 MOTHER's series was exceedingly fond of her daughter Procepina, and seldom let her go alone into the fields. But just at the time when my story begins, the good lady was very busy, because she had the care of the wheat and the Indian corn and the rye and the barley, and in short of the crops of every kind all over the earth, and as a season had thus far been uncommonly backward, it was necessary to make the harvest ripe and more speedily than usual. So she put on her turban, made of poppies, a kind of flower which she was always noted for wearing, and got into her car drawn by a pair of winged dragons, and was just ready to set off. Dear mother, said Procepina, I shall be very lonely while you are away. May I not run down to the shore, and ask some of the scenims to come up out of the way to play with me? Yes, child, answered Mother's series, the scenims are good creatures, and will never lead you into any harm, but you must take care not to stray away from them, nor go wandering about the fields by yourself. Young girls, without their mothers, to take care of them, are very apt to get into mischief. The child promised to be as prudent as if she were a grown-up woman, and by the time the winged dragons had whirled the car out of sight, she was already on the shore, calling to the scenims to come and play with her. They knew of Procepina's voice, and were not long in showing the glistening faces and sea-green hair above the water, at the bottom of which was her home. They brought along with them a great many beautiful shells, and sitting down on the moist sand where the surf wave broke over them, they busied themselves in making a necklace, which is a hung-round Procepina's neck. By way of showing her gratitude, the child besought them to go with her a little way into the fields, so that they might gather abundance of flowers, with which she would make each of her kind playmates a wreath. Oh no, dear Procepina, cried the scenims, we dare not go with you upon the dry land. We are rapt to grow faint, unless at every breath we can snuff up the sword breeze of the ocean, and don't you see how careful we are to let the surf wave break over us every moment or two, to us to keep ourselves comfortably moist? If it were not for that, we should look like bunches of uprooted seaweed dried in the sun. It is a great pity, said Procepina, but do your wait for me here, and I will run and gather my apron full of flowers, and be back again before the surf wave has broken ten times over you. I long to make you some wreaths, that shall be as lovely as this necklace of many collared shells. We will wait, then, answered the scenims, but while you are gone, we may as well lay down on a bank of soft sponge under the water. The air today is little too dry for our comfort, but we will pop up our heads every few minutes to see if you are coming. The young Procepina ran quickly to a spot where, only the day before, she had seen a great many flowers. These, however, were now a little past their bloom, and wishing to give her friends the freshest and loveliest blossoms, she strayed farther into the fields, and found some that made us green with delight. Never had she met with such exquisite flowers before, violet so large and fragrant, roses with a so rich and delicate a blush, such a superb hyacinth, and such aromatic pinks, and many others, some of which seemed to be of new shapes and colors. Two or three times more over, she could not help thinking that a tuft of most splendid flowers had suddenly sprouted out of the earth before her very eyes, as if on purpose to tempt her a few steps farther. Procepina's apron was soon filled, and brimmed over with delightful blossoms. She was on the point of turning back in order to rejoin the scenims, and sit with them on the moist sands, all twining reeds together. But a little farther on, what should she behold? It was a large shrub, completely covered, with the most magnificent flowers in the world. The darlings! cried Procepina, and then she thought to herself, I was looking at that spot only a moment ago. How strange it is that I did not see the flowers. The nearer she approached the shrub, the more attractive it looked, until she came quite close to it, and then, although its beauty was richer than words can tell, she hardly knew whether to like it or not. It bore above a hundred flowers of the most brilliant hues, and each different from the others, but all having a kind of resemblance among themselves, which showed them to be sister blossoms. But there was a deep glossy luster on the leaves of the shrub, and on the petals of the flowers, that made Procepina doubt whether they might not be poisonous. To tell you the truth, foolish as it may seem, she was half inclined to turn round and run away. What a silly child I am, thought she had taken courage. It is really the most beautiful shrub that ever sprang out of the earth. I will pull it up by the roots and carry it home, and plant it in my mother's garden. Holding her apron full of flowers with her left hand, Procepina seized the large shrub with the other, and pulled and pulled, but was hardly able to loosen the soil above its roots. What a deep-rooted plant it was. Again the girl pulled with all her might, and observed that the earth began to stir and crack to some distance around the stem. She gave another pull, but relaxed her hold, fancying that there was a rumbling sound right beneath her feet. Did the roots extend down into some enchanted cavern? Then laughing at herself a certain childish notion, she made another effort, up came the shrub, and Procepina staggered back, halting the stem triumphantly in her hand, and gazing at the deep hole which its roots had left in the soil. Much to her astonishment, this hole kept spreading wider and wider, and growing deeper and deeper, until it really seemed to have no bottom. And all the while, there came a rumbling noise out of its depth, louder and louder, and nearer and nearer, and sounding like the jump of horses' hooves, and the rattling of wheels. Too much frighten to run away. She stood straining her eyes into this wonderful cavity, and soon saw a team of four sabre horses, snorting smoke out of their nostrils, and tearing their way out of the earth, with a splendid golden chariot whirling at their heels. They leaped out of the bottomless hole, chariot and all, and there they were, tossing their black mains, flourishing their black tails, and curving with every one of their hooves, of the ground at once, close by the spot where Procepina stood. In the chariot set the figure of a man, richly dressed, with a crown on his head, all flaming with diamonds. He was of an noble aspect, and rather handsome, but looked sullen and discontented, and he kept rubbing his eyes and shading them with his hand, as if he did not live enough in the sunshine to be very fond of its light. As soon as this personage saw the frightened Procepina, he beckoned her to come a little nearer. "'Do not be afraid,' said he, with such cheerful a smile as he knew how to put on. Come, when you are not like to ride it as a way with me in my beautiful chariot.' But Procepina was so alarmed, that he wished for nothing but to get out of his reach, and no wonder, the stranger did not look remarkably good-natured in spite of his smile, and as for his voice, its tones were deep and stern, and sounded as much like the rumbling of an earthquake and a ground than anything else. As is always the case with children in trouble, Procepina's first thought was to call for her mother. "'Mother! Mother-series!' cried she, all in a tremble. "'Come quickly and save me!' But her voice was too vain for her mother to hear. Indeed, it is most probable that Sears was then a thousand miles off, making the corn grow in some far distant country. Nor could it have availed her poor daughter, even had she been wisdom-hearing, for no sooner did Procepina began to cry out, than the stranger leaped to the ground, caught the child in his arms, and again mounted his chariot, shook the reins, and shouted to the four black horses to set off. They immediately broke into so swift a gallop, that it seemed rather like flying through the air than running along the earth. In a moment Procepina lost sight of the pleasant veil of Etna, in which she had always dwelt. Another instant, and even the summit of Mount Etna, had become so blue in the distance, that she could scarcely distinguish it from the smoke that gushed out of its crater. But still the poor child screamed, and scattered a draperen full of flowers along the way, and left a long cry trailing behind the chariot. And many mothers to whose ears it came, ran quickly to see if any mischief had befallen their children. But mother Sears was a great way off, and could not hear the cry. As if they rode on, the stranger did his best to soothe her. Why should you be so frightened, my pretty child? said he, trying to soften his rough voice. I promise not to do any harm. What, you have been gathering flowers? Wait till we come to my palace, and I will give you a garden full of prettier flowers than those all made of pearls and diamonds and rubies. Can you guess who I am? They call my name Pluto, and I am the king of diamonds, and all other precious stones. Every atom of the golden silver that lies under the earth belongs to me, to say nothing of the copper and iron, and of the coal mines, which is supplying me with