"TANGLEWOOD TALES\n\nBy Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n\n\n\nTHE WAYSIDE. INTRODUCTORY.\n\nA short time ago, I was favored with a flying visit from my young friend\nEustace Bright, whom I had not before met with since quitting the breezy\nmountains of Berkshire. It being the winter vacation at his college,\nEustace was allowing himself a little relaxation, in the hope, he told\nme, of repairing the inroads which severe application to study had\nmade upon his health; and I was happy to conclude, from the excellent\nphysical condition in which I saw him, that the remedy had already been\nattended with very desirable success. He had now run up from Boston by\nthe noon train, partly impelled by the friendly regard with which he\nis pleased to honor me, and partly, as I soon found, on a matter of\nliterary business.\n\nIt delighted me to receive Mr. Bright, for the first time, under a roof,\nthough a very humble one, which I could really call my own. Nor did I\nfail (as is the custom of landed proprietors all about the world) to\nparade the poor fellow up and down over my half a dozen acres; secretly\nrejoicing, nevertheless, that the disarray of the inclement season, and\nparticularly the six inches of snow then upon the ground, prevented him\nfrom observing the ragged neglect of soil and shrubbery into which the\nplace had lapsed. It was idle, however, to imagine that an airy guest\nfrom Monument Mountain, Bald Summit, and old Graylock, shaggy with\nprimeval forests, could see anything to admire in my poor little\nhillside, with its growth of frail and insect-eaten locust trees.\nEustace very frankly called the view from my hill top tame; and so,\nno doubt, it was, after rough, broken, rugged, headlong Berkshire, and\nespecially the northern parts of the county, with which his college\nresidence had made him familiar. But to me there is a peculiar, quiet\ncharm in these broad meadows and gentle eminences. They are better than\nmountains, because they do not stamp and stereotype themselves into the\nbrain, and thus grow wearisome with the same strong impression, repeated\nday after day. A few summer weeks among mountains, a lifetime among\ngreen meadows and placid slopes, with outlines forever new, because\ncontinually fading out of the memory--such would be my sober choice.\n\nI doubt whether Eustace did not internally pronounce the whole thing a\nbore, until I led him to my predecessor's little ruined, rustic summer\nhouse, midway on the hillside. It is a mere skeleton of slender,\ndecaying tree trunks, with neither walls nor a roof; nothing but a\ntracery of branches and twigs, which the next wintry blast will be very\nlikely to scatter in fragments along the terrace. It looks, and is, as\nevanescent as a dream; and yet, in its rustic network of boughs, it\nhas somehow enclosed a hint of spiritual beauty, and has become a true\nemblem of the subtile and ethereal mind that planned it. I made Eustace\nBright sit down on a snow bank, which had heaped itself over the mossy\nseat, and gazing through the arched windows opposite, he acknowledged\nthat the scene at once grew picturesque.\n\n\"Simple as it looks,\" said he, \"this little edifice seems to be the work\nof magic. It is full of suggestiveness, and, in its way, is as good as a\ncathedral. Ah, it would be just the spot for one to sit in, of a summer\nafternoon, and tell the children some more of those wild stories from\nthe classic myths!\"\n\n\"It would, indeed,\" answered I. \"The summer house itself, so airy and\nso broken, is like one of those old tales, imperfectly remembered; and\nthese living branches of the Baldwin apple tree, thrusting so rudely\nin, are like your unwarrantable interpolations. But, by the by, have\nyou added any more legends to the series, since the publication of the\n'Wonder-Book'?\"\n\n\"Many more,\" said Eustace; \"Primrose, Periwinkle, and the rest of them,\nallow me no comfort of my life unless I tell them a story every day or\ntwo. I have run away from home partly to escape the importunity of these\nlittle wretches! But I have written out six of the new stories, and have\nbrought them for you to look over.\"\n\n\"Are they as good as the first?\" I inquired.\n\n\"Better chosen, and better handled,\" replied Eustace Bright. \"You will\nsay so when you read them.\"\n\n\"Possibly not,\" I remarked. \"I know from my own experience, that an\nauthor's last work is always his best one, in his own estimate, until it\nquite loses the red heat of composition. After that, it falls into its\ntrue place, quietly enough. But let us adjourn to my study, and examine\nthese new stories. It would hardly be doing yourself justice, were you\nto bring me acquainted with them, sitting here on this snow bank!\"\n\nSo we descended the hill to my small, old cottage, and shut ourselves\nup in the south-eastern room, where the sunshine comes in, warmly and\nbrightly, through the better half of a winter's day. Eustace put his\nbundle of manuscript into my hands; and I skimmed through it pretty\nrapidly, trying to find out its merits and demerits by the touch of my\nfingers, as a veteran story-teller ought to know how to do.\n\nIt will be remembered that Mr. Bright condescended to avail himself of\nmy literary experience by constituting me editor of the \"Wonder-Book.\"\nAs he had no reason to complain of the reception of that erudite work by\nthe public, he was now disposed to retain me in a similar position with\nrespect to the present volume, which he entitled TANGLEWOOD TALES. Not,\nas Eustace hinted, that there was any real necessity for my services as\nintroducer, inasmuch as his own name had become established in some good\ndegree of favor with the literary world. But the connection with myself,\nhe was kind enough to say, had been highly agreeable; nor was he by any\nmeans desirous, as most people are, of kicking away the ladder that had\nperhaps helped him to reach his present elevation. My young friend was\nwilling, in short, that the fresh verdure of his growing reputation\nshould spread over my straggling and half-naked boughs; even as I have\nsometimes thought of training a vine, with its broad leafiness, and\npurple fruitage, over the worm-eaten posts and rafters of the rustic\nsummer house. I was not insensible to the advantages of his proposal,\nand gladly assured him of my acceptance.\n\nMerely from the title of the stories I saw at once that the subjects\nwere not less rich than those of the former volume; nor did I at all\ndoubt that Mr. Bright's audacity (so far as that endowment might avail)\nhad enabled him to take full advantage of whatever capabilities they\noffered. Yet, in spite of my experience of his free way of handling\nthem, I did not quite see, I confess, how he could have obviated all the\ndifficulties in the way of rendering them presentable to children. These\nold legends, so brimming over with everything that is most abhorrent\nto our Christianized moral sense some of them so hideous, others so\nmelancholy and miserable, amid which the Greek tragedians sought their\nthemes, and moulded them into the sternest forms of grief that ever the\nworld saw; was such material the stuff that children's playthings should\nbe made of! How were they to be purified? How was the blessed sunshine\nto be thrown into them?\n\nBut Eustace told me that these myths were the most singular things in\nthe world, and that he was invariably astonished, whenever he began\nto relate one, by the readiness with which it adapted itself to the\nchildish purity of his auditors. The objectionable characteristics seem\nto be a parasitical growth, having no essential connection with the\noriginal fable. They fall away, and are thought of no more, the instant\nhe puts his imagination in sympathy with the innocent little circle,\nwhose wide-open eyes are fixed so eagerly upon him. Thus the stories\n(not by any strained effort of the narrator's, but in harmony with their\ninherent germ) transform themselves, and re-assume the shapes which they\nmight be supposed to possess in the pure childhood of the world. When\nthe first poet or romancer told these marvellous legends (such is\nEustace Bright's opinion), it was still the Golden Age. Evil had never\nyet existed; and sorrow, misfortune, crime, were mere shadows which\nthe mind fancifully created for itself, as a shelter against too sunny\nrealities; or, at most, but prophetic dreams to which the dreamer\nhimself did not yield a waking credence. Children are now the only\nrepresentatives of the men and women of that happy era; and therefore it\nis that we must raise the intellect and fancy to the level of childhood,\nin order to re-create the original myths.\n\nI let the youthful author talk as much and as extravagantly as he\npleased, and was glad to see him commencing life with such confidence in\nhimself and his performances. A few years will do all that is necessary\ntowards showing him the truth in both respects. Meanwhile, it is\nbut right to say, he does really appear to have overcome the moral\nobjections against these fables, although at the expense of such\nliberties with their structure as must be left to plead their own\nexcuse, without any help from me. Indeed, except that there was a\nnecessity for it--and that the inner life of the legends cannot be come\nat save by making them entirely one's own property--there is no defense\nto be made.\n\nEustace informed me that he had told his stories to the children in\nvarious situations--in the woods, on the shore of the lake, in the\ndell of Shadow Brook, in the playroom, at Tanglewood fireside, and in a\nmagnificent palace of snow, with ice windows, which he helped his\nlittle friends to build. His auditors were even more delighted with\nthe contents of the present volume than with the specimens which have\nalready been given to the world. The classically learned Mr. Pringle,\ntoo, had listened to two or three of the tales, and censured them even\nmore bitterly than he did THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES; so that, what with\npraise, and what with criticism, Eustace Bright thinks that there is\ngood hope of at least as much success with the public as in the case of\nthe \"WonderBook.\"\n\nI made all sorts of inquiries about the children, not doubting that\nthere would be great eagerness to hear of their welfare, among some good\nlittle folks who have written to me, to ask for another volume of myths.\nThey are all, I am happy to say (unless we except Clover), in excellent\nhealth and spirits. Primrose is now almost a young lady, and, Eustace\ntells me, is just as saucy as ever. She pretends to consider herself\nquite beyond the age to be interested by such idle stories as these;\nbut, for all that, whenever a story is to be told, Primrose never\nfails to be one of the listeners, and to make fun of it when finished.\nPeriwinkle is very much grown, and is expected to shut up her baby house\nand throw away her doll in a month or two more. Sweet Fern has learned\nto read and write, and has put on a jacket and pair of pantaloons--all\nof which improvements I am sorry for. Squash Blossom, Blue Eye,\nPlantain, and Buttercup have had the scarlet fever, but came easily\nthrough it. Huckleberry, Milkweed, and Dandelion were attacked with the\nwhooping cough, but bore it bravely, and kept out of doors whenever the\nsun shone. Cowslip, during the autumn, had either the measles, or some\neruption that looked very much like it, but was hardly sick a day. Poor\nClover has been a good deal troubled with her second teeth, which have\nmade her meagre in aspect and rather fractious in temper; nor, even when\nshe smiles, is the matter much mended, since it discloses a gap just\nwithin her lips, almost as wide as the barn door. But all this will pass\nover, and it is predicted that she will turn out a very pretty girl.\n\nAs for Mr. Bright himself, he is now in his senior year at Williams\nCollege, and has a prospect of graduating with some degree of honorable\ndistinction at the next Commencement. In his oration for the bachelor's\ndegree, he gives me to understand, he will treat of the classical myths,\nviewed in the aspect of baby stories, and has a great mind to discuss\nthe expediency of using up the whole of ancient history, for the same\npurpose. I do not know what he means to do with himself after leaving\ncollege, but trust that, by dabbling so early with the dangerous and\nseductive business of authorship, he will not be tempted to become an\nauthor by profession. If so I shall be very sorry for the little that I\nhave had to do with the matter, in encouraging these first beginnings.\n\nI wish there were any likelihood of my soon seeing Primrose, Periwinkle,\nDandelion, Sweet Fern, Clover Plantain, Huckleberry, Milkweed, Cowslip,\nButtercup, Blue Eye, and Squash Blossom again. But as I do not know when\nI shall re-visit Tanglewood, and as Eustace Bright probably will not\nask me to edit a third \"WonderBook,\" the public of little folks must not\nexpect to hear any more about those dear children from me. Heaven bless\nthem, and everybody else, whether grown people or children!\n\n\n\n\nTHE MINOTAUR.\n\nIn the old city of Troezene, at the foot of a lofty mountain,\nthere lived, a very long time ago, a little boy named Theseus. His\ngrandfather, King Pittheus, was the sovereign of that country, and was\nreckoned a very wise man; so that Theseus, being brought up in the royal\npalace, and being naturally a bright lad, could hardly fail of profiting\nby the old king's instructions. His mother's name was Aethra. As for his\nfather, the boy had never seen him. But, from his earliest remembrance,\nAethra used to go with little Theseus into a wood, and sit down upon a\nmoss-grown rock, which was deeply sunken into the earth. Here she\noften talked with her son about his father, and said that he was called\nAegeus, and that he was a great king, and ruled over Attica, and dwelt\nat Athens, which was as famous a city as any in the world. Theseus was\nvery fond of hearing about King Aegeus, and often asked his good mother\nAethra why he did not come and live with them at Troezene.\n\n\"Ah, my dear son,\" answered Aethra, with a sigh, \"a monarch has his\npeople to take care of. The men and women over whom he rules are in the\nplace of children to him; and he can seldom spare time to love his own\nchildren as other parents do. Your father will never be able to leave\nhis kingdom for the sake of seeing his little boy.\"\n\n\"Well, but, dear mother,\" asked the boy, \"why cannot I go to this famous\ncity of Athens, and tell King Aegeus that I am his son?\"\n\n\"That may happen by and by,\" said Aethra. \"Be patient, and we shall see.\nYou are not yet big and strong enough to set out on such an errand.\"\n\n\"And how soon shall I be strong enough?\" Theseus persisted in inquiring.\n\n\"You are but a tiny boy as yet,\" replied his mother. \"See if you can\nlift this rock on which we are sitting?\"\n\nThe little fellow had a great opinion of his own strength. So, grasping\nthe rough protuberances of the rock, he tugged and toiled amain, and got\nhimself quite out of breath, without being able to stir the heavy stone.\nIt seemed to be rooted into the ground. No wonder he could not move it;\nfor it would have taken all the force of a very strong man to lift it\nout of its earthy bed.\n\nHis mother stood looking on, with a sad kind of a smile on her lips and\nin her eyes, to see the zealous and yet puny efforts of her little boy.\nShe could not help being sorrowful at finding him already so impatient\nto begin his adventures in the world.\n\n\"You see how it is, my dear Theseus,\" said she. \"You must possess far\nmore strength than now before I can trust you to go to Athens, and tell\nKing Aegeus that you are his son. But when you can lift this rock,\nand show me what is hidden beneath it, I promise you my permission to\ndepart.\"\n\nOften and often, after this, did Theseus ask his mother whether it was\nyet time for him to go to Athens; and still his mother pointed to the\nrock, and told him that, for years to come, he could not be strong\nenough to move it. And again and again the rosy-checked and curly-headed\nboy would tug and strain at the huge mass of stone, striving, child as\nhe was, to do what a giant could hardly have done without taking both\nof his great hands to the task. Meanwhile the rock seemed to be sinking\nfarther and farther into the ground. The moss grew over it thicker and\nthicker, until at last it looked almost like a soft green seat, with\nonly a few gray knobs of granite peeping out. The overhanging trees,\nalso, shed their brown leaves upon It, as often as the autumn came; and\nat its base grew ferns and wild flowers, some of which crept quite over\nits surface. To all appearance, the rock was as firmly fastened as any\nother portion of the earth's substance.\n\nBut, difficult as the matter looked, Theseus was now growing up to be\nsuch a vigorous youth, that, in his own opinion, the time would quickly\ncome when he might hope to get the upper hand of this ponderous lump of\nstone.\n\n\"Mother, I do believe it has started!\" cried he, after one of his\nattempts. \"The earth around it is certainly a little cracked!\"\n\n\"No, no, child!\" his mother hastily answered. \"It is not possible you\ncan have moved it, such a boy as you still are!\"\n\nNor would she be convinced, although Theseus showed her the place where\nhe fancied that the stem of a flower had been partly uprooted by the\nmovement of the rock. But Aethra sighed, and looked disquieted; for, no\ndoubt, she began to be conscious that her son was no longer a child, and\nthat, in a little while hence, she must send him forth among the perils\nand troubles of the world.\n\nIt was not more than a year afterwards when they were again sitting on\nthe moss-covered stone. Aethra had once more told him the oft-repeated\nstory of his father, and how gladly he would receive Theseus at his\nstately palace, and how he would present him to his courtiers and the\npeople, and tell them that here was the heir of his dominions. The eyes\nof Theseus glowed with enthusiasm, and he would hardly sit still to hear\nhis mother speak.\n\n\"Dear mother Aethra,\" he exclaimed, \"I never felt half so strong as now!\nI am no longer a child, nor a boy, nor a mere youth! I feel myself a\nman! It is now time to make one earnest trial to remove the stone.\"\n\n\"Ah, my dearest Theseus,\" replied his mother \"not yet! not yet!\"\n\n\"Yes, mother,\" said he, resolutely, \"the time has come!\"\n\nThen Theseus bent himself in good earnest to the task, and strained\nevery sinew, with manly strength and resolution. He put his whole brave\nheart into the effort. He wrestled with the big and sluggish stone, as\nif it had been a living enemy. He heaved, he lifted, he resolved now\nto succeed, or else to perish there, and let the rock be his monument\nforever! Aethra stood gazing at him, and clasped her hands, partly with\na mother's pride, and partly with a mother's sorrow. The great rock\nstirred! Yes, it was raised slowly from the bedded moss and earth,\nuprooting the shrubs and flowers along with it, and was turned upon its\nside. Theseus had conquered!\n\nWhile taking breath, he looked joyfully at his mother, and she smiled\nupon him through her tears.\n\n\"Yes, Theseus,\" she said, \"the time has come, and you must stay no\nlonger at my side! See what King Aegeus, your royal father, left for you\nbeneath the stone, when he lifted it in his mighty arms, and laid it on\nthe spot whence you have now removed it.\"\n\nTheseus looked, and saw that the rock had been placed over another slab\nof stone, containing a cavity within it; so that it somewhat resembled a\nroughly-made chest or coffer, of which the upper mass had served as the\nlid. Within the cavity lay a sword, with a golden hilt, and a pair of\nsandals.\n\n\"That was your father's sword,\" said Aethra, \"and those were his\nsandals. When he went to be king of Athens, he bade me treat you as a\nchild until you should prove yourself a man by lifting this heavy stone.\nThat task being accomplished, you are to put on his sandals, in order to\nfollow in your father's footsteps, and to gird on his sword, so that you\nmay fight giants and dragons, as King Aegeus did in his youth.\"\n\n\"I will set out for Athens this very day!\" cried Theseus.\n\nBut his mother persuaded him to stay a day or two longer, while she got\nready some necessary articles for his journey. When his grandfather, the\nwise King Pittheus, heard that Theseus intended to present himself\nat his father's palace, he earnestly advised him to get on board of a\nvessel, and go by sea; because he might thus arrive within fifteen miles\nof Athens, without either fatigue or danger.\n\n\"The roads are very bad by land,\" quoth the venerable king; \"and they\nare terribly infested with robbers and monsters. A mere lad, like\nTheseus, is not fit to be trusted on such a perilous journey, all by\nhimself. No, no; let him go by sea.\"\n\nBut when Theseus heard of robbers and monsters, he pricked up his ears,\nand was so much the more eager to take the road along which they were to\nbe met with. On the third day, therefore, he bade a respectful farewell\nto his grandfather, thanking him for all his kindness; and, after\naffectionately embracing his mother, he set forth with a good many of\nher tears glistening on his cheeks, and some, if the truth must be told,\nthat had gushed out of his own eyes. But he let the sun and wind dry\nthem, and walked stoutly on, playing with the golden hilt of his sword,\nand taking very manly strides in his father's sandals.\n\nI cannot stop to tell you hardly any of the adventures that befell\nTheseus on the road to Athens. It is enough to say, that he quite\ncleared that part of the country of the robbers about whom King Pittheus\nhad been so much alarmed. One of these bad people was named Procrustes;\nand he was indeed a terrible fellow, and had an ugly way of making fun\nof the poor travelers who happened to fall into his clutches. In his\ncavern he had a bed, on which, with great pretense of hospitality, he\ninvited his guests to lie down; but, if they happened to be shorter than\nthe bed, this wicked villain stretched them out by main force; or, if\nthey were too tall, he lopped off their heads or feet, and laughed at\nwhat he had done, as an excellent joke. Thus, however weary a man might\nbe, he never liked to lie in the bed of Procrustes. Another of these\nrobbers, named Scinis, must likewise have been a very great scoundrel.\nHe was in the habit of flinging his victims off a high cliff into the\nsea; and, in order to give him exactly his deserts, Theseus tossed him\noff the very same place. But if you will believe me, the sea would not\npollute itself by receiving such a bad person into its bosom; neither\nwould the earth, having once got rid of him, consent to take him back;\nso that, between the cliff and the sea, Scinis stuck fast in the air,\nwhich was forced to bear the burden of his naughtiness.\n\nAfter these memorable deeds, Theseus heard of an enormous sow, which ran\nwild, and was the terror of all the farmers round about; and, as he did\nnot consider himself above doing any good thing that came in his way, he\nkilled this monstrous creature, and gave the carcass to the poor people\nfor bacon. The great sow had been an awful beast, while ramping about\nthe woods and fields, but was a pleasant object enough when cut up into\njoints, and smoking on I know not how many dinner tables.\n\nThus, by the time he reached his journey's end, Theseus had done many\nvaliant feats with his father's golden-hilted sword, and had gained\nthe renown of being one of the bravest young men of the day. His fame\ntraveled faster than he did, and reached Athens before him. As he\nentered the city, he heard the inhabitants talking at the street\ncorners, and saying that Hercules was brave, and Jason too, and Castor\nand Pollux likewise, but that Theseus, the son of their own king,\nwould turn out as great a hero as the best of them. Theseus took longer\nstrides on hearing this, and fancied himself sure of a magnificent\nreception at his father's court, since he came thither with Fame to blow\nher trumpet before him, and cry to King Aegeus, \"Behold your son!\"\n\nHe little suspected, innocent youth that he was, that here, in this very\nAthens, where his father reigned, a greater danger awaited him than any\nwhich he had encountered on the road. Yet this was the truth. You must\nunderstand that the father of Theseus, though not very old in years, was\nalmost worn out with the cares of government, and had thus grown aged\nbefore his time. His nephews, not expecting him to live a very great\nwhile, intended to get all the power of the kingdom into their own\nhands. But when they heard that Theseus had arrived in Athens, and\nlearned what a gallant young man he was, they saw that he would not be\nat all the kind of a person to let them steal away his father's crown\nand scepter, which ought to be his own by right of inheritance. Thus\nthese bad-hearted nephews of King Aegeus, who were the own cousins of\nTheseus, at once became his enemies. A still more dangerous enemy was\nMedea, the wicked enchantress; for she was now the king's wife, and\nwanted to give the kingdom to her son Medus, instead of letting it be\ngiven to the son of Aethra, whom she hated.\n\nIt so happened that the king's nephews met Theseus, and found out who he\nwas, just as he reached the entrance of the royal palace. With all\ntheir evil designs against him, they pretended to be their cousin's\nbest friends, and expressed great joy at making his acquaintance.\nThey proposed to him that he should come into the king's presence as\na stranger, in order to try whether Aegeus would discover in the young\nman's features any likeness either to himself or his mother Aethra, and\nthus recognize him for a son. Theseus consented; for he fancied that his\nfather would know him in a moment, by the love that was in his heart.\nBut, while he waited at the door, the nephews ran and told King Aegeus\nthat a young man had arrived in Athens, who, to their certain knowledge,\nintended to put him to death, and get possession of his royal crown.\n\n\"And he is now waiting for admission to your majesty's presence,\" added\nthey.\n\n\"Aha!\" cried the old king, on hearing this. \"Why, he must be a very\nwicked young fellow indeed! Pray, what would you advise me to do with\nhim?\"\n\nIn reply to this question, the wicked Medea put in her word. As I\nhave already told you, she was a famous enchantress. According to some\nstories, she was in the habit of boiling old people in a large caldron,\nunder pretense of making them young again; but King Aegeus, I suppose,\ndid not fancy such an uncomfortable way of growing young, or perhaps\nwas contented to be old, and therefore would never let himself be\npopped into the caldron. If there were time to spare from more important\nmatters, I should be glad to tell you of Medea's fiery chariot, drawn\nby winged dragons, in which the enchantress used often to take an airing\namong the clouds. This chariot, in fact, was the vehicle that first\nbrought her to Athens, where she had done nothing but mischief ever\nsince her arrival. But these and many other wonders must be left untold;\nand it is enough to say, that Medea, amongst a thousand other bad\nthings, knew how to prepare a poison, that was instantly fatal to\nwhomsoever might so much as touch it with his lips.\n\nSo, when the king asked what he should do with Theseus, this naughty\nwoman had an answer ready at her tongue's end.\n\n\"Leave that to me, please your majesty,\" she replied. \"Only admit this\nevil-minded young man to your presence, treat him civilly, and invite\nhim to drink a goblet of wine. Your majesty is well aware that I\nsometimes amuse myself by distilling very powerful medicines. Here is\none of them in this small phial. As to what it is made of, that is one\nof my secrets of state. Do but let me put a single drop into the goblet,\nand let the young man taste it; and I will answer for it, he shall quite\nlay aside the bad designs with which he comes hither.\"\n\nAs she said this, Medea smiled; but, for all her smiling face, she\nmeant nothing less than to poison the poor innocent Theseus, before\nhis father's eyes. And King Aegeus, like most other kings, thought any\npunishment mild enough for a person who was accused of plotting against\nhis life. He therefore made little or no objection to Medea's scheme,\nand as soon as the poisonous wine was ready, gave orders that the young\nstranger should be admitted into his presence.\n\nThe goblet was set on a table beside the king's throne; and a fly,\nmeaning just to sip a little from the brim, immediately tumbled into\nit, dead. Observing this, Medea looked round at the nephews, and smiled\nagain.\n\nWhen Theseus was ushered into the royal apartment, the only object that\nhe seemed to behold was the white-bearded old king. There he sat on his\nmagnificent throne, a dazzling crown on his head, and a scepter in\nhis hand. His aspect was stately and majestic, although his years and\ninfirmities weighed heavily upon him, as if each year were a lump of\nlead, and each infirmity a ponderous stone, and all were bundled up\ntogether, and laid upon his weary shoulders. The tears both of joy and\nsorrow sprang into the young man's eyes; for he thought how sad it was\nto see his dear father so infirm, and how sweet it would be to support\nhim with his own youthful strength, and to cheer him up with the\nalacrity of his loving spirit. When a son takes a father into his warm\nheart it renews the old man's youth in a better way than by the heat\nof Medea's magic caldron. And this was what Theseus resolved to do. He\ncould scarcely wait to see whether King Aegeus would recognize him, so\neager was he to throw himself into his arms.\n\nAdvancing to the foot of the throne, he attempted to make a little\nspeech, which he had been thinking about, as he came up the stairs. But\nhe was almost choked by a great many tender feelings that gushed out of\nhis heart and swelled into his throat, all struggling to find\nutterance together. And therefore, unless he could have laid his full,\nover-brimming heart into the king's hand, poor Theseus knew not what\nto do or say. The cunning Medea observed what was passing in the young\nman's mind. She was more wicked at that moment than ever she had been\nbefore; for (and it makes me tremble to tell you of it) she did her\nworst to turn all this unspeakable love with which Theseus was agitated\nto his own ruin and destruction.\n\n\"Does your majesty see his confusion?\" she whispered in the king's ear.\n\"He is so conscious of guilt, that he trembles and cannot speak. The\nwretch lives too long! Quick! offer him the wine!\"\n\nNow King Aegeus had been gazing earnestly at the young stranger, as he\ndrew near the throne. There was something, he knew not what, either\nin his white brow, or in the fine expression of his mouth, or in his\nbeautiful and tender eyes, that made him indistinctly feel as if he had\nseen this youth before; as if, indeed, he had trotted him on his knee\nwhen a baby, and had beheld him growing to be a stalwart man, while he\nhimself grew old. But Medea guessed how the king felt, and would not\nsuffer him to yield to these natural sensibilities; although they were\nthe voice of his deepest heart, telling him as plainly as it could\nspeak, that here was our dear son, and Aethra's son, coming to claim\nhim for a father. The enchantress again whispered in the king's ear,\nand compelled him, by her witchcraft, to see everything under a false\naspect.\n\nHe made up his mind, therefore, to let Theseus drink off the poisoned\nwine.\n\n\"Young man,\" said he, \"you are welcome! I am proud to show hospitality\nto so heroic a youth. Do me the favor to drink the contents of this\ngoblet. It is brimming over, as you see, with delicious wine, such as I\nbestow only on those who are worthy of it! None is more worthy to quaff\nit than yourself!\"\n\nSo saying, King Aegeus took the golden goblet from the table, and was\nabout to offer it to Theseus. But, partly through his infirmities, and\npartly because it seemed so sad a thing to take away this young man's\nlife. however wicked he might be, and partly, no doubt, because his\nheart was wiser than his head, and quaked within him at the thought of\nwhat he was going to do--for all these reasons, the king's hand\ntrembled so much that a great deal of the wine slopped over. In order\nto strengthen his purpose, and fearing lest the whole of the precious\npoison should be wasted, one of his nephews now whispered to him:\n\n\"Has your Majesty any doubt of this stranger's guilt? This is the\nvery sword with which he meant to slay you. How sharp, and bright, and\nterrible it is! Quick!--let him taste the wine; or perhaps he may do the\ndeed even yet.\"\n\nAt these words, Aegeus drove every thought and feeling out of his\nbreast, except the one idea of how justly the young man deserved to be\nput to death. He sat erect on his throne, and held out the goblet of\nwine with a steady hand, and bent on Theseus a frown of kingly severity;\nfor, after all, he had too noble a spirit to murder even a treacherous\nenemy with a deceitful smile upon his face.\n\n\"Drink!\" said he, in the stern tone with which he was wont to condemn\na criminal to be beheaded. \"You have well deserved of me such wine as\nthis!\"\n\nTheseus held out his hand to take the wine. But, before he touched it,\nKing Aegeus trembled again. His eyes had fallen on the gold-hilted sword\nthat hung at the young man's side. He drew back the goblet.\n\n\"That sword!\" he exclaimed: \"how came you by it?\"\n\n\"It was my father's sword,\" replied Theseus, with a tremulous voice.\n\"These were his sandals. My dear mother (her name is Aethra) told me\nhis story while I was yet a little child. But it is only a month since\nI grew strong enough to lift the heavy stone, and take the sword and\nsandals from beneath it, and come to Athens to seek my father.\"\n\n\"My son! my son!\" cried King Aegeus, flinging away the fatal goblet, and\ntottering down from the throne to fall into the arms of Theseus. \"Yes,\nthese are Aethra's eyes. It is my son.\"\n\nI have quite forgotten what became of the king's nephews. But when the\nwicked Medea saw this new turn of affairs, she hurried out of the\nroom, and going to her private chamber, lost no time to setting her\nenchantments to work. In a few moments, she heard a great noise of\nhissing snakes outside of the chamber window; and behold! there was her\nfiery chariot, and four huge winged serpents, wriggling and twisting in\nthe air, flourishing their tails higher than the top of the palace, and\nall ready to set off on an aerial journey. Medea staid only long enough\nto take her son with her, and to steal the crown jewels, together with\nthe king's best robes, and whatever other valuable things she could lay\nhands on; and getting into the chariot, she whipped up the snakes, and\nascended high over the city.