been in the habit of going (as long as they were youthful, and retained
their faith in winged horses), in hopes of getting a glimpse at the
beautiful Pegasus. But, of late years, he had been very seldom seen.
Indeed, there were many of the country folks, dwelling within half an
hour's walk of the fountain, who had never beheld Pegasus, and did not
believe that there was any such creature in existence. The country
fellow to whom Bellerophon was speaking chanced to be one of those
incredulous persons.
And that was the reason why he laughed.
"Pegasus, indeed!" cried he, turning up his nose as high as such a flat
nose could be turned up,--"Pegasus, indeed! A winged horse, truly! Why,
friend, are you in your senses? Of what use would wings be to a horse?
Could he drag the plough so well, think you? To be sure, there might be
a little saving in the expense of shoes; but then, how would a man like
to see his horse flying out of the stable window?--yes, or whisking him
up above the clouds, when he only wanted to ride to mill? No, no! I
don't believe in Pegasus. There never was such a ridiculous kind of a
horse-fowl made!"
"I have some reason to think otherwise," said Bellerophon, quietly.
And then he turned to an old, gray man, who was leaning on a staff, and
listening very attentively, with his head stretched forward, and one
hand at his ear, because, for the last twenty years, he had been getting
rather deaf.
"And what say you, venerable sir?" inquired he. "In your younger days, I
should imagine, you must frequently have seen the winged steed!"
"Ah, young stranger, my memory is very poor!" said the aged man. "When I
was a lad, if I remember rightly, I used to believe there was such a
horse, and so did everybody else. But, nowadays, I hardly know what to
think, and very seldom think about the winged horse at all. If I ever
saw the creature, it was a long, long while ago; and, to tell you the
truth, I doubt whether I ever did see him. One day, to be sure, when I
was quite a youth, I remember seeing some hoof-tramps round about the
brink of the fountain. Pegasus might have made those hoof-marks; and so
might some other horse."
"And have you never seen him, my fair maiden?" asked Bellerophon of the
girl, who stood with the pitcher on her head, while this talk went on.
"You certainly could see Pegasus, if anybody can, for your eyes are very
bright."
"Once I thought I saw him," replied the maiden, with a smile and a
blush. "It was either Pegasus, or a large white bird, a very great way
up in the air. And one other time, as I was coming to the fountain with
my pitcher, I heard a neigh. Oh, such a brisk and melodious neigh as
that was! My very heart leaped with delight at the sound. But it
startled me, nevertheless; so that I ran home without filling my
pitcher."
"That was truly a pity!" said Bellerophon.
And he turned to the child, whom I mentioned at the beginning of the
story, and who was gazing at him, as children are apt to gaze at
strangers, with his rosy mouth wide open.
"Well, my little fellow," cried Bellerophon, playfully pulling one of
his curls, "I suppose you have often seen the winged horse."
"That I have," answered the child, very readily. "I saw him yesterday,
and many times before."
"You are a fine little man!" said Bellerophon, drawing the child closer
to him. "Come, tell me all about it."
"Why," replied the child, "I often come here to sail little boats in the
fountain, and to gather pretty pebbles out of its basin. And sometimes,
when I look down into the water, I see the image of the winged horse, in
the picture of the sky that is there. I wish he would come down, and
take me on his back, and let me ride him up to the moon! But, if I so
much as stir to look at him, he flies far away out of sight."
And Bellerophon put his faith in the child, who had seen the image of
Pegasus in the water, and in the maiden, who had heard him neigh so
melodiously, rather than in the middle-aged clown, who believed only in
cart-horses, or in the old man who had forgotten the beautiful things of
his youth.
Therefore, he haunted about the Fountain of Pirene for a great many days
afterwards. He kept continually on the watch, looking upward at the sky,
or else down into the water, hoping forever that he should see either
the reflected image of the winged horse, or the marvellous reality. He
held the bridle, with its bright gems and golden bit, always ready in
his hand. The rustic people, who dwelt in the neighborhood, and drove
their cattle to the fountain to drink, would often laugh at poor
Bellerophon, and sometimes take him pretty severely to task. They told
him that an able-bodied young man, like himself, ought to have better
business than to be wasting his time in such an idle pursuit. They
offered to sell him a horse, if he wanted one; and when Bellerophon
declined the purchase, they tried to drive a bargain with him for his
fine bridle.
Even the country boys thought him so very foolish, that they used to
have a great deal of sport about him, and were rude enough not to care a
fig, although Bellerophon saw and heard it. One little urchin, for
example, would play Pegasus, and cut the oddest imaginable capers, by
way of flying; while one of his schoolfellows would scamper after him,
holding forth a twist of bulrushes, which was intended to represent
Bellerophon's ornamental bridle. But the gentle child, who had seen the
picture of Pegasus in the water, comforted the young stranger more than
all the naughty boys could torment him. The dear little fellow, in his
play-hours, often sat down beside him, and, without speaking a word,
would look down into the fountain and up towards the sky, with so
innocent a faith, that Bellerophon could not help feeling encouraged.