abundance of fuel. Do you see this splendid crown upon my head? You may have it for a plaything. Oh, we shall be very good friends, and you will find me more agreeable than you expect, when once we get out of this troublesome sunshine. Let me go home, cried Posa Pina. Let me go home. My home is better than your mother's, answered King Pluto. It is a palace, all made of gold with crystal windows, and because if there is little or no sunshine there abouts, the apartments are illuminated with diamond lamps. You never saw anything half so magnificent as my throne. If you like, you may sit down on it and be my little queen, and I will sit on the footstool. I don't care for golden palaces and thrones, saw Posa Pina. Oh, my mother, my mother, carry me back to my mother! But King Pluto, as he called himself, only shouted to his steed to go faster. Bray, do not be foolish, Posa Pina, said he in rather a sullen tone. I offer you my palace and my crown, and all the riches that are under the earth, and you adored me as if I were doing you an injury. The one thing which my palace needs is a merry little maid, to run upstairs and down, and cheer up the room to a smile. And this is what you must do for King Pluto. Never, answered Posa Pina, looking as miserable as he could, I shall never smile again till you set me down at my mother's door. But you might just as well have talked to the wind that whistled past them, for Pluto urged on his horses, and went faster than ever. Posa Pina continued to cry out, and screamed so long and so loudly, that a poor little voice was almost screamed away, and when it was nothing but a whisper, she happened to cast her eyes over a great brode field of waving grain. And whom do you think she saw? Oh, but Mother Ceres, making the corn-grove, and too busy to notice the golden chariot, as it went rattling along. The child mustered all his strength, and gave one more scream, but was out of sight, before Ceres had time to turn her head. King Pluto had taken a road which now began to grow excessively gloomy. It was bordered on each side, with rocks and precipices, between which the rumbling of the chariot wheels was reverberated with a noise like rolling thunder. The trees and bushes that grew in the gravities of the rocks had varied dysmorpholiage, and by and by, although it was hardly noon, the air became obscured with a gray twilight. The black horses had rushed along so swiftly, that they were already beyond the limits of the sunshine. But the dusk-urid grew, the moored at Pluto's visage as human air of satisfaction. After all, he was not an ill-looking person, especially when he left off twisting his features into a smile that did not belong to them. Rossapina peeped at his face, flew together in dusk, and hoped that he might not be so very wicked as she at first thought him. Ah, this twilight is truly refreshing, said King Pluto. After being so tormented with that ugly and impertinent glare of the sun, how much more agreeable is lamplight or torchlight, more particularly when reflected from diamonds. It will be a magnificent sight when we get to my palace. Is it much farther, asked Rossapina, and will you carry me back when I have seen it? We will talk of that by and by, answered Pluto. We are just entering my dominions. Do you see if that all gateway before us, when we pass of those gates, we are at home, and there lies my faithful Mestiff at the threshold. Cerberus? Cerberus, come hither, my good dog. So saying, Pluto pulled up the reins and stopped the chariot right between the tall massive pillars of the gateway. The Mestiff of which he had spoken cut off from the threshold, and stood at his hind legs so as to put his four poles on the chariot wheel. But my stars, what a strange dog it was. Why, he was big, rough, ugly-looking monster, with three separate heads, and each of them fiercer than the two others. But fierce as if they were, King Pluto patted them all. He seemed as fond of his three-headed dog, as if it had been a sweet little spaniel, with his silken ears and curly hair. Cerberus, on the other hand, was evidently rejoiced to see his master, and expressed his attachment, as other dogs do, by waking his tail at a great rate. Prosopina's eyes being drawn to it by its brisk motion, she saw that this tail was nicer, more nor less, than a live dragon, with fiery eyes and fangs that had a very poisonous aspect. And while the three-headed Cerberus was falling so lovingly on King Pluto, there was a dragon-tail wagging against its wheel, and looking as cross and ill-natured, as you can imagine, on its own separate account. Will the dog bite me? asked Prosopina, drinking closer to Pluto. What an ugly creature he is. Oh, never fear, answered his companion. He never harms people, unless if they try to enter my dominions without being sent for, or to get away when I wish to keep them here. Down, Cerberus! Now, my pretty Prosopina, we will drive on. On went the chariot, and King Pluto seemed greatly pleased to find himself once more in his own kingdom. He drew Prosopina's attention to the rich veins of gold that were to be seen among the rocks, and pointed to several places where one stroke of a pickaxe would loosen a bushel of diamonds. All along the road, indeed, there were sparkling gems, which would have been of inestimable value above ground, but which here were reckoned of the meanest sort, and hardly worse a backer stooping for. Not far from the gateway, they came to a bridge, which seemed to be built of iron. Pluto stopped the chariot, and bred Prosopina and look at the stream, which was gliding so lazily beneath it. Never in her life had she beheld so torpid, so black, so muddy-looking a stream. Its waters reflected no images of anything that was on the banks, and it moved as sluggishly, as if it had quite forgotten which way it ought to flow, and had rather stagnated, than flow either one way or the other. This is a river leafy, observed King Pluto. Is it not a very pleasant stream? I think it is a very dismal one, answered Prosopina. It suits my taste, however. Answered Pluto, who was up to be sullen when anybody disagreed with him. At all events, its water has one excellent quality, where a single draught of it makes people forget every care and sorrow that has hitherto tormented them. Only sip a little of it, my dear Prosopina, and you will instantly cease to grieve for your mother, and will have nothing in your memory that can prevent your being perfectly happy in my palace. I will send for some, in a golden gubblet, the moment we arrive. Oh no, no! cried Prosopina, weeping and fresh. I had a thousand times rather been miserable with remembering my mother, than be happy of forgetting her. That dear, dear mother, I never, never will forget her. We shall see, said King Pluto. You do not know what fine times you will have in my palace. Here we are just at the portal. These pillars are solid gold, I assure you. He lighted from the chariot, and taken Prosopina in his arms, carried her up a lofty flight of steps into the great hall of the palace. It was plunderedly illuminated by means of large, precious stones of various hues, which it seemed to burn like so many lamps, and glowed with a hundredfold radiance all through the vast apartment. And yet, there was a kind of gloom in the midst of this enchanted light. Nor was there a single object in the hall that was really agreeable to behold, except the little Prosopina herself, a lovely child, with one earthly flower which he had not left to fall from her hand. It is my opinion that even King Pluto had never been happy in his palace, and that this was the true reason why he had stolen away Prosopina, in order that he might have something to laugh, instead of cheating his heart any longer with his tiresome magnificence. And so he pretended to dislike the sunshine of the upper world, yet the effects of the child's presence, condemned as she was by her tears, was as if a fainted watery sunbeam had somehow or other found its way into the enchanted hall. Pluto now summoned his domestics, and bade them lose no time in preparing most sumptuous banquet, and, above all things, not to fail of setting a golden beaker of the water of Lethi by Prosopina's plate. I will neither drink that nor anything else, said Prosopina, nor will I taste a morsel of food, even if you keep me for ever in your palace. I should be sorry for that, replied King Pluto patting her cheek, for he really wished to be kind, if you had only know how. You are a spoiled child, I perceive, my little Prosopina, but when you see the nice things which my cook will make for you, your appetite will quickly come again. Then, sending for the head cook, he gave strict orders that all sorts of delicacies, such as young people are usually fond of, should be said before Prosopina. He had a secret motive in this, for you are to understand, it is a fixed law that when persons are carried off to the land of magic, it won't taste any food there, they can never get back to their friends. Now, if King Pluto had been cunning enough to offer Prosopina some food, or bread and milk, which was a simple fare to which the child had always been accustomed, it is very probable that she would soon have been tempted to eat it. But he left the matter entirely to his cook, who, like all other cooks, considered nothing fit to eat, unless it were rich pastry, or highly seasoned meat, or spiced sweet cakes, things