle; but their pride was dimmed by the fear that it must be\npaid for at all too costly a price. For only the gateway remained to be\ncompleted, and unless the stranger should fail to finish that in the\nnext three days, they must give him Freia with the Sun and Moon.\n\nThe \u00c6sir held a meeting upon Ida Plain, a meeting full of fear and\nanger. At last they realised what they had done; they had made a bargain\nwith one of the giants, their enemies; and if he won the prize, it would\nmean sorrow and darkness in heaven and upon earth. \"How did we happen to\nagree to so mad a bargain?\" they asked one another. \"Who suggested the\nwicked plan which bids fair to cost us all that we most cherish?\" Then\nthey remembered that it was Loki who had made the plan; it was he who\nhad insisted that it be carried out; and they blamed him for all the\ntrouble.\n\n\"It is your counsels, Loki, that have brought this danger upon us,\"\nquoth Father Odin, frowning. \"You chose the way of guile, which is not\nour way. It now remains for you to help us by guile, if you can. But if\nyou cannot save for us Freia and the Sun and Moon, you shall die. This\nis my word.\" All the other \u00c6sir agreed that this was just. Thor alone\nwas away hunting evil demons at the other end of the world, so he did\nnot know what was going on, and what dangers were threatening Asgard.\n\nLoki was much frightened at the word of All-Father. \"It was my fault,\"\nhe cried, \"but how was I to know that he was a giant? He had disguised\nhimself so that he seemed but a strong man. And as for his horse--it\nlooks much like that of other folk. If it were not for the horse, he\ncould not finish the work. Ha! I have a thought! The builder shall not\nfinish the gate; the giant shall not receive his payment. I will cheat\nthe fellow.\"\n\nNow it was the last night of winter, and there remained but a few stones\nto put in place on the top of the wondrous gateway. The giant was sure\nof his prize, and chuckled to himself as he went out with his horse to\ndrag the remaining stones; for he did not know that the \u00c6sir had guessed\nat last who he was, and that Loki was plotting to outwit him. Hardly had\nhe gone to work when out of the wood came running a pretty little mare,\nwho neighed to Svadilf\u00f6ri as if inviting the tired horse to leave his\nwork and come to the green fields for a holiday.\n\nSvadilf\u00f6ri, you must remember, had been working hard all winter, with\nnever a sight of four-footed creature of his kind, and he was very\nlonesome and tired of dragging stones. Giving a snort of disobedience,\noff he ran after this new friend toward the grassy meadows. Off went the\ngiant after him, howling with rage, and running for dear life, as he saw\nnot only his horse but his chance of success slipping out of reach. It\nwas a mad chase, and all Asgard thundered with the noise of galloping\nhoofs and the giant's mighty tread. The mare who raced ahead was Loki in\ndisguise, and he led Svadilf\u00f6ri far out of reach, to a hidden meadow\nthat he knew; so that the giant howled and panted up and down all night\nlong, without catching even a sight of his horse.\n\nNow when the morning came the gateway was still unfinished, and night\nand winter had ended at the same hour. The giant's time was over, and he\nhad forfeited his reward. The \u00c6sir came flocking to the gateway, and\nhow they laughed and triumphed when they found three stones wanting to\ncomplete the gate!\n\n\"You have failed, fellow,\" judged Father Odin sternly, \"and no price\nshall we pay for work that is still undone. You have failed. Leave\nAsgard quickly; we have seen all we want of you and of your race.\"\n\nThen the giant knew that he was discovered, and he was mad with rage.\n\"It was a trick!\" he bellowed, assuming his own proper form, which was\nhuge as a mountain, and towered high beside the fortress that he had\nbuilt. \"It was a wicked trick. You shall pay for this in one way or\nanother. I cannot tear down the castle which, ungrateful ones, I have\nbuilt you, stronger than the strength of any giant. But I will demolish\nthe rest of your shining city!\" Indeed, he would have done so in his\nmighty rage; but at this moment Thor, whom Heimdal had called from the\nend of the earth by one blast of the golden horn, came rushing to the\nrescue, drawn in his chariot of goats. Thor jumped to the ground close\nbeside the giant, and before that huge fellow knew what had happened,\nhis head was rolling upon the ground at Father Odin's feet; for with one\nblow Thor had put an end to the giant's wickedness and had saved Asgard.\n\n\"This is the reward you deserve!\" Thor cried. \"Not Freia nor the Sun and\nMoon, but the death that I have in store for all the enemies of the\n\u00c6sir.\"\n\nIn this extraordinary way the noble city of Asgard was made safe and\ncomplete by the addition of a fortress which no one, not even the giant\nwho built it, could injure, it was so wonder-strong. But always at the\ntop of the gate were lacking three great stones that no one was mighty\nenough to lift. This was a reminder to the \u00c6sir that now they had the\nrace of giants for their everlasting enemies. And though Loki's trick\nhad saved them Freia, and for the world the Sun and Moon, it was the\nbeginning of trouble in Asgard which lasted as long as Loki lived to\nmake mischief with his guile.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nHOW ODIN LOST HIS EYE\n\n\nIn the beginning of things, before there was any world or sun, moon, and\nstars, there were the giants; for these were the oldest creatures that\never breathed. They lived in Jotunheim, the land of frost and darkness,\nand their hearts were evil. Next came the gods, the good \u00c6sir, who made\nearth and sky and sea, and who dwelt in Asgard, above the heavens. Then\nwere created the queer little dwarfs, who lived underground in the\ncaverns of the mountains, working at their mines of metal and precious\nstones. Last of all, the gods made men to dwell in Midgard, the good\nworld that we know, between which and the glorious home of the \u00c6sir\nstretched Bifr\u00f6st, the bridge of rainbows.\n\nIn those days, folk say, there was a mighty ash tree named Yggdrasil, so\nvast that its branches shaded the whole earth and stretched up into\nheaven where the \u00c6sir dwelt, while its roots sank far down below the\nlowest depth. In the branches of the big ash tree lived a queer family\nof creatures. First, there was a great eagle, who was wiser than any\nbird that ever lived--except the two ravens, Thought and Memory, who sat\nupon Father Odin's shoulders and told him the secrets which they learned\nin their flight over the wide world. Near the great eagle perched a\nhawk, and four antlered deer browsed among the buds of Yggdrasil. At\nthe foot of the tree coiled a huge serpent, who was always gnawing\nhungrily at its roots, with a whole colony of little snakes to keep him\ncompany--so many that they could never be counted. The eagle at the top\nof the tree and the serpent at its foot were enemies, always saying hard\nthings of each other. Between the two skipped up and down a little\nsquirrel, a tale bearer and a gossip, who repeated each unkind remark\nand, like the malicious neighbour that he was, kept their quarrel ever\nfresh and green.\n\nIn one place at the roots of Yggdrasil was a fair fountain called the\nUrdar-well, where the three Norn maidens, who knew the past, present,\nand future, dwelt with their pets, the two white swans. This was magic\nwater in the fountain, which the Norns sprinkled every day upon the\ngiant tree to keep it green--water so sacred that everything which\nentered it became white as the film of an eggshell. Close beside this\nsacred well the \u00c6sir had their council hall, to which they galloped\nevery morning over the rainbow bridge.\n\nBut Father Odin, the king of all the \u00c6sir, knew of another fountain more\nwonderful still; the two ravens whom he sent forth to bring him news had\ntold him. This also was below the roots of Yggdrasil, in the spot where\nthe sky and ocean met. Here for centuries and centuries the giant Mimer\nhad sat keeping guard over his hidden well, in the bottom of which lay\nsuch a treasure of wisdom as was to be found nowhere else in the world.\nEvery morning Mimer dipped his glittering horn Gi\u00f6ll into the fountain\nand drew out a draught of the wondrous water, which he drank to make him\nwise. Every day he grew wiser and wiser; and as this had been going on\never since the beginning of things, you can scarcely imagine how wise\nMimer was.\n\nNow it did not seem right to Father Odin that a giant should have all\nthis wisdom to himself; for the giants were the enemies of the \u00c6sir, and\nthe wisdom which they had been hoarding for ages before the gods were\nmade was generally used for evil purposes. Moreover, Odin longed and\nlonged to become the wisest being in the world. So he resolved to win a\ndraught from Mimer's well, if in any way that could be done.