may as well lie down on a bank of soft sponge, under the water. The air
to-day is a little too dry for our comfort. But we will pop up our heads
every few minutes to see if you are coming."
The young Proserpina 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
her scream with delight. Never had she met with such exquisite flowers
before,--violets, so large and fragrant,--roses, with so rich and delicate
a blush,--such superb hyacinths and such aromatic pinks,--and many others,
some of which seemed to be of new shapes and colors. Two or three times,
moreover, 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. Proserpina's apron was soon
filled and brimming over with delightful blossoms. She was on the point of
turning back in order to rejoin the sea-nymphs, and sit with them on the
moist sands, all twining wreaths 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 Proserpina; 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 lustre on
the leaves of the shrub, and on the petals of the flowers, that made
Proserpina 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, taking 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 up her apron full of flowers with her left hand, Proserpina seized
the large shrub with the other, and pulled and pulled, but was hardly able
to loosen the soil about 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 for so childish a notion, she made another
effort; up came the shrub, and Proserpina staggered back, holding 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 depths, louder and
louder, and nearer and nearer, and sounding like the tramp of horses'
hoofs and the rattling of wheels. Too much frightened to run away, she
stood straining her eyes into this wonderful cavity, and soon saw a team
of four sable 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 manes, flourishing their black tails,
and curvetting with every one of their hoofs off the ground at once, close
by the spot where Proserpina stood. In the chariot sat the figure of a
man, richly dressed, with a crown on his head, all flaming with diamonds.
He was of a 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.
[Illustration: THEY LEAPED OUT OF THE BOTTOMLESS HOLE, CHARIOT AND ALL;
AND THERE THEY WERE TOSSING THEIR BLACK TAILS, AND CURVETTING WITH EVERY
ONE OF THEIR HOOFS OFF THE GROUND AT ONCE, CLOSE BY THE SPOT WHERE
PROSERPINA STOOD. IN THE CHARIOT SAT THE FIGURE OF A MAN]
As soon as this personage saw the affrighted Proserpina, he beckoned her
to come a little nearer.
"Do not be afraid," said he, with as cheerful a smile as he knew how to
put on. "Come! Will not you like to ride a little way with me, in my
beautiful chariot?"
But Proserpina was so alarmed that she 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
under ground as anything else. As is always the case with children in
trouble, Proserpina's first thought was to call for her mother.
"Mother, Mother Ceres!" cried she, all in a tremble. "Come quickly and
save me."
But her voice was too faint for her mother to hear. Indeed, it is most
probable that Ceres 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 within hearing; for no sooner did Proserpina begin to
cry out, than the stranger leaped to the ground, caught the child in his
arms, and again mounting the 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, Proserpina lost sight of the pleasant vale
of Enna, in which she had always dwelt. Another instant, and even the
summit of Mount Ætna 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 her apron 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 Ceres was a great way off, and could
not hear the cry.
As 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 you 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
gold and silver that lies under the earth belongs to me, to say nothing of
the copper and iron, and of the coal-mines, which supply 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 Proserpina. "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 there is
little or no sunshine thereabouts, 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," sobbed Proserpina. "Oh, my
mother, my mother! Carry me back to my mother!"
But King Pluto, as he called himself, only shouted to his steeds to go
faster.
"Pray do not be foolish, Proserpina," 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 treat 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 rooms with her smile. And this is what you must do for
King Pluto."
"Never!" answered Proserpina, looking as miserable as she could. "I shall
never smile again till you set me down at my mother's door."
But she might just as well have talked to the wind that whistled past
them; for Pluto urged on his horses, and went faster than ever. Proserpina
continued to cry out, and screamed so long and so loudly, that her poor
little voice was almost screamed away; and when it was nothing but a
whisper, she happened to cast her eyes over a great, broad field of waving
grain--and whom do you think she saw? Who, but Mother Ceres, making the
corn grow, and too busy to notice the golden chariot as it went rattling
along. The child mustered all her 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 crevices of the rocks had
very dismal foliage; 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
duskier it grew, the more did Pluto's visage assume an 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. Proserpina peeped at his face through the gathering 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 Proserpina. "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 that tall gateway before us? When we pass those
gates, we are at home. And there lies my faithful mastiff at the
threshold. Cerberus! Cerberus! Come hither, my good dog!"
So saying, Pluto pulled at the reins, and stopped the chariot right
between the tall, massive pillars of the gateway. The mastiff of which he
had spoken got up from the threshold, and stood on his hinder legs, so as
to put his forepaws on the chariot-wheel. But, my stars, what a strange
dog it was! Why, he was a big, rough, ugly-looking monster, with three
separate heads, and each of them fiercer than the two others; but, fierce
as 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 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
wagging his tail at a great rate. Proserpina's eyes being drawn to it by
its brisk motion, she saw that this tail was neither 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 fawning so lovingly on King Pluto,
there was the dragon tail wagging against its will, and looking as cross
and ill-natured as you can imagine, on its own separate account.
"Will the dog bite me?" asked Proserpina, shrinking closer to Pluto. "What
an ugly creature he is!"
"Oh, never fear," answered her companion. "He never harms people unless
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 Proserpina, 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 Proserpina'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 pick-axe 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 were here reckoned of
the meaner sort, and hardly worth a beggar's stooping for.
Not far from the gateway, they came to a bridge, which seemed to be built
of iron. Pluto stopped the chariot, and bade Proserpina 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 stagnate
than flow either one way or the other.