which Prosopina's mother had never given her, and the smell of which quite took away her appetite, instead of sharpening it. End of part one of The Pomegranate Seed. Section 13 of Tango Wood Tales. This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Joliva Molliam. Tango Wood Tales by Nassaniel Haathorn. The Pomegranate Seed. Part Two. But my story must now clamour out of King Pluto's dominions, and see what Mother Ceres had been about, since she was bereft of her daughter. We had a glimpse of her, as you remember, half hidden among the waving grain, while the four black steeds were swiftly whirling along the chariot, in which her beloved Prosopina was so unwillingly born away. You'll recollect too, the loud scream which Prosopina gave, just when the chariot was out of sight. Of all the child's outcries, this last streak was the only one that reached the ears of Mother Ceres. She had mistaken the rumbling of the chariot wheels for a peel of thunder, and imagined that the shower was coming up, and that it would assist her in making the corn grow. But at the sound of Prosopina's shriek, she started, and looked about in every direction, not knowing whence it came, but feeling almost certain that it was her daughter's voice. It seemed so unaccountable, however, that a girl should have strayed over so many lands and seas, which she herself could not have traversed without the aid of a winged dragon's, that a good Ceres tried to believe that it must be the child of some other parent, and not her own darling Prosopina who had uttered this lamentable cry. Nevertheless, it troubled her with a vast many tender fears, such as are ready to bestow themselves in every mother's heart, when she finds its ancestry to go away from her dear children, without leaving them under the care of some maiden aunt, or rather such faithful guardian. So she quickly left the field in which she had been so busy, and, as her work was not half done, the grain looked next day, as if it needed both sun and rain, and as if it were blighted in the ear, and had something of the matter with its roots. The pair of dragons must have had very nimble wings, for in less than an hour, Mother Ceres had alighted at the door of her home, and found it empty. Knowing, however, that a child was fond of sporting on the seashore, she hastened to scissor as fast as she could, and there beheld the wet faces of the poor synonyms peeping over a wave. All this while the good creatures had been waiting on the bank of sponge, and once every half-minute or so, had popped up their foreheads above water, to see if their playmates were yet coming back. When they saw Mother Ceres, they sat down on the crest of the surf-wave, and let her toss them ashore at her feet. Where is Brossapina? cried Ceres. Where is my child? Tell me, you naughty synonyms, have you enticed her under the sea? Oh, no, good Mother Ceres! said the innocent synonyms, tossing back their green ringlets and looking her in the face. We never should dream of such a thing. Brossapina has been at play with us, it is true, but she left us a long while ago, meaning only to run a letter way upon the dry land, and gather some flowers for a wreath. This was early in the day, and we have seen nothing of her since. Ceres scarcely waited to hear what the names had to say, before she hurried off to make inquiries all through her neighbourhood. But nobody told her anything that would enable the poor Mother to guess what had become of Brossapina. A fisherman, it is true, had noticed her little footprints in the sand, as he went homeward, along the beach with a basket of fish. A rustic had seen the child stooping to gather flowers. Several persons had heard either the rattling of chariot wheels, or the rumbling of distant sander. And one old woman, while plucking verveil and catnip, had heard a scream, but supposed it to be some childish nonsense, and therefore did not take the trouble to look up. The stupid people! It took them such a tedious while to tell the nothing that they knew, that it was dark night before Mother Ceres found out that she must seek her daughter elsewhere. So she lighted her torch, and set forth, resolving never to come back until Brossapina was discovered. In her haste and trouble of mind, she quite forgot her car and the wing-dragons. Or it may be, she thought, that she could follow up the search more thoroughly on foot. I told events, this was the way in which she began her sorrowful journey, holding her torch before her, and looking carefully at every object along the path. And as it happened, she had not come far before she found one of the magnificent flowers, which grew on the shrub that Brossapina had pulled up. Ha! thought Mother Ceres, examining it by torchlight. Here is mischief in this flower. The earth did not produce it by any help of mine, nor of its own accord. It is a work of enchantment, and is therefore poisonous, and perhaps it has poisoned my poor child. But she put the poisonous flower in her bosom, not knowing whether she might ever find any other memorial of Brossapina. All night long, at the door of every cottage and farmhouse, Ceres knocked and called up the wary labourers to inquire if they had seen her child, and they stood gaping, and half asleep, at the threshold, and answered her pittingly, and be sought her to come in and rest. At the portal of every palace too, she made so loud a summons that the menial's hurried to throw open the gate, thinking that it must be some great king or queen, who would demand banquet for supper, and a stately jamour to repose in. And when they saw only a sad and anxious woman, with a torch in her hand and a wreath of wizard poppies on her head, they spoke rudely, and sometimes threatened to set the dogs upon her. But nobody had seen Brossapina, nor could give Mother Ceres the least hint which way to seek her. Thus passed the night, and still she continued her search without setting down to rest, or stopping to take food, or even remembering to put out the torch, although first the rosy dawn, and then the glad light of the morning sun, made its red flame look thin and pale. But I wonder what sort of stuff this torch was made of, for it burned dimly through the day, and at night was as bright as ever, and never was distinguished by the rain or wind, in all the wary days and nights while Ceres was seeking for Brossapina. It was not mere love human beings that she asked tidings of her daughter, in the woods and by the streams, she met creatures of another nature, who used them those old times to haunt the pleasant and solitary places, and were very sociable with persons who understood their language and customs, as Mother Ceres did. Sometimes, for instance, she tapped with a finger against a knotted trunk of a majestic oak, and immediately a druid bark would cleave asunder, and force would step a beautiful maiden, who was the hammer-dried of the oak, dwelling inside of it and sharing its long life, and rejoicing when its green leaves sported with a breeze. But not one of these leafy dams has had seen Brossapina. Then, going in at a farther, Ceres would perhaps come to a fountain, gushing out of a pebbly hollow in the earth, and would dabble with a hand in the water. Behold! a druid sandy and pebbly bed, along with the fountain's gush, a young woman with dripping hair would arise, and stand gazing at Mother Ceres, half out of the water, and undulating up and down with its ever-restless motion. But when the mother asked whether her poor lost child had stopped to drink out of the fountain, the nyad was weeping eyes, for as his water-nims had tears to spare for everybody's grief, would answer, no, in a murmuring voice, which was just like the murmur of the stream. Often likewise, she encountered thorns, who had looked like sun-burnt country-people, except that they had hairy ears at little horns upon their foreheads, and the hind legs of goats, on which they gambled merrily about the woods and fields. They were a frolicsome kind of creature, but grew as sad as if their cheerful dispositions would allow, when Ceres inquired for her daughter, and they had no good news to tell. But sometimes she came suddenly upon a rude gang of set-highs, who had faces like monkeys and horses-tails behind them, and who were generally dancing in a very boisterous manner with shouts of noisy laughter. When she stopped to question them, they would only laugh the louder, and make new merriment out of the lone woman's distress. How unkind of those ugly set-highs! And once, while crossing a solitary she-pasture, she saw a personage named Pan seated at the foot of a tall rock, and making music on a shepherd's flute. He, too, had horns, and hairy ears and goat's feet, but being acquainted with Mother Ceres, he answered her question as civilly as he knew how, and invited her to taste some milk and honey out of a wooden bowl. But Niza could Pan tell her what had become of Prosopina any better than the rest of these wild people. And thus Mother Ceres went wondering about for nine long days and nights, finding no trace of Prosopina, unless it were now and then a wizard flower, and these she picked up and put in her bosom, because she fancied that they might have fallen from her poor child's hand. All day she travelled onward, through the hot sun, and at night again the flame of the torch would redden, and gleam along in the pathway, and she continued her search by