\n\nOne night, when the sun had set behind the mountains of Midgard, Odin\nput on his broad-brimmed hat and his striped cloak, and taking his\nfamous staff in his hand, trudged down the long bridge to where it ended\nby Mimer's secret grotto.\n\n\"Good-day, Mimer,\" said Odin, entering; \"I have come for a drink from\nyour well.\"\n\nThe giant was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chin, his long\nwhite beard falling over his folded arms, and his head nodding; for\nMimer was very old, and he often fell asleep while watching over his\nprecious spring. He woke with a frown at Odin's words. \"You want a drink\nfrom my well, do you?\" he growled. \"Hey! I let no one drink from my\nwell.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, you must let me have a draught from your glittering\nhorn,\" insisted Odin, \"and I will pay you for it.\"\n\n\"Oho, you will pay me for it, will you?\" echoed Mimer, eyeing his\nvisitor keenly. For now that he was wide awake, his wisdom taught him\nthat this was no ordinary stranger. \"What will you pay for a drink from\nmy well, and why do you wish it so much?\"\n\n\"I can see with my eyes all that goes on in heaven and upon earth,\"\nsaid Odin, \"but I cannot see into the depths of ocean. I lack the hidden\nwisdom of the deep--the wit that lies at the bottom of your fountain. My\nravens tell me many secrets; but I would know all. And as for payment,\nask what you will, and I will pledge anything in return for the draught\nof wisdom.\"\n\nThen Mimer's keen glance grew keener. \"You are Odin, of the race of\ngods,\" he cried. \"We giants are centuries older than you, and our wisdom\nwhich we have treasured during these ages, when we were the only\ncreatures in all space, is a precious thing. If I grant you a draught\nfrom my well, you will become as one of us, a wise and dangerous enemy.\nIt is a goodly price, Odin, which I shall demand for a boon so great.\"\n\nNow Odin was growing impatient for the sparkling water. \"Ask your\nprice,\" he frowned. \"I have promised that I will pay.\"\n\n\"What say you, then, to leaving one of those far-seeing eyes of yours at\nthe bottom of my well?\" asked Mimer, hoping that he would refuse the\nbargain. \"This is the only payment I will take.\"\n\nOdin hesitated. It was indeed a heavy price, and one that he could ill\nafford, for he was proud of his noble beauty. But he glanced at the\nmagic fountain bubbling mysteriously in the shadow, and he knew that he\nmust have the draught.\n\n\"Give me the glittering horn,\" he answered. \"I pledge you my eye for a\ndraught to the brim.\"\n\nVery unwillingly Mimer filled the horn from the fountain of wisdom and\nhanded it to Odin. \"Drink, then,\" he said; \"drink and grow wise. This\nhour is the beginning of trouble between your race and mine.\" And wise\nMimer foretold the truth.\n\nOdin thought merely of the wisdom which was to be his. He seized the\nhorn eagerly, and emptied it without delay. From that moment he became\nwiser than anyone else in the world except Mimer himself.\n\nNow he had the price to pay, which was not so pleasant. When he went\naway from the grotto, he left at the bottom of the dark pool one of his\nfiery eyes, which twinkled and winked up through the magic depths like\nthe reflection of a star. This is how Odin lost his eye, and why from\nthat day he was careful to pull his gray hat low over his face when he\nwanted to pass unnoticed. For by this oddity folk could easily recognise\nthe wise lord of Asgard.\n\nIn the bright morning, when the sun rose over the mountains of Midgard,\nold Mimer drank from his bubbly well a draught of the wise water that\nflowed over Odin's pledge. Doing so, from his underground grotto he saw\nall that befell in heaven and on earth. So that he also was wiser by the\nbargain. Mimer seemed to have secured rather the best of it; for he lost\nnothing that he could not spare, while Odin lost what no man can well\npart with--one of the good windows wherethrough his heart looks out upon\nthe world. But there was a sequel to these doings which made the balance\nswing down in Odin's favour.\n\nNot long after this, the \u00c6sir quarrelled with the Vanir, wild enemies of\ntheirs, and there was a terrible battle. But in the end the two sides\nmade peace; and to prove that they meant never to quarrel again, they\nexchanged hostages. The Vanir gave to the \u00c6sir old Ni\u00f6rd the rich, the\nlord of the sea and the ocean wind, with his two children, Frey and\nFreia. This was indeed a gracious gift; for Freia was the most beautiful\nmaid in the world, and her twin brother was almost as fair. To the\nVanir in return Father Odin gave his own brother H\u0153nir. And with\nH\u0153nir he sent Mimer the wise, whom he took from his lonely well.\n\nNow the Vanir made H\u0153nir their chief, thinking that he must be very\nwise because he was the brother of great Odin, who had lately become\nfamous for his wisdom. They did not know the secret of Mimer's well, how\nthe hoary old giant was far more wise than anyone who had not quaffed of\nthe magic water. It is true that in the assemblies of the Vanir H\u0153nir\ngave excellent counsel. But this was because Mimer whispered in\nH\u0153nir's ear all the wisdom that he uttered. Witless H\u0153nir was\nquite helpless without his aid, and did not know what to do or say.\nWhenever Mimer was absent he would look nervous and frightened, and if\nfolk questioned him he always answered:\n\n\"Yes, ah yes! Now go and consult someone else.\"\n\nOf course the Vanir soon grew very angry at such silly answers from\ntheir chief, and presently they began to suspect the truth. \"Odin has\ndeceived us,\" they said. \"He has sent us his foolish brother with a\nwitch to tell him what to say. Ha! We will show him that we understand\nthe trick.\" So they cut off poor old Mimer's head and sent it to Odin as\na present.\n\nThe tales do not say what Odin thought of the gift. Perhaps he was glad\nthat now there was no one in the whole world who could be called so wise\nas himself. Perhaps he was sorry for the danger into which he had thrust\na poor old giant who had never done him any wrong, except to be a giant\nof the race which the \u00c6sir hated. Perhaps he was a little ashamed of the\ntrick which he had played the Vanir. Odin's new wisdom showed him how\nto prepare Mimer's head with herbs and charms, so that it stood up by\nitself quite naturally and seemed not dead. Thenceforth Odin kept it\nnear him, and learned from it many useful secrets which it had not\nforgotten.\n\nSo in the end Odin fared better than the unhappy Mimer, whose worst\nfault was that he knew more than most folk. That is a dangerous fault,\nas others have found; though it is not one for which many of us need\nfear being punished.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE QUEST OF THE HAMMER\n\n\nOne morning Thor the Thunderer awoke with a yawn, and stretching out his\nknotted arm, felt for his precious hammer, which he kept always under\nhis pillow of clouds. But he started up with a roar of rage, so that all\nthe palace trembled. The hammer was gone!\n\nNow this was a very serious matter, for Thor was the protector of\nAsgard, and Mi\u00f6lnir, the magic hammer which the dwarf had made, was his\nmighty weapon, of which the enemies of the \u00c6sir stood so much in dread\nthat they dared not venture near. But if they should learn that Mi\u00f6lnir\nwas gone, who could tell what danger might not threaten the palaces of\nheaven?\n\nThor darted his flashing eye into every corner of Cloud Land in search\nof the hammer. He called his fair wife, Sif of the golden hair, to aid\nin the search, and his two lovely daughters, Thrude and Lora. They\nhunted and they hunted; they turned Thrudheim upside down, and set the\nclouds to rolling wonderfully, as they peeped and pried behind and\naround and under each billowy mass. But Mi\u00f6lnir was not to be found.\nCertainly, someone had stolen it.\n\nThor's yellow beard quivered with rage, and his hair bristled on end\nlike the golden rays of a star, while all his household trembled.\n\n\"It is Loki again!\" he cried. \"I am sure Loki is at the bottom of this\nmischief!\" For since the time when Thor had captured Loki for the dwarf\nBrock and had given him over to have his bragging lips sewed up, Loki\nhad looked at him with evil eyes; and Thor knew that the red rascal\nhated him most of all the gods.\n\nBut this time Thor was mistaken. It was not Loki who had stolen the\nhammer--he was too great a coward for that. And though he meant, before\nthe end, to be revenged upon Thor, he was waiting until a safe chance\nshould come, when Thor himself might stumble into danger, and Loki need\nonly to help the evil by a malicious word or two; and this chance came\nlater, as you shall hear in another tale.\n\nMeanwhile Loki was on his best behaviour, trying to appear very kind and\nobliging; so when Thor came rumbling and roaring up to him, demanding,\n\"What have you done with my hammer, you thief?\" Loki looked surprised,\nbut did not lose his temper nor answer rudely.\n\n\"Have you indeed missed your hammer, brother Thor?