Various - Myths That Every Child Should Know

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"Never," said she. "If the earth is ever again to see any verdure, it
must first grow along the path which my daughter will tread in coming
back to me."

Finally, as there seemed to be no other remedy, our old friend
Quicksilver was sent post haste to King Pluto, in hopes that he might be
persuaded to undo the mischief he had done, and to set everything right
again by giving up Proserpina. Quicksilver accordingly made the best of
his way to the great gate, took a flying leap right over the
three-headed mastiff, and stood at the door of the palace in an
inconceivably short time. The servants knew him both by his face and
garb; for his short cloak, and his winged cap and shoes, and his snaky
staff had often been seen thereabouts in times gone by. He requested to
be shown immediately into the king's presence; and Pluto, who heard his
voice from the top of the stairs, and who loved to recreate himself with
Quicksilver's merry talk, called out to him to come up. And while they
settle their business together, we must inquire what Proserpina has been
doing ever since we saw her last.

The child had declared, as you may remember, that she would not taste a
mouthful of food as long as she should be compelled to remain in King
Pluto's palace. How she contrived to maintain her resolution, and at the
same time to keep herself tolerably plump and rosy is more than I can
explain; but some young ladies, I am given to understand, possess the
faculty of living on air, and Proserpina seems to have possessed it too.
At any rate, it was now six months since she left the outside of the
earth; and not a morsel, so far as the attendants were able to testify,
had yet passed between her teeth. This was the more creditable to
Proserpina, inasmuch as King Pluto had caused her to be tempted day
after day with all manner of sweetmeats, and richly preserved fruits,
and delicacies of every sort, such as young people are generally most
fond of. But her good mother had often told her of the hurtfulness of
these things; and for that reason alone, if there had been no other, she
would have resolutely refused to taste them.

All this time, being of a cheerful and active disposition, the little
damsel was not quite so unhappy as you may have supposed. The immense
palace had a thousand rooms, and was full of beautiful and wonderful
objects. There was a never-ceasing gloom, it is true, which half hid
itself among the innumerable pillars, gliding before the child as she
wandered among them, and treading stealthily behind her in the echo of
her footsteps. Neither was all the dazzle of the precious stones, which
flamed with their own light, worth one gleam of natural sunshine; nor
could the most brilliant of the many-coloured gems, which Proserpina had
for playthings, vie with the simple beauty of the flowers she used to
gather. But still, wherever the girl went, among those gilded halls and
chambers, it seemed as if she carried nature and sunshine along with
her, and as if she scattered dewy blossoms on her right hand and on her
left. After Proserpina came, the palace was no longer the same abode of
stately artifice and dismal magnificence that it had before been. The
inhabitants all felt this, and King Pluto more than any of them.

"My own little Proserpina," he used to say, "I wish you could like me a
little better. We gloomy and cloudy-natured persons have often as warm
hearts at bottom as those of a more cheerful character. If you would
only stay with me of your own accord, it would make me happier than the
possession of a hundred such palaces as this."

"Ah," said Proserpina, "you should have tried to make me like you before
carrying me off. And the best thing you can do now is to let me go
again. Then I might remember you sometimes, and think that you were as
kind as you knew how to be. Perhaps, too, one day or other, I might come
back, and pay you a visit."

"No, no," answered Pluto, with his gloomy smile, "I will not trust you
for that. You are too fond of living in the broad daylight, and
gathering flowers. What an idle and childish taste that is! Are not
these gems, which I have ordered to be dug for you, and which are richer
than any in my crown--are they not prettier than a violet?"

"Not half so pretty," said Proserpina, snatching the gems from Pluto's
hand, and flinging them to the other end of the hall. "Oh, my sweet
violets, shall I never see you again?"

And then she burst into tears. But young people's tears have very little
saltness or acidity in them, and do not inflame the eyes so much as
those of grown persons; so that it is not to be wondered at if, a few
moments afterward, Proserpina was sporting through the hall almost as
merrily as she and the four sea nymphs had sported along the edge of the
surf wave. King Pluto gazed after her, and wished that he, too, was a
child. And little Proserpina, when she turned about and beheld this
great king standing in his splendid hall, and looking so grand, and so
melancholy, and so lonesome, was smitten with a kind of pity. She ran
back to him, and, for the first time in all her life, put her small soft
hand in his.