its light, without ever sitting down to rest. On the tenth day she chanced to spy the mouth of a cavern, within which, though it was bright noon everywhere else, there would have been only a dusky twilight, but it so happened that a torch was burning there. It flickered and struggled with the duskiness, but could not half light up the gloomy cavern all its melancholy glimmer. Ceres was resolved to leave no spot without a surge, so she peeped into the entrance of the cave, and lighted it up a little more, by holding her own torch before her. In so doing, she caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a woman, sitting on the brown leaves of the last autumn, a great heap of which had been swept into the cave by the wind. This woman, if woman it were, was by no means so beautiful as many of her sex, for her head, they tell me, was shaped very much like dogs, and by way of ornament she wore a wreath of snakes around it. But Mother Ceres, the moment she saw her, knew that this was an odd kind of person, who put all her enjoyment in being miserable, and never would ever were to say to other people, unless they were as melancholy and wretched as she herself delighted to be. I am wretched enough now, thought poor Ceres, to talk with this melancholy hakead, where she ten times sadder than ever she was yet. So she stepped into the cave and sat down on the wizard leaves by the dog-headed woman's side. In all the world since her daughter's loss, she had found no other companion. Oh, he cade, said she, if ever you lose a daughter, you will know what sorrow is. Tell me, for pity's sake, have you seen my poor child, prosopina pass by the mouth of your cavern? No, answered he cade, in a cracked voice, and sighing between every word or two. No, Mother Ceres, I have seen nothing of your daughter. But my ears, you must know, are made in such a way that all cries of distress and defraud all over the world, are pretty sure to find their way to them. And nine days ago, as I sat in my cave, making myself very miserable, I heard the voice of a young girl, shrieking as if in great distress. Something terrible has happened to the child, you may rest assured, as well as I could judge a dragon or some other cruel monster was carrying her away. You kill me by saying so, cried Ceres, almost ready to faint. Where was the sound, and which way did it seem to go? It passed very swiftly along, said he cade, and at the same time there was a heavy rumbling of wheels towards the eastward. I can tell you nothing more, except that, in my honest opinion, you will never see your daughter again. The best advice I can give you is, to take up your abode in this cavern, where we will be the two most wretched women in the world. Not yet, Darky Cade, replied Ceres, but do your first come with your torch, and help me to seek for my lost child, and when there shall be no more hope of finding her, if that black day is ordained to come, then, if you will give me room to fling myself down either on these wizard leaves, or on the naked rock, I will show what it is to be miserable. But until I know that she has perished from the face of the earth, I will not allow myself space even to grieve. The dismal he cade did not much like the idea of going abroad into the sunny world, but then she reflected that the sorrow of the Disconsolate Ceres would be like a gloomy twilight round about them both, let the sunshine ever so brightly, and that, therefore, she might enjoy her bad spirits quite as well as if she were to stay in the cave. So she finally consented to go, and they set out together, both carrying torches, although it was broad daylight and clear sunshine. The torchlight seemed to make it gloom, so that a people whom they met along the road could not very distinctly see their figures, and indeed, if they once called a glimpse of he cate, with the wreath of snakes round her forehead, they generally thought it prudent to run away without waiting for a second glance. As the pair travelled along in this woe-begone manner, a thought struck Ceres. There is one person, she exclaimed, who must have seen my poor child, and can doubtless tell what has become of her. Why did not I think of him before, to his fevers? What? said he cate, the young man that always sits in the sunshine. Oh, pray do not think of going near him. His gay, light, frivolous young fellow, and will only smile in your face. And besides, there is such a glare of disson about him, that he will quiet blind my poor eyes, which I have almost wept away already. You have promised to be my companion, answered Ceres. Come, let us make haste, or the sunshine will be gone, and fevers along with it. Accordingly, they went along in quest of fevers. Both of them signed grueversly, and he cate to save the Druze, making a great deal worse lamentation than Ceres. For all the pleasure she had, you know, laying being miserable, and therefore, she made the most of it. By and by, after a pretty long journey, they arrived at the sunniest spot in the whole world. There, they beheld a beautiful young man, with long curling ringlets, which seemed to be made of golden sunbeams. His garments were like light summer clouds, and the expression of his face was so exceedingly vivid, that he cate, held her hands before her eyes, muttering that he ought to wear a black veil. Fevers, for this was the very person whom they were seeking, had a lyre in his hands, and was making its chords, tremble with his sweet music, at the same time singing a most exquisite song, which he had recently composed. For, beside a great many other accomplishments, this young man was renowned for his admirable poetry. As Ceres and her dismal companion approached him, Fevers smiled on them so cheerfully, that he cates wreath of snakes give spite for his, and he cate heartily wished herself back in her cave. But as for Ceres, she was too earnest in her grief, either to know or care, whilst Fevers smiled off-round. Fevers, exclaimed she, I am in great trouble, and have come to you for assistance. Can you tell me what has become of my dear child, Brossapina? Brossapina? And Brossapina, did you call her name? answered Fevers, endeavouring to recollect, for there was such a continual flow of pleasant ideas in his mind, that he was apt to forget what had happened no longer ago than yesterday. Ah, yes, I remember now, a very lovely child indeed. I am happy to tell you, my dear madam, that I did see the little Brossapina not many days ago. You may make yourself perfectly easy about her. She is safe, and an excellent hen. Oh, where is my dear child? cried Ceres, clasping her hands and flinging herself at his feet. Why? said Fevers, and as he spoke, he kept touching his lyre, just to make a threat of music run in and out among his words. As little Demzel was gathering flowers, and she has really a very exquisite taste for flowers, she was subtly snatched up by King Pluto, and carried off to his dominions. I have never been in that part of the universe, but a royal palace, I am told, is built in a very noble style of architecture, and of the most splendid and costly materials. Gold, diamonds, pearls, and all manner of precious stones will be your daughter's ordinary plain things. I recommend to you, my dear lady, to give yourself no uneasiness. Brossapina's sense of beauty will be duly gratified, and even in spite of the lack of sunshine, she will lead a very enviable life. Hush! say not such a word! answered Ceres indignantly. What is there to gratify her heart? What are all the splendours you speak of without affection? I must have her back again. Will you go with me, Fevers, to demand my daughter of this wicked Pluto? Bray, excuse me! replied Fevers, with an elegant obedience. I certainly wish you success, and regret that my own affairs are so immediately pressing, that I cannot have the pleasure of attending you. Besides, I am not upon the best of terms with King Pluto. To tell you the truth, is a free-headed mastiff would never let me pass the gateway, for I should be compelled to take a sheaf of sunbeams along with me, and those, you know, are forbidden things to Pluto's kingdom. Ah, Fevers! said Ceres with bitter meaning in her words. You have a harp instead of a heart. Farewell! Will not you stay a moment? asked Fevers, and hear me turn the pretty and touching story of Brossapina into extemporary verses. But Ceres shook her head, and hastened away along with her sea-cade. Fevers, who, as I have told you, was an exquisite poet, forcewhiz began to make an ode about the poor mother's grief, and if he were to judge of his sensibility by this beautiful production, he must have been endowed with the very tender heart. But when a poet gets into the habit of using his heartstrings to make courts for his liar, he may frown upon them as much as he will, without any great pain to himself. Accordingly, though Fevers sang a very sad song, he was as merry all the while, as were the sunbeams amid which he dwelled. Poor mother Ceres had now found out what had become of her daughter, but was not a wit happier than before. Her case, on the contrary, looked more desperate than ever. As long as Brossapina was above ground, there might have been hopes of regaining her. But now, that a poor child was shut up within the iron gates of the king of the mines, at the threshold of which Lady Free had its service, there seemed no possibility of her ever making her escape. The