\n\nThe king, hearing the hiss of the serpents, scrambled as fast as he\ncould to the window, and bawled out to the abominable enchantress never\nto come back. The whole people of Athens, too, who had run out of doors\nto see this wonderful spectacle, set up a shout of joy at the prospect\nof getting rid of her. Medea, almost bursting with rage, uttered\nprecisely such a hiss as one of her own snakes, only ten times more\nvenomous and spiteful; and glaring fiercely out of the blaze of the\nchariot, she shook her hands over the multitude below, as if she were\nscattering a million of curses among them. In so doing, however, she\nunintentionally let fall about five hundred diamonds of the first\nwater, together with a thousand great pearls, and two thousand emeralds,\nrubies, sapphires, opals, and topazes, to which she had helped herself\nout of the king's strong box. All these came pelting down, like a shower\nof many-colored hailstones, upon the heads of grown people and children,\nwho forthwith gathered them up, and carried them back to the palace. But\nKing Aegeus told them that they were welcome to the whole, and to twice\nas many more, if he had them, for the sake of his delight at finding\nhis son, and losing the wicked Medea. And, indeed, if you had seen how\nhateful was her last look, as the flaming chariot flew upward, you would\nnot have wondered that both king and people should think her departure a\ngood riddance.\n\nAnd now Prince Theseus was taken into great favor by his royal father.\nThe old king was never weary of having him sit beside him on his throne\n(which was quite wide enough for two), and of hearing him tell about his\ndear mother, and his childhood, and his many boyish efforts to lift the\nponderous stone. Theseus, however, was much too brave and active a young\nman to be willing to spend all his time in relating things which had\nalready happened. His ambition was to perform other and more heroic\ndeeds, which should be better worth telling in prose and verse. Nor had\nhe been long in Athens before he caught and chained a terrible mad bull,\nand made a public show of him, greatly to the wonder and admiration\nof good King Aegeus and his subjects. But pretty soon, he undertook an\naffair that made all his foregone adventures seem like mere boy's play.\nThe occasion of it was as follows:\n\nOne morning, when Prince Theseus awoke, he fancied that he must have had\na very sorrowful dream, and that it was still running in his mind, even\nnow that his eyes were opened. For it appeared as if the air was full of\na melancholy wail; and when he listened more attentively, he could hear\nsobs, and groans, and screams of woe, mingled with deep, quiet sighs,\nwhich came from the king's palace, and from the streets, and from the\ntemples, and from every habitation in the city. And all these mournful\nnoises, issuing out of thousands of separate hearts, united themselves\ninto one great sound of affliction, which had startled Theseus from\nslumber. He put on his clothes as quickly as he could (not forgetting\nhis sandals and gold-hilted sword), and, hastening to the king, inquired\nwhat it all meant.\n\n\"Alas! my son,\" quoth King Aegeus, heaving a long sigh, \"here is a very\nlamentable matter in hand! This is the wofulest anniversary in the\nwhole year. It is the day when we annually draw lots to see which of\nthe youths and maids of Athens shall go to be devoured by the horrible\nMinotaur!\"\n\n\"The Minotaur!\" exclaimed Prince Theseus; and like a brave young prince\nas he was, he put his hand to the hilt of his sword. \"What kind of a\nmonster may that be? Is it not possible, at the risk of one's life, to\nslay him?\"\n\nBut King Aegeus shook his venerable head, and to convince Theseus that\nit was quite a hopeless case, he gave him an explanation of the whole\naffair. It seems that in the island of Crete there lived a certain\ndreadful monster, called a Minotaur, which was shaped partly like a\nman and partly like a bull, and was altogether such a hideous sort of\na creature that it is really disagreeable to think of him. If he were\nsuffered to exist at all, it should have been on some desert island,\nor in the duskiness of some deep cavern, where nobody would ever be\ntormented by his abominable aspect. But King Minos, who reigned over\nCrete, laid out a vast deal of money in building a habitation for the\nMinotaur, and took great care of his health and comfort, merely for\nmischief's sake. A few years before this time, there had been a war\nbetween the city of Athens and the island of Crete, in which the\nAthenians were beaten, and compelled to beg for peace. No peace could\nthey obtain, however, except on condition that they should send seven\nyoung men and seven maidens, every year, to be devoured by the pet\nmonster of the cruel King Minos. For three years past, this grievous\ncalamity had been borne. And the sobs, and groans, and shrieks, with\nwhich the city was now filled, were caused by the people's woe, because\nthe fatal day had come again, when the fourteen victims were to be\nchosen by lot; and the old people feared lest their sons or daughters\nmight be taken, and the youths and damsels dreaded lest they themselves\nmight be destined to glut the ravenous maw of that detestable man-brute.\n\nBut when Theseus heard the story, he straightened himself up, so that\nhe seemed taller than ever before; and as for his face it was indignant,\ndespiteful, bold, tender, and compassionate, all in one look.\n\n\"Let the people of Athens this year draw lots for only six young men,\ninstead of seven,\" said he, \"I will myself be the seventh; and let the\nMinotaur devour me if he can!\"\n\n\"O my dear son,\" cried King Aegeus, \"why should you expose yourself to\nthis horrible fate? You are a royal prince, and have a right to hold\nyourself above the destinies of common men.\"\n\n\"It is because I am a prince, your son, and the rightful heir of your\nkingdom, that I freely take upon me the calamity of your subjects,\"\nanswered Theseus, \"And you, my father, being king over these people, and\nanswerable to Heaven for their welfare, are bound to sacrifice what\nis dearest to you, rather than that the son or daughter of the poorest\ncitizen should come to any harm.\"\n\nThe old king shed tears, and besought Theseus not to leave him desolate\nin his old age, more especially as he had but just begun to know the\nhappiness of possessing a good and valiant son. Theseus, however,\nfelt that he was in the right, and therefore would not give up his\nresolution. But he assured his father that he did not intend to be eaten\nup, unresistingly, like a sheep, and that, if the Minotaur devoured him,\nit should not be without a battle for his dinner. And finally, since he\ncould not help it, King Aegeus consented to let him go. So a vessel\nwas got ready, and rigged with black sails; and Theseus, with six other\nyoung men, and seven tender and beautiful damsels, came down to the\nharbor to embark. A sorrowful multitude accompanied them to the shore.\nThere was the poor old king, too, leaning on his son's arm, and looking\nas if his single heart held all the grief of Athens.\n\nJust as Prince Theseus was going on board, his father bethought himself\nof one last word to say.\n\n\"My beloved son,\" said he, grasping the Prince's hand, \"you observe that\nthe sails of this vessel are black; as indeed they ought to be, since it\ngoes upon a voyage of sorrow and despair. Now, being weighed down with\ninfirmities, I know not whether I can survive till the vessel shall\nreturn. But, as long as I do live, I shall creep daily to the top of\nyonder cliff, to watch if there be a sail upon the sea. And, dearest\nTheseus, if by some happy chance, you should escape the jaws of the\nMinotaur, then tear down those dismal sails, and hoist others that shall\nbe bright as the sunshine. Beholding them on the horizon, myself and\nall the people will know that you are coming back victorious, and will\nwelcome you with such a festal uproar as Athens never heard before.\"\n\nTheseus promised that he would do so. Then going on board, the mariners\ntrimmed the vessel's black sails to the wind, which blew faintly off\nthe shore, being pretty much made up of the sighs that everybody kept\npouring forth on this melancholy occasion. But by and by, when they had\ngot fairly out to sea, there came a stiff breeze from the north-west,\nand drove them along as merrily over the white-capped waves as if they\nhad been going on the most delightful errand imaginable. And though\nit was a sad business enough, I rather question whether fourteen young\npeople, without any old persons to keep them in order, could continue\nto spend the whole time of the voyage in being miserable. There had been\nsome few dances upon the undulating deck, I suspect, and some hearty\nbursts of laughter, and other such unseasonable merriment among\nthe victims, before the high blue mountains of Crete began to show\nthemselves among the far-off clouds. That sight, to be sure, made them\nall very grave again.\n\nTheseus stood among the sailors, gazing eagerly towards the land;\nalthough, as yet, it seemed hardly more substantial than the clouds,\namidst which the mountains were looming up. Once or twice, he fancied\nthat he saw a glare of some bright object, a long way off, flinging a\ngleam across the waves.\n\n\"Did you see that flash of light?\" he inquired of the master of the\nvessel.\n\n\"No, prince; but I have seen it before,\" answered the master. \"It came\nfrom Talus, I suppose.\"\n\nAs the breeze came fresher just then, the master was busy with trimming\nhis sails, and had no more time to answer questions. But while the\nvessel flew faster and faster towards Crete, Theseus was astonished to\nbehold a human figure, gigantic in size, which appeared to be striding,\nwith a measured movement, along the margin of the island. It stepped\nfrom cliff to cliff, and sometimes from one headland to another, while\nthe sea foamed and thundered on the shore beneath, and dashed its jets\nof spray over the giant's feet. What was still more remarkable, whenever\nthe sun shone on this huge figure, it flickered and glimmered; its vast\ncountenance, too, had a metallic lustre, and threw great flashes of\nsplendor through the air. The folds of its garments, moreover, instead\nof waving in the wind, fell heavily over its limbs, as if woven of some\nkind of metal.\n\nThe nigher the vessel came, the more Theseus wondered what this immense\ngiant could be, and whether it actually had life or no. For, though it\nwalked, and made other lifelike motions, there yet was a kind of jerk\nin its gait, which, together with its brazen aspect, caused the young\nprince to suspect that it was no true giant, but only a wonderful piece\nof machinery. The figure looked all the more terrible because it carried\nan enormous brass club on its shoulder.\n\n\"What is this wonder?\" Theseus asked of the master of the vessel, who\nwas now at leisure to answer him.\n\n\"It is Talus, the Man of Brass,\" said the master.\n\n\"And is he a live giant, or a brazen image?\" asked Theseus.\n\n\"That, truly,\" replied the master, \"is the point which has always\nperplexed me. Some say, indeed, that this Talus was hammered out for\nKing Minos by Vulcan himself, the skilfullest of all workers in metal.\nBut who ever saw a brazen image that had sense enough to walk round an\nisland three times a day, as this giant walks round the island of Crete,\nchallenging every vessel that comes nigh the shore? And, on the other\nhand, what living thing, unless his sinews were made of brass, would not\nbe weary of marching eighteen hundred miles in the twenty-four hours, as\nTalus does, without ever sitting down to rest? He is a puzzler, take him\nhow you will.\"\n\nStill the vessel went bounding onward; and now Theseus could hear the\nbrazen clangor of the giant's footsteps, as he trod heavily upon the\nsea-beaten rocks, some of which were seen to crack and crumble into the\nfoaming waves beneath his weight. As they approached the entrance of the\nport, the giant straddled clear across it, with a foot firmly planted on\neach headland, and uplifting his club to such a height that its butt-end\nwas hidden in the cloud, he stood in that formidable posture, with the\nsun gleaming all over his metallic surface. There seemed nothing else\nto be expected but that, the next moment, he would fetch his great club\ndown, slam bang, and smash the vessel into a thousand pieces, without\nheeding how many innocent people he might destroy; for there is seldom\nany mercy in a giant, you know, and quite as little in a piece of brass\nclockwork. But just when Theseus and his companions thought the blow was\ncoming, the brazen lips unclosed themselves, and the figure spoke.\n\n\"Whence come you, strangers?\"\n\nAnd when the ringing voice ceased, there was just such a reverberation\nas you may have heard within a great church bell, for a moment or two\nafter the stroke of the hammer.\n\n\"From Athens!\" shouted the master in reply.\n\n\"On what errand?\" thundered the Man of Brass.\n\nAnd he whirled his club aloft more threateningly than ever, as if he\nwere about to smite them with a thunderstroke right amidships, because\nAthens, so little while ago, had been at war with Crete.\n\n\"We bring the seven youths and the seven maidens,\" answered the master,\n\"to be devoured by the Minotaur!\"\n\n\"Pass!\" cried the brazen giant.\n\nThat one loud word rolled all about the sky, while again there was a\nbooming reverberation within the figure's breast. The vessel glided\nbetween the headlands of the port, and the giant resumed his march. In\na few moments, this wondrous sentinel was far away, flashing in the\ndistant sunshine, and revolving with immense strides round the island of\nCrete, as it was his never-ceasing task to do.\n\nNo sooner had they entered the harbor than a party of the guards of King\nMinos came down to the water side, and took charge of the fourteen young\nmen and damsels. Surrounded by these armed warriors, Prince Theseus\nand his companions were led to the king's palace, and ushered into his\npresence. Now, Minos was a stern and pitiless king. If the figure that\nguarded Crete was made of brass, then the monarch, who ruled over it,\nmight be thought to have a still harder metal in his breast, and might\nhave been called a man of iron. He bent his shaggy brows upon the poor\nAthenian victims. Any other mortal, beholding their fresh and tender\nbeauty, and their innocent looks, would have felt himself sitting on\nthorns until he had made every soul of them happy by bidding them\ngo free as the summer wind. But this immitigable Minos cared only\nto examine whether they were plump enough to satisfy the Minotaur's\nappetite. For my part, I wish he himself had been the only victim; and\nthe monster would have found him a pretty tough one.\n\nOne after another, King Minos called these pale, frightened youths and\nsobbing maidens to his footstool, gave them each a poke in the ribs\nwith his sceptre (to try whether they were in good flesh or no), and\ndismissed them with a nod to his guards. But when his eyes rested on\nTheseus, the king looked at him more attentively, because his face was\ncalm and brave.\n\n\"Young man,\" asked he, with his stern voice, \"are you not appalled at\nthe certainty of being devoured by this terrible Minotaur?\"\n\n\"I have offered my life in a good cause,\" answered Theseus, \"and\ntherefore I give it freely and gladly. But thou, King Minos, art thou\nnot thyself appalled, who, year after year, hast perpetrated this\ndreadful wrong, by giving seven innocent youths and as many maidens to\nbe devoured by a monster? Dost thou not tremble, wicked king, to turn\nshine eyes inward on shine own heart? Sitting there on thy golden\nthrone, and in thy robes of majesty, I tell thee to thy face, King\nMinos, thou art a more hideous monster than the Minotaur himself!\"\n\n\"Aha! do you think me so?\" cried the king, laughing in his cruel way.\n\"To-morrow, at breakfast time, you shall have an opportunity of judging\nwhich is the greater monster, the Minotaur or the king! Take them away,\nguards; and let this free-spoken youth be the Minotaur's first morsel.\"\n\nNear the king's throne (though I had no time to tell you so before)\nstood his daughter Ariadne. She was a beautiful and tender-hearted\nmaiden, and looked at these poor doomed captives with very different\nfeelings from those of the iron-breasted King Minos. She really wept\nindeed, at the idea of how much human happiness would be needlessly\nthrown away, by giving so many young people, in the first bloom and\nrose blossom of their lives, to be eaten up by a creature who, no doubt,\nwould have preferred a fat ox, or even a large pig, to the plumpest of\nthem. And when she beheld the brave, spirited figure of Prince Theseus\nbearing himself so calmly in his terrible peril, she grew a hundred\ntimes more pitiful than before. As the guards were taking him away,\nshe flung herself at the king's feet, and besought him to set all the\ncaptives free, and especially this one young man.\n\n\"Peace, foolish girl!\" answered King Minos.\n\n\"What hast thou to do with an affair like this? It is a matter of state\npolicy, and therefore quite beyond thy weak comprehension. Go water thy\nflowers, and think no more of these Athenian caitiffs, whom the Minotaur\nshall as certainly eat up for breakfast as I will eat a partridge for my\nsupper.\"\n\nSo saying, the king looked cruel enough to devour Theseus and all the\nrest of the captives himself, had there been no Minotaur to save him the\ntrouble. As he would hear not another word in their favor, the prisoners\nwere now led away, and clapped into a dungeon, where the jailer advised\nthem to go to sleep as soon as possible, because the Minotaur was in the\nhabit of calling for breakfast early. The seven maidens and six of the\nyoung men soon sobbed themselves to slumber. But Theseus was not like\nthem. He felt conscious that he was wiser, and braver, and stronger\nthan his companions, and that therefore he had the responsibility of all\ntheir lives upon him, and must consider whether there was no way to save\nthem, even in this last extremity. So he kept himself awake, and paced\nto and fro across the gloomy dungeon in which they were shut up.\n\nJust before midnight, the door was softly unbarred, and the gentle\nAriadne showed herself, with a torch in her hand.\n\n\"Are you awake, Prince Theseus?\" she whispered.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Theseus. \"With so little time to live, I do not choose\nto waste any of it in sleep.\"\n\n\"Then follow me,\" said Ariadne, \"and tread softly.\"\n\nWhat had become of the jailer and the guards, Theseus never knew. But,\nhowever that might be, Ariadne opened all the doors, and led him forth\nfrom the darksome prison into the pleasant moonlight.\n\n\"Theseus,\" said the maiden, \"you can now get on board your vessel, and\nsail away for Athens.\"\n\n\"No,\" answered the young man; \"I will never leave Crete unless I can\nfirst slay the Minotaur, and save my poor companions, and deliver Athens\nfrom this cruel tribute.\"\n\n\"I knew that this would be your resolution,\" said Ariadne. \"Come,\nthen, with me, brave Theseus. Here is your own sword, which the guards\ndeprived you of. You will need it; and pray Heaven you may use it well.\"\n\nThen she led Theseus along by the hand until they came to a dark,\nshadowy grove, where the moonlight wasted itself on the tops of the\ntrees, without shedding hardly so much as a glimmering beam upon their\npathway. After going a good way through this obscurity, they reached a\nhigh marble wall, which was overgrown with creeping plants, that made\nit shaggy with their verdure. The wall seemed to have no door, nor\nany windows, but rose up, lofty, and massive, and mysterious, and was\nneither to be clambered over, nor, as far as Theseus could perceive, to\nbe passed through. Nevertheless, Ariadne did but press one of her soft\nlittle fingers against a particular block of marble and, though it\nlooked as solid as any other part of the wall, it yielded to her\ntouch, disclosing an entrance just wide enough to admit them They crept\nthrough, and the marble stone swung back into its place.\n\n\"We are now,\" said Ariadne, \"in the famous labyrinth which Daedalus\nbuilt before he made himself a pair of wings, and flew away from our\nisland like a bird. That Daedalus was a very cunning workman; but of all\nhis artful contrivances, this labyrinth is the most wondrous. Were we\nto take but a few steps from the doorway, we might wander about all\nour lifetime, and never find it again. Yet in the very center of this\nlabyrinth is the Minotaur; and, Theseus, you must go thither to seek\nhim.\"\n\n\"But how shall I ever find him,\" asked Theseus, \"if the labyrinth so\nbewilders me as you say it will?\"\n\nJust as he spoke, they heard a rough and very disagreeable roar, which\ngreatly resembled the lowing of a fierce bull, but yet had some sort of\nsound like the human voice. Theseus even fancied a rude articulation in\nit, as if the creature that uttered it were trying to shape his hoarse\nbreath into words. It was at some distance, however, and he really could\nnot tell whether it sounded most like a bull's roar or a man's harsh\nvoice.\n\n\"That is the Minotaur's noise,\" whispered Ariadne, closely grasping the\nhand of Theseus, and pressing one of her own hands to her heart, which\nwas all in a tremble. \"You must follow that sound through the windings\nof the labyrinth, and, by and by, you will find him. Stay! take the end\nof this silken string; I will hold the other end; and then, if you\nwin the victory, it will lead you again to this spot. Farewell, brave\nTheseus.\"\n\nSo the young man took the end of the silken string in his left hand, and\nhis gold-hilted sword, ready drawn from its scabbard, in the other, and\ntrod boldly into the inscrutable labyrinth. How this labyrinth was built\nis more than I can tell you. But so cunningly contrived a mizmaze was\nnever seen in the world, before nor since. There can be nothing else so\nintricate, unless it were the brain of a man like Daedalus, who planned\nit, or the heart of any ordinary man; which last, to be sure, is ten\ntimes as great a mystery as the labyrinth of Crete. Theseus had not\ntaken five steps before he lost sight of Ariadne; and in five more his\nhead was growing dizzy. But still he went on, now creeping through a low\narch, now ascending a flight of steps, now in one crooked passage and\nnow in another, with here a door opening before him, and there one\nbanging behind, until it really seemed as if the walls spun round, and\nwhirled him round along with them. And all the while, through these\nhollow avenues, now nearer, now farther off again, resounded the cry of\nthe Minotaur; and the sound was so fierce, so cruel, so ugly, so like a\nbull's roar, and withal so like a human voice, and yet like neither of\nthem, that the brave heart of Theseus grew sterner and angrier at\nevery step; for he felt it an insult to the moon and sky, and to our\naffectionate and simple Mother Earth, that such a monster should have\nthe audacity to exist.\n\nAs he passed onward, the clouds gathered over the moon, and the\nlabyrinth grew so dusky that Theseus could no longer discern the\nbewilderment through which he was passing. He would have left quite\nlost, and utterly hopeless of ever again walking in a straight path, if,\nevery little while, he had not been conscious of a gentle twitch at\nthe silken cord. Then he knew that the tender-hearted Ariadne was still\nholding the other end, and that she was fearing for him, and hoping for\nhim, and giving him just as much of her sympathy as if she were close\nby his side. O, indeed, I can assure you, there was a vast deal of\nhuman sympathy running along that slender thread of silk. But still he\nfollowed the dreadful roar of the Minotaur, which now grew louder and\nlouder, and finally so very loud that Theseus fully expected to come\nclose upon him, at every new zizgag and wriggle of the path. And at\nlast, in an open space, at the very center of the labyrinth, he did\ndiscern the hideous creature.\n\nSure enough, what an ugly monster it was! Only his horned head belonged\nto a bull; and yet, somehow or other, he looked like a bull all over,\npreposterously waddling on his hind legs; or, if you happened to view\nhim in another way, he seemed wholly a man, and all the more monstrous\nfor being so. And there he was, the wretched thing, with no society, no\ncompanion, no kind of a mate, living only to do mischief, and incapable\nof knowing what affection means. Theseus hated him, and shuddered at\nhim, and yet could not but be sensible of some sort of pity; and all\nthe more, the uglier and more detestable the creature was. For he kept\nstriding to and fro, in a solitary frenzy of rage, continually emitting\na hoarse roar, which was oddly mixed up with half-shaped words; and,\nafter listening a while, Theseus understood that the Minotaur was\nsaying to himself how miserable he was, and how hungry, and how he hated\neverybody, and how he longed to eat up the human race alive.\n\nAh! the bull-headed villain! And O, my good little people, you will\nperhaps see, one of these days, as I do now, that every human being who\nsuffers any thing evil to get into his nature, or to remain there, is a\nkind of Minotaur, an enemy of his fellow-creatures, and separated from\nall good companionship, as this poor monster was.\n\nWas Theseus afraid? By no means, my dear auditors. What! a hero like\nTheseus afraid, Not had the Minotaur had twenty bull-heads instead of\none. Bold as he was, however, I rather fancy that it strengthened his\nvaliant heart, just at this crisis, to feel a tremulous twitch at the\nsilken cord, which he was still holding in his left hand. It was as\nif Ariadne were giving him all her might and courage; and much as he\nalready had, and little as she had to give, it made his own seem twice\nas much. And to confess the honest truth, he needed the whole; for\nnow the Minotaur, turning suddenly about, caught sight of Theseus, and\ninstantly lowered his horribly sharp horns, exactly as a mad bull does\nwhen he means to rush against an enemy. At the same time, he belched\nforth a tremendous roar, in which there was something like the words\nof human language, but all disjointed and shaken to pieces by passing\nthrough the gullet of a miserably enraged brute.\n\nTheseus could only guess what the creature intended to say, and that\nrather by his gestures than his words; for the Minotaur's horns were\nsharper than his wits, and of a great deal more service to him than his\ntongue. But probably this was the sense of what he uttered:\n\n\"Ah, wretch of a human being! I'll stick my horns through you, and toss\nyou fifty feet high, and eat you up the moment you come down.\"\n\n\"Come on, then, and try it!\" was all that Theseus deigned to reply; for\nhe was far too magnanimous to assault his enemy with insolent language.\n\nWithout more words on either side, there ensued the most awful fight\nbetween Theseus and the Minotaur that ever happened beneath the sun or\nmoon. I really know not how it might have turned out, if the monster, in\nhis first headlong rush against Theseus, had not missed him, by a hair's\nbreadth, and broken one of his horns short off against the stone wall.\nOn this mishap, he bellowed so intolerably that a part of the labyrinth\ntumbled down, and all the inhabitants of Crete mistook the noise for\nan uncommonly heavy thunder storm. Smarting with the pain, he galloped\naround the open space in so ridiculous a way that Theseus laughed at it,\nlong afterwards, though not precisely at the moment. After this, the\ntwo antagonists stood valiantly up to one another, and fought, sword\nto horn, for a long while. At last, the Minotaur made a run at Theseus,\ngrazed his left side with his horn, and flung him down; and thinking\nthat he had stabbed him to the heart, he cut a great caper in the air,\nopened his bull mouth from ear to ear, and prepared to snap his head\noff. But Theseus by this time had leaped up, and caught the monster off\nhis guard. Fetching a sword stroke at him with all his force, he hit him\nfair upon the neck, and made his bull head skip six yards from his human\nbody, which fell down flat upon the ground.\n\nSo now the battle was ended. Immediately the moon shone out as brightly\nas if all the troubles of the world, and all the wickedness and the\nugliness that infest human life, were past and gone forever. And\nTheseus, as he leaned on his sword, taking breath, felt another twitch\nof the silken cord; for all through the terrible encounter, he had held\nit fast in his left hand. Eager to let Ariadne know of his success,\nhe followed the guidance of the thread, and soon found himself at the\nentrance of the labyrinth.\n\n\"Thou hast slain the monster,\" cried Ariadne, clasping her hands.\n\n\"Thanks to thee, dear Ariadne,\" answered Theseus, \"I return victorious.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Ariadne, \"we must quickly summon thy friends, and get them\nand thyself on board the vessel before dawn. If morning finds thee here,\nmy father will avenge the Minotaur.\"\n\nTo make my story short, the poor captives were awakened, and, hardly\nknowing whether it was not a joyful dream, were told of what Theseus had\ndone, and that they must set sail for Athens before daybreak. Hastening\ndown to the vessel, they all clambered on board, except Prince Theseus,\nwho lingered behind them on the strand, holding Ariadne's hand clasped\nin his own.\n\n\"Dear maiden,\" said he, \"thou wilt surely go with us. Thou art too\ngentle and sweet a child for such an iron-hearted father as King Minos.\nHe cares no more for thee than a granite rock cares for the little\nflower that grows in one of its crevices. But my father, King Aegeus,\nand my dear mother, Aethra, and all the fathers and mothers in Athens,\nand all the sons and daughters too, will love and honor thee as their\nbenefactress. Come with us, then; for King Minos will be very angry when\nhe knows what thou hast done.\"\n\nNow, some low-minded people, who pretend to tell the story of Theseus\nand Ariadne, have the face to say that this royal and honorable maiden\ndid really flee away, under cover of the night, with the young stranger\nwhose life she had preserved. They say, too, that Prince Theseus (who\nwould have died sooner than wrong the meanest creature in the world)\nungratefully deserted Ariadne, on a solitary island, where the vessel\ntouched on its voyage to Athens. But, had the noble Theseus heard these\nfalsehoods, he would have served their slanderous authors as he served\nthe Minotaur! Here is what Ariadne answered, when the brave prince of\nAthens besought her to accompany him:\n\n\"No, Theseus,\" the maiden said, pressing his hand, and then drawing back\na step or two, \"I cannot go with you. My father is old, and has nobody\nbut myself to love him. Hard as you think his heart is, it would break\nto lose me. At first, King Minos will be angry; but he will soon forgive\nhis only child; and, by and by, he will rejoice, I know, that no more\nyouths and maidens must come from Athens to be devoured by the Minotaur.\nI have saved you, Theseus, as much for my father's sake as for your own.\nFarewell! Heaven bless you!\"\n\nAll this was so true, and so maiden-like, and was spoken with so sweet a\ndignity, that Theseus would have blushed to urge her any longer.\nNothing remained for him, therefore, but to bid Ariadne an affectionate\nfarewell, and to go on board the vessel, and set sail.\n\nIn a few moments the white foam was boiling up before their prow, as\nPrince Theseus and his companions sailed out of the harbor, with\na whistling breeze behind them. Talus, the brazen giant, on his\nnever-ceasing sentinel's march, happened to be approaching that part of\nthe coast; and they saw him, by the glimmering of the moonbeams on his\npolished surface, while he was yet a great way off. As the figure moved\nlike clockwork, however, and could neither hasten his enormous strides\nnor retard them, he arrived at the port when they were just beyond the\nreach of his club. Nevertheless, straddling from headland to headland,\nas his custom was, Talus attempted to strike a blow at the vessel,\nand, overreaching himself, tumbled at full length into the sea, which\nsplashed high over his gigantic shape, as when an iceberg turns a\nsomerset. There he lies yet; and whoever desires to enrich himself by\nmeans of brass had better go thither with a diving bell, and fish up\nTalus.\n\nOn the homeward voyage, the fourteen youths and damsels were in\nexcellent spirits, as you will easily suppose. They spent most of their\ntime in dancing, unless when the sidelong breeze made the deck slope\ntoo much. In due season, they came within sight of the coast of Attica,\nwhich was their native country. But here, I am grieved to tell you,\nhappened a sad misfortune.\n\nYou will remember (what Theseus unfortunately forgot) that his father,\nKing Aegeus, had enjoined it upon him to hoist sunshiny sails, instead\nof black ones, in case he should overcome the Minotaur, and return\nvictorious. In the joy of their success, however, and amidst the sports,\ndancing, and other merriment, with which these young folks wore away the\ntime, they never once thought whether their sails were black, white, or\nrainbow colored, and, indeed, left it entirely to the mariners whether\nthey had any sails at all. Thus the vessel returned, like a raven, with\nthe same sable wings that had wafted her away. But poor King Aegeus, day\nafter day, infirm as he was, had clambered to the summit of a cliff that\noverhung the sea, and there sat watching for Prince Theseus, homeward\nbound; and no sooner did he behold the fatal blackness of the sails,\nthan he concluded that his dear son, whom he loved so much, and felt so\nproud of, had been eaten by the Minotaur. He could not bear the thought\nof living any longer; so, first flinging his crown and sceptre into\nthe sea (useless baubles that they were to him now), King Aegeus merely\nstooped forward, and fell headlong over the cliff, and was drowned, poor\nsoul, in the waves that foamed at its base!\n\nThis was melancholy news for Prince Theseus, who, when he stepped\nashore, found himself king of all the country, whether he would or no;\nand such a turn of fortune was enough to make any young man feel very\nmuch out of spirits. However, he sent for his dear mother to Athens,\nand, by taking her advice in matters of state, became a very excellent\nmonarch, and was greatly beloved by his people.