"I love you a little," whispered she, looking up in his face.

"Do you, indeed, my dear child?" cried Pluto, bending his dark face down
to kiss her; but Proserpina shrank away from the kiss, for though his
features were noble, they were very dusky and grim. "Well, I have not
deserved it of you, after keeping you a prisoner for so many months, and
starving you, besides. Are you not terribly hungry? Is there nothing
which I can get you to eat?"

In asking this question, the king of the mines had a very cunning
purpose; for, you will recollect, if Proserpina tasted a morsel of food
in his dominions, she would never afterward be at liberty to quit them.

"No, indeed," said Proserpina. "Your head cook is always baking, and
stewing, and roasting, and rolling out paste, and contriving one dish or
another, which he imagines may be to my liking. But he might just as
well save himself the trouble, poor, fat little man that he is. I have
no appetite for anything in the world, unless it were a slice of bread
of my mother's own baking, or a little fruit out of her garden."

When Pluto heard this, he began to see that he had mistaken the best
method of tempting Proserpina to eat. The cook's made dishes and
artificial dainties were not half so delicious in the good child's
opinion as the simple fare to which Mother Ceres had accustomed her.
Wondering that he had never thought of it before, the king now sent one
of his trusty attendants, with a large basket, to get some of the finest
and juiciest pears, peaches and plums which could anywhere be found in
the upper world. Unfortunately, however, this was during the time when
Ceres had forbidden any fruits or vegetables to grow; and, after seeking
all over the earth, King Pluto's servant found only a single
pomegranate, and that so dried up as to be not worth eating.
Nevertheless, since there was no better to be had, he brought this dry,
old, withered pomegranate home to the palace, put it on a magnificent
golden salver, and carried it up to Proserpina. Now it happened,
curiously enough, that, just as the servant was bringing the pomegranate
into the back door of the palace, our friend Quicksilver had gone up the
front steps, on his errand to get Proserpina away from King Pluto.

As soon as Proserpina saw the pomegranate on the golden salver, she told
the servant he had better take it away again.

"I shall not touch it, I assure you," said she. "If I were ever so
hungry, I should never think of eating such a miserable, dry pomegranate
as that."

"It is the only one in the world," said the servant. He set down the
golden salver, with the wizened pomegranate upon it, and left the room.
When he was gone, Proserpina could not help coming close to the table,
and looking at this poor specimen of dried fruit with a great deal of
eagerness; for, to say the truth, on seeing something that suited her
taste, she felt all the six months' appetite taking possession of her at
once. To be sure, it was a very wretched looking pomegranate, and seemed
to have no more juice in it than an oyster shell. But there was no
choice of such things in King Pluto's palace. This was the first fruit
she had seen there, and the last she was ever likely to see; and unless
she ate it up immediately, it would grow drier than it already was, and
be wholly unfit to eat.

"At least, I may smell it," thought Proserpina.

So she took up the pomegranate, and applied it to her nose; and, somehow
or other, being in such close neighbourhood to her mouth, the fruit
found its way into that little red cave. Dear me! what an everlasting
pity! Before Proserpina knew what she was about, her teeth had actually
bitten it, of their own accord. Just as this fatal deed was done, the
door of the apartment opened, and in came King Pluto, followed by
Quicksilver, who had been urging him to let his little prisoner go. At
the first noise of their entrance, Proserpina withdrew the pomegranate
from her mouth. But Quicksilver (whose eyes were very keen, and his wits
the sharpest that ever anybody had) perceived that the child was a
little confused; and seeing the empty salver, he suspected that she had
been taking a sly nibble of something or other. As for honest Pluto, he
never guessed at the secret.

"My little Proserpina," said the king, sitting down, and affectionately
drawing her between his knees, "here is Quicksilver, who tells me that a
great many misfortunes have befallen innocent people on account of my
detaining you in my dominions. To confess the truth, I myself had
already reflected that it was an unjustifiable act to take you away from
your good mother. But, then, you must consider, my dear child, that this
vast palace is apt to be gloomy (although the precious stones certainly
shine very bright), and that I am not of the most cheerful disposition,
and that therefore it was a natural thing enough to seek for the society
of some merrier creature than myself. I hoped you would take my crown
for a plaything, and me--ah, you laugh, naughty Proserpina--me, grim as
I am, for a playmate. It was a silly expectation."