\" he said, mumbling,\nfor his mouth was still sore where Brock had sewed the stitches. \"That\nis a pity; for if the giants hear of this, they will be coming to try\ntheir might against Asgard.\"\n\n\"Hush!\" muttered Thor, grasping him by the shoulder with his iron\nfingers. \"That is what I fear. But look you, Loki: I suspect your hand\nin the mischief. Come, confess.\"\n\nThen Loki protested that he had nothing to do with so wicked a deed.\n\"But,\" he added wheedlingly, \"I think I can guess the thief; and because\nI love you, Thor, I will help you to find him.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" growled Thor. \"Much love you bear to me! However, you are a\nwise rascal, the nimblest wit of all the \u00c6sir, and it is better to have\nyou on my side than on the other, when giants are in the game. Tell me,\nthen: who has robbed the Thunder Lord of his bolt of power?\"\n\nLoki drew near and whispered in Thor's ear. \"Look, how the storms rage\nand the winds howl in the world below! Someone is wielding your thunder\nhammer all unskilfully. Can you not guess the thief? Who but Thrym, the\nmighty giant who has ever been your enemy and your imitator, and whose\nfingers have long itched to grasp the short handle of mighty Mi\u00f6lnir,\nthat the world may name him Thunder Lord instead of you. But look! What\na tempest! The world will be shattered into fragments unless we soon get\nthe hammer back.\"\n\nThen Thor roared with rage. \"I will seek this impudent Thrym!\" he cried.\n\"I will crush him into bits, and teach him to meddle with the weapon of\nthe \u00c6sir!\"\n\n\"Softly, softly,\" said Loki, smiling maliciously. \"He is a shrewd giant,\nand a mighty. Even you, great Thor, cannot go to him and pluck the\nhammer from his hand as one would slip the rattle from a baby's pink\nfist. Nay, you must use craft, Thor; and it is I who will teach you, if\nyou will be patient.\"\n\nThor was a brave, blunt fellow, and he hated the ways of Loki, his lies\nand his deceit. He liked best the way of warriors--the thundering\ncharge, the flash of weapons, and the heavy blow; but without the hammer\nhe could not fight the giants hand to hand. Loki's advice seemed wise,\nand he decided to leave the matter to the Red One.\n\nLoki was now all eagerness, for he loved difficulties which would set\nhis wit in play and bring other folk into danger. \"Look, now,\" he said.\n\"We must go to Freia and borrow her falcon dress. But you must ask; for\nshe loves me so little that she would scarce listen to me.\"\n\nSo first they made their way to Folkvang, the house of maidens, where\nFreia dwelt, the loveliest of all in Asgard. She was fairer than fair,\nand sweeter than sweet, and the tears from her flower eyes made the dew\nwhich blessed the earth flowers night and morning. Of her Thor borrowed\nthe magic dress of feathers in which Freia was wont to clothe herself\nand flit like a great beautiful bird all about the world. She was\nwilling enough to lend it to Thor when he told her that by its aid he\nhoped to win back the hammer which he had lost; for she well knew the\ndanger threatening herself and all the \u00c6sir until Mi\u00f6lnir should be\nfound.\n\n\"Now will I fetch the hammer for you,\" said Loki. So he put on the\nfalcon plumage, and, spreading his brown wings, flapped away up, up,\nover the world, down, down, across the great ocean which lies beyond all\nthings that men know. And he came to the dark country where there was no\nsunshine nor spring, but it was always dreary winter; where mountains\nwere piled up like blocks of ice, and where great caverns yawned\nhungrily in blackness. And this was Jotunheim, the land of the Frost\nGiants.\n\nAnd lo! when Loki came thereto he found Thrym the Giant King sitting\noutside his palace cave, playing with his dogs and horses. The dogs were\nas big as elephants, and the horses were as big as houses, but Thrym\nhimself was as huge as a mountain; and Loki trembled, but he tried to\nseem brave.\n\n\"Good-day, Loki,\" said Thrym, with the terrible voice of which he was so\nproud, for he fancied it was as loud as Thor's. \"How fares it,\nfeathered one, with your little brothers, the \u00c6sir, in Asgard halls? And\nhow dare you venture alone in this guise to Giant Land?\"\n\n\"It is an ill day in Asgard,\" sighed Loki, keeping his eye warily upon\nthe giant, \"and a stormy one in the world of men, I heard the winds\nhowling and the storms rushing on the earth as I passed by. Some mighty\none has stolen the hammer of our Thor. Is it you, Thrym, greatest of all\ngiants--greater than Thor himself?\"\n\nThis the crafty one said to flatter Thrym, for Loki well knew the\nweakness of those who love to be thought greater than they are.\n\nThen Thrym bridled and swelled with pride, and tried to put on the\nmajesty and awe of noble Thor; but he only succeeded in becoming an\nugly, puffy monster.\n\n\"Well, yes,\" he admitted. \"I have the hammer that belonged to your\nlittle Thor; and now how much of & lord is he?\"\n\n\"Alack!\" sighed Loki again, \"weak enough he is without his magic weapon.\nBut you, O Thrym--surely your mightiness needs no such aid. Give me the\nhammer, that Asgard may no longer be shaken by Thor's grief for his\nprecious toy.\"\n\nBut Thrym was not so easily to be flattered into parting with his stolen\ntreasure. He grinned a dreadful grin, several yards in width, which his\nteeth barred like jagged boulders across the entrance to a mountain\ncavern,\n\n\"Mi\u00f6lnir the hammer is mine,\" he said, \"and I am Thunder Lord, mightiest\nof the mighty. I have hidden it where Thor can never find it, twelve\nleagues below the sea caves, where Queen Ran lives with her daughters,\nthe white-capped Waves. But listen, Loki. Go tell the \u00c6sir that I will\ngive back Thor's hammer. I will give it back upon one condition--that\nthey send Freia the beautiful to be my wife.\"\n\n\"Freia the beautiful!\" Loki had to stifle a laugh. Fancy the \u00c6sir giving\ntheir fairest flower to such an ugly fellow as this! But he only said\npolitely, \"Ah, yes; you demand our Freia in exchange for the little\nhammer? It is a costly price, great Thrym. But I will be your friend in\nAsgard. If I have my way, you shall soon see the fairest bride in all\nthe world knocking at your door. Farewell!\"\n\nSo Loki whizzed back to Asgard on his falcon wings; and as he went he\nchuckled to think of the evils which were likely to happen because of\nhis words with Thrym. First he gave the message to Thor--not sparing of\nThrym's insolence, to make Thor angry; and then he went to Freia with\nthe word for her--not sparing of Thrym's ugliness, to make her shudder.\nThe spiteful fellow!\n\nNow you can imagine the horror that was in Asgard as the \u00c6sir listened\nto Loki's words. \"My hammer!\" roared Thor. \"The villain confesses that\nhe has stolen my hammer, and boasts that he is Thunder Lord! Gr-r-r!\"\n\n\"The ugly giant!\" wailed Freia. \"Must I be the bride of that hideous old\nmonster, and live in his gloomy mountain prison all my life?\"\n\n\"Yes; put on your bridal veil, sweet Freia,\" said Loki maliciously, \"and\ncome with me to Jotunheim. Hang your famous starry necklace about your\nneck, and don your bravest robe; for in eight days there will be a\nwedding, and Thor's hammer is to pay.\"\n\nThen Freia fell to weeping. \"I cannot go! I will not go!\" she cried. \"I\nwill not leave the home of gladness and Father Odin's table to dwell in\nthe land of horrors! Thor's hammer is mighty, but mightier the love of\nthe kind \u00c6sir for their little Freia! Good Odin, dear brother Frey,\nspeak for me! You will not make me go?\"\n\nThe Asir looked at her and thought how lonely and bare would Asgard be\nwithout her loveliness; for she was fairer than fair, and sweeter than\nsweet.\n\n\"She shall not go!\" shouted Frey, putting his arms about his sister's\nneck.\n\n\"No, she shall not go!\" cried all the Asir with one voice.\n\n\"But my hammer,\" insisted Thor. \"I must have Mi\u00f6lnir back again.\"\n\n\"And my word to Thrym,\" said Loki, \"that must be made good.\"\n\n\"You are too generous with your words,\" said Odin sternly, for he knew\nhis brother well. \"Your word is not a gem of great price, for you have\nmade it cheap.\"\n\nThen spoke Heimdal, the sleepless watchman who sits on guard at the\nentrance to the rainbow bridge which leads to Asgard; and Heimdal was\nthe wisest of the \u00c6sir, for he could see into the future, and knew how\nthings would come to pass. Through his golden teeth he spoke, for his\nteeth were all of gold.\n\n\"I have a plan,\" he said. \"Let us dress Thor himself like a bride in\nFreia's robes, and send him to Jotunheim to talk with Thrym and to win\nback his hammer.\"\n\nBut at this word Thor grew very angry. \"What! dress me like a girl!\" he\nroared. \"I should never hear the last of it! The Asir will mock me, and\ncall me 'maiden'! The giants, and even the puny dwarfs, will have a\nlasting jest upon me! I will not go! I will fight! I will die, if need\nbe! But dressed as a woman I will not go!\"\n\nBut Loki answered him with sharp words, for this was a scheme after his\nown heart. \"What, Thor!