dismal headcade, who loved to take the darkest view of things, told Ceres that she had better come with her to the cavern, and spent the rest of her life in being miserable. Ceres answered that he, Cade, was welcome to go back thither herself, but that for her part she would wander about the earth in quest of the entrance to King Pluto's dominions. And he, Cade, took her at her word, and hurried back to her beloved cave, frightening in great many little children was a glimpse of a dox face as she went. Poor mother Ceres! It is melancholy to think of her, pursuing her toilsome way all alone, and holding up that never-dying torch, the flame of which seemed an emblem of the grief and hope that burned together in her heart. So much did she suffer that, though her aspect had been quite youthful when her troubles began, she grew to look like an elderly person in a very brief time. She cared not how she was dressed, nor had she ever thought of leaning away the wreath of wizard puppies, which he put on the very morning of Frostopina's disappearance. She roamed about in so wild a way, and with her hair so dishevelled, that people took her for some distracted creature, and never dreamed that this was mother Ceres, where had the oversight of every seed which a husband man planted. Nowadays, however, she gave herself no trouble about seed time nor harvest, but left the farmers to take care of their own affairs, and the crops to fade or flourish as the case might be. There was nothing now in which Ceres seemed to feel an interest, unless when she saw children at play or gathering flowers along the wayside. Then, indeed, she would stand and gaze at them, with tears in her eyes. The children, too, appeared to have a sympathy with her grief, and would clustered themselves in a little group about her knees, and look up wistfully in her face, and Ceres, after giving them a kiss all round, would lead them to their homes and advise in their mothers never to let them stray out of side. For if they do, said she, it may happen to you, as it has to me, that the iron-hearted King Pluto will take a liking to your darlings, and snatch them up on his chariot and carry them away. End of part two of The Pomegranate Seed. Section 14 of Tanglewood Tales. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Julefa Malham. Tanglewood Tales by Nathaniel Hawthorne. The Pomegranate Seed, part three. One day, during her pilgrimaging quest of the entrance to Pluto's kingdom, she came to the Palace of King Ceres, who reigned at Ulysses. Ascending a lofty flight of steps, she entered the portal, and found the royal household in very great alarm about the Queen's baby. The infant, it seems, was sickly, being troubled with its teeth, I suppose, and would take no food, and was all the time moaning with pain. The Queen, her name was Matanera, was the czarist of finding a nurse, and when she beheld a woman of majorly aspect coming up the palace steps, she thought, in her own mind, that here was the very person whom she needed. Though Queen Matanera ran to the door, with the poor wailing baby in her arms, and besought Ceres to take charge of it, or at least, to tell her what would do it good, will you trust the child entirely to me? asked Ceres. Yes, and gladly too, answered the Queen, if you will devote all your time to him, for I can see that you have been a mother. You are right, said Ceres. I once had a child of my own. Well, I will be the nurse of this poor sickly boy, but beware, I warn you, that you do not interfere with any kind of treatment which I may judge proper for him. If you do so, the poor infant must suffer for his mother's folly. Then she kissed the child, and it seemed to do him good, for he smiled and nestled closely into her bosom. So mother Ceres set her torch in a corner, where it kept burning all the while, and took up her boat in the palace of King Ceres, as nurse to the little prince Dimofon. She treated him as if he were her own child, and allowed neither the king nor the queen to say whether he should be bathed in warm or cold water, or what he should eat, or how often he should take the air, or when he should be put to bed. You would hardly believe me, if I were to tell you, how quickly the baby prince got rid of his ailments, and grew fat and rosy and strong, and how he had two rows of ivory teeth, and less time than any other little fellow before all sins. Instead of the palest and wretchedest and puny dimpled world, as his own mother confessed him to be when Ceres first took him in charge, he was now a strapping baby, growling, laughing, kicking up his heels, and rolling from one end of the room to the other. All the good women of the neighborhood crowded to the palace, and held up their hands in unutterable amazement at the beauty and wholesomeness of this darling little prince. Their wonder was greater, because it was never seen to taste any food, not even so much as a cup of milk. Pray nurse, the queen kept saying, how is it that you make the child to thrive so? I was mother once, Ceres always replied, and having nursed my own child, I know what other children need. But Queen Matanera, as was very natural, had a great curiosity to know precisely what the nurse did to her child. One night, therefore, she hid herself in the chamber where Ceres and the little prince were accustomed to sleep. There was a fire in the chimney, and it had now crumbled into great coals and embers, which lay glowing on the earth, with the blaze flickering up now and then, and flinging a warm and ruddy light upon the walls. Ceres sat before the hearth with her child in her lap, and the firelight making her shadow dance upon the ceiling overhead. She undressed the little prince, and based him all over with some fragrant liquid out of a vase. The next thing she did was to rig back the red embers, and to make a hollow place among them, just where the backlog had been. At last, while the baby was crowing and clapping its fat little hands, and laughing in the nurse's face, just as you may have seen your little brother or sister do before going into its warm bath, Ceres suddenly laid him all naked as he was, in the hollow among the red-hot embers. She then raked the ashes over him, and turned quietly away. You may imagine, if you can, how Queen Mataneira shrieked, thinking nothing less than that her dear child would be burned to a cinder. She burst forth from a hiding place, and running to the hearth, raked, opened the fire, and snatched up poor little Prince Dimofon out of his bed-of-life coals, one of which he was gripping in each of his fists. He immediately set up a grieve's cry, as babies are apt to do, and rudely startled out of a sound sleep. To the Queen's astonishment and joy, she could perceive no token of the child's being injured by the hot fire in which he had lain. She now turned to Mother Ceres, and asked her to explain the mystery. Fowlish woman, answered Ceres, did you not promise to entrust this poor infant entirely to me? You little know the mischief you have done him. Had you left him to my care, he would have grown up like a child of celestial birth, and down to his superhuman strengths and intelligence, and would have lived forever. Do you imagine that earthly children are to become immortal without being tampered to it in the fiercest heat of the fire? But you have ruined your own son, for though he will be a strong man and a hero in his day, yet on account of your folly, he will grow old and finally die like the sons of other women. The weak tenderness of his mother has cost the poor boy in immortality. Farewell! Saying these words, she kissed the little Prince Dimofan, and sighed to think what he had lost, and took a departure without a heeding Queen Matanera, who entreated her to remain, and cover up the child among the hot embers as often as she pleased. Poor baby, he never slept so warmly again. While she dwelled in the King's palace, Mother Ceres had been so continually occupied with taking care of the young Prince, that her heart was a little lightened of its grief across the Pina. But now, having nothing else to busy herself about, she became just as wretched as before. At length, in her despair, she came to the dreadful resolution that not a stalk of grain, nor a blade of grass, not a potato, nor a tannib, nor any other vegetable that was good for man, or beast, to eat, should be suffered to grow until her daughter were restored. She even forbade the flowers to bloom, lest somebody's heart should be cheered by their beauty. Now, as not so much as a hand of asparagus ever presumed to poke itself out of the ground, without the special permission of Ceres, you may conceive what a terrible calamity had here fallen upon the earth. The husband men plowed and planted as usual, that there laid the rich black froze, all as barren as desert of sand. The pastures looked as brown and sweet month of June, as ever they did until November. The rich man's brood acres, and the cottage's small garden patch, were equally blighted. Every little girl's flower bed showed nothing but dry stalks. The old people shook their white heads, and said that the earth had grown aged like themselves, and was no longer capable of wearing the warm smile of summer on its face, it was really piteous to see the poor starving cattle and sheep, how they followed behind Ceres, lowing and bleeding, as if their rinsing taught them to expect help from her, and everybody that was acquainted with her power, besorted to have mercy on the human race, and at all events to let the grass grow. But Mother Ceres, though naturally of an affectionate disposition, was now inexorable. Never, said she, if the earth is ever again to the only verger, it must first grow along the path which my daughter will dread in coming back to me. Finally, as there seemed to be no other remedy, our old friend Quicksilver was sent post-haze 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 Rosapina. 