"Not so extremely silly," whispered Proserpina. "You have really amused
me very much, sometimes."

"Thank you," said King Pluto, rather dryly. "But I can see, plainly
enough, that you think my palace a dusky prison, and me the iron-hearted
keeper of it. And an iron heart I should surely have, if I could detain
you here any longer, my poor child, when it is now six months since you
tasted food. I give you your liberty. Go with Quicksilver. Hasten home
to your dear mother."

Now, although you may not have supposed it, Proserpina found it
impossible to take leave of poor King Pluto without some regrets, and a
good deal of compunction for not telling him about the pomegranate. She
even shed a tear or two, thinking how lonely and cheerless the great
palace would seem to him, with all its ugly glare of artificial light,
after she herself--his one little ray of natural sunshine, whom he had
stolen, to be sure, but only because he valued her so much--after she
should have departed. I know not how many kind things she might have
said to the disconsolate king of the mines, had not Quicksilver hurried
her away.

"Come along quickly," whispered he in her ear, "or His Majesty may
change his royal mind. And take care, above all things, that you say
nothing of what was brought you on the golden salver."

In a very short time they had passed the great gateway (leaving the
three-headed Cerberus barking, and yelping, and growling, with threefold
din, behind them), and emerged upon the surface of the earth. It was
delightful to behold, as Proserpina hastened along, how the path grew
verdant behind and on either side of her. Wherever she set her blessed
foot, there was at once a dewy flower. The violets gushed up along the
wayside. The grass and the grain began to sprout with tenfold vigour
and luxuriance, to make up for the dreary months that had been wasted in
barrenness. The starved cattle immediately set to work grazing, after
their long fast, and ate enormously all day, and got up at midnight to
eat more. But I can assure you it was a busy time of year with the
farmers, when they found the summer coming upon them with such a rush.
Nor must I forget to say that all the birds in the whole world hopped
about upon the newly blossoming trees, and sang together in a prodigious
ecstasy of joy.

Mother Ceres had returned to her deserted home, and was sitting
disconsolately on the doorstep, with her torch burning in her hand. She
had been idly watching the flame for some moments past, when all at once
it flickered and went out.

"What does this mean?" thought she. "It was an enchanted torch, and
should have kept burning till my child came back."

Lifting her eyes, she was surprised to see a sudden verdure flashing
over the brown and barren fields, exactly as you may have observed a
golden hue gleaming far and wide across the landscape, from the just
risen sun.

"Does the earth disobey me?" exclaimed Mother Ceres, indignantly. "Does
it presume to be green, when I have bidden it be barren, until my
daughter shall be restored to my arms?"

"Then open your arms, dear mother," cried a well-known voice, "and take
your little daughter into them."

And Proserpina came running, and flung herself upon her mother's bosom.
Their mutual transport is not to be described. The grief of their
separation had caused both of them to shed a great many tears; and now
they shed a great many more, because their joy could not so well express
itself in any other way.

When their hearts had grown a little more quiet, Mother Ceres looked
anxiously at Proserpina.

"My child," said she, "did you taste any food while you were in King
Pluto's palace?"

"Dearest mother," answered Proserpina, "I will tell you the whole truth.
Until this very morning, not a morsel of food had passed my lips. But
to-day, they brought me a pomegranate (a very dry one it was, and all
shrivelled up, till there was little left of it but seeds and skin), and
having seen no fruit for so long a time, and being faint with hunger, I
was tempted just to bite it. The instant I tasted it, King Pluto and
Quicksilver came into the room. I had not swallowed a morsel; but--dear
mother, I hope it was no harm--but six of the pomegranate seeds, I am
afraid, remained in my mouth."

"Ah, unfortunate child, and miserable me!" exclaimed Ceres. "For each of
those six pomegranate seeds you must spend one month of every year in
King Pluto's palace. You are but half restored to your mother. Only six
months with me, and six with that good-for-nothing King of Darkness!"

"Do not speak so harshly of poor King Pluto," said Proserpina, kissing
her mother. "He has some very good qualities; and I really think I can
bear to spend six months in his palace, if he will only let me spend the
other six with you. He certainly did very wrong to carry me off; but
then, as he says, it was but a dismal sort of life for him, to live in
that great gloomy place, all alone; and it has made a wonderful change
in his spirits to have a little girl to run up stairs and down. There
is some comfort in making him so happy; and so, upon the whole, dearest
mother, let us be thankful that he is not to keep me the whole year
round."

