on second thoughts, to catch at the opportunity of proving to Mr.
Pringle what an excellent faculty he had in modernizing the myths of
ancient times. Until twenty years of age, a young man may, indeed, be
rather bashful about showing his poetry and his prose; but, for all
that, he is pretty apt to think that these very productions would place
him at the tip-top of literature, if once they could be known.
Accordingly, without much more resistance, Eustace suffered Primrose and
Periwinkle to drag him into the drawing-room.
It was a large, handsome apartment, with a semicircular window at one
end, in the recess of which stood a marble copy of Greenough's Angel and
Child. On one side of the fireplace there were many shelves of books,
gravely but richly bound. The white light of the astral-lamp, and the
red glow of the bright coal-fire, made the room brilliant and cheerful;
and before the fire, in a deep arm-chair, sat Mr. Pringle, looking just
fit to be seated in such a chair, and in such a room. He was a tall and
quite a handsome gentleman, with a bald brow; and was always so nicely
dressed, that even Eustace Bright never liked to enter his presence
without at least pausing at the threshold to settle his shirt-collar.
But now, as Primrose had hold of one of his hands, and Periwinkle of the
other, he was forced to make his appearance with a rough-and-tumble sort
of look, as if he had been rolling all day in a snow-bank. And so he
had.
Mr. Pringle turned towards the student benignly enough, but in a way
that made him feel how uncombed and unbrushed he was, and how uncombed
and unbrushed, likewise, were his mind and thoughts.
"Eustace," said Mr. Pringle, with a smile, "I find that you are
producing a great sensation among the little public of Tanglewood, by
the exercise of your gifts of narrative. Primrose here, as the little
folks choose to call her, and the rest of the children, have been so
loud in praise of your stories, that Mrs. Pringle and myself are really
curious to hear a specimen. It would be so much the more gratifying to
myself, as the stories appear to be an attempt to render the fables of
classical antiquity into the idiom of modern fancy and feeling. At
least, so I judge from a few of the incidents which have come to me at
second hand."
"You are not exactly the auditor that I should have chosen, sir,"
observed the student, "for fantasies of this nature."
"Possibly not," replied Mr. Pringle. "I suspect, however, that a young
author's most useful critic is precisely the one whom he would be least
apt to choose. Pray oblige me, therefore."
"Sympathy, methinks, should have some little share in the critic's
qualifications," murmured Eustace Bright. "However, sir, if you will
find patience, I will find stories. But be kind enough to remember that
I am addressing myself to the imagination and sympathies of the
children, not to your own."
Accordingly, the student snatched hold of the first theme which
presented itself. It was suggested by a plate of apples that he happened
to spy on the mantelpiece.
The Three Golden Apples
Did you ever hear of the golden apples, that grew in the garden of the
Hesperides? Ah, those were such apples as would bring a great price, by
the bushel, if any of them could be found growing in the orchards of
nowadays! But there is not, I suppose, a graft of that wonderful fruit
on a single tree in the wide world. Not so much as a seed of those
apples exists any longer.
And, even in the old, old, half-forgotten times, before the garden of
the Hesperides was overrun with weeds, a great many people doubted
whether there could be real trees that bore apples of solid gold upon
their branches. All had heard of them, but nobody remembered to have
seen any. Children, nevertheless, used to listen, open-mouthed, to
stories of the golden apple-tree, and resolved to discover it, when they
should be big enough. Adventurous young men, who desired to do a braver
thing than any of their fellows, set out in quest of this fruit. Many of
them returned no more; none of them brought back the apples. No wonder
that they found it impossible to gather them! It is said that there was
a dragon beneath the tree, with a hundred terrible heads, fifty of which
were always on the watch, while the other fifty slept.
In my opinion it was hardly worth running so much risk for the sake of a
solid golden apple. Had the apples been sweet, mellow, and juicy, indeed
that would be another matter. There might then have been some sense in
trying to get at them, in spite of the hundred-headed dragon.
But, as I have already told you, it was quite a common thing with young
persons, when tired of too much peace and rest, to go in search of the
garden of the Hesperides. And once the adventure was undertaken by a
hero who had enjoyed very little peace or rest since he came into the
world. At the time of which I am going to speak, he was wandering
through the pleasant land of Italy, with a mighty club in his hand, and
a bow and quiver slung across his shoulders. He was wrapt in the skin of
the biggest and fiercest lion that ever had been seen, and which he
himself had killed; and though, on the whole, he was kind, and generous,
and noble, there was a good deal of the lion's fierceness in his heart.