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, with a short cloak, and as a wing to cab and shoes, and a 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 settled their business together, we must inquire what Rosapina had 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 could try to maintain a resolution, and at the same time to keep herself tolerably plumb and rosy, is more than I can explain. But some young ladies, I am giving to understand, possess at the faculty of living on air, and Rosapina 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, at yet pass between her teeth. This was a more credible to Rosapina, inasmuch as King Pluto had caused her to be tempted day by 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 a good mother had often told her of the hurtfulness of these things, and for that reason alone, as 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-seizing gloom, it is true, which half hid itself among the innumerable pillars, gliding before the child as she wandered amongst them, and dreading stout-silly behind her in the echo of her footsteps. Neither was all the dazzled precious stones, which aflamed with their own light, worth one gleam of natural sunshine, nor could the most brilliant of the many-coloured gemments, which Rosapina had for playthings, vie with the simple beauty of the flowers she used to gather. But still, when, if 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 Rosapina came, the palace were no longer the same abode of stately artifice and dismal magnificence that it had before been. The inhabitants all felt this, and concluded, more than any of them. My own little Rosapina, he used to say, I wish you could like me a little better. We gloomy and cloudy-nated persons have often as warm hearts at bottom as those of a more cheerful character. If you only stay with me of your own accord, it would make me happier than the possession of a hundred such palaces as it is. Ah, said Rosapina, you should have tried to make me like you before carrying me off. And the best thing you can now do is to let me go again. Then I might remember you sometimes, and think that you're well as kind as you know how to be. Perhaps to one day or other, I might come back and pay you a visit. No, no! answered Plato, with his gloomy smile. I will not trust you for that. You are too fond of living in raw 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 Rosapina, 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 sourness or acidity in them, and not to flame the eyes so much as of those of grown persons. So that it is not to be wondered at, if, a few moments afterwards, Rosapina was sporting through the hall almost as merrily as she and the four synonyms had sported along the edge of the surf-wave. King Plato gazed after her, and wished that he too was a child. And little Rosapina, when she turned about and beheld for this great king, standing in his splendour tall, and looking so grand, and so melancholy, and elonesome, was smitten with a kind of pity. She ran back to him, and for the first time in all her life, put a small soft hand in his. I love you little! whispered she, looking up in his face. Do indeed, my dear child! cried Pluto, bending his dark face down to kiss her, though Rosapina 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 mind had a very cunning purpose, for, you will recollect, if Rosapina tasted a morsel of food in his dominions, she would never afterwards be at liberty to quit them. No, indeed, said Rosapina, your head-cook is always baking and stewing and roasting and rolling out paced, and contriving one dish or another which he imagines may be to my liking. But he made 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 a garden. When Pluto heard this, he began to see that he had mistaken the best method of tempting Rosapina to eat. The cooks made dishes and artificial dainties were not half so delicious, in the good child's opinion, as a 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 fruit 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 not to be worth eating. Nevertheless, since there was no better to be heard, he brought this dry old wizard pomegranate home to the palace, put it on a magnificent golden salver, and carried it up to Rosapina. 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 Rosapina away from King Pluto. As soon as Rosapina 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 a wise and pomegranate upon it, and left the room. When he was gone, Rosapina could not help coming close to the table, and looking at this poor specimen of dried fruit with a great deal of eagerness, forward to save the truth, on seeing something of that suit at her taste, she felt all the six months' appetite taking possession of her at once. To be sure, it was a very ratchet-looking pomegranate, and seemed to have no more juice in it than an oyster shell, that 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 Rosapina. So she took up the pomegranate, and applied it to her nose, and, somehow or other, being such close neighbourhood to her mouth, the fruit found its way into the little red cave. Dear me, what an everlasting pity! Before Rosapina 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, Rosapina withdrew the pomegranate from her mouth, but Quicksilver, whose eyes were very keen, and his wits of the sharpest that ever anybody had, perceived that a child was a little confused, and, seeing the empty salver, he suspected that she had been taking a sly nibble of something rather. As for Honest Pluto, he never guessed at the secret. My little Rosapina set 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 and my dominions. And to confess the truth, I myself had already reflected, that it was an unjustifiable act to take your way 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, that I am not of the most cheerful disposition on that, and therefore it was a natural thing enough to seek for the society of some mario creature than myself. I hoped you would take my crown for a plaything, and me, you laugh, nor do you Rosapina, me gremors I am for a playmate. It was a silly expectation. Not so extremely silly, whispered Rosapina. 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 does keep present, and to 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. And it is now six months since you tasted food. I give you your liberty. Go with Quixel, the hasten home to your dear mother. Now, although you may not have supposed it, Rosapina 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 jealous the great palace would seem to him, with all its ugly glare of artificial light, after she herself is 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 Minds, had not Quixel the Harrito away. Come along quickly, whispered he in her ear, or his smudges he may change his royal mind, and take care above all things that you say nothing of what was brought you on the golden silver. In a very short time they had passed the great gateway, leaving the three-headed Cerberus barking and yelping and growling with the three-fold din behind them, and emerged upon the surface of the earth. It was delightful, to behold, as Rosapina 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 vine had scushed up along the wayside, the grass and the grain began to sprout with tenfold figure and luxuriance to make up for the dreary months that had been wasted in baroness. The staffed cattle immediately set to work raising 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, and they found the summer coming upon them with such a rush, nor must I forget to say, that all the birds and 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, which would have kept burning till my child came back. Lifting her eyes, she was surprised to see a sudden verge of 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 to 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 Prosopina came running, and flung herself upon a 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 of 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 Prosopina. My child, said she, did you taste any food while you were in King Plutus' palace? Dearest mother, exclaimed Prosopina, 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 pomegranate, a very dry one it was, and all shriveled up, till there was little left of it but seeds and skin. And having seen no fruit for so long a time, and being feigned with hunger, I was tempted just to bite it. The instant I tasted it, King Plutus in 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 bend one month of every year in King Plutus' 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 Plutus, said Prosopina, kissing her mother. He had some very good qualities, and I really think I can bear dispensing 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 the spirits to have a little girl to run upstairs and