Now you will, perhaps, wish to be told why it was that Bellerophon had
undertaken to catch the winged horse. And we shall find no better
opportunity to speak about this matter than while he is waiting for
Pegasus to appear.
If I were to relate the whole of Bellerophon's previous adventures, they
might easily grow into a very long story. It will be quite enough to
say, that, in a certain country of Asia, a terrible monster, called a
Chimaera, had made its appearance, and was doing more mischief than could
be talked about between now and sunset. According to the best accounts
which I have been able to obtain, this Chimaera was nearly, if not quite,
the ugliest and most poisonous creature, and the strangest and
unaccountablest, and the hardest to fight with, and the most difficult
to run away from, that ever came out of the earth's inside. It had a
tail like a boa-constrictor; its body was like I do not care what; and
it had three separate heads, one of which was a lion's, the second a
goat's, and the third an abominably great snake's. And a hot blast of
fire came flaming out of each of its three mouths! Being an earthly
monster, I doubt whether it had any wings; but, wings or no, it ran like
a goat and a lion, and wriggled along like a serpent, and thus contrived
to make about as much speed as all the three together.
[Illustration: BELLEROPHON BY THE FOUNTAIN OF PIRENE]
Oh, the mischief, and mischief, and mischief that this naughty creature
did! With its flaming breath, it could set a forest on fire, or burn up
a field of grain, or, for that matter, a village, with all its fences
and houses. It laid waste the whole country round about, and used to eat
up people and animals alive, and cook them afterwards in the burning
oven of its stomach. Mercy on us, little children, I hope neither you
nor I will ever happen to meet a Chimaera!
While the hateful beast (if a beast we can anywise call it) was doing
all these horrible things, it so chanced that Bellerophon came to that
part of the world, on a visit to the king. The king's name was Iobates,
and Lycia was the country which he ruled over. Bellerophon was one of
the bravest youths in the world, and desired nothing so much as to do
some valiant and beneficent deed, such as would make all mankind admire
and love him. In those days, the only way for a young man to distinguish
himself was by fighting battles, either with the enemies of his country,
or with wicked giants, or with troublesome dragons, or with wild beasts,
when he could find nothing more dangerous to encounter. King Iobates,
perceiving the courage of his youthful visitor, proposed to him to go
and fight the Chimaera, which everybody else was afraid of, and which,
unless it should be soon killed, was likely to convert Lycia into a
desert. Bellerophon hesitated not a moment, but assured the king that he
would either slay this dreaded Chimaera, or perish in the attempt.
But, in the first place, as the monster was so prodigiously swift, he
bethought himself that he should never win the victory by fighting on
foot. The wisest thing he could do, therefore, was to get the very best
and fleetest horse that could anywhere be found. And what other horse,
in all the world, was half so fleet as the marvellous horse Pegasus, who
had wings as well as legs, and was even more active in the air than on
the earth? To be sure, a great many people denied that there was any
such horse with wings, and said that the stories about him were all
poetry and nonsense. But, wonderful as it appeared, Bellerophon believed
that Pegasus was a real steed, and hoped that he himself might be
fortunate enough to find him; and, once fairly mounted on his back, he
would be able to fight the Chimaera at better advantage.
And this was the purpose with which he had travelled from Lycia to
Greece, and had brought the beautifully ornamented bridle in his hand.
It was an enchanted bridle. If he could only succeed in putting the
golden bit into the mouth of Pegasus, the winged horse would be
submissive, and would own Bellerophon for his master, and fly
whithersoever he might choose to turn the rein.
But, indeed, it was a weary and anxious time, while Bellerophon waited
and waited for Pegasus, in hopes that he would come and drink at the
Fountain of Pirene. He was afraid lest King Iobates should imagine that
he had fled from the Chimaera. It pained him, too, to think how much
mischief the monster was doing, while he himself, instead of fighting
with it, was compelled to sit idly poring over the bright waters of
Pirene, as they gushed out of the sparkling sand. And as Pegasus came
thither so seldom in these latter years, and scarcely alighted there
more than once in a lifetime, Bellerophon feared that he might grow an
old man, and have no strength left in his arms nor courage in his heart,
before the winged horse would appear. Oh, how heavily passes the time,
while an adventurous youth is yearning to do his part in life, and to
gather in the harvest of his renown! How hard a lesson it is to wait!
Our life is brief, and how much of it is spent in teaching us only this!
Well was it for Bellerophon that the gentle child had grown so fond of
him, and was never weary of keeping him company. Every morning the child
gave him a new hope to put in his bosom, instead of yesterday's withered
one.
"Dear Bellerophon," he would cry, looking up hopefully into his face, "I
think we shall see Pegasus to-day!"
And, at length, if it had not been for the little boy's unwavering
faith, Bellerophon would have given up all hope, and would have gone
back to Lycia, and have done his best to slay the Chimaera without the
help of the winged horse. And in that case poor Bellerophon would at
least have been terribly scorched by the creature's breath, and would
most probably have been killed and devoured. Nobody should ever try to
fight an earth-born Chimaera, unless he can first get upon the back of an
aerial steed.