As he went on his way, he continually inquired whether that were the
right road to the famous garden. But none of the country people knew
anything about the matter, and many looked as if they would have laughed
at the question, if the stranger had not carried so very big a club.
So he journeyed on and on, still making the same inquiry, until, at
last, he came to the brink of a river where some beautiful young women
sat twining wreaths of flowers.
"Can you tell me, pretty maidens," asked the stranger, "whether this is
the right way to the garden of the Hesperides?"
The young women had been having a fine time together, weaving the
flowers into wreaths, and crowning one another's heads. And there seemed
to be a kind of magic in the touch of their fingers, that made the
flowers more fresh and dewy, and of brighter hues, and sweeter
fragrance, while they played with them, than even when they had been
growing on their native stems. But, on hearing the stranger's question,
they dropped all their flowers on the grass, and gazed at him with
astonishment.
"The garden of the Hesperides!" cried one. "We thought mortals had been
weary of seeking it, after so many disappointments. And pray,
adventurous traveller, what do you want there?"
[Illustration: ATLAS]
"A certain king, who is my cousin," replied he, "has ordered me to get
him three of the golden apples."
"Most of the young men who go in quest of these apples," observed
another of the damsels, "desire to obtain them for themselves, or to
present them to some fair maiden whom they love. Do you, then, love this
king, your cousin, so very much?"
"Perhaps not," replied the stranger, sighing. "He has often been severe
and cruel to me. But it is my destiny to obey him."
"And do you know," asked the damsel who had first spoken, "that a
terrible dragon, with a hundred heads, keeps watch under the golden
apple-tree?"
"I know it well," answered the stranger, calmly. "But, from my cradle
upwards, it has been my business, and almost my pastime, to deal with
serpents and dragons."
The young women looked at his massive club, and at the shaggy lion's
skin which he wore, and likewise at his heroic limbs and figure; and
they whispered to each other that the stranger appeared to be one who
might reasonably expect to perform deeds far beyond the might of other
men. But, then, the dragon with a hundred heads! What mortal, even if he
possessed a hundred lives, could hope to escape the fangs of such a
monster? So kind-hearted were the maidens, that they could not bear to
see this brave and handsome traveller attempt what was so very
dangerous, and devote himself, most probably, to become a meal for the
dragon's hundred ravenous mouths.
"Go back," cried they all,--"go back to your own home! Your mother,
beholding you safe and sound, will shed tears of joy; and what can she
do more, should you win ever so great a victory? No matter for the
golden apples! No matter for the king, your cruel cousin! We do not wish
the dragon with the hundred heads to eat you up!"
The stranger seemed to grow impatient at these remonstrances. He
carelessly lifted his mighty club, and let it fall upon a rock that lay
half buried in the earth, near by. With the force of that idle blow, the
great rock was shattered all to pieces. It cost the stranger no more
effort to achieve this feat of a giant's strength than for one of the
young maidens to touch her sister's rosy cheek with a flower.
"Do you not believe," said he, looking at the damsels with a smile,
"that such a blow would have crushed one of the dragon's hundred heads?"
Then he sat down on the grass, and told them the story of his life, or
as much of it as he could remember, from the day when he was first
cradled in a warrior's brazen shield. While he lay there, two immense
serpents came gliding over the floor, and opened their hideous jaws to
devour him; and he, a baby of a few months old, had griped one of the
fierce snakes in each of his little fists, and strangled them to death.
When he was but a stripling, he had killed a huge lion, almost as big as
the one whose vast and shaggy hide he now wore upon his shoulders. The
next thing that he had done was to fight a battle with an ugly sort of
monster, called a hydra, which had no less than nine heads, and
exceedingly sharp teeth in every one.
"But the dragon of the Hesperides, you know," observed one of the
damsels, "has a hundred heads!"