\" he said. \"Would you lose your hammer and keep\nAsgard in danger for so small a whim. Look, now: if you go not, Thrym\nwith his giants will come in a mighty army and drive us from Asgard;\nthen he will indeed make Freia his bride, and, moreover, he will have\nyou for his slave under the power of his hammer. How like you this\npicture, brother of the thunder? Nay, Heimdal's plan is a good one, and\nI myself will help to carry it out.\"\n\nStill Thor hesitated; but Freia came and laid her white hand on his arm,\nand looked up into his scowling face pleadingly.\n\n\"To save me, Thor,\" she begged. And Thor said he would go.\n\nThen there was great sport among the \u00c6sir, while they dressed Thor like\na beautiful maiden. Brunhilde and her sisters, the nine Valkyrie,\ndaughters of Odin, had the task in hand. How they laughed as they\nbrushed and curled his yellow hair, and set upon it the wondrous\nheaddress of silk and pearls! They let out seams, and they let down\nhems, and set on extra pieces, to make it larger, and so they hid his\ngreat limbs and knotted arms under Freia's fairest robe of scarlet; but\nbeneath it all he would wear his shirt of mail and his belt of power\nthat gave him double strength. Freia herself twisted about his neck her\nfamous necklace of starry jewels, and Queen Frigg, his mother, hung at\nhis girdle a jingling bunch of keys, such as was the custom for the\nbride to wear at Norse weddings. Last of all, that Thrym might not see\nThor's fierce eyes and the yellow beard, that ill became a maiden, they\nthrew over him a long veil of silver white which covered him to the\nfeet. And there he stood, as stately and tall a bride as even a giant\nmight wish to see; but on his hands he wore his iron gloves, and they\nached for but one thing--to grasp the handle of the stolen hammer.\n\n\"Ah, what a lovely maid it is!\" chuckled Loki; \"and how glad will Thrym\nbe to see this Freia come! Bride Thor, I will go with you as your\nhandmaiden, for I would fain see the fun.\"\n\n\"Come, then,\" said Thor sulkily, for he was ill pleased, and wore his\nmaiden robes with no good grace. \"It is fitting that you go; for I like\nnot these lies and masking and I may spoil the mummery without you at my\nelbow.\"\n\nThere was loud laughter above the clouds when Thor, all veiled and\ndainty seeming, drove away from Asgard to his wedding, with maid Loki by\nhis side. Thor cracked his whip and chirruped fiercely to his twin goats\nwith golden hoofs, for he wanted to escape the sounds of mirth that\nechoed from the rainbow bridge, where all the \u00c6sir stood watching. Loki,\nsitting with his hands meekly folded like a girl, chuckled as he glanced\nup at Thor's angry face; but he said nothing, for he knew it was not\ngood to joke too far with Thor, even when Mil\u00f6nir was hidden twelve\nleagues below the sea in Ran's kingdom.\n\nSo off they dashed to Jotunheim, where Thrym was waiting and longing for\nhis beautiful bride. Thor's goats thundered along above the sea and land\nand people far below, who looked up wondering as the noise rolled\noverhead. \"Hear how the thunder rumbles!\" they said. \"Thor is on a long\njourney to-night.\" And a long journey it was, as the tired goats found\nbefore they reached the end.\n\nThrym heard the sound of their approach, for his ear was eager. \"Hola!\"\nhe cried. \"Someone is coming from Asgard--only one of Odin's children\ncould make a din so fearful. Hasten, men, and see if they are bringing\nFreia to be my wife.\"\n\nThen the lookout giant stepped down from the top of his mountain, and\nsaid that a chariot was bringing two maidens to the door.\n\n\"Run, giants, run!\" shouted Thrym, in a fever at this news. \"My bride is\ncoming! Put silken cushions on the benches for a great banquet, and make\nthe house beautiful for the fairest maid in all space! Bring in all my\ngolden-horned cows and my coal-black oxen, that she may see how rich I\nam, and heap all my gold and jewels about to dazzle her sweet eyes! She\nshall find me richest of the rich; and when I have her--fairest of the\nfair--there will be no treasure that I lack--not one!\"\n\nThe chariot stopped at the gate, and out stepped the tall bride, hidden\nfrom head to foot, and her handmaiden muffled to the chin. \"How afraid\nof catching cold they must be!\" whispered the giant ladies, who were\npeering over one another's shoulders to catch a glimpse of the bride,\njust as the crowd outside the awning does at a wedding nowadays.\n\nThrym had sent six splendid servants to escort the maidens: these were\nthe Metal Kings, who served him as lord of them all. There was the Gold\nKing, all in cloth of gold, with fringes of yellow bullion, most\nglittering to see; and there was the Silver King, almost as gorgeous in\na suit of spangled white; and side by side bowed the dark Kings of Iron\nand Lead, the one mighty in black, the other sullen in blue; and after\nthem were the Copper King, gleaming ruddy and brave, and the Tin King,\nstrutting in his trimmings of gaudy tinsel which looked nearly as well\nas silver, but were more economical. And this fine troop of lackey kings\nmost politely led Thor and Loki into the palace, and gave them of the\nbest, for they never suspected who these seeming maidens really were.\n\nAnd when evening came there was a wonderful banquet to celebrate the\nwedding. On a golden throne sat Thrym, uglier than ever in his finery of\npurple and gold. Beside him was the bride, of whose face no one had yet\ncaught even a glimpse; and at Thrym's other hand stood Loki, the waiting\nmaid, for he wanted to be near to mend the mistakes which Thor might\nmake.\n\nNow the dishes at the feast were served in a huge way, as befitted the\ntable of giants: great beeves roasted whole, on platters as wide across\nas a ship's deck; plum puddings as fat as feather beds, with plums as\nbig as footballs; and a wedding cake like a snow-capped hay mow. The\ngiants ate enormously. But to Thor, because they thought him a dainty\nmaiden, they served small bits of everything on a tiny gold dish. Now\nThor's long journey had made him very hungry, and through his veil he\nwhispered to Loki, \"I shall starve, Loki! I cannot fare on these\nnibbles. I must eat a goodly meal as I do at home.\" And forthwith he\nhelped himself to such morsels as might satisfy his hunger for a little\ntime. You should have seen the giants stare at the meal which the dainty\nbride devoured!\n\nFor first under the silver veil disappeared by pieces a whole roast ox.\nThen Thor made eight mouthfuls of eight pink salmon, a dish of which he\nwas very fond. And next he looked about and reached for a platter of\ncakes and sweetmeats that was set aside at one end of the table for the\nlady guests, and the bride ate them all. You can fancy how the damsels\ndrew down their mouths and looked at one another when they saw their\ndessert disappear; and they whispered about the table, \"Alack! if our\nfuture mistress is to sup like this day by day, there will be poor cheer\nfor the rest of us!\" And to crown it all, Thor was thirsty, as well he\nmight be; and one after another he raised to his lips and emptied three\ngreat barrels of mead, the foamy drink of the giants. Then indeed Thrym\nwas amazed, for Thor's giant appetite had beaten that of the giants\nthemselves.\n\n\"Never before saw I a bride so hungry,\" he cried. \"And never before one\nhalf so thirsty!\"\n\nBut Loki, the waiting maid, whispered to him softly, \"The truth is,\ngreat Thrym, that my dear mistress was almost starved. For eight days\nFreia has eaten nothing at all, so eager was she for Jotunheim.\"\n\nThen Thrym was delighted, you may be sure. He forgave his hungry bride,\nand loved her with all his heart. He leaned forward to give her a kiss,\nraising a corner of her veil; but his hand dropped suddenly, and he\nstarted up in terror, for he had caught the angry flash of Thor's eye,\nwhich was glaring at him through the bridal veil. Thor was longing for\nhis hammer.\n\n\"Why has Freia so sharp a look?\" Thrym cried. \"It pierces like lightning\nand burns like fire.\"\n\nBut again the sly waiting maid whispered timidly, \"Oh, Thrym, be not\namazed! The truth is, my poor mistress's eyes are red with wakefulness\nand bright with longing. For eight nights Freia has not known a wink of\nsleep, so eager was she for Jotunheim.\"\n\nThen again Thrym was doubly delighted, and he longed to call her his\nvery own dear wife. \"Bring in the wedding gift!\" he cried. \"Bring in\nThor's hammer, Mi\u00f6lnir, and give it to Freia, as I promised; for when I\nhave kept my word she will be mine--all mine!\"\n\nThen Thor's big heart laughed under his woman's dress, and his fierce\neyes swept eagerly down the hall to meet the servant who was bringing in\nthe hammer on a velvet cushion. Thor's fingers could hardly wait to\nclutch the stubby handle which they knew so well; but he sat quite still\non the throne beside ugly old Thrym, with his hands meekly folded and\nhis head bowed like a bashful bride.