"This is the river Lethe," observed King Pluto. "Is it not a very pleasant
stream?" "I think it a very dismal one," said Proserpina. "It suits my
taste, however," answered Pluto, who was apt to be sullen when anybody
disagreed with him. "At all events, its water has one very excellent
quality; for 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
Proserpina, 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 goblet, the moment
we arrive."
"Oh, no, no, no!" cried Proserpina, weeping afresh. "I had a thousand
times rather be miserable with remembering my mother than be happy in
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 we will
have in my palace. Here we are just at the portal. These pillars are solid
gold, I assure you."
He alighted from the chariot, and taking Proserpina in his arms, carried
her up a lofty flight of steps into the great hall of the palace. It was
splendidly illuminated by means of large precious stones, of various hues,
which seemed to burn like so many lamps, and glowed with a hundred-fold
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 Proserpina
herself, a lovely child, with one earthly flower which she had not let
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 Proserpina, in order that he might have something to love, instead of
cheating his heart any longer with this tiresome magnificence. And, though
he pretended to dislike the sunshine of the upper world, yet the effect of
the child's presence, bedimmed as she was by her tears, was as if a faint
and 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
a most sumptuous banquet, and above all things, not to fail of setting a
golden beaker of the water of Lethe by Proserpina's plate.
"I will neither drink that nor anything else," said Proserpina. "Nor will
I taste a morsel of food, even if you keep me forever in your palace." on
the seashore, she hastened thither as fast as she could, and there beheld
the wet faces of the poor sea-nymphs 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 four heads above water, to see if
their playmate were yet coming back. When they saw Mother Ceres, they sat
down on the crest of the surf wave, and let it toss them ashore at her
feet.
"Where is Proserpina?" cried Ceres. "Where is my child? Tell me, you
naughty sea-nymphs, have you enticed her under the sea?"
"Oh, no, good Mother Ceres," said the innocent sea-nymphs, tossing back
their green ringlets, and looking her in the face. "We never should dream
of such a thing. Proserpina has been at play with us, it is true; but she
left us a long while ago, meaning only to run a little 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 nymphs had to say, before she
hurried off to make inquiries all through the neighborhood. But nobody
told her anything that could enable the poor mother to guess what had
become of Proserpina. 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 thunder; and one old woman, while plucking vervain 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 a torch, and set forth, resolving never to come
back until Proserpina was discovered.
In her haste and trouble of mind, she quite forgot her car and the winged
dragons; or, it may be, she thought that she could follow up the search
more thoroughly on foot. At all 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
gone far before she found one of the magnificent flowers which grew on the
shrub that Proserpina 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 the 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 Proserpina.
All night long, at the door of every cottage and farmhouse, Ceres knocked,
and called up the weary laborers to inquire if they had seen her child;
and they stood, gaping and half asleep, at the threshold, and answered her
pityingly, and besought her to come in and rest. At the portal of every
palace, too, she made so loud a summons that the menials hurried to throw
open the gate, thinking that it must be some great king or queen, who
would demand a banquet for supper and a stately chamber to repose in. And
when they saw only a sad and anxious woman, with a torch in her hand and a
wreath of withered poppies on her head, they spoke rudely, and sometimes
threatened to set the dogs upon her. But nobody had seen Proserpina, nor
could give Mother Ceres the least hint which way to seek her. Thus passed
the night; and still she continued her search without sitting down to
rest, or stopping to take food, or even remembering to put down 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 extinguished by the rain or wind, in
all the weary days and nights while Ceres was seeking for Proserpina.
It was not merely of human beings that she asked tidings of her daughter.
In the woods and by the streams, she met creatures of another nature, who
used, in 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 her finger
against the knotted trunk of a majestic oak; and immediately its rude bark
would cleave asunder, and forth would step a beautiful maiden, who was the
hamadryad of the oak, dwelling inside of it, and sharing its long life,
and rejoicing when its green leaves sported with the breeze. But not one
of these leafy damsels had seen Proserpina. Then, going a little farther,
Ceres would, perhaps, come to a fountain, gushing out of a pebbly hollow
in the earth, and would dabble with her hand in the water. Behold, up
through its 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 naiad, with weeping eyes (for these
water-nymphs 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 fauns, who looked like sunburnt country
people, except that they had hairy ears, and little horns upon their
foreheads, and the hinder legs of goats, on which they gamboled merrily
about the woods and fields. They were a frolicsome kind of creature, but
grew as sad as 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 satyrs, 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 satyrs! And
once, while crossing a solitary sheep 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 neither could Pan tell her what had become of Proserpina, any
better than the rest of these wild people.
And thus Mother Ceres went wandering about for nine long days and nights,
finding no trace of Proserpina, unless it were now and then a withered
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
traveled onward through the hot sun; and at night, again, the flame of the
torch would redden and gleam along the pathway, and she continued her
search by its light, without ever sitting down to rest.
On the tenth day, she chanced to espy 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 with all its melancholy glimmer. Ceres was resolved to
leave no spot without a search; 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 a dog's, 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 a person, who put all her enjoyment in being miserable,
and never would have a word 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 Hecate, were she ten times sadder than ever she was yet."
So she stepped into the cave, and sat down, on the withered leaves by the
dog-headed woman's side. In all the world, since her daughter's loss, she
had found no other companion.
"O Hecate." 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
Proserpina pass by the mouth of your cavern?"