\n\n\n\nTHE PYGMIES.\n\nA great while ago, when the world was full of wonders, there lived an\nearth-born Giant, named Antaeus, and a million or more of curious little\nearth-born people, who were called Pygmies. This Giant and these\nPygmies being children of the same mother (that is to say, our good\nold Grandmother Earth), were all brethren, and dwelt together in a very\nfriendly and affectionate manner, far, far off, in the middle of hot\nAfrica. The Pygmies were so small, and there were so many sandy deserts\nand such high mountains between them and the rest of mankind, that\nnobody could get a peep at them oftener than once in a hundred years. As\nfor the Giant, being of a very lofty stature, it was easy enough to see\nhim, but safest to keep out of his sight.\n\nAmong the Pygmies, I suppose, if one of them grew to the height of six\nor eight inches, he was reckoned a prodigiously tall man. It must have\nbeen very pretty to behold their little cities, with streets two or\nthree feet wide, paved with the smallest pebbles, and bordered by\nhabitations about as big as a squirrel's cage. The king's palace\nattained to the stupendous magnitude of Periwinkle's baby house, and\nstood in the center of a spacious square, which could hardly have been\ncovered by our hearth-rug. Their principal temple, or cathedral, was as\nlofty as yonder bureau, and was looked upon as a wonderfully sublime and\nmagnificent edifice. All these structures were built neither of stone\nnor wood. They were neatly plastered together by the Pygmy workmen,\npretty much like birds' nests, out of straw, feathers, egg shells, and\nother small bits of stuff, with stiff clay instead of mortar; and when\nthe hot sun had dried them, they were just as snug and comfortable as a\nPygmy could desire.\n\nThe country round about was conveniently laid out in fields, the largest\nof which was nearly of the same extent as one of Sweet Fern's flower\nbeds. Here the Pygmies used to plant wheat and other kinds of grain,\nwhich, when it grew up and ripened, overshadowed these tiny people as\nthe pines, and the oaks, and the walnut and chestnut trees overshadow\nyou and me, when we walk in our own tracts of woodland. At harvest time,\nthey were forced to go with their little axes and cut down the grain,\nexactly as a woodcutter makes a clearing in the forest; and when a stalk\nof wheat, with its overburdened top, chanced to come crashing down upon\nan unfortunate Pygmy, it was apt to be a very sad affair. If it did not\nsmash him all to pieces, at least, I am sure, it must have made the poor\nlittle fellow's head ache. And O, my stars! if the fathers and mothers\nwere so small, what must the children and babies have been? A whole\nfamily of them might have been put to bed in a shoe, or have crept into\nan old glove, and played at hide-and-seek in its thumb and fingers. You\nmight have hidden a year-old baby under a thimble.\n\nNow these funny Pygmies, as I told you before, had a Giant for their\nneighbor and brother, who was bigger, if possible, than they were\nlittle. He was so very tall that he carried a pine tree, which was eight\nfeet through the butt, for a walking stick. It took a far-sighted Pygmy,\nI can assure you, to discern his summit without the help of a telescope;\nand sometimes, in misty weather, they could not see his upper half, but\nonly his long legs, which seemed to be striding about by themselves. But\nat noonday in a clear atmosphere, when the sun shone brightly over him,\nthe Giant Antaeus presented a very grand spectacle. There he used to\nstand, a perfect mountain of a man, with his great countenance smiling\ndown upon his little brothers, and his one vast eye (which was as big as\na cart wheel, and placed right in the center of his forehead) giving a\nfriendly wink to the whole nation at once.\n\nThe Pygmies loved to talk with Antaeus; and fifty times a day, one or\nanother of them would turn up his head, and shout through the hollow of\nhis fists, \"Halloo, brother Antaeus! How are you, my good fellow?\" And\nwhen the small distant squeak of their voices reached his ear, the\nGiant would make answer, \"Pretty well, brother Pygmy, I thank you,\" in a\nthunderous roar that would have shaken down the walls of their strongest\ntemple, only that it came from so far aloft.\n\nIt was a happy circumstance that Antaeus was the Pygmy people's friend;\nfor there was more strength in his little finger than in ten million of\nsuch bodies as this. If he had been as ill-natured to them as he was\nto everybody else, he might have beaten down their biggest city at one\nkick, and hardly have known that he did it. With the tornado of his\nbreath, he could have stripped the roofs from a hundred dwellings and\nsent thousands of the inhabitants whirling through the air. He might\nhave set his immense foot upon a multitude; and when he took it up\nagain, there would have been a pitiful sight, to be sure. But, being\nthe son of Mother Earth, as they likewise were, the Giant gave them his\nbrotherly kindness, and loved them with as big a love as it was possible\nto feel for creatures so very small. And, on their parts, the Pygmies\nloved Antaeus with as much affection as their tiny hearts could hold. He\nwas always ready to do them any good offices that lay in his power;\nas for example, when they wanted a breeze to turn their windmills, the\nGiant would set all the sails a-going with the mere natural respiration\nof his lungs. When the sun was too hot, he often sat himself down, and\nlet his shadow fall over the kingdom, from one frontier to the other;\nand as for matters in general, he was wise enough to let them alone,\nand leave the Pygmies to manage their own affairs--which, after all, is\nabout the best thing that great people can do for little ones.\n\nIn short, as I said before, Antaeus loved the Pygmies, and the Pygmies\nloved Antaeus. The Giant's life being as long as his body was large,\nwhile the lifetime of a Pygmy was but a span, this friendly intercourse\nhad been going on for innumerable generations and ages. It was written\nabout in the Pygmy histories, and talked about in their ancient\ntraditions. The most venerable and white-bearded Pygmy had never heard\nof a time, even in his greatest of grandfathers' days, when the Giant\nwas not their enormous friend. Once, to be sure (as was recorded on\nan obelisk, three feet high, erected on the place of the catastrophe),\nAntaeus sat down upon about five thousand Pygmies, who were assembled at\na military review. But this was one of those unlucky accidents for which\nnobody is to blame; so that the small folks never took it to heart, and\nonly requested the Giant to be careful forever afterwards to examine the\nacre of ground where he intended to squat himself.\n\nIt is a very pleasant picture to imagine Antaeus standing among the\nPygmies, like the spire of the tallest cathedral that ever was built,\nwhile they ran about like pismires at his feet; and to think that, in\nspite of their difference in size, there were affection and sympathy\nbetween them and him! Indeed, it has always seemed to me that the Giant\nneeded the little people more than the Pygmies needed the Giant. For,\nunless they had been his neighbors and well wishers, and, as we may\nsay, his playfellows, Antaeus would not have had a single friend in the\nworld. No other being like himself had ever been created. No creature of\nhis own size had ever talked with him, in thunder-like accents, face to\nface. When he stood with his head among the clouds, he was quite alone,\nand had been so for hundreds of years, and would be so forever. Even if\nhe had met another Giant, Antaeus would have fancied the world not big\nenough for two such vast personages, and, instead of being friends with\nhim, would have fought him till one of the two was killed. But with the\nPygmies he was the most sportive and humorous, and merry-hearted, and\nsweet-tempered old Giant that ever washed his face in a wet cloud.\n\nHis little friends, like all other small people, had a great opinion of\ntheir own importance, and used to assume quite a patronizing air towards\nthe Giant.\n\n\"Poor creature!\" they said one to another. \"He has a very dull time of\nit, all by himself; and we ought not to grudge wasting a little of our\nprecious time to amuse him. He is not half so bright as we are, to be\nsure; and, for that reason, he needs us to look after his comfort and\nhappiness. Let us be kind to the old fellow. Why, if Mother Earth had\nnot been very kind to ourselves, we might all have been Giants too.\"\n\nOn all their holidays, the Pygmies had excellent sport with Antaeus.\nHe often stretched himself out at full length on the ground, where he\nlooked like the long ridge of a hill; and it was a good hour's walk,\nno doubt, for a short-legged Pygmy to journey from head to foot of the\nGiant. He would lay down his great hand flat on the grass, and challenge\nthe tallest of them to clamber upon it, and straddle from finger to\nfinger. So fearless were they, that they made nothing of creeping in\namong the folds of his garments. When his head lay sidewise on the\nearth, they would march boldly up, and peep into the great cavern of his\nmouth, and take it all as a joke (as indeed it was meant) when Antaeus\ngave a sudden snap of his jaws, as if he were going to swallow fifty of\nthem at once. You would have laughed to see the children dodging in and\nout among his hair, or swinging from his beard. It is impossible to tell\nhalf of the funny tricks that they played with their huge comrade; but\nI do not know that anything was more curious than when a party of boys\nwere seen running races on his forehead, to try which of them could get\nfirst round the circle of his one great eye. It was another favorite\nfeat with them to march along the bridge of his nose, and jump down upon\nhis upper lip.\n\nIf the truth must be told, they were sometimes as troublesome to\nthe Giant as a swarm of ants or mosquitoes, especially as they had a\nfondness for mischief, and liked to prick his skin with their little\nswords and lances, to see how thick and tough it was. But Antaeus took\nit all kindly enough; although, once in a while, when he happened to be\nsleepy, he would grumble out a peevish word or two, like the muttering\nof a tempest, and ask them to have done with their nonsense. A great\ndeal oftener, however, he watched their merriment and gambols until his\nhuge, heavy, clumsy wits were completely stirred up by them; and then\nwould he roar out such a tremendous volume of immeasurable laughter,\nthat the whole nation of Pygmies had to put their hands to their ears,\nelse it would certainly have deafened them.\n\n\"Ho! ho! ho!\" quoth the Giant, shaking his mountainous sides. \"What a\nfunny thing it is to be little! If I were not Antaeus, I should like to\nbe a Pygmy, just for the joke's sake.\"\n\nThe Pygmies had but one thing to trouble them in the world. They were\nconstantly at war with the cranes, and had always been so, ever since\nthe long-lived Giant could remember. From time to time, very terrible\nbattles had been fought in which sometimes the little men won the\nvictory, and sometimes the cranes. According to some historians, the\nPygmies used to go to the battle, mounted on the backs of goats and\nrams; but such animals as these must have been far too big for Pygmies\nto ride upon; so that, I rather suppose, they rode on squirrel-back, or\nrabbit-back, or rat-back, or perhaps got upon hedgehogs, whose prickly\nquills would be very terrible to the enemy. However this might be, and\nwhatever creatures the Pygmies rode upon, I do not doubt that they made\na formidable appearance, armed with sword and spear, and bow and arrow,\nblowing their tiny trumpet, and shouting their little war cry. They\nnever failed to exhort one another to fight bravely, and recollect that\nthe world had its eyes upon them; although, in simple truth, the only\nspectator was the Giant Antaeus, with his one, great, stupid eye in the\nmiddle of his forehead.\n\nWhen the two armies joined battle, the cranes would rush forward,\nflapping their wings and stretching out their necks, and would perhaps\nsnatch up some of the Pygmies crosswise in their beaks. Whenever this\nhappened, it was truly an awful spectacle to see those little men of\nmight kicking and sprawling in the air, and at last disappearing down\nthe crane's long, crooked throat, swallowed up alive. A hero, you know,\nmust hold himself in readiness for any kind of fate; and doubtless\nthe glory of the thing was a consolation to him, even in the crane's\ngizzard. If Antaeus observed that the battle was going hard against his\nlittle allies, he generally stopped laughing, and ran with mile-long\nstrides to their assistance, flourishing his club aloft and shouting\nat the cranes, who quacked and croaked, and retreated as fast as they\ncould. Then the Pygmy army would march homeward in triumph, attributing\nthe victory entirely to their own valor, and to the warlike skill and\nstrategy of whomsoever happened to be captain general; and for a tedious\nwhile afterwards, nothing would be heard of but grand processions, and\npublic banquets, and brilliant illuminations, and shows of wax-work,\nwith likenesses of the distinguished officers, as small as life.\n\nIn the above-described warfare, if a Pygmy chanced to pluck out a\ncrane's tail feather, it proved a very great feather in his cap. Once or\ntwice, if you will believe me, a little man was made chief ruler of\nthe nation for no other merit in the world than bringing home such a\nfeather.\n\nBut I have now said enough to let you see what a gallant little people\nthese were, and how happily they and their forefathers, for nobody knows\nhow many generations, had lived with the immeasurable Giant Antaeus.\nIn the remaining part of the story, I shall tell you of a far more\nastonishing battle than any that was fought between the Pygmies and the\ncranes.\n\nOne day the mighty Antaeus was lolling at full length among his little\nfriends. His pine-tree walking stick lay on the ground, close by his\nside. His head was in one part of the kingdom, and his feet extended\nacross the boundaries of another part; and he was taking whatever\ncomfort he could get, while the Pygmies scrambled over him, and peeped\ninto his cavernous mouth, and played among his hair. Sometimes, for a\nminute or two, the Giant dropped asleep, and snored like the rush of a\nwhirlwind. During one of these little bits of slumber, a Pygmy chanced\nto climb upon his shoulder, and took a view around the horizon, as from\nthe summit of a hill; and he beheld something, a long way off, which\nmade him rub the bright specks of his eyes, and look sharper than\nbefore. At first he mistook it for a mountain, and wondered how it had\ngrown up so suddenly out of the earth. But soon he saw the mountain\nmove. As it came nearer and nearer, what should it turn out to be but a\nhuman shape, not so big as Antaeus, it is true, although a very enormous\nfigure, in comparison with Pygmies, and a vast deal bigger than the men\nwe see nowadays.\n\nWhen the Pygmy was quite satisfied that his eyes had not deceived him,\nhe scampered, as fast as his legs would carry him, to the Giant's ear,\nand stooping over its cavity, shouted lustily into it:\n\n\"Halloo, brother Antaeus! Get up this minute, and take your pine-tree\nwalking stick in your hand. Here comes another Giant to have a tussle\nwith you.\"\n\n\"Poh, poh!\" grumbled Antaeus, only half awake. \"None of your nonsense,\nmy little fellow! Don't you see I'm sleepy? There is not a Giant on\nearth for whom I would take the trouble to get up.\"\n\nBut the Pygmy looked again, and now perceived that the stranger was\ncoming directly towards the prostrate form of Antaeus. With every step,\nhe looked less like a blue mountain, and more like an immensely large\nman. He was soon so nigh, that there could be no possible mistake about\nthe matter. There he was, with the sun flaming on his golden helmet, and\nflashing from his polished breastplate; he had a sword by his side,\nand a lion's skin over his back, and on his right shoulder he carried a\nclub, which looked bulkier and heavier than the pine-tree walking stick\nof Antaeus.\n\nBy this time, the whole nation of the Pygmies had seen the new wonder,\nand a million of them set up a shout all together; so that it really\nmade quite an audible squeak.\n\n\"Get up, Antaeus! Bestir yourself, you lazy old Giant! Here comes\nanother Giant, as strong as you are, to fight with you.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, nonsense!\" growled the sleepy Giant. \"I'll have my nap out,\ncome who may.\"\n\nStill the stranger drew nearer; and now the Pygmies could plainly\ndiscern that, if his stature were less lofty than the Giant's, yet his\nshoulders were even broader. And, in truth, what a pair of shoulders\nthey must have been! As I told you, a long while ago, they once upheld\nthe sky. The Pygmies, being ten times as vivacious as their great\nnumskull of a brother, could not abide the Giant's slow movements, and\nwere determined to have him on his feet. So they kept shouting to him,\nand even went so far as to prick him with their swords.\n\n\"Get up, get up, get up,\" they cried. \"Up with you, lazy bones! The\nstrange Giant's club is bigger than your own, his shoulders are the\nbroadest, and we think him the stronger of the two.\"\n\nAntaeus could not endure to have it said that any mortal was half so\nmighty as himself. This latter remark of the Pygmies pricked him deeper\nthan their swords; and, sitting up, in rather a sulky humor, he gave\na gape of several yards wide, rubbed his eyes, and finally turned his\nstupid head in the direction whither his little friends were eagerly\npointing.\n\nNo sooner did he set eyes on the stranger, than, leaping on his feet,\nand seizing his walking stick, he strode a mile or two to meet him; all\nthe while brandishing the sturdy pine tree, so that it whistled through\nthe air.\n\n\"Who are you?\" thundered the Giant. \"And what do you want in my\ndominions?\"\n\nThere was one strange thing about Antaeus, of which I have not yet\ntold you, lest, hearing of so many wonders all in a lump, you might\nnot believe much more than half of them. You are to know, then, that\nwhenever this redoubtable Giant touched the ground, either with his\nhand, his foot, or any other part of his body, he grew stronger than\never he had been before. The Earth, you remember, was his mother, and\nwas very fond of him, as being almost the biggest of her children;\nand so she took this method of keeping him always in full vigor. Some\npersons affirm that he grew ten times stronger at every touch; others\nsay that it was only twice as strong. But only think of it! Whenever\nAntaeus took a walk, supposing it were but ten miles, and that he\nstepped a hundred yards at a stride, you may try to cipher out how much\nmightier he was, on sitting down again, than when he first started. And\nwhenever he flung himself on the earth to take a little repose, even if\nhe got up the very next instant, he would be as strong as exactly ten\njust such giants as his former self. It was well for the world that\nAntaeus happened to be of a sluggish disposition and liked ease better\nthan exercise; for, if he had frisked about like the Pygmies, and\ntouched the earth as often as they did, he would long ago have been\nstrong enough to pull down the sky about people's ears. But these great\nlubberly fellows resemble mountains, not only in bulk, but in their\ndisinclination to move.\n\nAny other mortal man, except the very one whom Antaeus had now\nencountered, would have been half frightened to death by the Giant's\nferocious aspect and terrible voice. But the stranger did not seem at\nall disturbed. He carelessly lifted his club, and balanced it in his\nhand, measuring Antaeus with his eye, from head to foot, not as if\nwonder-smitten at his stature, but as if he had seen a great many Giants\nbefore, and this was by no means the biggest of them. In fact, if the\nGiant had been no bigger than the Pygmies (who stood pricking up their\nears, and looking and listening to what was going forward), the stranger\ncould not have been less afraid of him.\n\n\"Who are you, I say?\" roared Antaeus again. \"What's your name? Why do\nyou come hither? Speak, you vagabond, or I'll try the thickness of your\nskull with my walking-stick!\"\n\n\"You are a very discourteous Giant,\" answered the stranger quietly, \"and\nI shall probably have to teach you a little civility, before we part. As\nfor my name, it is Hercules. I have come hither because this is my most\nconvenient road to the garden of the Hesperides, whither I am going to\nget three of the golden apples for King Eurystheus.\"\n\n\"Caitiff, you shall go no farther!\" bellowed Antaeus, putting on a\ngrimmer look than before; for he had heard of the mighty Hercules, and\nhated him because he was said to be so strong. \"Neither shall you go\nback whence you came!\"\n\n\"How will you prevent me,\" asked Hercules, \"from going whither I\nplease?\"\n\n\"By hitting you a rap with this pine tree here,\" shouted Antaeus,\nscowling so that he made himself the ugliest monster in Africa. \"I am\nfifty times stronger than you; and now that I stamp my foot upon the\nground, I am five hundred times stronger! I am ashamed to kill such a\npuny little dwarf as you seem to be. I will make a slave of you, and you\nshall likewise be the slave of my brethren here, the Pygmies. So throw\ndown your club and your other weapons; and as for that lion's skin, I\nintend to have a pair of gloves made of it.\"\n\n\"Come and take it off my shoulders, then,\" answered Hercules, lifting\nhis club.\n\nThen the Giant, grinning with rage, strode tower-like towards the\nstranger (ten times strengthened at every step), and fetched a monstrous\nblow at him with his pine tree, which Hercules caught upon his club; and\nbeing more skilful than Antaeus, he paid him back such a rap upon the\nsconce, that down tumbled the great lumbering man-mountain, flat upon\nthe ground. The poor little Pygmies (who really never dreamed that\nanybody in the world was half so strong as their brother Antaeus) were a\ngood deal dismayed at this. But no sooner was the Giant down, than up\nhe bounced again, with tenfold might, and such a furious visage as was\nhorrible to behold. He aimed another blow at Hercules, but struck awry,\nbeing blinded with wrath, and only hit his poor innocent Mother Earth,\nwho groaned and trembled at the stroke. His pine tree went so deep into\nthe ground, and stuck there so fast, that, before Antaeus could get it\nout, Hercules brought down his club across his shoulders with a mighty\nthwack, which made the Giant roar as if all sorts of intolerable noises\nhad come screeching and rumbling out of his immeasurable lungs in that\none cry. Away it went, over mountains and valleys, and, for aught I\nknow, was heard on the other side of the African deserts.\n\nAs for the Pygmies, their capital city was laid in ruins by the\nconcussion and vibration of the air; and, though there was uproar enough\nwithout their help, they all set up a shriek out of three millions of\nlittle throats, fancying, no doubt, that they swelled the Giant's bellow\nby at least ten times as much. Meanwhile, Antaeus had scrambled upon his\nfeet again, and pulled his pine tree out of the earth; and, all aflame\nwith fury, and more outrageously strong than ever, he ran at Hercules,\nand brought down another blow.\n\n\"This time, rascal,\" shouted he, \"you shall not escape me.\"\n\nBut once more Hercules warded off the stroke with his club, and the\nGiant's pine tree was shattered into a thousand splinters, most of which\nflew among the Pygmies, and did them more mischief than I like to think\nabout. Before Antaeus could get out of the way, Hercules let drive\nagain, and gave him another knock-down blow, which sent him heels over\nhead, but served only to increase his already enormous and insufferable\nstrength. As for his rage, there is no telling what a fiery furnace it\nhad now got to be. His one eye was nothing but a circle of red flame.\nHaving now no weapons but his fists, he doubled them up (each bigger\nthan a hogshead), smote one against the other, and danced up and down\nwith absolute frenzy, flourishing his immense arms about, as if he meant\nnot merely to kill Hercules, but to smash the whole world to pieces.\n\n\"Come on!\" roared this thundering Giant. \"Let me hit you but one box on\nthe ear, and you'll never have the headache again.\"\n\nNow Hercules (though strong enough, as you already know, to hold the\nsky up) began to be sensible that he should never win the victory, if he\nkept on knocking Antaeus down; for, by and by, if he hit him such hard\nblows, the Giant would inevitably, by the help of his Mother Earth,\nbecome stronger than the mighty Hercules himself. So, throwing down his\nclub, with which he had fought so many dreadful battles, the hero stood\nready to receive his antagonist with naked arms.\n\n\"Step forward,\" cried he. \"Since I've broken your pine tree, we'll try\nwhich is the better man at a wrestling match.\"\n\n\"Aha! then I'll soon satisfy you,\" shouted the Giant; for, if there was\none thing on which he prided himself more than another, it was his skill\nin wrestling. \"Villain, I'll fling you where you can never pick yourself\nup again.\"\n\nOn came Antaeus, hopping and capering with the scorching heat of his\nrage, and getting new vigor wherewith to wreak his passion, every time\nhe hopped.\n\nBut Hercules, you must understand, was wiser than this numskull of a\nGiant, and had thought of a way to fight him--huge, earth-born monster\nthat he was--and to conquer him too, in spite of all that his Mother\nEarth could do for him. Watching his opportunity, as the mad Giant made\na rush at him, Hercules caught him round the middle with both hands,\nlifted him high into the air, and held him aloft overhead.\n\nJust imagine it, my dear little friends. What a spectacle it must have\nbeen, to see this monstrous fellow sprawling in the air, face downwards,\nkicking out his long legs and wriggling his whole vast body, like a baby\nwhen its father holds it at arm's length towards the ceiling.\n\nBut the most wonderful thing was, that, as soon as Antaeus was fairly\noff the earth, he began to lose the vigor which he had gained by\ntouching it. Hercules very soon perceived that his troublesome enemy was\ngrowing weaker, both because he struggled and kicked with less violence,\nand because the thunder of his big voice subsided into a grumble. The\ntruth was that unless the Giant touched Mother Earth as often as once\nin five minutes, not only his overgrown strength, but the very breath of\nhis life, would depart from him. Hercules had guessed this secret; and\nit may be well for us all to remember it, in case we should ever have\nto fight a battle with a fellow like Antaeus. For these earth-born\ncreatures are only difficult to conquer on their own ground, but may\neasily be managed if we can contrive to lift them into a loftier and\npurer region. So it proved with the poor Giant, whom I am really a\nlittle sorry for, notwithstanding his uncivil way of treating strangers\nwho came to visit him.\n\nWhen his strength and breath were quite gone, Hercules gave his huge\nbody a toss, and flung it about a mile off, where it fell heavily,\nand lay with no more motion than a sand hill. It was too late for the\nGiant's Mother Earth to help him now; and I should not wonder if his\nponderous bones were lying on the same spot to this very day, and were\nmistaken for those of an uncommonly large elephant.\n\nBut, alas me! What a wailing did the poor little Pygmies set up when\nthey saw their enormous brother treated in this terrible manner! If\nHercules heard their shrieks, however, he took no notice, and perhaps\nfancied them only the shrill, plaintive twittering of small birds that\nhad been frightened from their nests by the uproar of the battle between\nhimself and Antaeus. Indeed, his thoughts had been so much taken up with\nthe Giant, that he had never once looked at the Pygmies, nor even knew\nthat there was such a funny little nation in the world. And now, as he\nhad traveled a good way, and was also rather weary with his exertions in\nthe fight, he spread out his lion's skin on the ground, and, reclining\nhimself upon it, fell fast asleep.\n\nAs soon as the Pygmies saw Hercules preparing for a nap, they nodded\ntheir little heads at one another, and winked with their little eyes.\nAnd when his deep, regular breathing gave them notice that he was\nasleep, they assembled together in an immense crowd, spreading over\na space of about twenty-seven feet square. One of their most eloquent\norators (and a valiant warrior enough, besides, though hardly so good\nat any other weapon as he was with his tongue) climbed upon a toadstool,\nand, from that elevated position, addressed the multitude. His\nsentiments were pretty much as follows; or, at all events, something\nlike this was probably the upshot of his speech:\n\n\"Tall Pygmies and mighty little men! You and all of us have seen what\na public calamity has been brought to pass, and what an insult has here\nbeen offered to the majesty of our nation. Yonder lies Antaeus, our\ngreat friend and brother, slain, within our territory, by a miscreant\nwho took him at disadvantage, and fought him (if fighting it can be\ncalled) in a way that neither man, nor Giant, nor Pygmy ever dreamed of\nfighting, until this hour. And, adding a grievous contumely to the wrong\nalready done us, the miscreant has now fallen asleep as quietly as\nif nothing were to be dreaded from our wrath! It behooves you,\nfellow-countrymen, to consider in what aspect we shall stand before\nthe world, and what will be the verdict of impartial history, should we\nsuffer these accumulated outrages to go unavenged.\n\n\"Antaeus was our brother, born of that same beloved parent to whom we\nowe the thews and sinews, as well as the courageous hearts, which\nmade him proud of our relationship. He was our faithful ally, and fell\nfighting as much for our national rights and immunities as for his own\npersonal ones. We and our forefathers have dwelt in friendship with\nhim, and held affectionate intercourse as man to man, through immemorial\ngenerations. You remember how often our entire people have reposed in\nhis great shadow, and how our little ones have played at hide-and-seek\nin the tangles of his hair, and how his mighty footsteps have familiarly\ngone to and fro among us, and never trodden upon any of our toes. And\nthere lies this dear brother--this sweet and amiable friend--this brave\nand faithful ally---this virtuous Giant--this blameless and excellent\nAntaeus--dead! Dead! Silent! Powerless! A mere mountain of clay! Forgive\nmy tears! Nay, I behold your own. Were we to drown the world with them,\ncould the world blame us?\n\n\"But to resume: Shall we, my countrymen, suffer this wicked stranger to\ndepart unharmed, and triumph in his treacherous victory, among distant\ncommunities of the earth? Shall we not rather compel him to leave his\nbones here on our soil, by the side of our slain brother's bones? so\nthat, while one skeleton shall remain as the everlasting monument of our\nsorrow, the other shall endure as long, exhibiting to the whole human\nrace a terrible example of Pygmy vengeance! Such is the question. I put\nit to you in full confidence of a response that shall be worthy of our\nnational character, and calculated to increase, rather than diminish,\nthe glory which our ancestors have transmitted to us, and which we\nourselves have proudly vindicated in our warfare with the cranes.\"\n\nThe orator was here interrupted by a burst of irrepressible enthusiasm;\nevery individual Pygmy crying out that the national honor must be\npreserved at all hazards. He bowed, and, making a gesture for silence,\nwound up his harangue in the following admirable manner:\n\n\"It only remains for us, then, to decide whether we shall carry on\nthe war in our national capacity--one united people against a common\nenemy--or whether some champion, famous in former fights, shall be\nselected to defy the slayer of our brother Antaeus to single combat.\nIn the latter case, though not unconscious that there may be taller men\namong you, I hereby offer myself for that enviable duty. And believe me,\ndear countrymen, whether I live or die, the honor of this great country,\nand the fame bequeathed us by our heroic progenitors, shall suffer no\ndiminution in my hands. Never, while I can wield this sword, of which\nI now fling away the scabbard--never, never, never, even if the crimson\nhand that slew the great Antaeus shall lay me prostrate, like him, on\nthe soil which I give my life to defend.\"\n\nSo saying, this valiant Pygmy drew out his weapon (which was terrible to\nbehold, being as long as the blade of a penknife), and sent the scabbard\nwhirling over the heads of the multitude. His speech was followed by an\nuproar of applause, as its patriotism and self-devotion unquestionably\ndeserved; and the shouts and clapping of hands would have been greatly\nprolonged, had they not been rendered quite inaudible by a deep\nrespiration, vulgarly called a snore, from the sleeping Hercules.\n\nIt was finally decided that the whole nation of Pygmies should set to\nwork to destroy Hercules; not, be it understood, from any doubt that\na single champion would be capable of putting him to the sword, but\nbecause he was a public enemy, and all were desirous of sharing in the\nglory of his defeat. There was a debate whether the national honor did\nnot demand that a herald should be sent with a trumpet, to stand over\nthe ear of Hercules, and after blowing a blast right into it, to defy\nhim to the combat by formal proclamation. But two or three venerable\nand sagacious Pygmies, well versed in state affairs, gave it as their\nopinion that war already existed, and that it was their rightful\nprivilege to take the enemy by surprise. Moreover, if awakened, and\nallowed to get upon his feet, Hercules might happen to do them a\nmischief before he could be beaten down again. For, as these sage\ncounselors remarked, the stranger's club was really very big, and had\nrattled like a thunderbolt against the skull of Antaeus. So the\nPygmies resolved to set aside all foolish punctilios, and assail their\nantagonist at once.\n\nAccordingly, all the fighting men of the nation took their weapons, and\nwent boldly up to Hercules, who still lay fast asleep, little dreaming\nof the harm which the Pygmies meant to do him. A body of twenty thousand\narchers marched in front, with their little bows all ready, and the\narrows on the string. The same number were ordered to clamber upon\nHercules, some with spades to dig his eyes out, and others with bundles\nof hay, and all manner of rubbish with which they intended to plug up\nhis mouth and nostrils, so that he might perish for lack of breath.