CHAPTER III

THE CHIMAERA

Once, in the old, old times (for all the strange things which I tell you
about happened long before anybody can remember), a fountain gushed out
of a hillside, in the marvellous land of Greece. And, for aught I know,
after so many thousand years, it is still gushing out of the very
selfsame spot. At any rate, there was the pleasant fountain, welling
freshly forth and sparkling adown the hillside, in the golden sunset,
when a handsome young man named Bellerophon drew near its margin. In his
hand he held a bridle, studded with brilliant gems, and adorned with a
golden bit. Seeing an old man, and another of middle age, and a little
boy, near the fountain, and likewise a maiden, who was dipping up some
of the water in a pitcher, he paused, and begged that he might refresh
himself with a draught.

"This is very delicious water," he said to the maiden as he rinsed and
filled her pitcher, after drinking out of it. "Will you be kind enough
to tell me whether the fountain has any name?"

"Yes; it is called the Fountain of Pirene," answered the maiden; and
then she added, "My grandmother has told me that this clear fountain was
once a beautiful woman; and when her son was killed by the arrows of the
huntress Diana, she melted all away into tears. And so the water, which
you find so cool and sweet, is the sorrow of that poor mother's heart!"

"I should not have dreamed," observed the young stranger, "that so clear
a well-spring, with its gush and gurgle, and its cheery dance out of the
shade into the sunlight, had so much as one tear-drop in its bosom! And
this, then, is Pirene? I thank you, pretty maiden, for telling me its
name. I have come from a far-away country to find this very spot."

A middle-aged country fellow (he had driven his cow to drink out of the
spring) stared hard at young Bellerophon, and at the handsome bridle
which he carried in his hand.

"The watercourses must be getting low, friend, in your part of the
world," remarked he, "if you come so far only to find the Fountain of
Pirene. But, pray, have you lost a horse? I see you carry the bridle in
your hand; and a very pretty one it is with that double row of bright
stones upon it. If the horse was as fine as the bridle, you are much to
be pitied for losing him."

"I have lost no horse," said Bellerophon, with a smile. "But I happen to
be seeking a very famous one, which, as wise people have informed me,
must be found hereabouts, if anywhere. Do you know whether the winged
horse Pegasus still haunts the Fountain of Pirene, as he used to do in
your forefathers' days?"

But then the country fellow laughed.

Some of you, my little friends, have probably heard that this Pegasus
was a snow-white steed, with beautiful silvery wings, who spent most of
his time on the summit of Mount Helicon. He was as wild, and as swift,
and as buoyant, in his flight through the air, as any eagle that ever
soared into the clouds. There was nothing else like him in the world.
He had no mate; he never had been backed or bridled by a master; and,
for many a long year, he led a solitary and a happy life.

Oh, how fine a thing it is to be a winged horse! Sleeping at night, as
he did, on a lofty mountain-top, and passing the greater part of the day
in the air, Pegasus seemed hardly to be a creature of the earth.
Whenever he was seen, up very high above people's heads, with the
sunshine on his silvery wings, you would have thought that he belonged
to the sky, and that, skimming a little too low, he had got astray among
our mists and vapours, and was seeking his way back again. It was very
pretty to behold him plunge into the fleecy bosom of a bright cloud, and
be lost in it, for a moment or two, and then break forth from the other
side. Or, in a sullen rain storm, when there was a gray pavement of
clouds over the whole sky, it would sometimes happen that the winged
horse descended right through it, and the glad light of the upper region
would gleam after him. In another instant, it is true, both Pegasus and
the pleasant light would be gone away together. But anyone that was
fortunate enough to see this wondrous spectacle felt cheerful the whole
day afterward, and as much longer as the storm lasted.

In the summer time, and in the beautifullest of weather, Pegasus often
alighted on the solid earth, and, closing his silvery wings, would
gallop over hill and dale for pastime, as fleetly as the wind. Oftener
than in any other place, he had been seen near the Fountain of Pirene,
drinking the delicious water, or rolling himself upon the soft grass of
the margin. Sometimes, too (but Pegasus was very dainty in his food), he
would crop a few of the clover blossoms that happened to be sweetest.