down. There is some comfort to making him so happy, and so upon the hoarder's mother, let us be thankful that he is not to keep me the whole year round. End of part three of the pomegranate seed. When Jason, the son of the dethroned King of Yolkas, was a little boy, he was sent away from his parents, and placed under the queerest schoolmaster that you ever heard of. This learned person was one of the people, or quadrupeds, called centaurs. He lived in a cavern and had the body and legs of a white horse, with the head and shoulders of a man. His name was Chiron, and in spite of his odd appearance, he was a very excellent teacher, and had several scholars, who afterwards did him credit by making a great figure in the world. The famous Hercules was one, so was Achilles, Enphyloctides likewise, and Escopales, who acquired immense repute as a doctor. The good Chiron taught his pupils how to play upon the harp, and how to cure diseases, and how to use the sword and shield, together with various other branches of education, in which the lads of those days used to be instructed instead of writing an arithmetic. I have sometimes suspected that Master Chiron was not really very different from the other people, but that, being a kind-hearted and merry old fellow, he was in the habit of making believe that he was a horse, and scrambling about the schoolroom on all fours, and letting the little boys ride upon his back. And so, when his scholars had grown up and grown old, and were trotting their grandchildren on their knees, they told him about the sports of their school days, and these young folks took the idea that their grandfathers had been taught their letters by a centaur, half man, half horse. Little children, not quite understanding what is said to them, often get such absurd notions into their head, you know. Be that as it may, it has always been told for a fact, and always will be told, as long as the world lasts, that Chiron was the head of a schoolmaster, had the body and legs of a horse. Just imagine the grave old gentleman clattering and stamping into the schoolroom on his four hooves. Perhaps treading on some little fellow's toes, flourishing his switched tail instead of a rod, and now and then trotting out the doors to eat a mouthful of grass. I wonder what the blacksmith charged him for a set of iron shoes. So Jason dwelt in the cave, with his four-footed Chiron, from the time that he was an infant, only a few months old, until he had grown to the full height of a man. He became a very good harper, I suppose, and skillful in the use of weapons, and tolerably acquainted with herbs and other doctor stuff, and above all an admirable horseman. For, in teaching young people to ride, the good Chiron must have been without a rival among schoolmasters. At length, being now a tall and athletic youth, Jason resolved to seek his fortune in the world, without asking Chiron's advice or telling him anything about the matter. This was very unwise to be sure, and I hope none of you, my little hearers, will ever follow Jason's example. But you are to understand he had heard now that he himself was a prince royal, and how his father, King Jason, had been deprived of the kingdom of Yolkos by a certain Peleus, who would have also killed Jason had he not been hidden in the centaur's cave. And, being come to the strength of a man, Jason determined to set all this business to rights, and to punish the wicked Peleus for wronging his dear father, and to cast him down from the throne and seat himself there instead. With this intention he took a spear in each hand, and threw a leopard's skin over his shoulders to keep off the rain, and set forth on his travels, with his long yellow ringlets waving in the wind. The part of his dress, on which he most prided himself, was a pair of sandals that had been his father's. They were handsomely embroidered, and were tied upon his feet with strings of gold. But his whole attire was such as people did not very often see, and as he passed along the women and children ran to the doors and windows, wondering whether this beautiful youth was journeying, with his leopard's skin and his gold-tied sandals, and what heroic deeds he meant to perform, with a spear in his right hand and another in his left. I know not how far Jason had traveled when he came to a turbulent river, which rushed right across his pathway, with specks of white foam among its black eddies, hurrying tumultuously onward, and roaring angrily as it went. Though not a very broad river, in the dry seasons of the year, it was now swollen by heavy rains, and by the melting of the snows on the sides of Mount Olympus, and it thundered so loudly, and looked so wild and dangerous, that Jason, bold as he was, thought it prudent to pause upon the brink. The bed of the stream seemed to be strewn with sharp and rugged rocks, some of which thrust themselves above the water. By and by, an uprooted tree with shattered branches came drifting along the current, and got entangled among the rocks. Now and then, a drowned sheep, and once the carcass of a cow floated past. In short, the swollen river had already done a great deal of mischief. It was evidently too deep for Jason to wade, and too boisterous for him to swim. He could see no bridge, and ask for a boat, had there been any. The rocks would have broken it into pieces in an instant. See the poor lad, said a cracked voice close to his side. He must have had but a poor education, since he does not know how to cross a little stream like this. Or is he afraid of wetting his fine golden stringed sandals? It is a pity his four-footed schoolmaster is not here to carry him safely across on his back. Jason looked around, greatly surprised, for he did not know that anybody was near. But beside him stood an old woman, with a ragged mantle over her head, leaning on a staff, the top of which was carved into the shape of a cuckoo. She looked very aged, and wrinkled, and infirm, and yet her eyes, which were as brown as those of an ox, were so extremely large and beautiful, that when they were fixed on Jason's eyes, he could see nothing else but them. The old woman had a pomegranate in her hand, although the fruit was then quite out of season. "'Wither are you going, Jason?' she now asked. She seemed to know his name, you will observe, and a deed those great brown eyes looked as if they had a knowledge of everything, whether past or to come. While Jason was gazing at her, a peacock strutted forward, and took his stand at the old woman's side. "'I am going to Yolkus,' answered the young man, to bid the wicked King Pellius come down from my father's throne, and let me reign in his stead. "'Ah, well then,' said the old woman, still with the same cracked voice. If that is all your business, you need not be in a very great hurry. Just take me on your back. There is a good youth, and carry me across the river. I and my peacock have something to do on the other side, as well as yourself.' "'Good mother,' replied Jason, your business can hardly be so important as the pulling down a King from his throne. Besides, as you may see for yourself, the river is very boisterous, and if I should chance to stumble it would sweep both of us away more easily than it carried off your under uprooted tree. I would gladly help you if I could, but I doubt whether I am strong enough to carry you across.' "'Then,' she said she, very scornfully, neither are you strong enough to pull King Pellius off his throne, and Jason, unless you will help an old woman at her need, you ought not to be a king. What are kings made for, save to secour the feeble and distressed? But do as you please. Either take me on your back, or with my poor old limbs, I shall try my best to struggle across the stream.' Saying this the old woman poked with her staff at the river, as if to find the safest place in its rocky bed where she might make the first step. But Jason, by this time, had grown ashamed of his reluctance to help her. He felt that he could never forgive himself if this poor feeble creature should come to any harm in attempting to wrestle against the headlong current. The good Chiron, whether half-horse or no, had taught him that the noblest use of his strength was to assist the weak, and also that he must treat every young woman as if she were his sister, and every old one like a mother. Remembering these maxims, the vigorous and beautiful young man knelt down and requested the good dame to mount his back. "'The passage seems to me not very safe,' he remarked, but as your business is so urgent, I will try to carry you across. If the river sweeps you away, it shall take me too.' That, no doubt, will be a great comfort to both of us,' quote the old woman. "'But never fear, we shall get safely across.' So she threw her arms around Jason's neck, and lifting her from the ground, he stepped boldly into the raging and foaming current, and began to stagger away from the shore. As for the peacock, it alighted on the old dame's shoulders. Jason's two spears, one in each hand, kept him from stumbling and enabled him to feel his way among the hidden rocks. Although every instant he expected that his companion and himself would go down the stream, together with the driftwood of shattered trees and the carcasses of the sheep and the cow. Down came the cold, snowy torrent from the steep side of Olympus, raging and thundering as if it had a real spite against Jason, or