\nThese last, however, could by no means perform their appointed duty;\ninasmuch as the enemy's breath rushed out of his nose in an obstreperous\nhurricane and whirlwind, which blew the Pygmies away as fast as they\ncame nigh. It was found necessary, therefore, to hit upon some other\nmethod of carrying on the war.\n\nAfter holding a council, the captains ordered their troops to collect\nsticks, straws, dry weeds, and whatever combustible stuff they could\nfind, and make a pile of it, heaping it high around the head of\nHercules. As a great many thousand Pygmies were employed in this task,\nthey soon brought together several bushels of inflammatory matter, and\nraised so tall a heap, that, mounting on its summit, they were quite\nupon a level with the sleeper's face. The archers, meanwhile, were\nstationed within bow shot, with orders to let fly at Hercules the\ninstant that he stirred. Everything being in readiness, a torch was\napplied to the pile, which immediately burst into flames, and soon waxed\nhot enough to roast the enemy, had he but chosen to lie still. A Pygmy,\nyou know, though so very small, might set the world on fire, just as\neasily as a Giant could; so that this was certainly the very best way\nof dealing with their foe, provided they could have kept him quiet while\nthe conflagration was going forward.\n\nBut no sooner did Hercules begin to be scorched, than up he started,\nwith his hair in a red blaze.\n\n\"What's all this?\" he cried, bewildered with sleep, and staring about\nhim as if he expected to see another Giant.\n\nAt that moment the twenty thousand archers twanged their bowstrings, and\nthe arrows came whizzing, like so many winged mosquitoes, right into\nthe face of Hercules. But I doubt whether more than half a dozen of them\npunctured the skin, which was remarkably tough, as you know the skin of\na hero has good need to be.\n\n\"Villain!\" shouted all the Pygmies at once. \"You have killed the Giant\nAntaeus, our great brother, and the ally of our nation. We declare\nbloody war against you, and will slay you on the spot.\"\n\nSurprised at the shrill piping of so many little voices, Hercules, after\nputting out the conflagration of his hair, gazed all round about, but\ncould see nothing. At last, however, looking narrowly on the ground,\nhe espied the innumerable assemblage of Pygmies at his feet. He stooped\ndown, and taking up the nearest one between his thumb and finger, set\nhim on the palm of his left hand, and held him at a proper distance for\nexamination. It chanced to be the very identical Pygmy who had spoken\nfrom the top of the toadstool, and had offered himself as a champion to\nmeet Hercules in single combat.\n\n\"What in the world, my little fellow,\" ejaculated Hercules, \"may you\nbe?\"\n\n\"I am your enemy,\" answered the valiant Pygmy, in his mightiest squeak.\n\"You have slain the enormous Antaeus, our brother by the mother's\nside, and for ages the faithful ally of our illustrious nation. We are\ndetermined to put you to death; and for my own part, I challenge you to\ninstant battle, on equal ground.\"\n\nHercules was so tickled with the Pygmy's big words and warlike gestures,\nthat he burst into a great explosion of laughter, and almost dropped\nthe poor little mite of a creature off the palm of his hand, through the\necstasy and convulsion of his merriment.\n\n\"Upon my word,\" cried he, \"I thought I had seen wonders before\nto-day--hydras with nine heads, stags with golden horns, six-legged men,\nthree-headed dogs, giants with furnaces in their stomachs, and nobody\nknows what besides. But here, on the palm of my hand, stands a wonder\nthat outdoes them all! Your body, my little friend, is about the size of\nan ordinary man's finger. Pray, how big may your soul be?\"\n\n\"As big as your own!\" said the Pygmy.\n\nHercules was touched with the little man's dauntless courage, and could\nnot help acknowledging such a brotherhood with him as one hero feels for\nanother.\n\n\"My good little people,\" said he, making a low obeisance to the grand\nnation, \"not for all the world would I do an intentional injury to such\nbrave fellows as you! Your hearts seem to me so exceedingly great, that,\nupon my honor, I marvel how your small bodies can contain them. I sue\nfor peace, and, as a condition of it, will take five strides, and be out\nof your kingdom at the sixth. Good-bye. I shall pick my steps carefully,\nfor fear of treading upon some fifty of you, without knowing it. Ha, ha,\nha! Ho, ho, ho! For once, Hercules acknowledges himself vanquished.\"\n\nSome writers say, that Hercules gathered up the whole race of Pygmies\nin his lion's skin, and carried them home to Greece, for the children of\nKing Eurystheus to play with. But this is a mistake. He left them, one\nand all, within their own territory, where, for aught I can tell, their\ndescendants are alive to the present day, building their little houses,\ncultivating their little fields, spanking their little children, waging\ntheir little warfare with the cranes, doing their little business,\nwhatever it may be, and reading their little histories of ancient times.\nIn those histories, perhaps, it stands recorded, that, a great many\ncenturies ago, the valiant Pygmies avenged the death of the Giant\nAntaeus by scaring away the mighty Hercules.\n\n\n\nTHE DRAGON'S TEETH.\n\nCadmus, Phoenix, 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 Phoenicia. They\nhad rambled to some distance from the palace where their parents dwelt,\nand were now in a verdant meadow, on one side of which lay the sea, all\nsparkling and dimpling in the sunshine, and murmuring gently against the\nbeach. The three boys were very happy, gathering flowers, and twining\nthem into garlands, with which they adorned the little Europa. Seated\non the grass, the child was almost hidden under an abundance of buds and\nblossoms, whence her rosy face peeped merrily out, and, as Cadmus said,\nwas the prettiest of all the flowers.\n\nJust then, there came a splendid butterfly, fluttering along the meadow;\nand Cadmus, Phoenix, 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,\nshe listened 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 com? Europa and her brothers had been\na long time playing in the meadow, and had seen no cattle, nor other\nliving thing, either there or on the neighboring hills.\n\n\"Brother Cadmus!\" cried Europa, starting up out of the midst of the\nroses and lilies. \"Phoenix! 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\nto see 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 clover\nblossoms. Never before did a bull have such bright and tender eyes, and\nsuch smooth horns of ivory, as this one. And the bull ran little races,\nand capered sportively around the child; so that she quite forgot how\nbig and strong he was, and, from the gentleness and playfulness of his\nactions, soon came to consider him as innocent a creature 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\nfor delight. He frisked about the meadow, now here, now there, making\nsprightly leaps, with as little effort as a bird expends in hopping\nfrom twig 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\nsnow drift, 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, 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 recognized the important\ntruth that a little girl is everybody's queen. And not only did the\nbull bend 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\nharm in 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, Phoenix, and Cilix, who were still in pursuit of the butterfly,\nalmost at the other end of the meadow. It would be the quickest way\nof rejoining them, to get upon the white bull's back. She came a step\nnearer to him therefore; and--sociable creature that he was--he showed\nso much joy at this mark of her confidence, that the child could not\nfind in her heart to hesitate any longer. Making one bound (for this\nlittle princess was as active as a squirrel), there sat Europa on the\nbeautiful bull, holding an ivory horn in each hand, lest she should fall\noff.\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 Phoenix,\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-bye,\"\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-bye,\" shouted Cadmus, Phoenix, 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\ndid next? 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 towards her dear brothers, while she grasped the bull's ivory horn\nwith the other. And there stood Cadmus, Phoenix, 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\ndid not 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\"O, 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 neighborhood; he had\nbeen brought up with the young princes, 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, Phoenix,\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 door\ntogether, and the sweet, childish accents of little Europa in the midst\nof 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 traveled 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\na little while from their labors 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, Phoenix, 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\nall looked 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 come\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\na young nobleman, who had once a palace for a 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 such a sight seen hereabouts.\"\n\nAt last, when his upper lip began to have the down on it, Phoenix 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 Phoenix. \"It is a mere foolish waste of\nlife, to spend it as we do, 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 Phoenix,\" said Telephassa, sorrowfully, \"you have grown to be\na man, and must do as you judge best. But, for my part, I will still go\nin 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 Phoenix to build a habitation.\nWhen completed, it was a sweet rural bower, roofed overhead with an arch\nof living boughs. Inside there were two pleasant rooms, one of which\nhad a soft heap of moss for a bed, while the other was furnished with\na rustic seat or two, curiously fashioned out of the crooked roots of\ntrees. So comfortable and home-like did it seem, that Telephassa and her\nthree companions could not help sighing, to think that they must still\nroam about the world, instead of spending the remainder of their lives\nin some such cheerful abode as they had here built for Phoenix. But,\nwhen they bade him farewell, Phoenix shed tears, and probably regretted\nthat he was no longer to keep them company.\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 neighborhood\nof Phoenix's habitation. Thus, before many years went by, a city had\ngrown up there, in the center of which was seen a stately palace of\nmarble, wherein dwelt Phoenix, 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 Phoenix issued was, that, if a\nmaiden happened to arrive in the kingdom, mounted on a snow-white bull,\nand 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 Phoenix'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\nin which they had left Phoenix. 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\nonce lived 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\nin seeking 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.\nShe has not grown to womanhood, nor forgotten me. At noon, at night,\njourneying onward, sitting down to rest, her childish voice is always\nin my 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\nPhoenix.\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 neighborhood, 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 colored\nmarble, on the balcony of which, every noontide, appeared Cilix, in\na long purple robe, and with a jeweled crown upon his head; for\nthe inhabitants, 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\nand hardy young men, with orders to visit the principal kingdoms of\nthe earth, 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 to\nshelter her at nightfall, even when they themselves lay on the ground.\nSad, sad it was to hear them asking of every passer-by if he had seen\nEuropa, so long after the white bull had carried her away. But, though\nthe gray years thrust themselves between, and made the child's figure\ndim in their remembrance, neither of these true-hearted three ever\ndreamed 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 Phoenix 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 traveled 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\na hut of branches could. Thasus, however, did not spend all his days in\nthis green bower. For it happened to him, as to Phoenix and Cilix,\nthat other homeless people visited the spot, and liked it, and built\nthemselves habitations in the neighborhood. So here, in the course of a\nfew years, was another thriving city, with a red freestone palace in\nthe center of it, where Thasus sat 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\nsubjects 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, and\nsat down wearily upon his throne. To his latest hour, nevertheless, King\nThasus showed his true-hearted remembrance of Europa, by ordering that\na fire should always be kept burning in his palace, and a bath steaming\nhot, and food ready to be served up, and a bed with snow-white sheets,\nin case the maiden should arrive, and require immediate refreshment.\nAnd, though Europa never came, the good Thasus had the blessings of many\na poor traveler, who profited by the food and lodging which were meant\nfor 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\nwas enough to bring tears into the eyes of bearded men to hear the\nmelancholy tone with which she inquired of every stranger whether he\ncould not 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 face.\n\"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\nit is 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, and\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 left\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 towards 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 rumor 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\nhis dear mother's weight, while she had kept him company. His heart, you\nwill understand, was now so heavy that it seemed impossible, sometimes,\nto carry 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.\nIt reminded him of those which he had helped to build for Phoenix and\nCilix, and afterwards 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\nso much force that it shook the ringlets on his cheek. Pulling away the\nshrubbery which clustered over the hole, he bent forward, and spoke in\na distinct 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\nstaid at the bottom of the hole. But Cadmus was more fortunate than many\nothers who went to Delphi in search of truth. By and by, the rushing\nnoise began to sound like articulate language. It repeated, over and\nover again, the following sentence, which, after all, was so like the\nvague whistle of a blast of air, that Cadmus really did not quite know\nwhether 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\nobject of 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\na whisper 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;\nfor, having 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\nthe oracle'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\nor two. 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\nthey reached 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\nat the quiet pace of a cow going homeward to the barn yard; 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 towards 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 Phoenix 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\nand homeless. He mentioned, likewise, that the oracle had bidden him\nbe guided 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\na cow, 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 am\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\nhad to scramble over rocks, or wade through mud and mire, and 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\ncenter of it there should be a noble palace, in which Cadmus might\ndwell, and be their king, with a throne, a crown, a 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 forelegs, 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. Some\nday 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 neighboring 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\nof providing 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 along\nwith the brindled cow; for, now that he had found a place of rest, it\nseemed 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 towards 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 neighboring inhabitants carefully avoided the spot, it was\nnow a long time (not less than a hundred years or thereabouts) since the\nmonster had broken his fast; and, as was natural enough, his appetite\nhad grown to be enormous, and was not half satisfied by the poor people\nwhom he had just eaten up. When he caught sight of Cadmus, therefore, he\nset up another abominable hiss, and flung back his immense jaws, until\nhis mouth looked like a great red cavern, at the farther end of which\nwere seen the legs of his last victim, whom he had hardly had time to\nswallow.\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\nof sharp 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\nthe creature'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,\nor whether 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\nit were 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 marvelous 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 afterwards,\nthe whole surface of the ground was broken 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\nman beneath 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 that\nthey drew, they put their brazen trumpets to their lips, and sounded a\ntremendous and ear-shattering blast, so that the whole space, just now\nso quiet and solitary, reverberated with the clash and clang of arms,\nthe bray of warlike music, and the shouts of angry men. So enraged did\nthey all look, that Cadmus fully expected them to put the whole world to\nthe sword. How fortunate would it be for a great conqueror, if he could\nget 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\nthe earth army, saw it strike the breastplate 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 neighbor a blow that cleft his helmet asunder,\nand stretched him on the ground. In an instant, those nearest the fallen\nwarrior began to strike at one another with their swords, and stab with\ntheir spears. The confusion spread wider and wider. Each man smote down\nhis brother, and was himself smitten down before he had time to exult in\nhis victory. The trumpeters, all the while, blew their blasts shriller\nand shriller; each soldier shouted a battle cry, and often fell with it\non his lips. It was the strangest spectacle of causeless wrath, and of\nmischief for no good end, that had ever been witnessed; but, after all,\nit was neither more foolish nor more wicked than a thousand battles that\nhave since been fought, in which men have slain their brothers with just\nas little reason as these children of the dragon's teeth. It ought to\nbe considered, too, that the dragon people were made for nothing else;\nwhereas other mortals were born to love and help 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 sheathe their\nswords. 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,\nto observe 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\nand carrots, when pulled out of their native soil. Cadmus hardly\nknew whether to consider them as men, or some odd kind of vegetable;\nalthough, on the whole, he concluded that there was human nature in\nthem, because they were so fond of trumpets and weapons, and so ready to\nshed blood.\n\nThey looked him earnestly in the face, waiting for his next order,\nand evidently 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 that\nthey knew him for their master, and never again thought of disobeying\nhis 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 labor, and had sense enough to feel that there\nwas more true enjoyment in living at peace, and doing good to one's\nneighbor, 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\nof architecture, and make it very commodious, as well as stately and\nbeautiful. After finishing the rest of their labors, 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 towards the site where the palace was\nto be 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 ever had 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 behavior, as their nature was), ascended the palace\nsteps. Halting at the entrance, they gazed through a long vista of\nlofty pillars, that were ranged from end to end of a great hall. At the\nfarther extremity of this hall, approaching slowly towards him, Cadmus\nbeheld a female figure, wonderfully beautiful, and adorned with a royal\nrobe, and a crown of diamonds over her golden ringlets, and the richest\nnecklace that ever a queen wore. His heart thrilled with delight. He\nfancied it his long-lost sister Europa, now grown to womanhood, coming\nto make him happy, and to repay him with her sweet sisterly affection,\nfor all those weary wonderings in quest of her since he left King\nAgenor's palace--for the tears that he had shed, on parting with\nPhoenix, and Cilix, and Thasus--for the heart-breakings that had made\nthe 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\nher features 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,\nand found 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\nof these 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\nto teach 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\nCIRCE'S PALACE.\n\nSome of you have heard, no doubt, of the wise King Ulysses, and how he\nwent to the siege of Troy, and how, after that famous city was taken and\nburned, he spent ten long years in trying to get back again to his\nown little kingdom of Ithaca. At one time in the course of this weary\nvoyage, he arrived at an island that looked very green and pleasant, but\nthe name of which was unknown to him. For, only a little while before\nhe came thither, he had met with a terrible hurricane, or rather a great\nmany hurricanes at once, which drove his fleet of vessels into a strange\npart of the sea, where neither himself nor any of his mariners had ever\nsailed. This misfortune was entirely owing to the foolish curiosity of\nhis shipmates, who, while Ulysses lay asleep, had untied some very\nbulky leathern bags, in which they supposed a valuable treasure to be\nconcealed. But in each of these stout bags, King Aeolus, the ruler of\nthe winds, had tied up a tempest, and had given it to Ulysses to keep in\norder that he might be sure of a favorable passage homeward to Ithaca;\nand when the strings were loosened, forth rushed the whistling blasts,\nlike air out of a blown bladder, whitening the sea with foam, and\nscattering the vessels nobody could tell whither.\n\nImmediately after escaping from this peril, a still greater one had\nbefallen him. Scudding before the hurricane, he reached a place, which,\nas he afterwards found, was called Laestrygonia, where some monstrous\ngiants had eaten up many of his companions, and had sunk every one of\nhis vessels, except that in which he himself sailed, by flinging great\nmasses of rock at them, from the cliffs along the shore. After going\nthrough such troubles as these, you cannot wonder that King Ulysses\nwas glad to moor his tempest-beaten bark in a quiet cove of the green\nisland, which I began with telling you about. But he had encountered so\nmany dangers from giants, and one-eyed Cyclops, and monsters of the sea\nand land, that he could not help dreading some mischief, even in this\npleasant and seemingly solitary spot. For two days, therefore, the poor\nweather-worn voyagers kept quiet, and either staid on board of their\nvessel, or merely crept along under the cliffs that bordered the shore;\nand to keep themselves alive, they dug shellfish out of the sand, and\nsought for any little rill of fresh water that might be running towards\nthe sea.\n\nBefore the two days were spent, they grew very weary of this kind of\nlife; for the followers of King Ulysses, as you will find it important\nto remember, were terrible gormandizers, and pretty sure to grumble\nif they missed their regulars meals, and their irregular ones besides.\nTheir stock of provisions was quite exhausted, and even the shellfish\nbegan to get scarce, so that they had now to choose between starving to\ndeath or venturing into the interior of the island, where perhaps some\nhuge three-headed dragon, or other horrible monster, had his den. Such\nmisshapen creatures were very numerous in those days; and nobody ever\nexpected to make a voyage, or take a journey, without running more or\nless risk of being devoured by them.\n\nBut King Ulysses was a bold man as well as a prudent one; and on the\nthird morning he determined to discover what sort of a place the island\nwas, and whether it were possible to obtain a supply of food for the\nhungry mouths of his companions. So, taking a spear in his hand, he\nclambered to the summit of a cliff, and gazed round about him. At a\ndistance, towards the center of the island, he beheld the stately towers\nof what seemed to be a palace, built of snow-white marble, and rising in\nthe midst of a grove of lofty trees. The thick branches of these trees\nstretched across the front of the edifice, and more than half concealed\nit, although, from the portion which he saw, Ulysses judged it to be\nspacious and exceedingly beautiful, and probably the residence of some\ngreat nobleman or prince. A blue smoke went curling up from the chimney,\nand was almost the pleasantest part of the spectacle to Ulysses. For,\nfrom the abundance of this smoke, it was reasonable to conclude that\nthere was a good fire in the kitchen, and that, at dinner-time, a\nplentiful banquet would be served up to the inhabitants of the palace,\nand to whatever guests might happen to drop in.\n\nWith so agreeable a prospect before him, Ulysses fancied that he could\nnot do better than go straight to the palace gate, and tell the master\nof it that there was a crew of poor shipwrecked mariners, not far off,\nwho had eaten nothing for a day or two, save a few clams and oysters,\nand would therefore be thankful for a little food. And the prince or\nnobleman must be a very stingy curmudgeon, to be sure, if, at least,\nwhen his own dinner was over, he would not bid them welcome to the\nbroken victuals from the table.\n\nPleasing himself with this idea, King Ulysses had made a few steps\nin the direction of the palace, when there was a great twittering and\nchirping from the branch of a neighboring tree. A moment afterwards, a\nbird came flying towards him, and hovered in the air, so as almost to\nbrush his face with its wings. It was a very pretty little bird, with\npurple wings and body, and yellow legs, and a circle of golden feathers\nround its neck, and on its head a golden tuft, which looked like a\nking's crown in miniature. Ulysses tried to catch the bird. But it\nfluttered nimbly out of his reach, still chirping in a piteous tone, as\nif it could have told a lamentable story, had it only been gifted with\nhuman language. And when he attempted to drive it away, the bird flew no\nfarther than the bough of the next tree, and again came fluttering about\nhis head, with its doleful chirp, as soon as he showed a purpose of\ngoing forward.\n\n\"Have you anything to tell me, little bird?\" asked Ulysses.\n\nAnd he was ready to listen attentively to whatever the bird might\ncommunicate; for, at the siege of Troy, and elsewhere, he had known such\nodd things to happen, that he would not have considered it much out of\nthe common run had this little feathered creature talked as plainly as\nhimself.\n\n\"Peep!\" said the bird, \"peep, peep, pe--weep!\" And nothing else would it\nsay, but only, \"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" in a melancholy cadence, and over\nand over and over again. As often as Ulysses moved forward, however, the\nbird showed the greatest alarm, and did its best to drive him back, with\nthe anxious flutter of its purple wings. Its unaccountable behavior made\nhim conclude, at last, that the bird knew of some danger that awaited\nhim, and which must needs be very terrible, beyond all question, since\nit moved even a little fowl to feel compassion for a human being. So\nhe resolved, for the present, to return to the vessel, and tell his\ncompanions what he had seen.\n\nThis appeared to satisfy the bird. As soon as Ulysses turned back, it\nran up the trunk of a tree, and began to pick insects out of the bark\nwith its long, sharp bill; for it was a kind of woodpecker, you must\nknow, and had to get its living in the same manner as other birds of\nthat species. But every little while, as it pecked at the bark of\nthe tree, the purple bird bethought itself of some secret sorrow, and\nrepeated its plaintive note of \"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\"\n\nOn his way to the shore, Ulysses had the good luck to kill a large stag\nby thrusting his spear into his back. Taking it on his shoulders (for he\nwas a remarkably strong man), he lugged it along with him, and flung\nit down before his hungry companions. I have already hinted to you what\ngormandizers some of the comrades of King Ulysses were. From what is\nrelated of them, I reckon that their favorite diet was pork, and that\nthey had lived upon it until a good part of their physical substance was\nswine's flesh, and their tempers and dispositions were very much akin to\nthe hog. A dish of venison, however, was no unacceptable meal to them,\nespecially after feeding so long on oysters and clams. So, beholding the\ndead stag, they felt of its ribs, in a knowing way, and lost no time in\nkindling a fire of driftwood, to cook it. The rest of the day was spent\nin feasting; and if these enormous eaters got up from table at sunset,\nit was only because they could not scrape another morsel off the poor\nanimal's bones.\n\nThe next morning, their appetites were as sharp as ever. They looked at\nUlysses, as if they expected him to clamber up the cliff again, and come\nback with another fat deer upon his shoulders. Instead of setting out,\nhowever, he summoned the whole crew together, and told them it was in\nvain to hope that he could kill a stag every day for their dinner, and\ntherefore it was advisable to think of some other mode of satisfying\ntheir hunger.\n\n\"Now,\" said he, \"when I was on the cliff, yesterday, I discovered that\nthis island is inhabited. At a considerable distance from the shore\nstood a marble palace, which appeared to be very spacious, and had a\ngreat deal of smoke curling out of one of its chimneys.\"\n\n\"Aha!\" muttered some of his companions, smacking their lips. \"That smoke\nmust have come from the kitchen fire. There was a good dinner on the\nspit; and no doubt there will be as good a one to-day.\"\n\n\"But,\" continued the wise Ulysses, \"you must remember, my good friends,\nour misadventure in the cavern of one-eyed Polyphemus, the Cyclops!\nInstead of his ordinary milk diet, did he not eat up two of our comrades\nfor his supper, and a couple more for breakfast, and two at his supper\nagain? Methinks I see him yet, the hideous monster, scanning us with\nthat great red eye, in the middle of his forehead, to single out the\nfattest. And then, again, only a few days ago, did we not fall into the\nhands of the king of the Laestrygons, and those other horrible giants,\nhis subjects, who devoured a great many more of us than are now left? To\ntell you the truth, if we go to yonder palace, there can be no question\nthat we shall make our appearance at the dinner table; but whether\nseated as guests, or served up as food, is a point to be seriously\nconsidered.\"\n\n\"Either way,\" murmured some of the hungriest of the crew; \"it will be\nbetter than starvation; particularly if one could be sure of being well\nfattened beforehand, and daintily cooked afterwards.\"\n\n\"That is a matter of taste,\" said King Ulysses, \"and, for my own part,\nneither the most careful fattening nor the daintiest of cookery would\nreconcile me to being dished at last. My proposal is, therefore, that we\ndivide ourselves into two equal parties, and ascertain, by drawing\nlots, which of the two shall go to the palace, and beg for food and\nassistance. If these can be obtained, all is well. If not, and if the\ninhabitants prove as inhospitable as Polyphemus, or the Laestrygons,\nthen there will but half of us perish, and the remainder may set sail\nand escape.\"\n\nAs nobody objected to this scheme, Ulysses proceeded to count the whole\nband, and found that there were forty-six men, including himself. He\nthen numbered off twenty-two of them, and put Eurylochus (who was one\nof his chief officers, and second only to himself in sagacity) at their\nhead. Ulysses took command of the remaining twenty-two men, in person.\nThen, taking off his helmet, he put two shells into it, on one of which\nwas written, \"Go,\" and on the other \"Stay.\" Another person now held the\nhelmet, while Ulysses and Eurylochus drew out each a shell; and the\nword \"Go\" was found written on that which Eurylochus had drawn. In\nthis manner, it was decided that Ulysses and his twenty-two men were to\nremain at the seaside until the other party should have found out what\nsort of treatment they might expect at the mysterious palace. As there\nwas no help for it, Eurylochus immediately set forth at the head of his\ntwenty-two followers, who went off in a very melancholy state of mind,\nleaving their friends in hardly better spirits than themselves.\n\nNo sooner had they clambered up the cliff, than they discerned the tall\nmarble towers of the palace, ascending, as white as snow, out of the\nlovely green shadow of the trees which surrounded it. A gush of smoke\ncame from a chimney in the rear of the edifice. This vapor rose high\nin the air, and, meeting with a breeze, was wafted seaward, and made to\npass over the heads of the hungry mariners. When people's appetites are\nkeen, they have a very quick scent for anything savory in the wind.\n\n\"That smoke comes from the kitchen!\" cried one of them, turning up his\nnose as high as he could, and snuffing eagerly. \"And, as sure as I'm a\nhalf-starved vagabond, I smell roast meat in it.