\n\nThe giant servant drew nearer, nearer, puffing and blowing, strong\nthough he was, beneath the mighty weight. He was about to lay it at\nThor's feet (for he thought it so heavy that no maiden could lift it or\nhold it in her lap), when suddenly Thor's heart swelled, and he gave a\nmost unmaidenly shout of rage and triumph. With one swoop he grasped the\nhammer in his iron fingers; with the other arm he tore off the veil that\nhid his terrible face, and trampled it under foot; then he turned to the\nfrightened king, who cowered beside him on the throne.\n\n\"Thief!\" he cried. \"Freia sends you _this_ as a wedding gift!\" And he\nwhirled the hammer about his head, then hurled it once, twice, thrice,\nas it rebounded to his hand; and in the first stroke, as of lightning,\nThrym rolled dead from his throne; in the second stroke perished the\nwhole giant household--these ugly enemies of the \u00c6sir; and in the third\nstroke the palace itself tumbled together and fell to the ground like a\ntoppling playhouse of blocks.\n\nBut Loki and Thor stood safely among the ruins, dressed in their\ntattered maiden robes, a quaint and curious sight; and Loki, full of\nmischief now as ever, burst out laughing.\n\n\"Oh, Thor! if you could see--\" he began; but Thor held up his hammer and\nshook it gently as he said:\n\n\"Look now, Loki: it was an excellent joke, and so far you have done\nwell--after your crafty fashion, which likes me not. But now I have my\nhammer again, and the joke is done. From you, nor from another, I brook\nno laughter at my expense. Henceforth we will have no mention of this\nmasquerade, nor of these rags which now I throw away. Do you hear, red\nlaughter?\"\n\nAnd Loki heard, with a look of hate, and stifled his laughter as best he\ncould; for it is not good to laugh at him who holds the hammer.\n\nNot once after that was there mention in Asgard of the time when Thor\ndressed him as a girl and won his bridal gift from Thrym the giant.\n\nBut Mi\u00f6lnir was safe once more in Asgard, and you and I know how it came\nthere; so someone must have told. I wonder if red Loki whispered the\ntale to some outsider, after all? Perhaps it may be so, for now he knew\nhow best to make Thor angry; and from that day when Thor forbade his\nlaughing, Loki hated him with the mean little hatred of a mean little\nsoul.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nTHE APPLES OF IDUN\n\n\nOnce upon a time Odin, Loki, and H\u0153ner started on a journey. They had\noften travelled together before on all sorts of errands, for they had a\ngreat many things to look after, and more than once they had fallen into\ntrouble through the prying, meddlesome, malicious spirit of Loke, who\nwas never so happy as when he was doing wrong. When the gods went on a\njourney they travelled fast and hard, for they were strong, active\nspirits who loved nothing so much as hard work, hard blows, storm,\nperil, and struggle. There were no roads through the country over which\nthey made their way, only high mountains to be climbed by rocky paths,\ndeep valleys into which the sun hardly looked during half the year, and\nswift-rushing streams, cold as ice, and treacherous to the surest foot\nand the strongest arm. Not a bird flew through the air, not an animal\nsprang through the trees. It was as still as a desert. The gods walked\non and on, getting more tired and hungry at every step. The sun was\nsinking low over the steep, pine-crested mountains, and the travellers\nhad neither breakfasted nor dined. Even Odin was beginning to feel the\npangs of hunger, like the most ordinary mortal, when suddenly, entering\na little valley, the famished gods came upon a herd of cattle. It was\nthe work of a minute to kill a great ox and to have the carcass\nswinging in a huge pot over a roaring fire.\n\nBut never were gods so unlucky before! In spite of their hunger, the pot\nwould not boil. They piled on the wood until the great flames crackled\nand licked the pot with their fiery tongues, but every time the cover\nwas lifted there was the meat just as raw as when it was put in. It is\neasy to imagine that the travellers were not in very good humour. As\nthey were talking about it, and wondering how it could be, a voice\ncalled out from the branches of the oak overhead, \"If you will give me\nmy fill, I'll make the pot boil.\"\n\nThe gods looked first at each other and then into the tree, and there\nthey discovered a great eagle. They were glad enough to get their supper\non almost any terms, so they told the eagle he might have what he wanted\nif he would only get the meat cooked. The bird was as good as his word,\nand in less time than it takes to tell it supper was ready. Then the\neagle flew down and picked out both shoulders and both legs. This was a\npretty large share, it must be confessed, and Loki, who was always angry\nwhen anybody got more than he, no sooner saw what the eagle had taken,\nthan he seized a great pole and began to beat the rapacious bird\nunmercifully. Whereupon a very singular thing happened, as singular\nthings always used to happen when the gods were concerned: the pole\nstuck fast in the huge talons of the eagle at one end, and Loki stuck\nfast at the other end. Struggle as he might, he could not get loose, and\nas the great bird sailed away over the tops of the trees, Loki went\npounding along on the ground, striking against rocks and branches until\nhe was bruised half to death.\n\nThe eagle was not an ordinary bird by any means, as Loki soon found\nwhen he begged for mercy. The giant Thjasse happened to be flying abroad\nin his eagle plumage when the hungry travellers came under the oak and\ntried to cook the ox. It was into his hands that Loki had fallen, and he\nwas not to get away until he had promised to pay roundly for his\nfreedom.\n\nIf there was one thing which the gods prized above their other treasures\nin Asgard, it was the beautiful fruit of Idun, kept by the goddess in a\ngolden casket and given to the gods to keep them forever young and fair.\nWithout these Apples all their power could not have kept them from\ngetting old like the meanest of mortals. Without these Apples of Idun,\nAsgard itself would have lost its charm; for what would heaven be\nwithout youth and beauty forever shining through it?\n\nThjasse told Loki that he could not go unless he would promise to bring\nhim the Apples of Idun. Loki was wicked enough for anything; but when it\ncame to robbing the gods of their immortality, even he hesitated. And\nwhile he hesitated the eagle dashed hither and thither, flinging him\nagainst the sides of the mountains and dragging him through the great\ntough boughs of the oaks until his courage gave out entirely, and he\npromised to steal the Apples out of Asgard and give them to the giant.\n\nLoki was bruised and sore enough when he got on his feet again to hate\nthe giant who handled him so roughly, with all his heart, but he was not\nunwilling to keep his promise to steal the Apples, if only for the sake\nof tormenting the other gods. But how was it to be done? Idun guarded\nthe golden fruit of immortality with sleepless watchfulness. No one ever\ntouched it but herself, and a beautiful sight it was to see her fair\nhands spread it forth for the morning feasts in Asgard. The power which\nLoki possessed lay not so much in his own strength, although he had a\nsmooth way of deceiving people, as in the goodness of others who had no\nthought of his doing wrong because they never did wrong themselves.\n\nNot long after all this happened, Loki came carelessly up to Idun as she\nwas gathering her Apples to put them away in the beautiful carven box\nwhich held them.\n\n\"Good-morning, goddess,\" said he. \"How fair and golden your Apples are!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Idun; \"the bloom of youth keeps them always beautiful.\"\n\n\"I never saw anything like them,\" continued Loki slowly, as if he were\ntalking about a matter of no importance, \"until the other day.\"\n\nIdun looked up at once with the greatest interest and curiosity in her\nface. She was very proud of her Apples, and she knew no earthly trees,\nhowever large and fair, bore the immortal fruit.\n\n\"Where have you seen any Apples like them?\" she asked.\n\n\"Oh, just outside the gates,\" said Loki indifferently. \"If you care to\nsee them I'll take you there. It will keep you but a moment. The tree is\nonly a little way off.\"\n\nIdun was anxious to go at once.\n\n\"Better take your Apples with you, to compare them with the others,\"\nsaid the wily god, as she prepared to go.\n\nIdun gathered up the golden Apples and went out of Asgard, carrying with\nher all that made it heaven. No sooner was she beyond the gates than a\nmighty rushing sound was heard, like the coming of a tempest, and before\nshe could think or act, the giant Thjasse, in his eagle plumage, was\nbearing her swiftly away through the air to his desolate, icy home in\nThrymheim, where, after vainly trying to persuade her to let him eat the\nApples and be forever young like the gods, he kept her a lonely\nprisoner.