"Nevertheless," replied the stranger, "I would rather fight two such
dragons than a single hydra. For, as fast as I cut off a head, two
others grew in its place; and, besides, there was one of the heads that
could not possibly be killed, but kept biting as fiercely as ever, long
after it was cut off. So I was forced to bury it under a stone, where it
is doubtless alive to this very day. But the hydra's body, and its eight
other heads, will never do any further mischief."
The damsels, judging that the story was likely to last a good while, had
been preparing a repast of bread and grapes, that the stranger might
refresh himself in the intervals of his talk. They took pleasure in
helping him to this simple food; and, now and then, one of them would
put a sweet grape between her rosy lips, lest it should make him bashful
to eat alone.
The traveller proceeded to tell how he had chased a very swift stag, for
a twelvemonth together, without ever stopping to take breath, and had at
last caught it by the antlers, and carried it home alive. And he had
fought with a very odd race of people, half horses and half men, and had
put them all to death, from a sense of duty, in order that their ugly
figures might never be seen any more. Besides all this, he took to
himself great credit for having cleaned out a stable.
"Do you call that a wonderful exploit?" asked one of the young maidens,
with a smile. "Any clown in the country has done as much!"
"Had it been an ordinary stable," replied the stranger, "I should not
have mentioned it. But this was so gigantic a task that it would have
taken me all my life to perform it, if I had not luckily thought of
turning the channel of a river through the stable-door. That did the
business in a very short time!"
Seeing how earnestly his fair auditors listened, he next told them how
he had shot some monstrous birds, and had caught a wild bull alive and
let him go again, and had tamed a number of very wild horses, and had
conquered Hippolyta, the warlike queen of the Amazons. He mentioned,
likewise, that he had taken off Hippolyta's enchanted girdle, and had
given it to the daughter of his cousin, the king.
"Was it the girdle of Venus," inquired the prettiest of the damsels,
"which makes women beautiful?"
"No," answered the stranger. "It had formerly been the sword-belt of
Mars; and it can only make the wearer valiant and courageous."
"An old sword-belt!" cried the damsel, tossing her head. "Then I should
not care about having it!"
"You are right," said the stranger.
Going on with his wonderful narrative, he informed the maidens that as
strange an adventure as ever happened was when he fought with Geryon,
the six-legged man. This was a very odd and frightful sort of figure, as
you may well believe. Any person, looking at his tracks in the sand or
snow, would suppose that three sociable companions had been walking
along together. On hearing his footsteps at a little distance, it was no
more than reasonable to judge that several people must be coming. But it
was only the strange man Geryon clattering onward, with his six legs!
Six legs, and one gigantic body! Certainly, he must have been a very
queer monster to look at; and, my stars, what a waste of shoe-leather!
When the stranger had finished the story of his adventures, he looked
around at the attentive faces of the maidens.
"Perhaps you may have heard of me before," said he, modestly. "My name
is Hercules!"
"We had already guessed it," replied the maidens; "for your wonderful
deeds are known all over the world. We do not think it strange, any
longer, that you should set out in quest of the golden apples of the
Hesperides. Come, sisters, let us crown the hero with flowers!"
Then they flung beautiful wreaths over his stately head and mighty
shoulders, so that the lion's skin was almost entirely covered with
roses. They took possession of his ponderous club, and so entwined it
about with the brightest, softest, and most fragrant blossoms, that not
a finger's breadth of its oaken substance could be seen. It looked all
like a huge bunch of flowers. Lastly, they joined hands, and danced
around him, chanting words which became poetry of their own accord, and
grew into a choral song, in honor of the illustrious Hercules.
And Hercules was rejoiced, as any other hero would have been, to know
that these fair young girls had heard of the valiant deeds which it had
cost him so much toil and danger to achieve. But, still, he was not
satisfied. He could not think that what he had already done was worthy
of so much honor, while there remained any bold or difficult adventure
to be undertaken.
"Dear maidens," said he, when they paused to take breath, "now that you
know my name, will you not tell me how I am to reach the garden of the
Hesperides?"
"Ah! must you go so soon?" they exclaimed. "You--that have performed so
many wonders, and spent such a toilsome life--cannot you content
yourself to repose a little while on the margin of this peaceful river?"
Hercules shook his head.
"I must depart now," said he.
"We will then give you the best directions we can," replied the damsels.
"You must go to the sea-shore, and find out the Old One, and compel him
to inform you where the golden apples are to be found."