\"\n\n\"Pig, roast pig!\" said another. \"Ah, the dainty little porker. My mouth\nwaters for him.\"\n\n\"Let us make haste,\" cried the others, \"or we shall be too late for the\ngood cheer!\"\n\nBut scarcely had they made half a dozen steps from the edge of the\ncliff, when a bird came fluttering to meet them. It was the same pretty\nlittle bird, with the purple wings and body, the yellow legs, the golden\ncollar round its neck, and the crown-like tuft upon its head, whose\nbehavior had so much surprised Ulysses. It hovered about Eurylochus, and\nalmost brushed his face with its wings.\n\n\"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" chirped the bird.\n\nSo plaintively intelligent was the sound, that it seemed as if the\nlittle creature were going to break its heart with some mighty secret\nthat it had to tell, and only this one poor note to tell it with.\n\n\"My pretty bird,\" said Eurylochus--for he was a wary person, and let no\ntoken of harm escape his notice--\"my pretty bird, who sent you hither?\nAnd what is the message which you bring?\"\n\n\"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" replied the bird, very sorrowfully.\n\nThen it flew towards the edge of the cliff, and looked around at them,\nas if exceedingly anxious that they should return whence they came.\nEurylochus and a few of the others were inclined to turn back. They\ncould not help suspecting that the purple bird must be aware of\nsomething mischievous that would befall them at the palace, and the\nknowledge of which affected its airy spirit with a human sympathy and\nsorrow. But the rest of the voyagers, snuffing up the smoke from the\npalace kitchen, ridiculed the idea of returning to the vessel. One of\nthem (more brutal than his fellows, and the most notorious gormandizer\nin the crew) said such a cruel and wicked thing, that I wonder the mere\nthought did not turn him into a wild beast, in shape, as he already was\nin his nature.\n\n\"This troublesome and impertinent little fowl,\" said he, \"would make\na delicate titbit to begin dinner with. Just one plump morsel, melting\naway between the teeth. If he comes within my reach, I'll catch him, and\ngive him to the palace cook to be roasted on a skewer.\"\n\nThe words were hardly out of his mouth, before the purple bird flew\naway, crying, \"Peep, peep, pe--weep,\" more dolorously than ever.\n\n\"That bird,\" remarked Eurylochus, \"knows more than we do about what\nawaits us at the palace.\"\n\n\"Come on, then,\" cried his comrades, \"and we'll soon know as much as he\ndoes.\"\n\nThe party, accordingly, went onward through the green and pleasant wood.\nEvery little while they caught new glimpses of the marble palace, which\nlooked more and more beautiful the nearer they approached it. They soon\nentered a broad pathway, which seemed to be very neatly kept, and which\nwent winding along, with streaks of sunshine falling across it and\nspecks of light quivering among the deepest shadows that fell from the\nlofty trees. It was bordered, too, with a great many sweet-smelling\nflowers, such as the mariners had never seen before. So rich and\nbeautiful they were, that, if the shrubs grew wild here, and were native\nin the soil, then this island was surely the flower garden of the whole\nearth; or, if transplanted from some other clime, it must have been from\nthe Happy Islands that lay towards the golden sunset.\n\n\"There has been a great deal of pains foolishly wasted on these\nflowers,\" observed one of the company; and I tell you what he said, that\nyou may keep in mind what gormandizers they were. \"For my part, if I\nwere the owner of the palace, I would bid my gardener cultivate nothing\nbut savory pot herbs to make a stuffing for roast meat, or to flavor a\nstew with.\"\n\n\"Well said!\" cried the others. \"But I'll warrant you there's a kitchen\ngarden in the rear of the palace.\"\n\nAt one place they came to a crystal spring, and paused to drink at it\nfor want of liquor which they liked better. Looking into its bosom, they\nbeheld their own faces dimly reflected, but so extravagantly distorted\nby the gush and motion of the water, that each one of them appeared to\nbe laughing at himself and all his companions. So ridiculous were these\nimages of themselves, indeed, that they did really laugh aloud, and\ncould hardly be grave again as soon as they wished. And after they had\ndrank, they grew still merrier than before.\n\n\"It has a twang of the wine cask in it,\" said one, smacking his lips.\n\n\"Make haste!\" cried his fellows: \"we'll find the wine cask itself at the\npalace, and that will be better than a hundred crystal fountains.\"\n\nThen they quickened their pace, and capered for joy at the thought of\nthe savory banquet at which they hoped to be guests. But Eurylochus told\nthem that he felt as if he were walking in a dream.\n\n\"If I am really awake,\" continued he, \"then, in my opinion, we are on\nthe point of meeting with some stranger adventure than any that\nbefell us in the cave of Polyphemus, or among the gigantic man-eating\nLaestrygons, or in the windy palace of King Aeolus, which stands on a\nbrazen-walled island. This kind of dreamy feeling always comes over me\nbefore any wonderful occurrence. If you take my advice, you will turn\nback.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered his comrades, snuffing the air, in which the scent\nfrom the palace kitchen was now very perceptible. \"We would not turn\nback, though we were certain that the king of the Laestrygons, as big as\na mountain, would sit at the head of the table, and huge Polyphemus, the\none-eyed Cyclops, at its foot.\"\n\nAt length they came within full sight of the palace, which proved to\nbe very large and lofty, with a great number of airy pinnacles upon its\nroof. Though it was midday, and the sun shone brightly over the marble\nfront, yet its snowy whiteness, and its fantastic style of architecture,\nmade it look unreal, like the frost work on a window pane, or like the\nshapes of castles which one sees among the clouds by moonlight. But,\njust then, a puff of wind brought down the smoke of the kitchen chimney\namong them, and caused each man to smell the odor of the dish that\nhe liked best; and, after scenting it, they thought everything else\nmoonshine, and nothing real save this palace, and save the banquet that\nwas evidently ready to be served up in it.\n\nSo they hastened their steps towards the portal, but had not got half\nway across the wide lawn, when a pack of lions, tigers, and wolves came\nbounding to meet them. The terrified mariners started back, expecting\nno better fate than to be torn to pieces and devoured. To their surprise\nand joy, however, these wild beasts merely capered around them, wagging\ntheir tails, offering their heads to be stroked and patted, and behaving\njust like so many well-bred house dogs, when they wish to express their\ndelight at meeting their master, or their master's friends. The biggest\nlion licked the feet of Eurylochus; and every other lion, and every wolf\nand tiger, singled out one of his two and twenty followers, whom the\nbeast fondled as if he loved him better than a beef bone.\n\nBut, for all that, Eurylochus imagined that he saw something fierce and\nsavage in their eyes; nor would he have been surprised, at any moment,\nto feel the big lion's terrible claws, or to see each of the tigers make\na deadly spring, or each wolf leap at the throat of the man whom he\nhad fondled. Their mildness seemed unreal, and a mere freak; but their\nsavage nature was as true as their teeth and claws.\n\nNevertheless, the men went safely across the lawn with the wild beasts\nfrisking about them, and doing no manner of harm; although, as they\nmounted the steps of the palace, you might possibly have heard a low\ngrowl, particularly from the wolves; as if they thought it a pity, after\nall, to let the strangers pass without so much as tasting what they were\nmade of.\n\nEurylochus and his followers now passed under a lofty portal, and looked\nthrough the open doorway into the interior of the palace. The first\nthing that they saw was a spacious hall, and a fountain in the middle\nof it, gushing up towards the ceiling out of a marble basin, and falling\nback into it with a continual plash. The water of this fountain, as it\nspouted upward, was constantly taking new shapes, not very distinctly,\nbut plainly enough for a nimble fancy to recognize what they were. Now\nit was the shape of a man in a long robe, the fleecy whiteness of which\nwas made out of the fountain's spray; now it was a lion, or a tiger, or\na wolf, or an ass, or, as often as anything else, a hog, wallowing in\nthe marble basin as if it were his sty. It was either magic or some very\ncurious machinery that caused the gushing waterspout to assume all\nthese forms. But, before the strangers had time to look closely at\nthis wonderful sight, their attention was drawn off by a very sweet and\nagreeable sound. A woman's voice was singing melodiously in another room\nof the palace, and with her voice was mingled the noise of a loom, at\nwhich she was probably seated, weaving a rich texture of cloth, and\nintertwining the high and low sweetness of her voice into a rich tissue\nof harmony.\n\nBy and by, the song came to an end; and then, all at once, there were\nseveral feminine voices, talking airily and cheerfully, with now and\nthen a merry burst of laughter, such as you may always hear when three\nor four young women sit at work together.\n\n\"What a sweet song that was!\" exclaimed one of the voyagers.\n\n\"Too sweet, indeed,\" answered Eurylochus, shaking his head. \"Yet it\nwas not so sweet as the song of the Sirens, those bird-like damsels who\nwanted to tempt us on the rocks, so that our vessel might be wrecked,\nand our bones left whitening along the shore.\"\n\n\"But just listen to the pleasant voices of those maidens, and that buzz\nof the loom, as the shuttle passes to and fro,\" said another comrade.\n\"What a domestic, household, home-like sound it is! Ah, before that\nweary siege of Troy, I used to hear the buzzing loom and the women's\nvoices under my own roof. Shall I never hear them again? nor taste those\nnice little savory dishes which my dearest wife knew how to serve up?\"\n\n\"Tush! we shall fare better here,\" said another. \"But how innocently\nthose women are babbling together, without guessing that we overhear\nthem! And mark that richest voice of all, so pleasant and so familiar,\nbut which yet seems to have the authority of a mistress among them. Let\nus show ourselves at once. What harm can the lady of the palace and her\nmaidens do to mariners and warriors like us?\"\n\n\"Remember,\" said Eurylochus, \"that it was a young maiden who beguiled\nthree of our friends into the palace of the king of the Laestrygons, who\nate up one of them in the twinkling of an eye.\"\n\nNo warning or persuasion, however, had any effect on his companions.\nThey went up to a pair of folding doors at the farther end of the hall,\nand throwing them wide open, passed into the next room. Eurylochus,\nmeanwhile, had stepped behind a pillar. In the short moment while the\nfolding doors opened and closed again, he caught a glimpse of a very\nbeautiful woman rising from the loom, and coming to meet the poor\nweather-beaten wanderers, with a hospitable smile, and her hand\nstretched out in welcome. There were four other young women, who joined\ntheir hands and danced merrily forward, making gestures of obeisance to\nthe strangers. They were only less beautiful than the lady who seemed to\nbe their mistress. Yet Eurylochus fancied that one of them had sea-green\nhair, and that the close-fitting bodice of a second looked like the bark\nof a tree, and that both the others had something odd in their aspect,\nalthough he could not quite determine what it was, in the little while\nthat he had to examine them.\n\nThe folding doors swung quickly back, and left him standing behind the\npillar, in the solitude of the outer hall. There Eurylochus waited until\nhe was quite weary, and listened eagerly to every sound, but without\nhearing anything that could help him to guess what had become of his\nfriends. Footsteps, it is true, seemed to be passing and repassing, in\nother parts of the palace. Then there was a clatter of silver dishes,\nor golden ones, which made him imagine a rich feast in a splendid\nbanqueting hall. But by and by he heard a tremendous grunting and\nsquealing, and then a sudden scampering, like that of small, hard hoofs\nover a marble floor, while the voices of the mistress and her four\nhandmaidens were screaming all together, in tones of anger and derision.\nEurylochus could not conceive what had happened, unless a drove of\nswine had broken into the palace, attracted by the smell of the feast.\nChancing to cast his eyes at the fountain, he saw that it did not shift\nits shape, as formerly, nor looked either like a long-robed man, or\na lion, a tiger, a wolf, or an ass. It looked like nothing but a hog,\nwhich lay wallowing in the marble basin, and filled it from brim to\nbrim.\n\nBut we must leave the prudent Eurylochus waiting in the outer hall, and\nfollow his friends into the inner secrecy of the palace. As soon as the\nbeautiful woman saw them, she arose from the loom, as I have told you,\nand came forward, smiling, and stretching out her hand. She took the\nhand of the foremost among them, and bade him and the whole party\nwelcome.\n\n\"You have been long expected, my good friends,\" said she. \"I and my\nmaidens are well acquainted with you, although you do not appear to\nrecognize us. Look at this piece of tapestry, and judge if your faces\nmust not have been familiar to us.\"\n\nSo the voyagers examined the web of cloth which the beautiful woman\nhad been weaving in her loom; and, to their vast astonishment, they saw\ntheir own figures perfectly represented in different colored threads. It\nwas a life-like picture of their recent adventures, showing them in the\ncave of Polyphemus, and how they had put out his one great moony eye;\nwhile in another part of the tapestry they were untying the leathern\nbags, puffed out with contrary winds; and farther on, they beheld\nthemselves scampering away from the gigantic king of the Laestrygons,\nwho had caught one of them by the leg. Lastly, there they were, sitting\non the desolate shore of this very island, hungry and downcast, and\nlooking ruefully at the bare bones of the stag which they devoured\nyesterday. This was as far as the work had yet proceeded; but when the\nbeautiful woman should again sit down at her loom, she would probably\nmake a picture of what had since happened to the strangers, and of what\nwas now going to happen.\n\n\"You see,\" she said, \"that I know all about your troubles; and you\ncannot doubt that I desire to make you happy for as long a time as you\nmay remain with me. For this purpose, my honored guests, I have ordered\na banquet to be prepared. Fish, fowl, and flesh, roasted, and in\nluscious stews, and seasoned, I trust, to all your tastes, are ready to\nbe served up. If your appetites tell you it is dinner time, then come\nwith me to the festal saloon.\"\n\nAt this kind invitation, the hungry mariners were quite overjoyed;\nand one of them, taking upon himself to be spokesman, assured their\nhospitable hostess that any hour of the day was dinner time with them,\nwhenever they could get flesh to put in the pot, and fire to boil it\nwith. So the beautiful woman led the way; and the four maidens (one of\nthem had sea-green hair, another a bodice of oak bark, a third sprinkled\na shower of water drops from her fingers' ends, and the fourth had some\nother oddity, which I have forgotten), all these followed behind, and\nhurried the guests along, until they entered a magnificent saloon. It\nwas built in a perfect oval, and lighted from a crystal dome above.\nAround the walls were ranged two and twenty thrones, overhung by\ncanopies of crimson and gold, and provided with the softest of cushions,\nwhich were tasselled and fringed with gold cord. Each of the\nstrangers was invited to sit down; and there they were, two and twenty\nstorm-beaten mariners, in worn and tattered garb, sitting on two and\ntwenty cushioned and canopied thrones, so rich and gorgeous that the\nproudest monarch had nothing more splendid in his stateliest hall.\n\nThen you might have seen the guests nodding, winking with one eye, and\nleaning from one throne to another, to communicate their satisfaction in\nhoarse whispers.\n\n\"Our good hostess has made kings of us all,\" said one. \"Ha! do you\nsmell the feast? I'll engage it will be fit to set before two and twenty\nkings.\"\n\n\"I hope,\" said another, \"it will be, mainly, good substantial joints,\nsirloins, spareribs, and hinder quarters, without too many kickshaws. If\nI thought the good lady would not take it amiss, I should call for a fat\nslice of fried bacon to begin with.\"\n\nAh, the gluttons and gormandizers! You see how it was with them. In the\nloftiest seats of dignity, on royal thrones, they could think of nothing\nbut their greedy appetite, which was the portion of their nature that\nthey shared with wolves and swine; so that they resembled those vilest\nof animals far more than they did kings--if, indeed, kings were what\nthey ought to be.\n\nBut the beautiful woman now clapped her hands; and immediately there\nentered a train of two and twenty serving man, bringing dishes of the\nrichest food, all hot from the kitchen fire, and sending up such a steam\nthat it hung like a cloud below the crystal dome of the saloon. An equal\nnumber of attendants brought great flagons of wine, of various kinds,\nsome of which sparkled as it was poured out, and went bubbling down the\nthroat; while, of other sorts, the purple liquor was so clear that you\ncould see the wrought figures at the bottom of the goblet. While the\nservants supplied the two and twenty guests with food and drink, the\nhostess and her four maidens went from one throne to another, exhorting\nthem to eat their fill, and to quaff wine abundantly, and thus to\nrecompense themselves, at this one banquet, for the many days when they\nhad gone without a dinner. But whenever the mariners were not looking at\nthem (which was pretty often, as they looked chiefly into the basins\nand platters), the beautiful woman and her damsels turned aside, and\nlaughed. Even the servants, as they knelt down to present the dishes,\nmight be seen to grin and sneer, while the guests were helping\nthemselves to the offered dainties.\n\nAnd, once in a while, the strangers seemed to taste something that they\ndid not like.\n\n\"Here is an odd kind of spice in this dish,\" said one. \"I can't say it\nquite suits my palate. Down it goes, however.\"\n\n\"Send a good draught of wine down your throat,\" said his comrade on\nthe next throne. \"That is the stuff to make this sort of cookery relish\nwell. Though I must needs say, the wine has a queer taste too. But the\nmore I drink of it, the better I like the flavor.\"\n\nWhatever little fault they might find with the dishes, they sat at\ndinner a prodigiously long while; and it would really have made you\nashamed to see how they swilled down the liquor and gobbled up the food.\nThey sat on golden thrones, to be sure; but they behaved like pigs in a\nsty; and, if they had had their wits about them, they might have guessed\nthat this was the opinion of their beautiful hostess and her maidens. It\nbrings a blush into my face to reckon up, in my own mind, what mountains\nof meat and pudding, and what gallons of wine, these two and twenty\nguzzlers and gormandizers ate and drank. They forgot all about their\nhomes, and their wives and children, and all about Ulysses, and\neverything else, except this banquet, at which they wanted to keep\nfeasting forever. But at length they began to give over, from mere\nincapacity to hold any more.\n\n\"That last bit of fat is too much for me,\" said one.\n\n\"And I have not room for another morsel,\" said his next neighbor,\nheaving a sigh. \"What a pity! My appetite is as sharp as ever.\"\n\nIn short, they all left off eating, and leaned back on their thrones,\nwith such a stupid and helpless aspect as made them ridiculous to\nbehold. When their hostess saw this, she laughed aloud; so did her four\ndamsels; so did the two and twenty serving men that bore the dishes, and\ntheir two and twenty fellows that poured out the wine. And the louder\nthey all laughed, the more stupid and helpless did the two and twenty\ngormandizers look. Then the beautiful woman took her stand in the middle\nof the saloon, and stretching out a slender rod (it had been all the\nwhile in her hand, although they never noticed it till this moment), she\nturned it from one guest to another, until each had felt it pointed at\nhimself. Beautiful as her face was, and though there was a smile on it,\nit looked just as wicked and mischievous as the ugliest serpent that\never was seen; and fat-witted as the voyagers had made themselves, they\nbegan to suspect that they had fallen into the power of an evil-minded\nenchantress.\n\n\"Wretches,\" cried she, \"you have abused a lady's hospitality; and in\nthis princely saloon your behavior has been suited to a hog-pen. You are\nalready swine in everything but the human form, which you disgrace, and\nwhich I myself should be ashamed to keep a moment longer, were you to\nshare it with me. But it will require only the slightest exercise of\nmagic to make the exterior conform to the hoggish disposition. Assume\nyour proper shapes, gormandizers, and begone to the sty!\"\n\nUttering these last words, she waved her wand; and stamping her foot\nimperiously, each of the guests was struck aghast at beholding, instead\nof his comrades in human shape, one and twenty hogs sitting on the same\nnumber of golden thrones. Each man (as he still supposed himself to be)\nessayed to give a cry of surprise, but found that he could merely grunt,\nand that, in a word, he was just such another beast as his companions.\nIt looked so intolerably absurd to see hogs on cushioned thrones, that\nthey made haste to wallow down upon all fours, like other swine. They\ntried to groan and beg for mercy, but forthwith emitted the most awful\ngrunting and squealing that ever came out of swinish throats. They would\nhave wrung their hands in despair, but, attempting to do so, grew all\nthe more desperate for seeing themselves squatted on their hams, and\npawing the air with their fore trotters. Dear me! what pendulous ears\nthey had! what little red eyes, half buried in fat! and what long\nsnouts, instead of Grecian noses!\n\nBut brutes as they certainly were, they yet had enough of human nature\nin them to be shocked at their own hideousness; and still intending to\ngroan, they uttered a viler grunt and squeal than before. So harsh and\near-piercing it was, that you would have fancied a butcher was sticking\nhis knife into each of their throats, or, at the very least, that\nsomebody was pulling every hog by his funny little twist of a tail.\n\n\"Begone to your sty!\" cried the enchantress, giving them some smart\nstrokes with her wand; and then she turned to the serving men--\"Drive\nout these swine, and throw down some acorns for them to eat.\"\n\nThe door of the saloon being flung open, the drove of hogs ran in\nall directions save the right one, in accordance with their hoggish\nperversity, but were finally driven into the back yard of the palace. It\nwas a sight to bring tears into one's eyes (and I hope none of you will\nbe cruel enough to laugh at it), to see the poor creatures go snuffing\nalong, picking up here a cabbage leaf and there a turnip top, and\nrooting their noses in the earth for whatever they could find. In their\nsty, moreover, they behaved more piggishly than the pigs that had been\nborn so; for they bit and snorted at one another, put their feet in the\ntrough, and gobbled up their victuals in a ridiculous hurry; and, when\nthere was nothing more to be had, they made a great pile of themselves\namong some unclean straw, and fell fast asleep. If they had any human\nreason left, it was just enough to keep them wondering when they should\nbe slaughtered, and what quality of bacon they should make.\n\nMeantime, as I told you before, Eurylochus had waited, and waited,\nand waited, in the entrance hall of the palace, without being able to\ncomprehend what had befallen his friends. At last, when the swinish\nuproar resounded through the palace, and when he saw the image of a hog\nin the marble basin, he thought it best to hasten back to the vessel,\nand inform the wise Ulysses of these marvelous occurrences. So he ran as\nfast as he could down the steps, and never stopped to draw breath till\nhe reached the shore.\n\n\"Why do you come alone?\" asked King Ulysses, as soon as he saw him.\n\"Where are your two and twenty comrades?\"\n\nAt these questions, Eurylochus burst into tears.\n\n\"Alas!\" he cried, \"I greatly fear that we shall never see one of their\nfaces again.\"\n\nThen he told Ulysses all that had happened, as far as he knew it, and\nadded that he suspected the beautiful woman to be a vile enchantress,\nand the marble palace, magnificent as it looked, to be only a dismal\ncavern in reality. As for his companions, he could not imagine what had\nbecome of them, unless they had been given to the swine to be devoured\nalive. At this intelligence, all the voyagers were greatly affrighted.\nBut Ulysses lost no time in girding on his sword, and hanging his bow\nand quiver over his shoulders, and taking a spear in his right hand.\nWhen his followers saw their wise leader making these preparations, they\ninquired whither he was going, and earnestly besought him not to leave\nthem.\n\n\"You are our king,\" cried they; \"and what is more, you are the wisest\nman in the whole world, and nothing but your wisdom and courage can get\nus out of this danger. If you desert us, and go to the enchanted palace,\nyou will suffer the same fate as our poor companions, and not a soul of\nus will ever see our dear Ithaca again.\"\n\n\"As I am your king,\" answered Ulysses, \"and wiser than any of you, it\nis therefore the more my duty to see what has befallen our comrades, and\nwhether anything can yet be done to rescue them. Wait for me here until\ntomorrow. If I do not then return, you must hoist sail, and endeavor to\nfind your way to our native land. For my part, I am answerable for the\nfate of these poor mariners, who have stood by my side in battle,\nand been so often drenched to the skin, along with me, by the same\ntempestuous surges. I will either bring them back with me, or perish.\"\n\nHad his followers dared, they would have detained him by force. But King\nUlysses frowned sternly on them, and shook his spear, and bade them stop\nhim at their peril. Seeing him so determined, they let him go, and sat\ndown on the sand, as disconsolate a set of people as could be, waiting\nand praying for his return.\n\nIt happened to Ulysses, just as before, that, when he had gone a few\nsteps from the edge of the cliff, the purple bird came fluttering\ntowards him, crying, \"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" and using all the art it\ncould to persuade him to go no farther.\n\n\"What mean you, little bird?\" cried Ulysses. \"You are arrayed like a\nking in purple and gold, and wear a golden crown upon your head. Is it\nbecause I too am a king, that you desire so earnestly to speak with me?\nIf you can talk in human language, say what you would have me do.\"\n\n\"Peep!\" answered the purple bird, very dolorously. \"Peep, peep,\npe--we--e!\"\n\nCertainly there lay some heavy anguish at the little bird's heart; and\nit was a sorrowful predicament that he could not, at least, have the\nconsolation of telling what it was. But Ulysses had no time to waste in\ntrying to get at the mystery. He therefore quickened his pace, and had\ngone a good way along the pleasant wood path, when there met him a young\nman of very brisk and intelligent aspect, and clad in a rather singular\ngarb. He wore a short cloak and a sort of cap that seemed to be\nfurnished with a pair of wings; and from the lightness of his step, you\nwould have supposed that there might likewise be wings on his feet. To\nenable him to walk still better (for he was always on one journey or\nanother) he carried a winged staff, around which two serpents were\nwriggling and twisting. In short, I have said enough to make you guess\nthat it was Quicksilver; and Ulysses (who knew him of old, and had\nlearned a great deal of his wisdom from him) recognized him in a moment.\n\n\"Whither are you going in such a hurry, wise Ulysses?\" asked\nQuicksilver. \"Do you not know that this island is enchanted? The wicked\nenchantress (whose name is Circe, the sister of King Aetes) dwells in\nthe marble palace which you see yonder among the trees. By her magic\narts she changes every human being into the brute, beast, or fowl whom\nhe happens most to resemble.\"\n\n\"That little bird, which met me at the edge of the cliff,\" exclaimed\nUlysses; \"was he a human being once?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Quicksilver. \"He was once a king, named Picus, and a\npretty good sort of a king, too, only rather too proud of his purple\nrobe, and his crown, and the golden chain about his neck; so he was\nforced to take the shape of a gaudy-feathered bird. The lions, and\nwolves, and tigers, who will come running to meet you, in front of\nthe palace, were formerly fierce and cruel men, resembling in their\ndisposition the wild beasts whose forms they now rightfully wear.\"\n\n\"And my poor companions,\" said Ulysses. \"Have they undergone a similar\nchange, through the arts of this wicked Circe?\"\n\n\"You well know what gormandizers they were,\" replied Quicksilver; and\nrogue that he was, he could not help laughing at the joke. \"So you will\nnot be surprised to hear that they have all taken the shapes of swine!\nIf Circe had never done anything worse, I really should not think her so\nvery much to blame.\"\n\n\"But can I do nothing to help them?\" inquired Ulysses.\n\n\"It will require all your wisdom,\" said Quicksilver, \"and a little of my\nown into the bargain, to keep your royal and sagacious self from being\ntransformed into a fox. But do as I bid you; and the matter may end\nbetter than it has begun.\"\n\nWhile he was speaking, Quicksilver seemed to be in search of something;\nhe went stooping along the ground, and soon laid his hand on a little\nplant with a snow-white flower, which he plucked and smelt of. Ulysses\nhad been looking at that very spot only just before; and it appeared\nto him that the plant had burst into full flower the instant when\nQuicksilver touched it with his fingers.\n\n\"Take this flower, King Ulysses,\" said he. \"Guard it as you do your\neyesight; for I can assure you it is exceedingly rare and precious, and\nyou might seek the whole earth over without ever finding another like\nit. Keep it in your hand, and smell of it frequently after you enter the\npalace, and while you are talking with the enchantress. Especially when\nshe offers you food, or a draught of wine out of her goblet, be\ncareful to fill your nostrils with the flower's fragrance. Follow these\ndirections, and you may defy her magic arts to change you into a fox.\"\n\nQuicksilver then gave him some further advice how to behave, and bidding\nhim be bold and prudent, again assured him that, powerful as Circe was,\nhe would have a fair prospect of coming safely out of her enchanted\npalace. After listening attentively, Ulysses thanked his good\nfriend, and resumed his way. But he had taken only a few steps, when,\nrecollecting some other questions which he wished to ask, he turned\nround again, and beheld nobody on the spot where Quicksilver had stood;\nfor that winged cap of his, and those winged shoes, with the help of the\nwinged staff, had carried him quickly out of sight.\n\nWhen Ulysses reached the lawn, in front of the palace, the lions and\nother savage animals came bounding to meet him, and would have fawned\nupon him and licked his feet. But the wise king struck at them with his\nlong spear, and sternly bade them begone out of his path; for he knew\nthat they had once been bloodthirsty men, and would now tear him limb\nfrom limb, instead of fawning upon him, could they do the mischief that\nwas in their hearts. The wild beasts yelped and glared at him, and stood\nat a distance, while he ascended the palace steps.\n\nOn entering the hall, Ulysses saw the magic fountain in the center of\nit. The up-gushing water had now again taken the shape of a man in a\nlong, white, fleecy robe, who appeared to be making gestures of welcome.\nThe king likewise heard the noise of the shuttle in the loom and the\nsweet melody of the beautiful woman's song, and then the pleasant voices\nof herself and the four maidens talking together, with peals of merry\nlaughter intermixed. But Ulysses did not waste much time in listening to\nthe laughter or the song. He leaned his spear against one of the pillars\nof the hall, and then, after loosening his sword in the scabbard,\nstepped boldly forward, and threw the folding doors wide open. The\nmoment she beheld his stately figure standing in the doorway, the\nbeautiful woman rose from the loom, and ran to meet him with a glad\nsmile throwing its sunshine over her face, and both her hands extended.\n\n\"Welcome, brave stranger!\" cried she. \"We were expecting you.\"\n\nAnd the nymph with the sea-green hair made a courtesy down to the\nground, and likewise bade him welcome; so did her sister with the bodice\nof oaken bark, and she that sprinkled dew-drops from her fingers' ends,\nand the fourth one with some oddity which I cannot remember. And Circe,\nas the beautiful enchantress was called (who had deluded so many persons\nthat she did not doubt of being able to delude Ulysses, not imagining\nhow wise he was), again addressed him:\n\n\"Your companions,\" said she, \"have already been received into my palace,\nand have enjoyed the hospitable treatment to which the propriety of\ntheir behavior so well entitles them. If such be your pleasure, you\nshall first take some refreshment, and then join them in the elegant\napartment which they now occupy. See, I and my maidens have been weaving\ntheir figures into this piece of tapestry.\"\n\nShe pointed to the web of beautifully-woven cloth in the loom. Circe and\nthe four nymphs must have been very diligently at work since the\narrival of the mariners; for a great many yards of tapestry had now\nbeen wrought, in addition to what I before described. In this new\npart, Ulysses saw his two and twenty friends represented as sitting on\ncushions and canopied thrones, greedily devouring dainties, and quaffing\ndeep draughts of wine. The work had not yet gone any further. O, no,\nindeed. The enchantress was far too cunning to let Ulysses see the\nmischief which her magic arts had since brought upon the gormandizers.