\n\nLoki, after keeping his promise and delivering Idun into the hands of\nthe giant, strayed back into Asgard as if nothing had happened. The next\nmorning, when the gods assembled for their feast, there was no Idun. Day\nafter day went past, and still the beautiful goddess did not come.\nLittle by little the light of youth and beauty faded from the home of\nthe gods, and they themselves became old and haggard. Their strong,\nyoung faces were lined with care and furrowed by age, their raven locks\npassed from gray to white, and their flashing eyes became dim and\nhollow. Brage, the god of poetry, could make no music while his\nbeautiful wife was gone he knew not whither.\n\nMorning after morning the faded light broke on paler and ever paler\nfaces, until even in heaven the eternal light of youth seemed to be\ngoing out forever.\n\nFinally the gods could bear the loss of power and joy no longer. They\nmade rigorous inquiry. They tracked Loki on that fair morning when he\nled Idun beyond the gates; they seized him and brought him into solemn\ncouncil, and when he read in their haggard faces the deadly hate which\nflamed in all their hearts against his treachery, his courage failed,\nand he promised to bring Idun back to Asgard if the goddess Freyja would\nlend him her falcon guise. No sooner said than done; and with eager gaze\nthe gods watched him as he flew away, becoming at last only a dark\nmoving speck against the sky.\n\nAfter long and weary flight Loki came to Thrymheim, and was glad enough\nto find Thjasse gone to sea and Idun alone in his dreary house. He\nchanged her instantly into a nut, and taking her thus disguised in his\ntalons, flew away as fast as his falcon wings could carry him. And he\nhad need of all his speed, for Thjasse, coming suddenly home and finding\nIdun and her precious fruit gone, guessed what had happened, and,\nputting on his eagle plumage, flew forth in a mighty rage, with\nvengeance in his heart. Like the rushing wings of a tempest, his mighty\npinions beat the air and bore him swiftly onward. From mountain peak to\nmountain peak he measured his wide course, almost grazing at times the\nmurmuring pine forests, and then sweeping high in mid-air with nothing\nabove but the arching sky, and nothing beneath but the tossing sea.\n\nAt last he sees the falcon far ahead, and now his flight becomes like\nthe flash of the lightning for swiftness, and like the rushing of clouds\nfor uproar. The haggard faces of the gods line the walls of Asgard and\nwatch the race with tremulous eagerness. Youth and immortality are\nstaked upon the winning of Loki. He is weary enough and frightened\nenough, too, as the eagle sweeps on close behind him; but he makes\ndesperate efforts to widen the distance between them. Little by little\nthe eagle gains on the falcon. The gods grow white with fear; they rush\noff and prepare great fires upon the walls. With fainting, drooping wing\nthe falcon passes over and drops exhausted by the wall. In an instant\nthe fires have been lighted, and the great flames roar to heaven. The\neagle sweeps across the fiery line a second later, and falls, maimed and\nburned, to the ground, where a dozen fierce hands smite the life out of\nhim, and the great giant Thjasse perishes among his foes.\n\nIdun resumes her natural form as Brage rushes to meet her. The gods\ncrowd round her. She spreads the feast, the golden Apples gleaming with\nunspeakable lustre in the eyes of the gods. They eat; and once more\ntheir faces glow with the beauty of immortal youth, their eyes flash\nwith the radiance of divine power, and, while Idun stands like a star\nfor beauty among the throng, the song of Brage is heard once more; for\npoetry and immortality are wedded again.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nTHE DEATH OF BALDER\n\n\nThere was one shadow which always fell over Asgard. Sometimes in the\nlong years the gods almost forgot it, it lay so far off, like a dim\ncloud in a clear sky; but Odin saw it deepen and widen as he looked out\ninto the universe, and he knew that the last great battle would surely\ncome, when the gods themselves would be destroyed and a long twilight\nwould rest on all the worlds; and now the day was close at hand.\nMisfortunes never come singly to men, and they did not to the gods.\nIdun, the beautiful goddess of youth, whose apples were the joy of all\nAsgard, made a resting place for herself among the massive branches of\nYggdrasil, and there every evening came Brage, and sang so sweetly that\nthe birds stopped to listen, and even the Norns, those implacable\nsisters at the foot of the tree, were softened by the melody. But poetry\ncannot change the purposes of fate, and one evening no song was heard of\nBrage or birds, the leaves of the world tree hung withered and lifeless\non the branches, and the fountain from which they had daily been\nsprinkled was dry at last. Idun had fallen into the dark valley of\ndeath, and when Brage, Heimdal, and Loki went to question her about the\nfuture she could answer them only with tears. Brage would not leave his\nbeautiful wife alone amid the dim shades that crowded the dreary\nvalley, and so youth and genius vanished out of Asgard forever.\n\nBalder was the most godlike of all the gods, because he was the purest\nand the best. Wherever he went his coming was like the coming of\nsunshine, and all the beauty of summer was but the shining of his face.\nWhen men's hearts were white like the light, and their lives clear as\nthe day, it was because Balder was looking down upon them with those\nsoft, clear eyes that were open windows to the soul of God. He had\nalways lived in such a glow of brightness that no darkness had ever\ntouched him; but one morning, after Idun and Brage had gone, Balder's\nface was sad and troubled. He walked slowly from room to room in his\npalace Breidablik, stainless as the sky when April showers have swept\nacross it because no impure thing had ever crossed the threshold, and\nhis eyes were heavy with sorrow. In the night terrible dreams had broken\nhis sleep, and made it a long torture. The air seemed to be full of\nawful changes for him and for all the gods. He knew in his soul that the\nshadow of the last great day was sweeping on; as he looked out and saw\nthe worlds lying in light and beauty, the fields yellow with waving\ngrain, the deep fiords flashing back the sunbeams from their clear\ndepths, the verdure clothing the loftiest mountains, and knew that over\nall this darkness and desolation would come, with silence of reapers and\nbirds, with fading of leaf and flower, a great sorrow fell on his heart.\n\nBalder could bear the burden no longer. He went out, called all the gods\ntogether, and told them the terrible dreams of the night. Every face was\nheavy with care. The death of Balder would be like the going out of the\nsun, and after a long, sad council the gods resolved to protect him\nfrom harm by pledging all things to stand between him and any hurt. So\nFrigg, his mother, went forth and made everything promise, on a solemn\noath, not to injure her son. Fire, iron, all kinds of metal, every sort\nof stone, trees, earth, diseases, birds, beasts, snakes, as the anxious\nmother went to them, solemnly pledged themselves that no harm should\ncome near Balder. Everything promised, and Frigg thought she had driven\naway the cloud; but fate was stronger than her love, and one little\nshrub had not sworn.\n\nOdin was not satisfied even with these precautions, for whichever way he\nlooked the shadow of a great sorrow spread over the worlds. He began to\nfeel as if he were no longer the greatest of the gods, and he could\nalmost hear the rough shouts of the frost giants crowding the rainbow\nbridge on their way into Asgard. When trouble comes to men it is hard to\nbear, but to a god who had so many worlds to guide and rule it was a new\nand terrible thing. Odin thought and thought until he was weary, but no\ngleam of light could he find anywhere; it was thick darkness everywhere.\n\nAt last he could bear the suspense no longer, and saddling his horse he\nrode sadly out of Asgard to Niflheim, the home of Hel, whose face was as\nthe face of death itself. As he drew near the gates, a monstrous dog\ncame out and barked furiously, but Odin rode a little eastward of the\nshadowy gates to the grave of a wonderful prophetess. It was a cold,\ngloomy place, and the soul of the great god was pierced with a feeling\nof hopeless sorrow as he dismounted from Sleipner, and bending over the\ngrave began to chant weird songs, and weave magical charms over it. When\nhe had spoken those wonderful words which could waken the dead from\ntheir sleep, there was an awful silence for a moment, and then a faint\nghost-like voice came from the grave.\n\n\"Who art thou?\" it said. \"Who breaketh the silence of death, and calleth\nthe sleeper out of her long slumbers? Ages ago I was laid at rest here,\nsnow and rain have fallen upon me through myriad years; why dost thou\ndisturb me?\"\n\n\"I am Vegtam,\" answered Odin, \"and I come to ask why the couches of Hel\nare hung with gold and the benches strewn with shining rings?\"\n\n\"It is done for Balder,\" answered the awful voice; \"ask me no more.