"The Old One!" repeated Hercules, laughing at this odd name. "And, pray,
who may the Old One be?"
"Why, the Old Man of the Sea, to be sure!" answered one of the damsels.
"He has fifty daughters, whom some people call very beautiful; but we do
not think it proper to be acquainted with them, because they have
sea-green hair, and taper away like fishes. You must talk with this Old
Man of the Sea. He is a sea-faring person, and knows all about the
garden of the Hesperides; for it is situated in an island which he is
often in the habit of visiting."
Hercules then asked whereabouts the Old One was most likely to be met
with. When the damsels had informed him, he thanked them for all their
kindness,--for the bread and grapes with which they had fed him, the
lovely flowers with which they had crowned him, and the songs and dances
wherewith they had done him honor,--and he thanked them, most of all,
for telling him the right way,--and immediately set forth upon his
journey.
But, before he was out of hearing, one of the maidens called after him.
"Keep fast hold of the Old One, when you catch him!" cried she, smiling,
and lifting her finger to make the caution more impressive. "Do not be
astonished at anything that may happen. Only hold him fast, and he will
tell you what you wish to know."
Hercules again thanked her, and pursued his way, while the maidens
resumed their pleasant labor of making flower-wreaths. They talked about
the hero, long after he was gone.
"We will crown him with the loveliest of our garlands," said they, "when
he returns hither with the three golden apples, after slaying the dragon
with a hundred heads."
Meanwhile, Hercules travelled constantly onward, over hill and dale, and
through the solitary woods. Sometimes he swung his club aloft, and
splintered a mighty oak with a downright blow. His mind was so full of
the giants and monsters with whom it was the business of his life to
fight, that perhaps he mistook the great tree for a giant or a monster.
And so eager was Hercules to achieve what he had undertaken, that he
almost regretted to have spent so much time with the damsels, wasting
idle breath upon the story of his adventures. But thus it always is with
persons who are destined to perform great things. What they have already
done seems less than nothing. What they have taken in hand to do seems
worth toil, danger, and life itself.
Persons who happened to be passing through the forest must have been
affrighted to see him smite the trees with his great club. With but a
single blow, the trunk was riven as by the stroke of lightning, and the
broad boughs came rustling and crashing down.
Hastening forward, without ever pausing or looking behind, he by and by
heard the sea roaring at a distance. At this sound, he increased his
speed, and soon came to a beach, where the great surf-waves tumbled
themselves upon the hard sand, in a long line of snowy foam. At one end
of the beach, however, there was a pleasant spot, where some green
shrubbery clambered up a cliff, making its rocky face look soft and
beautiful. A carpet of verdant grass, largely intermixed with
sweet-smelling clover, covered the narrow space between the bottom of
the cliff and the sea. And what should Hercules espy there, but an old
man, fast asleep!
But was it really and truly an old man? Certainly, at first sight, it
looked very like one; but, on closer inspection, it rather seemed to be
some kind of a creature that lived in the sea. For, on his legs and arms
there were scales, such as fishes have; he was web-footed and
web-fingered, after the fashion of a duck; and his long beard, being of
a greenish tinge, had more the appearance of a tuft of sea-weed than of
an ordinary beard. Have you never seen a stick of timber, that has been
long tossed about by the waves, and has got all overgrown with
barnacles, and, at last drifting ashore, seems to have been thrown up
from the very deepest bottom of the sea? Well, the old man would have
put you in mind of just such a wave-tost spar! But Hercules, the instant
he set eyes on this strange figure, was convinced that it could be no
other than the Old One, who was to direct him on his way.
Yes, it was the selfsame Old Man of the Sea whom the hospitable maidens
had talked to him about. Thanking his stars for the lucky accident of
finding the old fellow asleep, Hercules stole on tiptoe towards him, and
caught him by the arm and leg.
"Tell me," cried he, before the Old One was well awake, "which is the
way to the garden of the Hesperides?"
As you may easily imagine, the Old Man of the Sea awoke in a fright.