at all events were determined to snatch off his living burden from his shoulders. When he was half way across the uprooted tree, which I have already told you about, broke loose from among the rocks and bore down upon him. With all its splintered branches sticking out like a hundred arms of the King Briarius, it rushed past, however, without touching him. But the next moment his foot was caught in a crevice between two rocks, and stuck there so fast that, in the effort to get free, he lost one of his golden stringed sandals. At this accident Jason could not help uttering a cry of excation. What is the matter, Jason? asked the old woman. Matter enough, said the young man, I have lost a sandal here among the rocks, and what sort of figure shall I cut at the court of King Pellius with a golden string sandal on one foot and the other foot bare? Do not take it to heart, answered his companion cheerily. You never met with better fortune than in losing that sandal. It satisfies me that you are the very person whom the speaking oak has been talking about. There was no time just then to inquire what the speaking oak had said, but the bristness of her tone encouraged the young man, and besides, he had never in his life felt so vigorous and mighty as since taking this old woman on his back. Instead of being exhausted, he gathered strength as he went on, and, struggling up against the torrent, he at last gained the opposite shore, clambered up the bank, and set down the old dame and her peacock safely on the grass. As soon as this was done, however, he could not help looking rather despondently at his bare foot, with only a remnant of the golden string of the sandal clinging around his ankle. You will get a handsome repair of sandals by and by, said the old woman, with a kindly look out of her beautiful brown eyes. Only let King Pellius get a glimpse of that bare foot, and you shall see him turned as pale as ashes. I promise you, there is your path. Go along, my good Jason, and my blessing. Go with you. And when you sit on your throne remember the old woman whom you helped over the river. With these words she hobbled away, giving him a smile over her shoulder as she departed. Whether the light of her beautiful brown eyes threw a glory around about her, or whatever the cause might be, Jason fancied that there was something very noble and majestic in her figure, after all, and that, though her gates seemed to be arithmetic and hobble, yet she moved with as much grace and dignity as any queen on earth. Her peacock, which had now fluttered down from her shoulder, strutted behind her in a ridiculous pomp, and spread out its magnificent tail on purpose for Jason to admire it. When the old dame and her peacock were out of sight, Jason set forward on his journey. After travelling a pretty long distance, he came to a town situated at the foot of a mountain, and not a great way from the shore of the sea. On the outside of the town there was an immense crowd of people, not only men and women, but children, too, all in their best clothes and evidently enjoying a holiday. The crowd was thickest towards the sea shore, and in that direction, over the people's heads, Jason saw a wreath of smoke curling upward to the blue sky. He inquired of one in the multitude what town it was nearby, and why so many persons were here assembled together. This is the kingdom of Yelkes, answered the man, and we are the subjects of King Pellius. Our monarch has summoned us together, that we may see him sacrifice a black bull to Neptune, who they say is his majesty's father. Yonder is the king, where you see the smoke going up from the altar. While the man spoke, he eyed Jason with great curiosity, for his garb was quite unlike that of the Yelkeans. And it looked very odd to see a youth, with a leopard skin, over his shoulder, and each hand grasping a spear. Jason perceived this, too, that the man stared particularly at his feet, one of which, you remember, was there, while the other was decorated with his father's golden-stringed sandal. Look at him, only look at him, said the man to his next neighbor. Do you see he wears but one sandal. Upon this, first one person, and then another, began to stare at Jason, and everybody seemed to be greatly struck with something in his aspect, though they turned their eyes much oftener toward his feet than to any other part of his figure, besides he could hear them whispering to one another. One sandal, one sandal, they kept saying, the man with one sandal, here he is at last. Once has he come, what does he mean to do? What will the king say to the one sandaled man? Poor Jason was greatly abashed, and made up his mind that the people of Yulcos were exceedingly ill-bred to take such public notice of an accidental deficiency in his dress. Meanwhile, whether it were that they hustled him forward, or that Jason of his own accord thrust a passage through the crowd, it so happened that he soon found himself close to the smoking altar where King Pilius was sacrificing the black bull, the murmur and hum of the multitude in their surprise of the spectacle of Jason, with his one bare foot grew so loud that it disturbed the ceremonies, and the king, holding the great knife with which he was just going to cut the bull's throat, turned angrily about and fixed his eyes on Jason. The people had now withdrawn from him, so that the youth stood in open space near the smoking altar, front to front with the angry King Pilius. Who are you, cried the king, with a terrible frown, and how dare you make this disturbance while I am sacrificing a black bull to my father Neptune? It is no fault of mine, answered Jason. Your majesty must blame the rudeness of your subjects, who have raised all this to molt because one of my feet happens to be bare. When Jason said this, the king gave a quick startled glance down at his feet. Ha! muttered he. Here is the one sandaled fellow, sure enough. What can I do with him? And he clutched more closely the great knife in his hand, as if you were half a mind to slay Jason instead of the black bull. The people round about caught up the king's words indistinctly as they were uttered, and at first there was a murmur among them, and then allowed shout. The one sandaled man has come! The prophecy must be fulfilled. For you are to know that many years before King Pilius had been told by the speaking oak of Dodana that a man with one sandal should cast him down from his throne. On this account he had given strict orders that nobody should ever come to his presence, unless both sandals were securely tied upon his feet, and he kept an officer in his palace, whose sole business it was to examine people's sandals, and to supply them with a new pair at the expense of the royal treasury, as soon as the old ones began to wear out. In the whole course of the king's reign he had never been thrown into such a fright and agitation as by the spectacle of poor Jason's bare foot. But as he was naturally a bold and hard-hearted man, he soon took courage and began to consider in what way he might rid himself of this terrible one-sandaled stranger. My good young man, said King Pilius, taking the softest tone imaginable, in order to throw Jason off his guard, you are excessively welcome to my kingdom. Judging by your dress you must have traveled a long distance, for it is not the fashion to wear leopard skins in this part of the world. Pray, what may I call your name? And where did you receive your education? My name is Jason, answered the young stranger. Ever since my infancy I have dwelt in the cave of Chiron the centaur. He was my instructor and taught me music and horsemanship, and how to cure wounds, and likewise how to inflict wounds with my weapons. I have heard of Chiron the schoolmaster, replied King Pilius, and how there is an immense deal of learning and wisdom in his head, although it happens to be set on a force's body, it gives me great delight to see one of his scholars at my court. But to test how much you have profited under so excellent a teacher, will you allow me to ask you a single question? I do not pretend to be very wise, said Jason, but ask me what you please, and I will answer to the best of my ability. Now King Pilius meant cunningly to entrap the young man and to make him say something that should be the cause of mischief and distraction to himself. So with a crafty and evil smile upon his face he spoke as follows. What would you do, brave Jason, asked he, if there were a man in the world by whom, as you had reason to believe, you were doomed to be ruined and slain. What would you do, I say, if that man stood before you and in your power? When Jason saw the malice and wickedness which King Pilius could not prevent from gleaming out of his eyes, he probably guessed that the king had discovered what he came for, and that he intended to turn his own words against himself. Still, he is scorned to tell a falsehood. Like an upright and honorable prince as he was, he determined to speak out the real truth. Since the king had chosen to ask him the question, and since Jason had promised him an answer, there was no right way, safe to tell him precisely what would be the most prudent thing to do, if he had his worst enemy in his power. Therefore, after a moment's consideration, he spoke up with a firm and manly voice. I would send such a man, said he, in quest of the Golden Fleece. End of part one, The Golden Fleece.