\"\n\nOdin's heart sank when he heard these words; but he was determined to\nknow the worst.\n\n\"I will ask thee until I know all. Who shall strike the fatal blow?\"\n\n\"If I must, I must,\" moaned the prophetess. \"Hoder shall smite his\nbrother Balder and send him down to the dark home of Hel. The mead is\nalready brewed for Balder, and the despair draweth near.\"\n\nThen Odin, looking into the future across the open grave, saw all the\ndays to come.\n\n\"Who is this,\" he said, seeing that which no mortal could have seen;\n\"who is this that will not weep for Balder?\"\n\nThen the prophetess knew that it was none other than the greatest of the\ngods who had called her up.\n\n\"Thou art not Vegtam,\" she exclaimed, \"thou art Odin himself, the king\nof men.\"\n\n\"And thou,\" answered Odin angrily, \"art no prophetess, but the mother of\nthree giants.\"\n\n\"Ride home, then, and exult in what thou hast discovered,\" said the dead\nwoman. \"Never shall my slumbers be broken again until Loki shall burst\nhis chains and the great battle come.\"\n\nAnd Odin rode sadly homeward knowing that already Niflheim was making\nitself beautiful against the coming of Balder.\n\nThe other gods meanwhile had become merry again; for had not everything\npromised to protect their beloved Balder? They even made sport of that\nwhich troubled them, for when they found that nothing could hurt Balder,\nand that all things glanced aside from his shining form, they persuaded\nhim to stand as a target for their weapons; hurling darts, spears,\nswords, and battle-axes at him, all of which went singing through the\nair and fell harmless at his feet. But Loki, when he saw these sports,\nwas jealous of Balder, and went about thinking how he could destroy him.\n\nIt happened that as Frigg sat spinning in her house Fensal, the soft\nwind blowing in at the windows and bringing the merry shouts of the gods\nat play, an old woman entered and approached her.\n\n\"Do you know,\" asked the newcomer, \"what they are doing in Asgard? They\nare throwing all manner of dangerous weapons at Balder. He stands there\nlike the sun for brightness, and against his glory, spears and\nbattle-axes fall powerless to the ground. Nothing can harm him.\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Frigg joyfully; \"nothing can bring him any hurt, for I\nhave made everything in heaven and earth swear to protect him.\"\n\n\"What!\" said the old woman, \"has everything sworn to guard Balder?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Frigg, \"everything has sworn except one little shrub which\nis called Mistletoe, and grows on the eastern side of Valhal. I did not\ntake an oath from that because I thought it too young and weak.\"\n\nWhen the old woman heard this a strange light came into her eyes; she\nwalked off much faster than she had come in, and no sooner had she\npassed beyond Frigg's sight than this same feeble old woman grew\nsuddenly erect, shook off her woman's garments, and there stood Loki\nhimself. In a moment he had reached the slope east of Valhal, had\nplucked a twig of the unsworn Mistletoe, and was back in the circle of\nthe gods, who were still at their favourite pastime with Balder. Hoder\nwas standing silent and alone outside the noisy throng, for he was\nblind. Loki touched him.\n\n\"Why do you not throw something at Balder?\"\n\n\"Because I cannot see where Balder stands, and have nothing to throw if\nI could,\" replied Hoder.\n\n\"If that is all,\" said Loki, \"come with me. I will give you something to\nthrow, and direct your aim.\"\n\nHoder, thinking no evil, went with Loki and did as he was told.\n\nThe little sprig of Mistletoe shot through the air, pierced the heart of\nBalder, and in a moment the beautiful god lay dead upon the field. A\nshadow rose out of the deep beyond the worlds and spread itself over\nheaven and earth, for the light of the universe had gone out.\n\nThe gods could not speak for horror. They stood like statues for a\nmoment, and then a hopeless wail burst from their lips. Tears fell like\nrain from eyes that had never wept before, for Balder, the joy of\nAsgard, had gone to Niflheim and left them desolate. But Odin was\nsaddest of all, because he knew the future, and he knew that peace and\nlight had fled from Asgard forever, and that the last day and the long\nnight were hurrying on.\n\nFrigg could not give up her beautiful son, and when her grief had spent\nitself a little, she asked who would go to Hel and offer her a rich\nransom if she would permit Balder to return to Asgard.\n\n\"I will go,\" said Hermod; swift at the word of Odin Sleipner was led\nforth, and in an instant Hermod was galloping furiously away.\n\nThen the gods began with sorrowful hearts to make ready for Balder's\nfuneral. When the once beautiful form had been arrayed in grave clothes\nthey carried it reverently down to the deep sea, which lay, calm as a\nsummer afternoon, waiting for its precious burden. Close to the water's\nedge lay Balder's Ringhorn, the greatest of all the ships that sailed\nthe seas, but when the gods tried to launch it they could not move it an\ninch. The great vessel creaked and groaned, but no one could push it\ndown to the water. Odin walked about it with a sad face, and the gentle\nripple of the little waves chasing each other over the rocks seemed a\nmocking laugh to him.\n\n\"Send to Jotunheim for Hyrroken,\" he said at last; and a messenger was\nsoon flying for that mighty giantess.\n\nIn a little time, Hyrroken came riding swiftly on a wolf so large and\nfierce that he made the gods think of Fenrer. When the giantess had\nalighted, Odin ordered four Berserkers of mighty strength to hold the\nwolf, but he struggled so angrily that they had to throw him on the\nground before they could control him. Then Hyrroken went to the prow of\nthe ship and with one mighty effort sent it far into the sea, the\nrollers underneath bursting into flame, and the whole earth trembling\nwith the shock. Thor was so angry at the uproar that he would have\nkilled the giantess on the spot if he had not been held back by the\nother gods. The great ship floated on the sea as she had often done\nbefore, when Balder, full of life and beauty, set all her sails and was\nborne joyfully across the tossing seas. Slowly and solemnly the dead god\nwas carried on board, and as Nanna, his faithful wife, saw her husband\nborne for the last time from the earth which he had made dear to her and\nbeautiful to all men, her heart broke with sorrow, and they laid her\nbeside Balder on the funeral pyre.\n\nSince the world began no one had seen such a funeral. No bells tolled,\nno long procession of mourners moved across the hills, but all the\nworlds lay under a deep shadow, and from every quarter came those who\nhad loved or feared Balder. There at the very water's edge stood Odin\nhimself, the ravens flying about his head, and on his majestic face a\ngloom that no sun would ever lighten again; and there was Frigg, the\ndesolate mother whose son had already gone so far that he would never\ncome back to her; there was Frey standing sad and stern in his chariot;\nthere was Freyja, the goddess of love, from whose eyes fell a shining\nrain of tears; there, too, was Heimdal on his horse Goldtop; and around\nall these glorious ones from Asgard crowded the children of Jotunheim,\ngrim mountain giants seamed with scars from Thor's hammer, and frost\ngiants who saw in the death of Balder the coming of that long winter in\nwhich they should reign through all the worlds.\n\nA deep hush fell on all created things, and every eye was fixed on the\ngreat ship riding near the shore, and on the funeral pyre rising from\nthe deck crowned with the forms of Balder and Nanna. Suddenly a gleam of\nlight flashed over the water; the pile had been kindled, and the flames,\ncreeping slowly at first, climbed faster and faster until they met over\nthe dead and rose skyward.\n\nA lurid light filled the heavens and shone on the sea, and in the\nbrightness of it the gods looked pale and sad, and the circle of giants\ngrew darker and more portentous. Thor struck the fast burning pyre with\nhis consecrating hammer, and Odin cast into it the wonderful ring\nDraupner. Higher and higher leaped the flames, more and more desolate\ngrew the scene; at last they began to sink, the funeral pyre was\nconsumed. Balder had vanished forever, the summer was ended, and winter\nwaited at the doors.\n\nMeanwhile Hermod was riding hard and fast on his gloomy errand. Nine\ndays and nights he rode through valleys so deep and dark that he could\nnot see his horse. Stillness and blackness and solitude were his only\ncompanions until he came to the golden bridge which crosses the river\nGjol. The good horse Sleipner, who had carried Odin on so many strange\njourneys, had never travelled such a road before, and his hoofs rang\ndrearily as he stopped short at the bridge, for in front of him stood\nits porter, the gigantic Modgud.\n\n\"Who are you?\" she asked, fixing her piercing eyes on Hermod. \"What is\nyour name and parentage? Yesterday five bands of dead men rode across\nthe bridge, and beneath them all it did not shake as under your single\ntread. There is no colour of death in your face. Why ride you hither,\nthe living among the dead?