\n\n\"As for yourself, valiant sir,\" said Circe, \"judging by the dignity of\nyour aspect, I take you to be nothing less than a king. Deign to follow\nme, and you shall be treated as befits your rank.\"\n\nSo Ulysses followed her into the oval saloon, where his two and twenty\ncomrades had devoured the banquet, which ended so disastrously for\nthemselves. But, all this while, he had held the snow-white flower in\nhis hand, and had constantly smelt of it while Circe was speaking; and\nas he crossed the threshold of the saloon, he took good care to inhale\nseveral long and deep snuffs of its fragrance. Instead of two and twenty\nthrones, which had before been ranged around the wall, there was now\nonly a single throne, in the center of the apartment. But this was\nsurely the most magnificent seat that ever a king or an emperor reposed\nhimself upon, all made of chased gold, studded with precious stones,\nwith a cushion that looked like a soft heap of living roses, and\noverhung by a canopy of sunlight which Circe knew how to weave into\ndrapery. The enchantress took Ulysses by the hand, and made him sit down\nupon this dazzling throne. Then, clapping her hands, she summoned the\nchief butler.\n\n\"Bring hither,\" said she, \"the goblet that is set apart for kings to\ndrink out of. And fill it with the same delicious wine which my royal\nbrother, King Aetes, praised so highly, when he last visited me with my\nfair daughter Medea. That good and amiable child! Were she now here, it\nwould delight her to see me offering this wine to my honored guest.\"\n\nBut Ulysses, while the butler was gone for the wine, held the snow-white\nflower to his nose.\n\n\"Is it a wholesome wine?\" he asked.\n\nAt this the four maidens tittered; whereupon the enchantress looked\nround at them, with an aspect of severity.\n\n\"It is the wholesomest juice that ever was squeezed out of the grape,\"\nsaid she; \"for, instead of disguising a man, as other liquor is apt to\ndo, it brings him to his true self, and shows him as he ought to be.\"\n\nThe chief butler liked nothing better than to see people turned into\nswine, or making any kind of a beast of themselves; so he made haste\nto bring the royal goblet, filled with a liquid as bright as gold, and\nwhich kept sparkling upward, and throwing a sunny spray over the brim.\nBut, delightfully as the wine looked, it was mingled with the most\npotent enchantments that Circe knew how to concoct. For every drop of\nthe pure grape juice there were two drops of the pure mischief; and the\ndanger of the thing was, that the mischief made it taste all the better.\nThe mere smell of the bubbles, which effervesced at the brim, was enough\nto turn a man's beard into pig's bristles, or make a lion's claws grow\nout of his fingers, or a fox's brush behind him.\n\n\"Drink, my noble guest,\" said Circe, smiling, as she presented him\nwith the goblet. \"You will find in this draught a solace for all your\ntroubles.\"\n\nKing Ulysses took the goblet with his right hand, while with his left he\nheld the snow-white flower to his nostrils, and drew in so long a breath\nthat his lungs were quite filled with its pure and simple fragrance.\nThen, drinking off all the wine, he looked the enchantress calmly in the\nface.\n\n\"Wretch,\" cried Circe, giving him a smart stroke with her wand, \"how\ndare you keep your human shape a moment longer! Take the form of the\nbrute whom you most resemble. If a hog, go join your fellow-swine in\nthe sty; if a lion, a wolf, a tiger, go howl with the wild beasts on the\nlawn; if a fox, go exercise your craft in stealing poultry. Thou hast\nquaffed off my wine, and canst be man no longer.\"\n\nBut, such was the virtue of the snow-white flower, instead of wallowing\ndown from his throne in swinish shape, or taking any other brutal form,\nUlysses looked even more manly and king-like than before. He gave the\nmagic goblet a toss, and sent it clashing over the marble floor to\nthe farthest end of the saloon. Then, drawing his sword, he seized the\nenchantress by her beautiful ringlets, and made a gesture as if he meant\nto strike off her head at one blow.\n\n\"Wicked Circe,\" cried he, in a terrible voice, \"this sword shall put an\nend to thy enchant meets. Thou shalt die, vile wretch, and do no more\nmischief in the world, by tempting human beings into the vices which\nmake beasts of them.\"\n\nThe tone and countenance of Ulysses were so awful, and his sword gleamed\nso brightly, and seemed to have so intolerably keen an edge, that Circe\nwas almost killed by the mere fright, without waiting for a blow. The\nchief butler scrambled out of the saloon, picking up the golden goblet\nas he went; and the enchantress and the four maidens fell on their\nknees, wringing their hands, and screaming for mercy.\n\n\"Spare me!\" cried Circe. \"Spare me, royal and wise Ulysses. For now\nI know that thou art he of whom Quicksilver forewarned me, the most\nprudent of mortals, against whom no enchantments can prevail. Thou only\ncouldst have conquered Circe. Spare me, wisest of men. I will show\nthee true hospitality, and even give myself to be thy slave, and this\nmagnificent palace to be henceforth thy home.\"\n\nThe four nymphs, meanwhile, were making a most piteous ado; and\nespecially the ocean nymph, with the sea-green hair, wept a great deal\nof salt water, and the fountain nymph, besides scattering dewdrops from\nher fingers' ends, nearly melted away into tears. But Ulysses would\nnot be pacified until Circe had taken a solemn oath to change back his\ncompanions, and as many others as he should direct, from their present\nforms of beast or bird into their former shapes of men.\n\n\"On these conditions,\" said he, \"I consent to spare your life. Otherwise\nyou must die upon the spot.\"\n\nWith a drawn sword hanging over her, the enchantress would readily have\nconsented to do as much good as she had hitherto done mischief, however\nlittle she might like such employment. She therefore led Ulysses out of\nthe back entrance of the palace, and showed him the swine in their sty.\nThere were about fifty of these unclean beasts in the whole herd; and\nthough the greater part were hogs by birth and education, there was\nwonderfully little difference to be seen betwixt them and their new\nbrethren, who had so recently worn the human shape. To speak critically,\nindeed, the latter rather carried the thing to excess, and seemed to\nmake it a point to wallow in the miriest part of the sty, and otherwise\nto outdo the original swine in their own natural vocation. When men\nonce turn to brutes, the trifle of man's wit that remains in them adds\ntenfold to their brutality.\n\nThe comrades of Ulysses, however, had not quite lost the remembrance of\nhaving formerly stood erect. When he approached the sty, two and twenty\nenormous swine separated themselves from the herd, and scampered towards\nhim, with such a chorus of horrible squealing as made him clap both\nhands to his ears. And yet they did not seem to know what they wanted,\nnor whether they were merely hungry, or miserable from some other\ncause. It was curious, in the midst of their distress, to observe them\nthrusting their noses into the mire, in quest of something to eat. The\nnymph with the bodice of oaken bark (she was the hamadryad of an oak)\nthrew a handful of acorns among them; and the two and twenty hogs\nscrambled and fought for the prize, as if they had tasted not so much as\na noggin of sour milk for a twelvemonth.\n\n\"These must certainly be my comrades,\" said Ulysses. \"I recognize their\ndispositions. They are hardly worth the trouble of changing them into\nthe human form again. Nevertheless, we will have it done, lest their\nbad example should corrupt the other hogs. Let them take their original\nshapes, therefore, Dame Circe, if your skill is equal to the task. It\nwill require greater magic, I trow, than it did to make swine of them.\"\n\nSo Circe waved her wand again, and repeated a few magic words, at the\nsound of which the two and twenty hogs pricked up their pendulous ears.\nIt was a wonder to behold how their snouts grew shorter and shorter, and\ntheir mouths (which they seemed to be sorry for, because they could not\ngobble so expeditiously) smaller and smaller, and how one and another\nbegan to stand upon his hind legs, and scratch his nose with his fore\ntrotters. At first the spectators hardly knew whether to call them hogs\nor men, but by and by came to the conclusion that they rather resembled\nthe latter. Finally, there stood the twenty-two comrades of Ulysses,\nlooking pretty much the same as when they left the vessel.\n\nYou must not imagine, however, that the swinish quality had entirely\ngone out of them. When once it fastens itself into a person's character,\nit is very difficult getting rid of it. This was proved by the\nhamadryad, who, being exceedingly fond of mischief, threw another\nhandful of acorns before the twenty-two newly-restored people; whereupon\ndown they wallowed in a moment, and gobbled them up in a very shameful\nway. Then, recollecting themselves, they scrambled to their feet, and\nlooked more than commonly foolish.\n\n\"Thanks, noble Ulysses!\" they cried. \"From brute beasts you have\nrestored us to the condition of men again.\"\n\n\"Do not put yourselves to the trouble of thanking me,\" said the wise\nking. \"I fear I have done but little for you.\"\n\nTo say the truth, there was a suspicious kind of a grunt in their\nvoices, and, for a long time afterwards, they spoke gruffly, and were\napt to set up a squeal.\n\n\"It must depend on your own future behavior,\" added Ulysses, \"whether\nyou do not find your way back to the sty.\"\n\nAt this moment, the note of a bird sounded from the branch of a\nneighboring tree.\n\n\"Peep, peep, pe--wee--e!\"\n\nIt was the purple bird, who, all this while, had been sitting over their\nheads, watching what was going forward, and hoping that Ulysses would\nremember how he had done his utmost to keep him and his followers out of\nharm's way. Ulysses ordered Circe instantly to make a king of this good\nlittle fowl, and leave him exactly as she found him. Hardly were the\nwords spoken, and before the bird had time to utter another \"pe--weep,\"\nKing Picus leaped down from the bough of a tree, as majestic a sovereign\nas any in the world, dressed in a long purple robe and gorgeous yellow\nstockings, with a splendidly wrought collar about his neck, and a golden\ncrown upon his head. He and King Ulysses exchanged with one another\nthe courtesies which belong to their elevated rank. But from that time\nforth, King Picus was no longer proud of his crown and his trappings of\nroyalty, nor of the fact of his being a king; he felt himself merely the\nupper servant of his people, and that it must be his life-long labor to\nmake them better and happier.\n\nAs for the lions, tigers, and wolves (though Circe would have restored\nthem to their former shapes at his slightest word), Ulysses thought\nit advisable that they should remain as they now were, and thus give\nwarning of their cruel dispositions, instead of going about under the\nguise of men, and pretending to human sympathies, while their hearts\nhad the blood-thirstiness of wild beasts. So he let them howl as much as\nthey liked, but never troubled his head about them. And, when everything\nwas settled according to his pleasure, he sent to summon the remainder\nof his comrades, whom he had left at the sea-shore. These being arrived,\nwith the prudent Eurylochus at their head, they all made themselves\ncomfortable in Circe's enchanted palace, until quite rested and\nrefreshed from the toils and hardships of their voyage.\n\n\n\n\nTHE POMEGRANATE SEEDS.\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 the\ncrops of every kind, all over the earth; and as the season had thus far\nbeen 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 play\nwith her. They knew Proserpina's voice, and were not long in showing\ntheir glistening faces and sea-green hair above the water, at the bottom\nof which was their home. They brought along with them a great many\nbeautiful shells; and sitting down on the moist sand, where the surf\nwave broke over them, they busied themselves in making a necklace, which\nthey hung round Proserpina's neck. By way of showing her gratitude, the\nchild besought them to go with her a little way into the fields, so that\nthey might gather abundance of flowers, with which she would make each\nof her kind playmates a wreath.\n\n\"O no, dear Proserpina,\" cried the sea nymphs; \"we dare not go with you\nupon the dry land. We are apt to grow faint, unless at every breath we\ncan snuff up the salt breeze of the ocean. And don't you see how careful\nwe are to let the surf wave break over us every moment or two, so as\nto keep ourselves comfortably moist? If it were not for that, we should\nlook 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 colored\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 colors. Two or\nthree times, moreover, she could not help thinking that a tuft of most\nsplendid flowers had suddenly sprouted out of the earth before her very\neyes, as if on purpose to tempt her a few steps farther. Proserpina's\napron was soon filled, and brimming over with delightful blossoms. She\nwas on the point of turning back in order to rejoin the sea nymphs, and\nsit with them on the moist sands, all twining wreaths together. But,\na little farther on, what should she behold? It was a large shrub,\ncompletely covered with the most magnificent flowers in the world.\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 luster on the leaves of the shrub, and on the petals of the\nflowers, that made Proserpina doubt whether they might not be poisonous.\nTo tell you the truth, foolish as it may seem, she was half inclined to\nturn 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\npull it 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, she\nmade another effort: up came the shrub, and Proserpina staggered back,\nholding the stem triumphantly in her hand, and gazing at the deep hole\nwhich 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 curvetting 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\nto put on. \"Come! Will you not 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\nout of 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 underground than 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\ngrow in 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 mounted 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 Aetna 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 the\nchariot; and many mothers, to whose ears it came, ran quickly to see if\nany mischief had befallen their children. But Mother Ceres was a great\nway 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\nwill give 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. O, we shall be very good friends,\nand you will find me more agreeable than you expect, when once we get\nout 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 upstairs 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\npast them, 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? Who, 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\nan air 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\nmuch more agreeable is lamplight 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\nthose gates, 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,\nso as 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\"O, never fear,\" answered her companion. \"He never harms people, unless\nthey try to enter my dominions without being sent for, or to get\naway when 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 here were\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\nbuilt of iron. Pluto stopped the chariot, and bade Proserpina look at\nthe stream which was gliding so lazily beneath it. Never in her life had\nshe beheld 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,\" answered 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\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\"O, 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\nvarious hues, 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;\nfor he 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\nset before 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 had 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\nit empty. Knowing, however, that the child was fond of sporting on the\nsea-shore, 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\"O, no, good Mother Ceres,\" said the innocent sea nymphs, tossing back\ntheir green ringlets, and looking her in the face. \"We never should\ndream of such a thing. Proserpina has been at play with us, it is true;\nbut she left us a long while ago, meaning only to run a little way upon\nthe dry land, and gather some flowers for a wreath. This was early in\nthe day, 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 neighborhood. But nobody\ntold her anything that would 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\nmust seek 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\nwhich she 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 farm-house, Ceres\nknocked, and called up the weary laborers to inquire if they had seen\nher child; and they stood, gaping and half-asleep, at the threshold,\nand answered 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\nof it, 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\nto a fountain, gushing out of a pebbly hollow in the earth, and would\ndabble with her hand in the water. Behold, up through its sandy and\npebbly bed, along with the fountain's gush, a young woman with dripping\nhair would arise, and stand gazing at Mother Ceres, half out of the\nwater, and undulating up and down with its ever-restless motion. But\nwhen the mother asked whether her poor lost child had stopped to\ndrink out of the fountain, the naiad, with weeping eyes (for these\nwater-nymphs had tears to spare for everybody's grief), would answer\n\"No!\" in a murmuring voice, which was just like the murmur of the\nstream.\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 gamboled 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 same 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 goats'\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 traveled 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 which\n(though it was bright noon everywhere else) there would have been only\na dusky twilight; but it so happened that a torch was burning there. It\nflickered, and struggled with the duskiness, but could not half light up\nthe gloomy cavern with all its melancholy glimmer. Ceres was resolved to\nleave no spot without a search; so she peeped into the entrance of the\ncave, and lighted it up a little more, by holding her own torch before\nher. In so doing, she caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a woman,\nsitting on the brown leaves of the last autumn, a great heap of which\nhad been swept into the cave by the wind. This woman (if woman it were)\nwas by no means so beautiful as many of her sex; for her head, they tell\nme, was shaped very much like a dog's, and, by way of ornament, she wore\na wreath of snakes around it. But Mother Ceres, the moment she saw her,\nknew that this was an odd kind of a person, who put all her enjoyment\nin being miserable, and never would have a word to say to other people,\nunless they were as melancholy and wretched as she herself delighted to\nbe.\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.\" So\nshe 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\nwhat sorrow 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 their\nway to them; and nine days ago, as I sat in my cave, making myself very\nmiserable, I heard the voice of a young girl, shrieking as if in great\ndistress. Something terrible has happened to the child, you may rest\nassured. 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 towards the eastward. I can tell\nyou nothing more, except that, in my honest opinion, you will never see\nyour daughter again. The best advice I can give you is, to take up your\nabode in this cavern, where we will be the two most wretched women in\nthe world.\"\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 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\nsun shine 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 seemed\nto make a gloom; so that the people whom they met, along the road, could\nnot very distinctly see their figures; and, indeed, if they once caught\na glimpse of Hecate, with the wreath of snakes round her forehead, they\ngenerally thought it prudent to run away, without waiting for a second\nglance.\n\nAs the pair traveled along in this woe-begone 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 Phoebus.\"\n\n\"What,\" said Hecate, \"the young man that always sits in the sunshine? O,\npray do not think of going near him. He is a gay, light, frivolous young\nfellow, and will only smile in your face. And besides, there is such a\nglare of the sun about him, that he will quite blind my poor eyes, which\nI 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 Phoebus along with it.\"\n\nAccordingly, they went along in quest of Phoebus, 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\nwere like 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. Phoebus (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, beside a great many\nother accomplishments, this young man was renowned for his admirable\npoetry.\n\nAs Ceres and her dismal companion approached him, Phoebus smiled on them\nso cheerfully that Hecate's wreath of snakes gave a spiteful hiss, and\nHecate heartily wished herself back in her cave. But as for Ceres, she\nwas too earnest in her grief either to know or care whether Phoebus\nsmiled or frowned.\n\n\"Phoebus!\" exclaimed she, \"I am in great trouble, and have come to\nyou for assistance. Can you tell me what has become of my dear child\nProserpina?\"\n\n\"Proserpina! Proserpina, did you call her name?\" answered Phoebus,\nendeavoring 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\ndid see the little Proserpina not many days ago. You may make yourself\nperfectly easy about her. She is safe, and in excellent hands.\"\n\n\"O, where is my dear child?\" cried Ceres, clasping her hands, and\nflinging herself at his feet.\n\n\"Why,\" said Phoebus--and as he spoke he kept touching his lyre so as to\nmake 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\noff to his dominions. I have never been in that part of the universe;\nbut the 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 splendors you speak of without\naffection? I must have her back again. Will you go with me you go with\nme, Phoebus, to demand my daughter of this wicked Pluto?\"\n\n\"Pray excuse me,\" replied Phoebus, 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, Phoebus,\" said Ceres, with bitter meaning in her words, \"you have a\nharp instead of a heart. Farewell.\"\n\n\"Will not you stay a moment,\" asked Phoebus, \"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. Phoebus\n(who, as I have told you, was an exquisite poet) forthwith began to make\nan ode about the poor mother's grief; and, if we were to judge of his\nsensibility by this beautiful production, he must have been endowed with\na very tender heart. But when a poet gets into the habit of using his\nheartstrings to make chords for his lyre, he may thrum upon them as\nmuch as he will, without any great pain to himself. Accordingly, though\nPhoebus sang a very sad song, he was as merry all the while as were the\nsunbeams 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\nto the 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\nflame of which seemed an emblem of the grief and hope that burned\ntogether in her heart.\n\nSo much did she suffer, that, though her aspect had been quite youthful\nwhen her troubles began, she grew to look like an elderly person in a\nvery brief time. She cared not how she was dressed, nor had she ever\nthought of flinging away the wreath of withered poppies, which she put\non the very morning of Proserpina's disappearance. She roamed about in\nso wild a way, and with her hair so disheveled, that people took her for\nsome distracted creature, and never dreamed that this was Mother Ceres,\nwho had the oversight of every seed which the husbandman planted.\nNowadays, however, she gave herself no trouble about seed time nor\nharvest, but left the farmers to take care of their own affairs, and the\ncrops to fade or flourish, as the case might be. There was nothing, now,\nin which Ceres seemed to feel an interest, unless when she saw children\nat play, or gathering flowers along the wayside. Then, indeed, she\nwould stand and gaze at them with tears in her eyes. The children, too,\nappeared to have a sympathy with her grief, and would cluster themselves\nin a little group about her knees, and look up wistfully in her face;\nand Ceres, after giving them a kiss all round, would lead them to their\nhomes, and advise their mothers never to let them stray out of sight.\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 Cereus, 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),\nand would take no food, and was all the time moaning with pain. The\nqueen--her name was Metanira--was desirous of funding 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 Cereus, as nurse\nto the little Prince Demophoon. 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\nor since. 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 neighborhood crowded to the palace, and held up their\nhands, in unutterable amazement, at the beauty and wholesomeness of\nthis darling 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\nthe firelight 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 Demophoon out of his bed\nof live coals, one of which he was gripping 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\nin which 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 Demophoon, 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\nor beast 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 plowed 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\nMother Ceres, 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\nof his 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 had been\ndoing ever since we saw her last.\n\nThe child had declared, as you may remember, that she would not taste\na mouthful 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 by\nday, with all manner of sweetmeats, and richly-preserved fruits, and\ndelicacies of every sort, such as young people are generally most fond\nof. But her good mother had often told her of the hurtfulness of these\nthings; and for that reason alone, if there had been no other, she would\nhave 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-colored gems, which Proserpina had\nfor playthings, vie with the simple beauty of the flowers she used to\ngather. But still, whenever 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 now do 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\nyou for 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. \"O 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 afterwards, 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,\nsoft hand 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,\nand starving 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 afterwards 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\nor another, 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\nseeking all over the earth, King Pluto's servant found only a\nsingle pomegranate, and that so dried up as not to be 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.\n\nHe set down the golden salver, with the wizened pomegranate upon it, and\nleft the room. When he was gone, Proserpina could not help coming close\nto the table, and looking at this poor specimen of dried fruit with a\ngreat deal of eagerness; for, to say the truth, on seeing something\nthat suited her taste, she felt all the six months' appetite taking\npossession of her at once. To be sure, it was a very wretched-looking\npomegranate, and seemed to have no more juice in it than an oyster\nshell. But there was no choice of such things in King Pluto's palace.\nThis was the first fruit she had seen there, and the last she was ever\nlikely to see; and unless she ate it up immediately, it would grow drier\nthan it already was, and be 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 neighborhood to her mouth, the fruit found\nits way into that little red cave. Dear me! what an everlasting pity!\nBefore Proserpina knew what she was about, her teeth had actually bitten\nit, of their own accord. Just as this fatal deed was done, the door of\nthe apartment opened, and in came King Pluto, followed by Quicksilver,\nwho had been urging him to let his little prisoner go. At the first\nnoise of their entrance, Proserpina withdrew the pomegranate from her\nmouth. But Quicksilver (whose eyes were very keen, and his wits the\nsharpest that ever anybody had) perceived that the child was a little\nconfused; and seeing the empty salver, he suspected that she had been\ntaking a sly nibble of something or other. As for honest Pluto, he never\nguessed 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\na great many misfortunes have befallen innocent people on account of\nmy detaining 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 way.\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\nthe three-headed Cerberus, barking, and yelping, and growling, with\nthreefold din, behind them), and emerged upon the surface of the earth.\nIt was delightful to behold, as Proserpina hastened along, how the path\ngrew verdant behind and on either side of her. Wherever she set her\nblessed foot, there was at once a dewy flower. The violets gushed up\nalong the wayside. The grass and the grain began to sprout with tenfold\nvigor and luxuriance, to make up for the dreary months that had been\nwasted in barrenness. The starved cattle immediately set to work\ngrazing, after their long fast, and ate enormously, all day, and got up\nat midnight to eat more.\n\nBut I can assure you it was a busy time of year with the farmers, when\nthey found the summer coming upon them with such a rush. Nor must I\nforget to say, that all the birds in the whole world hopped about upon\nthe newly-blossoming trees, and sang together, in a prodigious ecstasy\nof 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\nonce, it 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.\n\"Does it 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,\" exclaimed Proserpina, \"I will tell you the whole\ntruth. Until this very morning, not a morsel of food had passed my lips.\nBut to-day, they brought me a pomegranate (a very dry one it was, and\nall shriveled up, till there was little left of it but seeds and skin),\nand having seen no fruit for so long a time, and being faint with\nhunger, I was tempted just to bite it. The instant I tasted it, King\nPluto and Quicksilver came into the room. I had not swallowed a morsel;\nbut--dear mother, I hope it was no harm--but six of the pomegranate\nseeds, I am afraid, remained in my mouth.\"\n\n\"Ah, unfortunate child, and miserable me!\" exclaimed Ceres. \"For each\nof those 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 Prosperina, 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\nthe other 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\nTHE GOLDEN FLEECE.\n\nWhen Jason, the son of the dethroned King of Iolchos, was a little\nboy, he was sent away from his parents, and placed under the queerest\nschoolmaster that ever you heard of. This learned person was one of the\npeople, or quadrupeds, called Centaurs. He lived in a cavern, and had\nthe body and legs of a white horse, with the head and shoulders of a\nman. His name was Chiron; and, in spite of his odd appearance, he was a\nvery excellent teacher, and had several scholars, who afterwards did him\ncredit by making a great figure in the world. The famous Hercules was\none, and so was Achilles, and Philoctetes likewise, and Aesculapius, who\nacquired immense repute as a doctor. The good Chiron taught his pupils\nhow to play upon the harp, and how to cure diseases, and how to use the\nsword and shield, together with various other branches of education, in\nwhich the lads of those days used to be instructed, instead of writing\nand arithmetic.\n\nI have sometimes suspected that Master Chiron was not really very\ndifferent from other people, but that, being a kind-hearted and merry\nold fellow, he was in the habit of making believe that he was a horse,\nand scrambling about the schoolroom on all fours, and letting the little\nboys ride upon his back. And so, when his scholars had grown up, and\ngrown old, and were trotting their grandchildren on their knees, they\ntold them about the sports of their school days; and these young folks\ntook the idea that their grandfathers had been taught their letters by\na Centaur, half man and half horse. Little children, not quite\nunderstanding what is said to them, often get such absurd notions into\ntheir heads, you know.\n\nBe that as it may, it has always been told for a fact (and always will\nbe told, as long as the world lasts), that Chiron, with the head of a\nschoolmaster, had the body and legs of a horse. Just imagine the grave\nold gentleman clattering and stamping into the schoolroom on his four\nhoofs, perhaps treading on some little fellow's toes, flourishing his\nswitch tail instead of a rod, and, now and then, trotting out of doors\nto eat a mouthful of grass! I wonder what the blacksmith charged him for\na set of iron shoes?\n\nSo Jason dwelt in the cave, with this four-footed Chiron, from the time\nthat he was an infant, only a few months old, until he had grown to\nthe full height of a man. He became a very good harper, I suppose, and\nskilful in the use of weapons, and tolerably acquainted with herbs and\nother doctor's stuff, and, above all, an admirable horseman; for, in\nteaching young people to ride, the good Chiron must have been without\na rival among schoolmasters. At length, being now a tall and athletic\nyouth, Jason resolved to seek his fortune in the world, without asking\nChiron's advice, or telling him anything about the matter. This was very\nunwise, to be sure; and I hope none of you, my little hearers, will ever\nfollow Jason's example.\n\nBut, you are to understand, he had heard how that he himself was a\nprince royal, and how his father, King Jason, had been deprived of\nthe kingdom of Iolchos by a certain Pelias, who would also have killed\nJason, had he not been hidden in the Centaur's cave. And, being come\nto the strength of a man, Jason determined to set all this business to\nrights, and to punish the wicked Pelias for wronging his dear father,\nand to cast him down from the throne, and seat himself there instead.