To the Fountain of Pirene, therefore, people's great-grandfathers had
been in the habit of going (as long as they were youthful and retained
their faith in winged horses), in hopes of getting a glimpse at the
beautiful Pegasus. But, of late years, he had been very seldom seen.
Indeed, there were many of the country folks, dwelling within half an
hour's walk of the fountain, who had never beheld Pegasus, and did not
believe that there was any such creature in existence. The country
fellow to whom Bellerophon was speaking chanced to be one of those
incredulous persons.

And that was the reason why he laughed.

"Pegasus, indeed!" cried he, turning up his nose as high as such a flat
nose could be turned up--"Pegasus, indeed! A winged horse, truly! Why,
friend, are you in your senses? Of what use would wings be to a horse?
Could he drag the plough so well, think you? To be sure, there might be
a little saving in the expense of shoes; but then, how would a man like
to see his horse flying out of the stable window?--yes, or whisking him
up above the clouds, when he only wanted to ride to mill? No, no! I
don't believe in Pegasus. There never was such a ridiculous kind of a
horse fowl made!"

"I have some reason to think otherwise," said Bellerophon, quietly.

And then he turned to an old, gray man, who was leaning on a staff, and
listening very attentively, with his head stretched forward and one hand
at his ear, because, for the last twenty years, he had been getting
rather deaf.

"And what say you, venerable sir?" inquired he, "In your younger days, I
should imagine, you must frequently have seen the winged steed!"

"Ah, young stranger, my memory is very poor!" said the aged man. "When I
was a lad, if I remember rightly, I used to believe there was such a
horse, and so did everybody else. But, nowadays, I hardly know what to
think, and very seldom think about the winged horse at all. If I ever
saw the creature, it was a long, long while ago; and, to tell you the
truth, I doubt whether I ever did see him. One day, to be sure, when I
was quite a youth, I remember seeing some hoof tramps round about the
brink of the fountain. Pegasus might have made those hoof marks; and so
might some other horse."

"And have you never seen him, my fair maiden?" asked Bellerophon of the
girl, who stood with the pitcher on her head, while this talk went on.
"You certainly could see Pegasus, if anybody can, for your eyes are very
bright."

"Once I thought I saw him," replied the maiden, with a smile and a
blush. "It was either Pegasus or a large white bird, a very great way up
in the air. And one other time, as I was coming to the fountain with my
pitcher, I heard a neigh. Oh, such a brisk and melodious neigh as that
was! My very heart leaped with delight at the sound. But it startled me,
nevertheless; so that I ran home without filling my pitcher."

"That was truly a pity!" said Bellerophon.

And he turned to the child, whom I mentioned at the beginning of the
story, and who was gazing at him, as children are apt to gaze at
strangers, with his rosy mouth wide open.

"Well, my little fellow," cried Bellerophon, playfully pulling one of
his curls, "I suppose you have often seen the winged horse."

"That I have," answered the child, very readily. "I saw him yesterday,
and many times before."

"You are a fine little man!" said Bellerophon, drawing the child closer
to him. "Come, tell me all about it."

"Why," replied the child, "I often come here to sail little boats in the
fountain, and to gather pretty pebbles out of its basin. And sometimes,
when I look down into the water, I see the image of the winged horse in
the picture of the sky that is there. I wish he would come down, and
take me on his back, and let me ride him up to the moon! But, if I so
much as stir to look at him, he flies far away out of sight."

And Bellerophon put his faith in the child, who had seen the image of
Pegasus in the water, and in the maiden, who had heard him neigh so
melodiously, rather than in the middle-aged clown, who believed only in
cart horses, or in the old man who had forgotten the beautiful things of
his youth.

Therefore, he haunted about the Fountain of Pirene for a great many days
afterward. He kept continually on the watch, looking upward at the sky,
or else down into the water, hoping forever that he should see either
the reflected image of the winged horse, or the marvellous reality. He
held the bridle, with its bright gems and golden bit, always ready in
his hand. The rustic people who dwelt in the neighbourhood, and drove
their cattle to the fountain to drink, would often laugh at poor
Bellerophon, and sometimes take him pretty severely to task. They told
him that an able-bodied young man like himself ought to have better
business than to be wasting his time in such an idle pursuit. They
offered to sell him a horse, if he wanted one; and when Bellerophon
declined the purchase, they tried to drive a bargain with him for his
fine bridle.

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