But his astonishment could hardly have been greater than was that of
Hercules, the next moment. For, all of a sudden, the Old One seemed to
disappear out of his grasp, and he found himself holding a stag by the
fore and hind leg! But still he kept fast hold. Then the stag
disappeared, and in its stead there was a sea-bird, fluttering and
screaming, while Hercules clutched it by the wing and claw! But the bird
could not get away. Immediately afterwards, there was an ugly
three-headed dog, which growled and barked at Hercules, and snapped
fiercely at the hands by which he held him! But Hercules would not let
him go. In another minute, instead of the three-headed dog, what should
appear but Geryon, the six-legged man-monster, kicking at Hercules with
five of his legs, in order to get the remaining one at liberty! But
Hercules held on. By and by, no Geryon was there, but a huge snake, like
one of those which Hercules had strangled in his babyhood, only a
hundred times as big; and it twisted and twined about the hero's neck
and body, and threw its tail high into the air, and opened its deadly
jaws as if to devour him outright; so that it was really a very terrible
spectacle! But Hercules was no whit disheartened, and squeezed the great
snake so tightly that he soon began to hiss with pain.
You must understand that the Old Man of the Sea, though he generally
looked so much like the wave-beaten figure-head of a vessel, had the
power of assuming any shape he pleased. When he found himself so roughly
seized by Hercules, he had been in hopes of putting him into such
surprise and terror, by these magical transformations, that the hero
would be glad to let him go. If Hercules had relaxed his grasp, the Old
One would certainly have plunged down to the very bottom of the sea,
whence he would not soon have given himself the trouble of coming up, in
order to answer any impertinent questions. Ninety-nine people out of a
hundred, I suppose, would have been frightened out of their wits by the
very first of his ugly shapes, and would have taken to their heels at
once. For, one of the hardest things in this world is, to see the
difference between real dangers and imaginary ones.
But, as Hercules held on so stubbornly, and only squeezed the Old One so
much the tighter at every change of shape, and really put him to no
small torture, he finally thought it best to reappear in his own figure.
So there he was again, a fishy, scaly, web-footed sort of personage,
with something like a tuft of sea-weed at his chin.
"Pray, what do you want with me?" cried the Old One, as soon as he could
take breath; for it is quite a tiresome affair to go through so many
false shapes. "Why do you squeeze me so hard? Let me go, this moment, or
I shall begin to consider you an extremely uncivil person!"
"My name is Hercules!" roared the mighty stranger. "And you will never
get out of my clutch, until you tell me the nearest way to the garden of
the Hesperides!"
When the old fellow heard who it was that had caught him, he saw, with
half an eye, that it would be necessary to tell him everything that he
wanted to know. The Old One was an inhabitant of the sea, you must
recollect, and roamed about everywhere, like other sea-faring people. Of
course, he had often heard of the fame of Hercules, and of the wonderful
things that he was constantly performing, in various parts of the earth,
and how determined he always was to accomplish whatever he undertook. He
therefore made no more attempts to escape, but told the hero how to find
the garden of the Hesperides, and likewise warned him of many
difficulties which must be overcome, before he could arrive thither.
"You must go on, thus and thus," said the Old Man of the Sea, after
taking the points of the compass, "till you come in sight of a very tall
giant, who holds the sky on his shoulders. And the giant, if he happens
to be in the humor, will tell you exactly where the garden of the
Hesperides lies."
"And if the giant happens not to be in the humor," remarked Hercules,
balancing his club on the tip of his finger, "perhaps I shall find means
to persuade him!"
Thanking the Old Man of the Sea, and begging his pardon for having
squeezed him so roughly, the hero resumed his journey. He met with a
great many strange adventures, which would be well worth your hearing,
if I had leisure to narrate them as minutely as they deserve.
It was in this journey, if I mistake not, that he encountered a
prodigious giant, who was so wonderfully contrived by nature, that,
every time he touched the earth, he became ten times as strong as ever
he had been before. His name was Antaeus. You may see, plainly enough,
that it was a very difficult business to fight with such a fellow; for,
as often as he got a knock-down blow, up he started again, stronger,
fiercer, and abler to use his weapons, than if his enemy had let him
alone. Thus, the harder Hercules pounded the giant with his club, the
further he seemed from winning the victory. I have sometimes argued with
such people, but never fought with one. The only way in which Hercules
found it possible to finish the battle, was by lifting Antaeus off his
feet into the air, and squeezing, and squeezing, and squeezing him,
until, finally, the strength was quite squeezed out of his enormous
body.