\n\nWith this intention, he took a spear in each hand, and threw a leopard's\nskin over his shoulders, to keep off the rain, and set forth on his\ntravels, with his long yellow ringlets waving in the wind. The part of\nhis dress on which he most prided himself was a pair of sandals, that\nhad been his father's. They were handsomely embroidered, and were tied\nupon his feet with strings of gold. But his whole attire was such as\npeople did not very often see; and as he passed along, the women and\nchildren ran to the doors and windows, wondering whither this beautiful\nyouth was journeying, with his leopard's skin and his golden-tied\nsandals, and what heroic deeds he meant to perform, with a spear in his\nright hand and another in his left.\n\nI know not how far Jason had traveled, when he came to a turbulent\nriver, which rushed right across his pathway, with specks of white\nfoam among its black eddies, hurrying tumultuously onward, and roaring\nangrily as it went. Though not a very broad river in the dry seasons of\nthe year, it was now swollen by heavy rains and by the melting of the\nsnow on the sides of Mount Olympus; and it thundered so loudly, and\nlooked so wild and dangerous, that Jason, bold as he was, thought it\nprudent to pause upon the brink. The bed of the stream seemed to be\nstrewn with sharp and rugged rocks, some of which thrust themselves\nabove the water. By and by, an uprooted tree, with shattered branches,\ncame drifting along the current, and got entangled among the rocks. Now\nand then, a drowned sheep, and once the carcass of a cow, floated past.\n\nIn short, the swollen river had already done a great deal of mischief.\nIt was evidently too deep for Jason to wade, and too boisterous for him\nto swim; he could see no bridge; and as for a boat, had there been any,\nthe rocks would have broken it to pieces in an instant.\n\n\"See the poor lad,\" said a cracked voice close to his side. \"He must\nhave had but a poor education, since he does not know how to cross\na little stream like this. Or is he afraid of wetting his fine\ngolden-stringed sandals? It is a pity his four-footed schoolmaster is\nnot here to carry him safely across on his back!\"\n\nJason looked round greatly surprised, for he did not know that anybody\nwas near. But beside him stood an old woman, with a ragged mantle over\nher head, leaning on a staff, the top of which was carved into the shape\nof a cuckoo. She looked very aged, and wrinkled, and infirm; and yet her\neyes, which were as brown as those of an ox, were so extremely large\nand beautiful, that, when they were fixed on Jason's eyes, he could\nsee nothing else but them. The old woman had a pomegranate in her hand,\nalthough the fruit was then quite out of season.\n\n\"Whither are you going, Jason?\" she now asked.\n\nShe seemed to know his name, you will observe; and, indeed, those great\nbrown eyes looked as if they had a knowledge of everything, whether past\nor to come. While Jason was gazing at her, a peacock strutted forward,\nand took his stand at the old woman's side.\n\n\"I am going to Iolchos,\" answered the young man, \"to bid the wicked\nKing Pelias come down from my father's throne, and let me reign in his\nstead.\"\n\n\"Ah, well, then,\" said the old woman, still with the same cracked voice,\n\"if that is all your business, you need not be in a very great hurry.\nJust take me on your back, there's a good youth, and carry me across the\nriver. I and my peacock have something to do on the other side, as well\nas yourself.\"\n\n\"Good mother,\" replied Jason, \"your business can hardly be so important\nas the pulling down a king from his throne. Besides, as you may see\nfor yourself, the river is very boisterous; and if I should chance to\nstumble, it would sweep both of us away more easily than it has carried\noff yonder uprooted tree. I would gladly help you if I could; but I\ndoubt whether I am strong enough to carry you across.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said she, very scornfully, \"neither are you strong enough to\npull King Pelias off his throne. And, Jason, unless you will help an old\nwoman at her need, you ought not to be a king. What are kings made for,\nsave to succor the feeble and distressed? But do as you please. Either\ntake me on your back, or with my poor old limbs I shall try my best to\nstruggle across the stream.\"\n\nSaying this, the old woman poked with her staff in the river, as if to\nfind the safest place in its rocky bed where she might make the first\nstep. But Jason, by this time, had grown ashamed of his reluctance to\nhelp her. He felt that he could never forgive himself, if this poor\nfeeble creature should come to any harm in attempting to wrestle against\nthe headlong current. The good Chiron, whether half horse or no, had\ntaught him that the noblest use of his strength was to assist the weak;\nand also that he must treat every young woman as if she were his sister,\nand every old one like a mother. Remembering these maxims, the vigorous\nand beautiful young man knelt down, and requested the good dame to mount\nupon his back.\n\n\"The passage seems to me not very safe,\" he remarked. \"But as your\nbusiness is so urgent, I will try to carry you across. If the river\nsweeps you away, it shall take me too.\"\n\n\"That, no doubt, will be a great comfort to both of us,\" quoth the old\nwoman. \"But never fear. We shall get safely across.\"\n\nSo she threw her arms around Jason's neck; and lifting her from the\nground, he stepped boldly into the raging and foaming current, and began\nto stagger away from the shore. As for the peacock, it alighted on the\nold dame's shoulder. Jason's two spears, one in each hand, kept him\nfrom stumbling, and enabled him to feel his way among the hidden rocks;\nalthough every instant, he expected that his companion and himself would\ngo down the stream, together with the driftwood of shattered trees, and\nthe carcasses of the sheep and cow. Down came the cold, snowy torrent\nfrom the steep side of Olympus, raging and thundering as if it had a\nreal spite against Jason, or, at all events, were determined to snatch\noff his living burden from his shoulders. When he was half way across,\nthe uprooted tree (which I have already told you about) broke loose\nfrom among the rocks, and bore down upon him, with all its splintered\nbranches sticking out like the hundred arms of the giant Briareus. It\nrushed past, however, without touching him. But the next moment his\nfoot was caught in a crevice between two rocks, and stuck there so fast,\nthat, in the effort to get free, he lost one of his golden-stringed\nsandals.\n\nAt this accident Jason could not help uttering a cry of vexation.\n\n\"What is the matter, Jason?\" asked the old woman.\n\n\"Matter enough,\" said the young man. \"I have lost a sandal here among\nthe rocks. And what sort of a figure shall I cut, at the court of King\nPelias, with a golden-stringed sandal on one foot, and the other foot\nbare!\"\n\n\"Do not take it to heart,\" answered his companion cheerily. \"You never\nmet with better fortune than in losing that sandal. It satisfies me that\nyou are the very person whom the Speaking Oak has been talking about.\"\n\nThere was no time, just then, to inquire what the Speaking Oak had said.\nBut the briskness of her tone encouraged the young man; and, besides, he\nhad never in his life felt so vigorous and mighty as since taking this\nold woman on his back. Instead of being exhausted, he gathered strength\nas he went on; and, struggling up against the torrent, he at last gained\nthe opposite shore, clambered up the bank, and set down the old dame and\nher peacock safely on the grass. As soon as this was done, however, he\ncould not help looking rather despondently at his bare foot, with only a\nremnant of the golden string of the sandal clinging round his ankle.\n\n\"You will get a handsomer pair of sandals by and by,\" said the old\nwoman, with a kindly look out of her beautiful brown eyes. \"Only let\nKing Pelias get a glimpse of that bare foot, and you shall see him turn\nas pale as ashes, I promise you. There is your path. Go along, my good\nJason, and my blessing go with you. And when you sit on your throne\nremember the old woman whom you helped over the river.\"\n\nWith these words, she hobbled away, giving him a smile over her shoulder\nas she departed.\n\nWhether the light of her beautiful brown eyes threw a glory round\nabout her, or whatever the cause might be, Jason fancied that there was\nsomething very noble and majestic in her figure, after all, and that,\nthough her gait seemed to be a rheumatic hobble, yet she moved with as\nmuch grace and dignity as any queen on earth. Her peacock, which had now\nfluttered down from her shoulder, strutted behind her in a prodigious\npomp, and spread out its magnificent tail on purpose for Jason to admire\nit.\n\nWhen the old dame and her peacock were out of sight, Jason set forward\non his journey. After traveling a pretty long distance, he came to a\ntown situated at the foot of a mountain, and not a great way from the\nshore of the sea. On the outside of the town there was an immense crowd\nof people, not only men and women, but children too, all in their\nbest clothes, and evidently enjoying a holiday. The crowd was thickest\ntowards the sea-shore; and in that direction, over the people's heads,\nJason saw a wreath of smoke curling upward to the blue sky. He inquired\nof one of the multitude what town it was near by, and why so many\npersons were here assembled together.\n\n\"This is the kingdom of Iolchos,\" answered the man, \"and we are the\nsubjects of King Pelias. Our monarch has summoned us together, that we\nmay see him sacrifice a black bull to Neptune, who, they say, is his\nmajesty's father. Yonder is the king, where you see the smoke going up\nfrom the altar.\"\n\nWhile the man spoke he eyed Jason with great curiosity; for his garb\nwas quite unlike that of the Iolchians, and it looked very odd to see a\nyouth with a leopard's skin over his shoulders, and each hand grasping\na spear. Jason perceived, too, that the man stared particularly at\nhis feet, one of which, you remember, was bare, while the other was\ndecorated with his father's golden-stringed sandal.\n\n\"Look at him! only look at him!\" said the man to his next neighbor. \"Do\nyou see? He wears but one sandal!\"\n\nUpon this, first one person, and then another, began to stare at Jason,\nand everybody seemed to be greatly struck with something in his aspect;\nthough they turned their eyes much oftener towards his feet than to any\nother part of his figure. Besides, he could hear them whispering to one\nanother.\n\n\"One sandal! One sandal!\" they kept saying. \"The man with one sandal!\nHere he is at last! Whence has he come? What does he mean to do? What\nwill the king say to the one-sandaled man?\"\n\nPoor Jason was greatly abashed, and made up his mind that the people\nof Iolchos were exceedingly ill-bred, to take such public notice of an\naccidental deficiency in his dress. Meanwhile, whether it were that they\nhustled him forward, or that Jason, of his own accord, thrust a passage\nthrough the crowd, it so happened that he soon found himself close to\nthe smoking altar, where King Pelias was sacrificing the black bull. The\nmurmur and hum of the multitude, in their surprise at the spectacle\nof Jason with his one bare foot, grew so loud that it disturbed the\nceremonies; and the king, holding the great knife with which he was just\ngoing to cut the bull's throat, turned angrily about, and fixed his\neyes on Jason. The people had now withdrawn from around him, so that\nthe youth stood in an open space, near the smoking altar, front to front\nwith the angry King Pelias.\n\n\"Who are you?\" cried the king, with a terrible frown. \"And how dare you\nmake this disturbance, while I am sacrificing a black bull to my father\nNeptune?\"\n\n\"It is no fault of mine,\" answered Jason. \"Your majesty must blame the\nrudeness of your subjects, who have raised all this tumult because one\nof my feet happens to be bare.\"\n\nWhen Jason said this, the king gave a quick startled glance down at his\nfeet.\n\n\"Ha!\" muttered he, \"here is the one-sandaled fellow, sure enough! What\ncan I do with him?\"\n\nAnd he clutched more closely the great knife in his hand, as if he were\nhalf a mind to slay Jason, instead of the black bull. The people round\nabout caught up the king's words, indistinctly as they were uttered; and\nfirst there was a murmur amongst them, and then a loud shout.\n\n\"The one-sandaled man has come! The prophecy must be fulfilled!\"\n\nFor you are to know, that, many years before, King Pelias had been told\nby the Speaking Oak of Dodona, that a man with one sandal should cast\nhim down from his throne. On this account, he had given strict orders\nthat nobody should ever come into his presence, unless both sandals were\nsecurely tied upon his feet; and he kept an officer in his palace, whose\nsole business it was to examine people's sandals, and to supply them\nwith a new pair, at the expense of the royal treasury, as soon as the\nold ones began to wear out. In the whole course of the king's reign,\nhe had never been thrown into such a fright and agitation as by the\nspectacle of poor Jason's bare foot. But, as he was naturally a bold and\nhard-hearted man, he soon took courage, and began to consider in what\nway he might rid himself of this terrible one-sandaled stranger.\n\n\"My good young man,\" said King Pelias, taking the softest tone\nimaginable, in order to throw Jason off his guard, \"you are excessively\nwelcome to my kingdom. Judging by your dress, you must have traveled a\nlong distance, for it is not the fashion to wear leopard skins in this\npart of the world. Pray what may I call your name? and where did you\nreceive your education?\"\n\n\"My name is Jason,\" answered the young stranger. \"Ever since my infancy,\nI have dwelt in the cave of Chiron the Centaur. He was my instructor,\nand taught me music, and horsemanship, and how to cure wounds, and\nlikewise how to inflict wounds with my weapons!\"\n\n\"I have heard of Chiron the schoolmaster,\" replied King Pelias, \"and\nhow that there is an immense deal of learning and wisdom in his head,\nalthough it happens to be set on a horse's body. It gives me great\ndelight to see one of his scholars at my court. But to test how much you\nhave profited under so excellent a teacher, will you allow me to ask you\na single question?\"\n\n\"I do not pretend to be very wise,\" said Jason. \"But ask me what you\nplease, and I will answer to the best of my ability.\"\n\nNow King Pelias meant cunningly to entrap the young man, and to make him\nsay something that should be the cause of mischief and distraction to\nhimself. So, with a crafty and evil smile upon his face, he spoke as\nfollows:\n\n\"What would you do, brave Jason,\" asked he, \"if there were a man in\nthe world, by whom, as you had reason to believe, you were doomed to\nbe ruined and slain--what would you do, I say, if that man stood before\nyou, and in your power?\"\n\nWhen Jason saw the malice and wickedness which King Pelias could not\nprevent from gleaming out of his eyes, he probably guessed that the king\nhad discovered what he came for, and that he intended to turn his own\nwords against himself. Still he scorned to tell a falsehood. Like an\nupright and honorable prince as he was, he determined to speak out the\nreal truth. Since the king had chosen to ask him the question, and since\nJason had promised him an answer, there was no right way save to tell\nhim precisely what would be the most prudent thing to do, if he had his\nworst enemy in his power.\n\nTherefore, after a moment's consideration, he spoke up, with a firm and\nmanly voice.\n\n\"I would send such a man,\" said he, \"in quest of the Golden Fleece!\"\n\nThis enterprise, you will understand, was, of all others, the most\ndifficult and dangerous in the world. In the first place it would be\nnecessary to make a long voyage through unknown seas. There was hardly\na hope, or a possibility, that any young man who should undertake this\nvoyage would either succeed in obtaining the Golden Fleece, or would\nsurvive to return home, and tell of the perils he had run. The eyes of\nKing Pelias sparkled with joy, therefore, when he heard Jason's reply.\n\n\"Well said, wise man with the one sandal!\" cried he. \"Go, then, and at\nthe peril of your life, bring me back the Golden Fleece.\"\n\n\"I go,\" answered Jason, composedly. \"If I fail, you need not fear that\nI will ever come back to trouble you again. But if I return to Iolchos\nwith the prize, then, King Pelias, you must hasten down from your lofty\nthrone, and give me your crown and sceptre.\"\n\n\"That I will,\" said the king, with a sneer. \"Meantime, I will keep them\nvery safely for you.\"\n\nThe first thing that Jason thought of doing, after he left the king's\npresence, was to go to Dodona, and inquire of the Talking Oak what\ncourse it was best to pursue. This wonderful tree stood in the center of\nan ancient wood. Its stately trunk rose up a hundred feet into the air,\nand threw a broad and dense shadow over more than an acre of ground.\nStanding beneath it, Jason looked up among the knotted branches and\ngreen leaves, and into the mysterious heart of the old tree, and spoke\naloud, as if he were addressing some person who was hidden in the depths\nof the foliage.\n\n\"What shall I do,\" said he, \"in order to win the Golden Fleece?\"\n\nAt first there was a deep silence, not only within the shadow of the\nTalking Oak, but all through the solitary wood. In a moment or two,\nhowever, the leaves of the oak began to stir and rustle, as if a gentle\nbreeze were wandering amongst them, although the other trees of the wood\nwere perfectly still. The sound grew louder, and became like the roar of\na high wind. By and by, Jason imagined that he could distinguish words,\nbut very confusedly, because each separate leaf of the tree seemed to be\na tongue, and the whole myriad of tongues were babbling at once. But the\nnoise waxed broader and deeper, until it resembled a tornado sweeping\nthrough the oak, and making one great utterance out of the thousand and\nthousand of little murmurs which each leafy tongue had caused by its\nrustling. And now, though it still had the tone of a mighty wind roaring\namong the branches, it was also like a deep bass voice, speaking as\ndistinctly as a tree could be expected to speak, the following words:\n\n\"Go to Argus, the shipbuilder, and bid him build a galley with fifty\noars.\"\n\nThen the voice melted again into the indistinct murmur of the rustling\nleaves, and died gradually away. When it was quite gone, Jason felt\ninclined to doubt whether he had actually heard the words, or whether\nhis fancy had not shaped them out of the ordinary sound made by a\nbreeze, while passing through the thick foliage of the tree.\n\nBut on inquiry among the people of Iolchos, he found that there was\nreally a man in the city, by the name of Argus, who was a very skilful\nbuilder of vessels. This showed some intelligence in the oak; else how\nshould it have known that any such person existed? At Jason's request,\nArgus readily consented to build him a galley so big that it should\nrequire fifty strong men to row it; although no vessel of such a size\nand burden had heretofore been seen in the world. So the head carpenter\nand all his journeymen and apprentices began their work; and for a\ngood while afterwards, there they were, busily employed, hewing out the\ntimbers, and making a great clatter with their hammers; until the new\nship, which was called the Argo, seemed to be quite ready for sea. And,\nas the Talking Oak had already given him such good advice, Jason thought\nthat it would not be amiss to ask for a little more. He visited it\nagain, therefore, and standing beside its huge, rough trunk, inquired\nwhat he should do next.\n\nThis time, there was no such universal quivering of the leaves,\nthroughout the whole tree, as there had been before. But after a while,\nJason observed that the foliage of a great branch which stretched above\nhis head had begun to rustle, as if the wind were stirring that one\nbough, while all the other boughs of the oak were at rest.\n\n\"Cut me off!\" said the branch, as soon as it could speak distinctly;\n\"cut me off! cut me off! and carve me into a figure-head for your\ngalley.\"\n\nAccordingly, Jason took the branch at its word, and lopped it off the\ntree. A carver in the neighborhood engaged to make the figurehead.\nHe was a tolerably good workman, and had already carved several\nfigure-heads, in what he intended for feminine shapes, and looking\npretty much like those which we see nowadays stuck up under a vessel's\nbowsprit, with great staring eyes, that never wink at the dash of the\nspray. But (what was very strange) the carver found that his hand was\nguided by some unseen power, and by a skill beyond his own, and that his\ntools shaped out an image which he had never dreamed of. When the work\nwas finished, it turned out to be the figure of a beautiful woman, with\na helmet on her head, from beneath which the long ringlets fell down\nupon her shoulders. On the left arm was a shield, and in its center\nappeared a lifelike representation of the head of Medusa with the snaky\nlocks. The right arm was extended, as if pointing onward. The face of\nthis wonderful statue, though not angry or forbidding, was so grave and\nmajestic, that perhaps you might call it severe; and as for the mouth,\nit seemed just ready to unclose its lips, and utter words of the deepest\nwisdom.\n\nJason was delighted with the oaken image, and gave the carver no rest\nuntil it was completed, and set up where a figure-head has always stood,\nfrom that time to this, in the vessel's prow.\n\n\"And now,\" cried he, as he stood gazing at the calm, majestic face of\nthe statue, \"I must go to the Talking Oak and inquire what next to do.\"\n\n\"There is no need of that, Jason,\" said a voice which, though it was\nfar lower, reminded him of the mighty tones of the great oak. \"When you\ndesire good advice, you can seek it of me.\"\n\nJason had been looking straight into the face of the image when these\nwords were spoken. But he could hardly believe either his ears or his\neyes. The truth was, however, that the oaken lips had moved, and, to all\nappearance, the voice had proceeded from the statue's mouth. Recovering\na little from his surprise, Jason bethought himself that the image had\nbeen carved out of the wood of the Talking Oak, and that, therefore, it\nwas really no great wonder, but on the contrary, the most natural thing\nin the world, that it should possess the faculty of speech. It would\nhave been very odd, indeed, if it had not. But certainly it was a great\npiece of good fortune that he should be able to carry so wise a block of\nwood along with him in his perilous voyage.\n\n\"Tell me, wondrous image,\" exclaimed Jason,--\"since you inherit the\nwisdom of the Speaking Oak of Dodona, whose daughter you are,--tell me,\nwhere shall I find fifty bold youths, who will take each of them an oar\nof my galley? They must have sturdy arms to row, and brave hearts to\nencounter perils, or we shall never win the Golden Fleece.\"\n\n\"Go,\" replied the oaken image, \"go, summon all the heroes of Greece.\"\n\nAnd, in fact, considering what a great deed was to be done, could any\nadvice be wiser than this which Jason received from the figure-head of\nhis vessel? He lost no time in sending messengers to all the cities, and\nmaking known to the whole people of Greece, that Prince Jason, the son\nof King Jason, was going in quest of the Fleece of Gold, and that he\ndesired the help of forty-nine of the bravest and strongest young men\nalive, to row his vessel and share his dangers. And Jason himself would\nbe the fiftieth.\n\nAt this news, the adventurous youths, all over the country, began to\nbestir themselves. Some of them had already fought with giants, and\nslain dragons; and the younger ones, who had not yet met with such\ngood fortune, thought it a shame to have lived so long without getting\nastride of a flying serpent, or sticking their spears into a Chimaera,\nor, at least, thrusting their right arms down a monstrous lion's throat.\nThere was a fair prospect that they would meet with plenty of such\nadventures before finding the Golden Fleece. As soon as they could\nfurbish up their helmets and shields, therefore, and gird on their\ntrusty swords, they came thronging to Iolchos, and clambered on board\nthe new galley. Shaking hands with Jason, they assured him that they\ndid not care a pin for their lives, but would help row the vessel to\nthe remotest edge of the world, and as much farther as he might think it\nbest to go.\n\nMany of these brave fellows had been educated by Chiron, the four-footed\npedagogue, and were therefore old schoolmates of Jason, and knew him\nto be a lad of spirit. The mighty Hercules, whose shoulders afterwards\nupheld the sky, was one of them. And there were Castor and Pollux, the\ntwin brothers, who were never accused of being chicken-hearted, although\nthey had been hatched out of an egg; and Theseus, who was so renowned\nfor killing the Minotaur, and Lynceus, with his wonderfully sharp eyes,\nwhich could see through a millstone, or look right down into the depths\nof the earth, and discover the treasures that were there; and Orpheus,\nthe very best of harpers, who sang and played upon his lyre so sweetly,\nthat the brute beasts stood upon their hind legs, and capered merrily\nto the music. Yes, and at some of his more moving tunes, the rocks\nbestirred their moss-grown bulk out of the ground, and a grove of forest\ntrees uprooted themselves, and, nodding their tops to one another,\nperformed a country dance.\n\nOne of the rowers was a beautiful young woman, named Atalanta, who had\nbeen nursed among the mountains by a bear. So light of foot was this\nfair damsel, that she could step from one foamy crest of a wave to\nthe foamy crest of another, without wetting more than the sole of her\nsandal. She had grown up in a very wild way, and talked much about the\nrights of women, and loved hunting and war far better than her needle.\nBut in my opinion, the most remarkable of this famous company were two\nsons of the North Wind (airy youngsters, and of rather a blustering\ndisposition) who had wings on their shoulders, and, in case of a calm,\ncould puff out their cheeks, and blow almost as fresh a breeze as their\nfather. I ought not to forget the prophets and conjurors, of whom there\nwere several in the crew, and who could foretell what would happen\nto-morrow or the next day, or a hundred years hence, but were generally\nquite unconscious of what was passing at the moment.\n\nJason appointed Tiphys to be helmsman because he was a star-gazer, and\nknew the points of the compass. Lynceus, on account of his sharp sight,\nwas stationed as a look-out in the prow, where he saw a whole day's sail\nahead, but was rather apt to overlook things that lay directly under his\nnose. If the sea only happened to be deep enough, however, Lynceus could\ntell you exactly what kind of rocks or sands were at the bottom of it;\nand he often cried out to his companions, that they were sailing\nover heaps of sunken treasure, which yet he was none the richer for\nbeholding. To confess the truth, few people believed him when he said\nit.\n\nWell! But when the Argonauts, as these fifty brave adventurers were\ncalled, had prepared everything for the voyage, an unforeseen difficulty\nthreatened to end it before it was begun. The vessel, you must\nunderstand, was so long, and broad, and ponderous, that the united force\nof all the fifty was insufficient to shove her into the water. Hercules,\nI suppose, had not grown to his full strength, else he might have set\nher afloat as easily as a little boy launches his boat upon a puddle.\nBut here were these fifty heroes, pushing, and straining, and growing\nred in the face, without making the Argo start an inch. At last,\nquite wearied out, they sat themselves down on the shore exceedingly\ndisconsolate, and thinking that the vessel must be left to rot and fall\nin pieces, and that they must either swim across the sea or lose the\nGolden Fleece.\n\nAll at once, Jason bethought himself of the galley's miraculous\nfigure-head.\n\n\"O, daughter of the Talking Oak,\" cried he, \"how shall we set to work to\nget our vessel into the water?\"\n\n\"Seat yourselves,\" answered the image (for it had known what had ought\nto be done from the very first, and was only waiting for the question to\nbe put),--\"seat yourselves, and handle your oars, and let Orpheus play\nupon his harp.\"\n\nImmediately the fifty heroes got on board, and seizing their oars, held\nthem perpendicularly in the air, while Orpheus (who liked such a task\nfar better than rowing) swept his fingers across the harp. At the first\nringing note of the music, they felt the vessel stir. Orpheus thrummed\naway briskly, and the galley slid at once into the sea, dipping her prow\nso deeply that the figure-head drank the wave with its marvelous lips,\nand rising again as buoyant as a swan. The rowers plied their fifty\noars; the white foam boiled up before the prow; the water gurgled and\nbubbled in their wake; while Orpheus continued to play so lively a\nstrain of music, that the vessel seemed to dance over the billows by way\nof keeping time to it. Thus triumphantly did the Argo sail out of the\nharbor, amidst the huzzas and good wishes of everybody except the wicked\nold Pelias, who stood on a promontory, scowling at her, and wishing\nthat he could blow out of his lungs the tempest of wrath that was in his\nheart, and so sink the galley with all on board. When they had sailed\nabove fifty miles over the sea, Lynceus happened to cast his sharp eyes\nbehind, and said that there was this bad-hearted king, still perched\nupon the promontory, and scowling so gloomily that it looked like a\nblack thunder-cloud in that quarter of the horizon.\n\nIn order to make the time pass away more pleasantly during the voyage,\nthe heroes talked about the Golden Fleece. It originally belonged, it\nappears, to a Boeotian ram, who had taken on his back two children, when\nin danger of their lives, and fled with them over land and sea as far\nas Colchis. One of the children, whose name was Helle, fell into the sea\nand was drowned. But the other (a little boy, named Phrixus) was brought\nsafe ashore by the faithful ram, who, however, was so exhausted that\nhe immediately lay down and died. In memory of this good deed, and as\na token of his true heart, the fleece of the poor dead ram was\nmiraculously changed to gold, and became one of the most beautiful\nobjects ever seen on earth. It was hung upon a tree in a sacred grove,\nwhere it had now been kept I know not how many years, and was the envy\nof mighty kings, who had nothing so magnificent in any of their palaces.\n\nIf I were to tell you all the adventures of the Argonauts, it would take\nme till nightfall, and perhaps a great deal longer. There was no lack of\nwonderful events, as you may judge from what you have already heard.\nAt a certain island, they were hospitably received by King Cyzicus, its\nsovereign, who made a feast for them, and treated them like brothers.\nBut the Argonauts saw that this good king looked downcast and very much\ntroubled, and they therefore inquired of him what was the matter. King\nCyzicus hereupon informed them that he and his subjects were greatly\nabused and incommoded by the inhabitants of a neighboring mountain, who\nmade war upon them, and killed many people, and ravaged the country. And\nwhile they were talking about it, Cyzicus pointed to the mountain, and\nasked Jason and his companions what they saw there.\n\n\"I see some very tall objects,\" answered Jason; \"but they are at such a\ndistance that I cannot distinctly make out what they are. To tell your\nmajesty the truth, they look so very strangely that I am inclined to\nthink them clouds, which have chanced to take something like human\nshapes.\"\n\n\"I see them very plainly,\" remarked Lynceus, whose eyes, you know, were\nas far-sighted as a telescope. \"They are a band of enormous giants, all\nof whom have six arms apiece, and a club, a sword, or some other weapon\nin each of their hands.\"\n\n\"You have excellent eyes,\" said King Cyzicus. \"Yes; they are six-armed\ngiants, as you say, and these are the enemies whom I and my subjects\nhave to contend with.\"\n\nThe next day, when the Argonauts were about setting sail, down came\nthese terrible giants, stepping a hundred yards at a stride, brandishing\ntheir six arms apiece, and looking formidable, so far aloft in the air.\nEach of these monsters was able to carry on a whole war by himself,\nfor with one arm he could fling immense stones, and wield a club with\nanother, and a sword with a third, while the fourth was poking a long\nspear at the enemy, and the fifth and sixth were shooting him with a bow\nand arrow. But, luckily, though the giants were so huge, and had so many\narms, they had each but one heart, and that no bigger nor braver\nthan the heart of an ordinary man. Besides, if they had been like the\nhundred-armed Briareus, the brave Argonauts would have given them their\nhands full of fight. Jason and his friends went boldly to meet them,\nslew a great many, and made the rest take to their heels, so that if the\ngiants had had six legs apiece instead of six arms, it would have served\nthem better to run away with.\n\nAnother strange adventure happened when the voyagers came to Thrace,\nwhere they found a poor blind king, named Phineus, deserted by his\nsubjects, and living in a very sorrowful way, all by himself: On Jason's\ninquiring whether they could do him any service, the king answered\nthat he was terribly tormented by three great winged creatures, called\nHarpies, which had the faces of women, and the wings, bodies, and claws\nof vultures. These ugly wretches were in the habit of snatching away\nhis dinner, and allowed him no peace of his life. Upon hearing this, the\nArgonauts spread a plentiful feast on the sea-shore, well knowing, from\nwhat the blind king said of their greediness, that the Harpies would\nsnuff up the scent of the victuals, and quickly come to steal them away.