\"\n\n\"I come,\" said Hermod, \"to seek for Balder. Have you seen him pass this\nway?\"\n\n\"He has already crossed the bridge and taken his journey northward to\nHel.\"\n\nThen Hermod rode slowly across the bridge that spans the abyss between\nlife and death, and found his way at last to the barred gates of Hel's\ndreadful home. There he sprang to the ground, tightened the girths,\nremounted, drove the spurs deep into the horse, and Sleipner, with a\nmighty leap, cleared the wall. Hermod rode straight to the gloomy\npalace, dismounted, entered, and in a moment was face to face with the\nterrible queen of the kingdom of the dead. Beside her, on a beautiful\nthrone, sat Balder, pale and wan, crowned with a withered wreath of\nflowers, and close at hand was Nanna, pallid as her husband, for whom\nshe had died. And all night long, while ghostly forms wandered restless\nand sleepless through Helheim, Hermod talked with Balder and Nanna.\nThere is no record of what they said, but the talk was sad enough,\ndoubtless, and ran like a still stream among the happy days in Asgard\nwhen Balder's smile was morning over the earth and the sight of his face\nthe summer of the world.\n\nWhen the morning came, faint and dim, through the dusky palace, Hermod\nsought Hel, who received him as cold and stern as fate.\n\n\"Your kingdom is full, O Hel!\" he said, \"and without Balder, Asgard is\nempty. Send him back to us once more, for there is sadness in every\nheart and tears are in every eye. Through heaven and earth all things\nweep for him.\"\n\n\"If that is true,\" was the slow, icy answer, \"if every created thing\nweeps for Balder, he shall return to Asgard; but if one eye is dry he\nremains henceforth in Helheim.\"\n\nThen Hermod rode swiftly away, and the decree of Hel was soon told in\nAsgard. Through all the worlds the gods sent messengers to say that all\nwho loved Balder should weep for his return, and everywhere tears fell\nlike rain. There was weeping in Asgard, and in all the earth there was\nnothing that did not weep. Men and women and little children, missing\nthe light that had once fallen into their hearts and homes, sobbed with\nbitter grief; the birds of the air, who had sung carols of joy at the\ngates of the morning since time began, were full of sorrow; the beasts\nof the fields crouched and moaned in their desolation; the great trees,\nthat had put on their robes of green at Balder's command, sighed as the\nwind wailed through them; and the sweet flowers, that waited for\nBalder's footstep and sprang up in all the fields to greet him, hung\ntheir frail blossoms and wept bitterly for the love and the warmth and\nthe light that had gone out. Throughout the whole earth there was\nnothing but weeping, and the sound of it was like the wailing of those\nstorms in autumn that weep for the dead summer as its withered leaves\ndrop one by one from the trees.\n\nThe messengers of the gods went gladly back to Asgard, for everything\nhad wept for Balder; but as they journeyed they came upon a giantess,\ncalled Thok, and her eyes were dry.\n\n\"Weep for Balder,\" they said.\n\n\"With dry eyes only will I weep for Balder,\" she answered. \"Dead or\nalive, he never gave me gladness. Let him stay in Helheim.\"\n\nWhen she had spoken these words a terrible laugh broke from her lips,\nand the messengers looked at each other with pallid faces, for they knew\nit was the voice of Loki.\n\nBalder never came back to Asgard, and the shadows deepened over all\nthings, for the night of death was fast coming on.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nTHE STAR AND THE LILY\n\n\nAn old chieftain sat in his wigwam, quietly smoking his favourite pipe,\nwhen a crowd of Indian boys and girls suddenly entered, and, with\nnumerous offerings of tobacco, begged him to tell them a story, and he\ndid so.\n\nThere was once a time when this world was filled with happy people; when\nall the nations were as one, and the crimson tide of war had not begun\nto roll. Plenty of game was in the forest and on the plains. None were\nin want, for a full supply was at hand. Sickness was unknown. The beasts\nof the field were tame; they came and went at the bidding of man. One\nunending spring gave no place for winter--for its cold blasts or its\nunhealthy chills. Every tree and bush yielded fruit. Flowers carpeted\nthe earth. The air was laden with their fragrance, and redolent with the\nsongs of wedded warblers that flew from branch to branch, fearing none,\nfor there were none to harm them. There were birds then of more\nbeautiful song and plumage than now. It was at such a time, when earth\nwas a paradise and man worthily its possessor, that the Indians were\nlone inhabitants of the American wilderness. They numbered millions;\nand, living as nature designed them to live, enjoyed its many blessings.\nInstead of amusements in close rooms, the sport of the field was theirs.\nAt night they met on the wide green beneath the heavenly worlds--the\n_ah-nung-o-kah_. They watched the stars; they loved to gaze at them,\nfor they believed them to be the residences of the good, who had been\ntaken home by the Great Spirit.\n\nOne night they saw one star that shone brighter than all others. Its\nlocation was far away in the south, near a mountain peak. For many\nnights it was seen, till at length it was doubted by many that the star\nwas as far distant in the southern skies as it seemed to be. This doubt\nled to an examination, which proved the star to be only a short distance\naway, and near the tops of some trees. A number of warriors were deputed\nto go and see what it was. They went, and on their return said it\nappeared strange, and somewhat like a bird. A committee of the wise men\nwere called to inquire into, and if possible to ascertain the meaning\nof, the strange phenomenon. They feared that it might be the omen of\nsome disaster. Some thought it a precursor of good, others of evil; and\nsome supposed it to be the star spoken of by their forefathers as the\nforerunner of a dreadful war.\n\nOne moon had nearly gone by, and yet the mystery remained unsolved. One\nnight a young warrior had a dream, in which a beautiful maiden came and\nstood at his side, and thus addressed him: \"Young brave! charmed with\nthe land of my forefathers, its flowers, its birds, its rivers, its\nbeautiful lakes, and its mountains clothed with green, I have left my\nsisters in yonder world to dwell among you. Young brave! ask your wise\nand your great men where I can live and see the happy race continually;\nask them what form I shall assume in order to be loved.\"\n\nThus discoursed the bright stranger. The young man awoke. On stepping\nout of his lodge he saw the star yet blazing in its accustomed place. At\nearly dawn the chief's crier was sent round the camp to call every\nwarrior to the council lodge. When they had met, the young warrior\nrelated his dream. They concluded that the star that had been seen in\nthe south had fallen in love with mankind, and that it was desirous to\ndwell with them.\n\nThe next night five tall, noble-looking, adventurous braves were sent to\nwelcome the stranger to earth. They went and presented to it a pipe of\npeace, filled with sweet-scented herbs, and were rejoiced that it took\nit from them. As they returned to the village, the star, with expanded\nwings, followed, and hovered over their homes till the dawn of day.\nAgain it came to the young man in a dream, and desired to know where it\nshould live and what form it should take. Places were named--on the top\nof giant trees, or in flowers. At length it was told to choose a place\nitself, and it did so. At first it dwelt in the white rose of the\nmountains; but there it was so buried that it could not be seen. It went\nto the prairie; but it feared the hoof of the buffalo. It next sought\nthe rocky cliff; but there it was so high that the children, whom it\nloved most, could not see it.\n\n\"I know where I shall live,\" said the bright fugitive--\"where I can see\nthe gliding canoe of the race I most admire. Children!--yes, they shall\nbe my playmates, and I will kiss their slumber by the side of cool\nlakes. The nation shall love me wherever I am.\"\n\nThese words having been said, she alighted on the waters, where she saw\nherself reflected. The next morning thousands of white flowers were seen\non the surface of the lakes, and the Indians gave them this name,\n_wah-be-gwan-nee_ (white flower).\n\nThis star lived in the southern skies. Her brethren can be seen far off\nin the cold north, hunting the Great Bear, whilst her sisters watch her\nin the east and west.\n\nChildren! when you see the lily on the waters, take it in your hands and\nhold it to the skies, that it may be happy on earth, as its two sisters,\nthe morning and evening stars, are happy in heaven.","title":"Myths That Every Child Should Know: A Selection Of The Classic Myths Of All Times For Young People","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":107164}