\nAnd so it turned out; for, hardly was the table set, before the three\nhideous vulture women came flapping their wings, seized the food in\ntheir talons, and flew off as fast as they could. But the two sons of\nthe North Wind drew their swords, spread their pinions, and set off\nthrough the air in pursuit of the thieves, whom they at last overtook\namong some islands, after a chase of hundreds of miles. The two winged\nyouths blustered terribly at the Harpies (for they had the rough temper\nof their father), and so frightened them with their drawn swords, that\nthey solemnly promised never to trouble King Phineus again.\n\nThen the Argonauts sailed onward and met with many other marvelous\nincidents, any one of which would make a story by itself. At one time\nthey landed on an island, and were reposing on the grass, when\nthey suddenly found themselves assailed by what seemed a shower of\nsteel-headed arrows. Some of them stuck in the ground, while others hit\nagainst their shields, and several penetrated their flesh. The fifty\nheroes started up, and looked about them for the hidden enemy, but could\nfind none, nor see any spot, on the whole island, where even a single\narcher could lie concealed. Still, however, the steel-headed arrows came\nwhizzing among them; and, at last, happening to look upward, they beheld\na large flock of birds, hovering and wheeling aloft, and shooting their\nfeathers down upon the Argonauts. These feathers were the steel-headed\narrows that had so tormented them. There was no possibility of making\nany resistance; and the fifty heroic Argonauts might all have been\nkilled or wounded by a flock of troublesome birds, without ever setting\neyes on the Golden Fleece, if Jason had not thought of asking the advice\nof the oaken image.\n\nSo he ran to the galley as fast as his legs would carry him.\n\n\"O, daughter of the Speaking Oak,\" cried he, all out of breath, \"we need\nyour wisdom more than ever before! We are in great peril from a flock of\nbirds, who are shooting us with their steel-pointed feathers. What can\nwe do to drive them away?\"\n\n\"Make a clatter on your shields,\" said the image.\n\nOn receiving this excellent counsel, Jason hurried back to his\ncompanions (who were far more dismayed than when they fought with the\nsix-armed giants), and bade them strike with their swords upon their\nbrazen shields. Forthwith the fifty heroes set heartily to work, banging\nwith might and main, and raised such a terrible clatter, that the birds\nmade what haste they could to get away; and though they had shot half\nthe feathers out of their wings, they were soon seen skimming among the\nclouds, a long distance off, and looking like a flock of wild geese.\nOrpheus celebrated this victory by playing a triumphant anthem on his\nharp, and sang so melodiously that Jason begged him to desist, lest, as\nthe steel-feathered birds had been driven away by an ugly sound, they\nmight be enticed back again by a sweet one.\n\nWhile the Argonauts remained on this island, they saw a small vessel\napproaching the shore, in which were two young men of princely demeanor,\nand exceedingly handsome, as young princes generally were, in those\ndays. Now, who do you imagine these two voyagers turned out to be? Why,\nif you will believe me, they were the sons of that very Phrixus, who,\nin his childhood, had been carried to Colchis on the back of the\ngolden-fleeced ram. Since that time, Phrixus had married the king's\ndaughter; and the two young princes had been born and brought up at\nColchis, and had spent their play-days in the outskirts of the grove, in\nthe center of which the Golden Fleece was hanging upon a tree. They were\nnow on their way to Greece, in hopes of getting back a kingdom that had\nbeen wrongfully taken from their father.\n\nWhen the princes understood whither the Argonauts were going, they\noffered to turn back, and guide them to Colchis. At the same time,\nhowever, they spoke as if it were very doubtful whether Jason would\nsucceed in getting the Golden Fleece. According to their account, the\ntree on which it hung was guarded by a terrible dragon, who never failed\nto devour, at one mouthful, every person who might venture within his\nreach.\n\n\"There are other difficulties in the way,\" continued the young princes.\n\"But is not this enough? Ah, brave Jason, turn back before it is too\nlate. It would grieve us to the heart, if you and your nine and forty\nbrave companions should be eaten up, at fifty mouthfuls, by this\nexecrable dragon.\"\n\n\"My young friends,\" quietly replied Jason, \"I do not wonder that you\nthink the dragon very terrible. You have grown up from infancy in the\nfear of this monster, and therefore still regard him with the awe that\nchildren feel for the bugbears and hobgoblins which their nurses have\ntalked to them about. But, in my view of the matter, the dragon is\nmerely a pretty large serpent, who is not half so likely to snap me up\nat one mouthful as I am to cut off his ugly head, and strip the skin\nfrom his body. At all events, turn back who may, I will never see Greece\nagain, unless I carry with me the Golden Fleece.\"\n\n\"We will none of us turn back!\" cried his nine and forty brave comrades.\n\"Let us get on board the galley this instant; and if the dragon is to\nmake a breakfast of us, much good may it do him.\"\n\nAnd Orpheus (whose custom it was to set everything to music) began to\nharp and sing most gloriously, and made every mother's son of them feel\nas if nothing in this world were so delectable as to fight dragons, and\nnothing so truly honorable as to be eaten up at one mouthful, in case of\nthe worst.\n\nAfter this (being now under the guidance of the two princes, who were\nwell acquainted with the way), they quickly sailed to Colchis. When the\nking of the country, whose name was Aetes, heard of their arrival,\nhe instantly summoned Jason to court. The king was a stern and cruel\nlooking potentate; and though he put on as polite and hospitable an\nexpression as he could, Jason did not like his face a whit better than\nthat of the wicked King Pelias, who dethroned his father. \"You are\nwelcome, brave Jason,\" said King Aetes. \"Pray, are you on a pleasure\nvoyage?--Or do you meditate the discovery of unknown islands?--or what\nother cause has procured me the happiness of seeing you at my court?\"\n\n\"Great sir,\" replied Jason, with an obeisance--for Chiron had taught him\nhow to behave with propriety, whether to kings or beggars--\"I have\ncome hither with a purpose which I now beg your majesty's permission to\nexecute. King Pelias, who sits on my father's throne (to which he has\nno more right than to the one on which your excellent majesty is now\nseated), has engaged to come down from it, and to give me his crown and\nsceptre, provided I bring him the Golden Fleece. This, as your majesty\nis aware, is now hanging on a tree here at Colchis; and I humbly solicit\nyour gracious leave to take it away.\" In spite of himself, the king's\nface twisted itself into an angry frown; for, above all things else in\nthe world, he prized the Golden Fleece, and was even suspected of having\ndone a very wicked act, in order to get it into his own possession.\nIt put him into the worst possible humor, therefore, to hear that the\ngallant Prince Jason, and forty-nine of the bravest young warriors of\nGreece, had come to Colchis with the sole purpose of taking away his\nchief treasure.\n\n\"Do you know,\" asked King Aetes, eyeing Jason very sternly, \"what are\nthe conditions which you must fulfill before getting possession of the\nGolden Fleece?\"\n\n\"I have heard,\" rejoined the youth, \"that a dragon lies beneath the tree\non which the prize hangs, and that whoever approaches him runs the risk\nof being devoured at a mouthful.\"\n\n\"True,\" said the king, with a smile that did not look particularly\ngood-natured. \"Very true, young man. But there are other things as hard,\nor perhaps a little harder, to be done before you can even have the\nprivilege of being devoured by the dragon. For example, you must first\ntame my two brazen-footed and brazen-lunged bulls, which Vulcan, the\nwonderful blacksmith, made for me. There is a furnace in each of\ntheir stomachs; and they breathe such hot fire out of their mouths\nand nostrils, that nobody has hitherto gone nigh them without being\ninstantly burned to a small, black cinder. What do you think of this, my\nbrave Jason?\"\n\n\"I must encounter the peril,\" answered Jason, composedly, \"since it\nstands in the way of my purpose.\"\n\n\"After taming the fiery bulls,\" continued King Aetes, who was determined\nto scare Jason if possible, \"you must yoke them to a plow, and must plow\nthe sacred earth in the Grove of Mars, and sow some of the same dragon's\nteeth from which Cadmus raised a crop of armed men. They are an unruly\nset of reprobates, those sons of the dragon's teeth; and unless you\ntreat them suitably, they will fall upon you sword in hand. You and your\nnine and forty Argonauts, my bold Jason, are hardly numerous or strong\nenough to fight with such a host as will spring up.\"\n\n\"My master Chiron,\" replied Jason, \"taught me, long ago, the story of\nCadmus. Perhaps I can manage the quarrelsome sons of the dragon's teeth\nas well as Cadmus did.\"\n\n\"I wish the dragon had him,\" muttered King Aetes to himself, \"and the\nfour-footed pedant, his schoolmaster, into the bargain. Why, what\na foolhardy, self-conceited coxcomb he is! We'll see what my\nfire-breathing bulls will do for him. Well, Prince Jason,\" he continued,\naloud, and as complaisantly as he could, \"make yourself comfortable for\nto-day, and to-morrow morning, since you insist upon it, you shall try\nyour skill at the plow.\"\n\nWhile the king talked with Jason, a beautiful young woman was standing\nbehind the throne. She fixed her eyes earnestly upon the youthful\nstranger, and listened attentively to every word that was spoken; and\nwhen Jason withdrew from the king's presence, this young woman followed\nhim out of the room.\n\n\"I am the king's daughter,\" she said to him, \"and my name is Medea. I\nknow a great deal of which other young princesses are ignorant, and can\ndo many things which they would be afraid so much as to dream of. If you\nwill trust to me, I can instruct you how to tame the fiery bulls, and\nsow the dragon's teeth, and get the Golden Fleece.\"\n\n\"Indeed, beautiful princess,\" answered Jason, \"if you will do me this\nservice, I promise to be grateful to you my whole life long.\"' Gazing\nat Medea, he beheld a wonderful intelligence in her face. She was one\nof those persons whose eyes are full of mystery; so that, while looking\ninto them, you seem to see a very great way, as into a deep well,\nyet can never be certain whether you see into the farthest depths, or\nwhether there be not something else hidden at the bottom. If Jason had\nbeen capable of fearing anything, he would have been afraid of making\nthis young princess his enemy; for, beautiful as she now looked, she\nmight, the very next instant, become as terrible as the dragon that kept\nwatch over the Golden Fleece.\n\n\"Princess,\" he exclaimed, \"you seem indeed very wise and very powerful.\nBut how can you help me to do the things of which you speak? Are you an\nenchantress?\"\n\n\"Yes, Prince Jason,\" answered Medea, with a smile, \"you have hit upon\nthe truth. I am an enchantress. Circe, my father's sister, taught me to\nbe one, and I could tell you, if I pleased, who was the old woman with\nthe peacock, the pomegranate, and the cuckoo staff, whom you carried\nover the river; and, likewise, who it is that speaks through the lips of\nthe oaken image, that stands in the prow of your galley. I am acquainted\nwith some of your secrets, you perceive. It is well for you that I\nam favorably inclined; for, otherwise, you would hardly escape being\nsnapped up by the dragon.\"\n\n\"I should not so much care for the dragon,\" replied Jason, \"if I only\nknew how to manage the brazen-footed and fiery-lunged bulls.\"\n\n\"If you are as brave as I think you, and as you have need to be,\" said\nMedea, \"your own bold heart will teach you that there is but one way\nof dealing with a mad bull. What it is I leave you to find out in the\nmoment of peril. As for the fiery breath of these animals, I have a\ncharmed ointment here, which will prevent you from being burned up, and\ncure you if you chance to be a little scorched.\"\n\nSo she put a golden box into his hand, and directed him how to apply the\nperfumed unguent which it contained, and where to meet her at midnight.\n\n\"Only be brave,\" added she, \"and before daybreak the brazen bulls shall\nbe tamed.\"\n\nThe young man assured her that his heart would not fail him. He then\nrejoined his comrades, and told them what had passed between the\nprincess and himself, and warned them to be in readiness in case there\nmight be need of their help. At the appointed hour he met the beautiful\nMedea on the marble steps of the king's palace. She gave him a basket,\nin which were the dragon's teeth, just as they had been pulled out of\nthe monster's jaws by Cadmus, long ago. Medea then led Jason down the\npalace steps, and through the silent streets of the city, and into the\nroyal pasture ground, where the two brazen-footed bulls were kept. It\nwas a starry night, with a bright gleam along the eastern edge of the\nsky, where the moon was soon going to show herself. After entering the\npasture, the princess paused and looked around.\n\n\"There they are,\" said she, \"reposing themselves and chewing their\nfiery cuds in that farthest corner of the field. It will be excellent\nsport, I assure you, when they catch a glimpse of your figure. My father\nand all his court delight in nothing so much as to see a stranger trying\nto yoke them, in order to come at the Golden Fleece. It makes a holiday\nin Colchis whenever such a thing happens. For my part, I enjoy it\nimmensely. You cannot imagine in what a mere twinkling of an eye their\nhot breath shrivels a young man into a black cinder.\"\n\n\"Are you sure, beautiful Medea,\" asked Jason, \"quite sure, that the\nunguent in the gold box will prove a remedy against those terrible\nburns?\"\n\n\"If you doubt, if you are in the least afraid,\" said the princess,\nlooking him in the face by the dim starlight, \"you had better never have\nbeen born than to go a step nigher to the bulls.\"\n\nBut Jason had set his heart steadfastly on getting the Golden Fleece;\nand I positively doubt whether he would have gone back without it, even\nhad he been certain of finding himself turned into a red-hot cinder,\nor a handful of white ashes, the instant he made a step farther.\nHe therefore let go Medea's hand, and walked boldly forward in the\ndirection whither she had pointed. At some distance before him he\nperceived four streams of fiery vapor, regularly appearing and again\nvanishing, after dimly lighting up the surrounding obscurity. These, you\nwill understand, were caused by the breath of the brazen bulls, which\nwas quietly stealing out of their four nostrils, as they lay chewing\ntheir cuds.\n\nAt the first two or three steps which Jason made, the four fiery streams\nappeared to gush out somewhat more plentifully; for the two brazen bulls\nhad heard his foot tramp, and were lifting up their hot noses to snuff\nthe air. He went a little farther, and by the way in which the red vapor\nnow spouted forth, he judged that the creatures had got upon their feet.\nNow he could see glowing sparks, and vivid jets of flame. At the next\nstep, each of the bulls made the pasture echo with a terrible roar,\nwhile the burning breath, which they thus belched forth, lit up the\nwhole field with a momentary flash. One other stride did bold Jason\nmake; and, suddenly as a streak of lightning, on came these fiery\nanimals, roaring like thunder, and sending out sheets of white flame,\nwhich so kindled up the scene that the young man could discern every\nobject more distinctly than by daylight. Most distinctly of all he saw\nthe two horrible creatures galloping right down upon him, their brazen\nhoofs rattling and ringing over the ground, and their tails sticking up\nstiffly into the air, as has always been the fashion with angry bulls.\nTheir breath scorched the herbage before them. So intensely hot it was,\nindeed, that it caught a dry tree under which Jason was now standing,\nand set it all in a light blaze. But as for Jason himself (thanks to\nMedea's enchanted ointment), the white flame curled around his body,\nwithout injuring him a jot more than if he had been made of asbestos.\n\nGreatly encouraged at finding himself not yet turned into a cinder, the\nyoung man awaited the attack of the bulls. Just as the brazen brutes\nfancied themselves sure of tossing him into the air, he caught one of\nthem by the horn, and the other by his screwed-up tail, and held them\nin a gripe like that of an iron vice, one with his right hand, the other\nwith his left. Well, he must have been wonderfully strong in his arms,\nto be sure. But the secret of the matter was, that the brazen bulls were\nenchanted creatures, and that Jason had broken the spell of their fiery\nfierceness by his bold way of handling them. And, ever since that time,\nit has been the favorite method of brave men, when danger assails them,\nto do what they call \"taking the bull by the horns\"; and to gripe him\nby the tail is pretty much the same thing--that is, to throw aside fear,\nand overcome the peril by despising it. It was now easy to yoke the\nbulls, and to harness them to the plow, which had lain rusting on the\nground for a great many years gone by; so long was it before anybody\ncould be found capable of plowing that piece of land. Jason, I suppose,\nhad been taught how to draw a furrow by the good old Chiron, who,\nperhaps, used to allow himself to be harnessed to the plow. At any rate,\nour hero succeeded perfectly well in breaking up the greensward; and,\nby the time that the moon was a quarter of her journey up the sky, the\nplowed field lay before him, a large tract of black earth, ready to be\nsown with the dragon's teeth. So Jason scattered them broadcast, and\nharrowed them into the soil with a brush-harrow, and took his stand on\nthe edge of the field, anxious to see what would happen next.\n\n\"Must we wait long for harvest time?\" he inquired of Medea, who was now\nstanding by his side.\n\n\"Whether sooner or later, it will be sure to come,\" answered the\nprincess. \"A crop of armed men never fails to spring up, when the\ndragon's teeth have been sown.\"\n\nThe moon was now high aloft in the heavens, and threw its bright beams\nover the plowed field, where as yet there was nothing to be seen. Any\nfarmer, on viewing it, would have said that Jason must wait weeks before\nthe green blades would peep from among the clods, and whole months\nbefore the yellow grain would be ripened for the sickle. But by and by,\nall over the field, there was something that glistened in the moonbeams,\nlike sparkling drops of dew. These bright objects sprouted higher, and\nproved to be the steel heads of spears. Then there was a dazzling gleam\nfrom a vast number of polished brass helmets, beneath which, as they\ngrew farther out of the soil, appeared the dark and bearded visages of\nwarriors, struggling to free themselves from the imprisoning earth. The\nfirst look that they gave at the upper world was a glare of wrath and\ndefiance. Next were seen their bright breastplates; in every right hand\nthere was a sword or a spear, and on each left arm a shield; and when\nthis strange crop of warriors had but half grown out of the earth, they\nstruggled--such was their impatience of restraint--and, as it were, tore\nthemselves up by the roots. Wherever a dragon's tooth had fallen, there\nstood a man armed for battle. They made a clangor with their swords\nagainst their shields, and eyed one another fiercely; for they had come\ninto this beautiful world, and into the peaceful moonlight, full of rage\nand stormy passions, and ready to take the life of every human brother,\nin recompense of the boon of their own existence.\n\nThere have been many other armies in the world that seemed to possess\nthe same fierce nature with the one which had now sprouted from\nthe dragon's teeth; but these, in the moonlit field, were the more\nexcusable, because they never had women for their mothers. And how it\nwould have rejoiced any great captain, who was bent on conquering the\nworld, like Alexander or Napoleon, to raise a crop of armed soldiers as\neasily as Jason did! For a while, the warriors stood flourishing their\nweapons, clashing their swords against their shields, and boiling over\nwith the red-hot thirst for battle. Then they began to shout--\"Show us\nthe enemy! Lead us to the charge! Death or victory!\" \"Come on, brave\ncomrades! Conquer or die!\" and a hundred other outcries, such as men\nalways bellow forth on a battle field, and which these dragon people\nseemed to have at their tongues' ends. At last, the front rank caught\nsight of Jason, who, beholding the flash of so many weapons in the\nmoonlight, had thought it best to draw his sword. In a moment all the\nsons of the dragon's teeth appeared to take Jason for an enemy; and\ncrying with one voice, \"Guard the Golden Fleece!\" they ran at him\nwith uplifted swords and protruded spears. Jason knew that it would be\nimpossible to withstand this blood-thirsty battalion with his single\narm, but determined, since there was nothing better to be done, to die\nas valiantly as if he himself had sprung from a dragon's tooth.\n\nMedea, however, bade him snatch up a stone from the ground.\n\n\"Throw it among them quickly!\" cried she. \"It is the only way to save\nyourself.\"\n\nThe armed men were now so nigh that Jason could discern the fire\nflashing out of their enraged eyes, when he let fly the stone, and saw\nit strike the helmet of a tall warrior, who was rushing upon him with\nhis blade aloft. The stone glanced from this man's helmet to the shield\nof his nearest comrade, and thence flew right into the angry face of\nanother, hitting him smartly between the eyes. Each of the three who had\nbeen struck by the stone took it for granted that his next neighbor had\ngiven him a blow; and instead of running any farther towards Jason, they\nbegan to fight among themselves. The confusion spread through the\nhost, so that it seemed scarcely a moment before they were all hacking,\nhewing, and stabbing at one another, lopping off arms, heads, and\nlegs and doing such memorable deeds that Jason was filled with immense\nadmiration; although, at the same time, he could not help laughing to\nbehold these mighty men punishing each other for an offense which he\nhimself had committed. In an incredibly short space of time (almost\nas short, indeed, as it had taken them to grow up), all but one of the\nheroes of the dragon's teeth were stretched lifeless on the field. The\nlast survivor, the bravest and strongest of the whole, had just force\nenough to wave his crimson sword over his head and give a shout of\nexultation, crying, \"Victory! Victory! Immortal fame!\" when he himself\nfell down, and lay quietly among his slain brethren.\n\nAnd there was the end of the army that had sprouted from the dragon's\nteeth. That fierce and feverish fight was the only enjoyment which they\nhad tasted on this beautiful earth.\n\n\"Let them sleep in the bed of honor,\" said the Princess Medea, with a\nsly smile at Jason. \"The world will always have simpletons enough, just\nlike them, fighting and dying for they know not what, and fancying that\nposterity will take the trouble to put laurel wreaths on their rusty\nand battered helmets. Could you help smiling, Prince Jason, to see the\nself-conceit of that last fellow, just as he tumbled down?\"\n\n\"It made me very sad,\" answered Jason, gravely. \"And, to tell you the\ntruth, princess, the Golden Fleece does not appear so well worth the\nwinning, after what I have here beheld!\"\n\n\"You will think differently in the morning,\" said Medea. \"True, the\nGolden Fleece may not be so valuable as you have thought it; but then\nthere is nothing better in the world; and one must needs have an object,\nyou know. Come! Your night's work has been well performed; and to-morrow\nyou can inform King Aetes that the first part of your allotted task is\nfulfilled.\"\n\nAgreeably to Medea's advice, Jason went betimes in the morning to the\npalace of King Aetes. Entering the presence chamber, he stood at the\nfoot of the throne, and made a low obeisance.\n\n\"Your eyes look heavy, Prince Jason,\" observed the king; \"you appear\nto have spent a sleepless night. I hope you have been considering the\nmatter a little more wisely, and have concluded not to get yourself\nscorched to a cinder, in attempting to tame my brazen-lunged bulls.\"\n\n\"That is already accomplished, may it please your majesty,\" replied\nJason. \"The bulls have been tamed and yoked; the field has been plowed;\nthe dragon's teeth have been sown broadcast, and harrowed into the\nsoil; the crop of armed warriors have sprung up, and they have slain one\nanother, to the last man. And now I solicit your majesty's permission\nto encounter the dragon, that I may take down the Golden Fleece from the\ntree, and depart, with my nine and forty comrades.\"\n\nKing Aetes scowled, and looked very angry and excessively disturbed;\nfor he knew that, in accordance with his kingly promise, he ought now to\npermit Jason to win the Fleece, if his courage and skill should enable\nhim to do so. But, since the young man had met with such good luck in\nthe matter of the brazen bulls and the dragon's teeth, the king\nfeared that he would be equally successful in slaying the dragon.\nAnd therefore, though he would gladly have seen Jason snapped up at a\nmouthful, he was resolved (and it was a very wrong thing of this wicked\npotentate) not to run any further risk of losing his beloved Fleece.\n\n\"You never would have succeeded in this business, young man,\" said\nhe, \"if my undutiful daughter Medea had not helped you with her\nenchantments. Had you acted fairly, you would have been, at this\ninstant, a black cinder, or a handful of white ashes. I forbid you, on\npain of death, to make any more attempts to get the Golden Fleece. To\nspeak my mind plainly, you shall never set eyes on so much as one of its\nglistening locks.\"\n\nJason left the king's presence in great sorrow and anger. He could think\nof nothing better to be done than to summon together his forty-nine\nbrave Argonauts, march at once to the Grove of Mars, slay the dragon,\ntake possession of the Golden Fleece, get on board the Argo, and spread\nall sail for Iolchos. The success of this scheme depended, it is true,\non the doubtful point whether all the fifty heroes might not be snapped\nup, at so many mouthfuls, by the dragon. But, as Jason was hastening\ndown the palace steps, the Princess Medea called after him, and\nbeckoned him to return. Her black eyes shone upon him with such a keen\nintelligence, that he felt as if there were a serpent peeping out of\nthem; and, although she had done him so much service only the night\nbefore, he was by no means very certain that she would not do him an\nequally great mischief before sunset. These enchantresses, you must\nknow, are never to be depended upon.\n\n\"What says King Aetes, my royal and upright father?\" inquired Medea,\nslightly smiling. \"Will he give you the Golden Fleece, without any\nfurther risk or trouble?\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" answered Jason, \"he is very angry with me for taming\nthe brazen bulls and sowing the dragon's teeth. And he forbids me to\nmake any more attempts, and positively refuses to give up the Golden\nFleece, whether I slay the dragon or no.\"\n\n\"Yes, Jason,\" said the princess, \"and I can tell you more. Unless you\nset sail from Colchis before to-morrow's sunrise, the king means to\nburn your fifty-oared galley, and put yourself and your forty-nine brave\ncomrades to the sword. But be of good courage. The Golden Fleece you\nshall have, if it lies within the power of my enchantments to get it for\nyou. Wait for me here an hour before midnight.\"\n\nAt the appointed hour you might again have seen Prince Jason and the\nPrincess Medea, side by side, stealing through the streets of Colchis,\non their way to the sacred grove, in the center of which the Golden\nFleece was suspended to a tree. While they were crossing the pasture\nground, the brazen bulls came towards Jason, lowing, nodding their\nheads, and thrusting forth their snouts, which, as other cattle do,\nthey loved to have rubbed and caressed by a friendly hand. Their\nfierce nature was thoroughly tamed; and, with their fierceness, the two\nfurnaces in their stomachs had likewise been extinguished, insomuch that\nthey probably enjoyed far more comfort in grazing and chewing their cuds\nthan ever before. Indeed, it had heretofore been a great inconvenience\nto these poor animals, that, whenever they wished to eat a mouthful of\ngrass, the fire out of their nostrils had shriveled it up, before they\ncould manage to crop it. How they contrived to keep themselves alive is\nmore than I can imagine. But now, instead of emitting jets of flame\nand streams of sulphurous vapor, they breathed the very sweetest of cow\nbreath.\n\nAfter kindly patting the bulls, Jason followed Medea's guidance into\nthe Grove of Mars, where the great oak trees, that had been growing for\ncenturies, threw so thick a shade that the moonbeams struggled vainly to\nfind their way through it. Only here and there a glimmer fell upon the\nleaf-strewn earth, or now and then a breeze stirred the boughs aside,\nand gave Jason a glimpse of the sky, lest, in that deep obscurity, he\nmight forget that there was one, overhead. At length, when they had\ngone farther and farther into the heart of the duskiness, Medea squeezed\nJason's hand.\n\n\"Look yonder,\" she whispered. \"Do you see it?\"\n\nGleaming among the venerable oaks, there was a radiance, not like the\nmoonbeams, but rather resembling the golden glory of the setting sun.\nIt proceeded from an object, which appeared to be suspended at about a\nman's height from the ground, a little farther within the wood.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Jason.\n\n\"Have you come so far to seek it,\" exclaimed Medea, \"and do you not\nrecognize the meed of all your toils and perils, when it glitters before\nyour eyes? It is the Golden Fleece.\"\n\nJason went onward a few steps farther, and then stopped to gaze. O, how\nbeautiful it looked, shining with a marvelous light of its own, that\ninestimable prize which so many heroes had longed to behold, but had\nperished in the quest of it, either by the perils of their voyage, or by\nthe fiery breath of the brazen-lunged bulls.\n\n\"How gloriously it shines!\" cried Jason, in a rapture. \"It has surely\nbeen dipped in the richest gold of sunset. Let me hasten onward, and\ntake it to my bosom.\"\n\n\"Stay,\" said Medea, holding him back. \"Have you forgotten what guards\nit?\"\n\nTo say the truth, in the joy of beholding the object of his desires, the\nterrible dragon had quite slipped out of Jason's memory. Soon, however,\nsomething came to pass, that reminded him what perils were still to be\nencountered. An antelope, that probably mistook the yellow radiance\nfor sunrise, came bounding fleetly through the grove. He was rushing\nstraight towards the Golden Fleece, when suddenly there was a frightful\nhiss, and the immense head and half the scaly body of the dragon was\nthrust forth (for he was twisted round the trunk of the tree on which\nthe Fleece hung), and seizing the poor antelope, swallowed him with one\nsnap of his jaws.\n\nAfter this feat, the dragon seemed sensible that some other living\ncreature was within reach, on which he felt inclined to finish his meal.\nIn various directions he kept poking his ugly snout among the trees,\nstretching out his neck a terrible long way, now here, now there, and\nnow close to the spot where Jason and the princess were hiding behind\nan oak. Upon my word, as the head came waving and undulating through the\nair, and reaching almost within arm's length of Prince Jason, it was a\nvery hideous and uncomfortable sight. The gape of his enormous jaws was\nnearly as wide as the gateway of the king's palace.\n\n\"Well, Jason,\" whispered Medea (for she was ill natured, as all\nenchantresses are, and wanted to make the bold youth tremble), \"what do\nyou think now of your prospect of winning the Golden Fleece?\"\n\nJason answered only by drawing his sword, and making a step forward.\n\n\"Stay, foolish youth,\" said Medea, grasping his arm. \"Do not you see you\nare lost, without me as your good angel? In this gold box I have a magic\npotion, which will do the dragon's business far more effectually than\nyour sword.\"\n\nThe dragon had probably heard the voices; for swift as lightning, his\nblack head and forked tongue came hissing among the trees again,\ndarting full forty feet at a stretch. As it approached, Medea tossed\nthe contents of the gold box right down the monster's wide-open throat.\nImmediately, with an outrageous hiss and a tremendous wriggle--flinging\nhis tail up to the tip-top of the tallest tree, and shattering all\nits branches as it crashed heavily down again--the dragon fell at full\nlength upon the ground, and lay quite motionless.\n\n\"It is only a sleeping potion,\" said the enchantress to Prince Jason.\n\"One always finds a use for these mischievous creatures, sooner or\nlater; so I did not wish to kill him outright. Quick! Snatch the prize,\nand let us begone. You have won the Golden Fleece.\"\n\nJason caught the fleece from the tree, and hurried through the grove,\nthe deep shadows of which were illuminated as he passed by the golden\nglory of the precious object that he bore along. A little way before\nhim, he beheld the old woman whom he had helped over the stream, with\nher peacock beside her. She clapped her hands for joy, and beckoning him\nto make haste, disappeared among the duskiness of the trees. Espying the\ntwo winged sons of the North Wind (who were disporting themselves in the\nmoonlight, a few hundred feet aloft), Jason bade them tell the rest of\nthe Argonauts to embark as speedily as possible. But Lynceus, with his\nsharp eyes, had already caught a glimpse of him, bringing the Golden\nFleece, although several stone walls, a hill, and the black shadows of\nthe Grove of Mars, intervened between. By his advice, the heroes had\nseated themselves on the benches of the galley, with their oars held\nperpendicularly, ready to let fall into the water.\n\nAs Jason drew near, he heard the Talking Image calling to him with more\nthan ordinary eagerness, in its grave, sweet voice:\n\n\"Make haste, Prince Jason! For your life, make haste!\"\n\nWith one bound, he leaped aboard. At sight of the glorious radiance of\nthe Golden Fleece, the nine and forty heroes gave a mighty shout, and\nOrpheus, striking his harp, sang a song of triumph, to the cadence of\nwhich the galley flew over the water, homeward bound, as if careering\nalong with wings!"