One morning the child spoke to Bellerophon even more hopefully than
usual.
"Dear, dear Bellerophon," cried he, "I know not why it is, but I feel as
if we should certainly see Pegasus to-day!"
And all that day he would not stir a step from Bellerophon's side; so
they ate a crust of bread together, and drank some of the water of the
fountain. In the afternoon, there they sat, and Bellerophon had thrown
his arm around the child, who likewise had put one of his little hands
into Bellerophon's. The latter was lost in his own thoughts, and was
fixing his eyes vacantly on the trunks of the trees that overshadowed
the fountain, and on the grapevines that clambered up among their
branches. But the gentle child was gazing down into the water; he was
grieved, for Bellerophon's sake, that the hope of another day should be
deceived, like so many before it; and two or three quiet tear-drops fell
from his eyes, and mingled with what were said to be the many tears of
Pirene, when she wept for her slain children.
But, when he least thought of it, Bellerophon felt the pressure of the
child's little hand, and heard a soft, almost breathless, whisper.
"See there, dear Bellerophon! There is an image in the water!"
The young man looked down into the dimpling mirror of the fountain, and
saw what he took to be the reflection of a bird which seemed to be
flying at a great height in the air, with a gleam of sunshine on its
snowy or silvery wings.
"What a splendid bird it must be!" said he. "And how very large it
looks, though it must really be flying higher than the clouds!"
"It makes me tremble!" whispered the child. "I am afraid to look up into
the air! It is very beautiful, and yet I dare only look at its image in
the water. Dear Bellerophon, do you not see that it is no bird? It is
the winged horse Pegasus!"
Bellerophon's heart began to throb! He gazed keenly upward, but could
not see the winged creature, whether bird or horse; because, just then,
it had plunged into the fleecy depths of a summer cloud. It was but a
moment, however, before the object reappeared, sinking lightly down out
of the cloud, although still at a vast distance from the earth.
Bellerophon caught the child in his arms, and shrank back with him, so
that they were both hidden among the thick shrubbery which grew all
around the fountain. Not that he was afraid of any harm, but he dreaded
lest, if Pegasus caught a glimpse of them, he would fly far away, and
alight in some inaccessible mountain-top. For it was really the winged
horse. After they had expected him so long, he was coming to quench his
thirst with the water of Pirene.
Nearer and nearer came the aerial wonder, flying in great circles, as
you may have seen a dove when about to alight. Downward came Pegasus, in
those wide, sweeping circles, which grew narrower, and narrower still,
as he gradually approached the earth. The nigher the view of him, the
more beautiful he was, and the more marvellous the sweep of his silvery
wings. At last, with so light a pressure as hardly to bend the grass
about the fountain, or imprint a hoof-tramp in the sand of its margin,
he alighted, and, stooping his wild head, began to drink. He drew in the
water, with long and pleasant sighs, and tranquil pauses of enjoyment;
and then another draught, and another, and another. For, nowhere in the
world, or up among the clouds, did Pegasus love any water as he loved
this of Pirene. And when his thirst was slaked, he cropped a few of the
honey-blossoms of the clover, delicately tasting them, but not caring to
make a hearty meal, because the herbage, just beneath the clouds, on the
lofty sides of Mount Helicon, suited his palate better than this
ordinary grass.
After thus drinking to his heart's content, and in his dainty fashion,
condescending to take a little food, the winged horse began to caper to
and fro, and dance as it were, out of mere idleness and sport. There
never was a more playful creature made than this very Pegasus. So there
he frisked, in a way that it delights me to think about, fluttering his
great wings as lightly as ever did a linnet, and running little races,
half on earth and half in air, and which I know not whether to call a
flight or a gallop. When a creature is perfectly able to fly, he
sometimes chooses to run, just for the pastime of the thing; and so did
Pegasus, although it cost him some little trouble to keep his hoofs so
near the ground. Bellerophon, meanwhile, holding the child's hand,
peeped forth from the shrubbery, and thought that never was any sight
so beautiful as this, nor ever a horse's eyes so wild and spirited as
those of Pegasus. It seemed a sin to think of bridling him and riding on
his back.
Once or twice, Pegasus stopped, and snuffed the air, pricking up his
ears, tossing his head, and turning it on all sides, as if he partly
suspected some mischief or other. Seeing nothing, however, and hearing
no sound, he soon began his antics again.
At length,--not that he was weary, but only idle and luxurious,--Pegasus
folded his wings, and lay down on the soft green turf. But, being too
full of aerial life to remain quiet for many moments together, he soon
rolled over on his back, with his four slender legs in the air. It was
beautiful to see him, this one solitary creature, whose mate had never
been created, but who needed no companion, and, living a great many
hundred years, was as happy as the centuries were long. The more he did
such things as mortal horses are accustomed to do, the less earthly and
the more wonderful he seemed. Bellerophon and the child almost held
their breath, partly from a delightful awe, but still more because they
dreaded lest the slightest stir or murmur should send him up, with the
speed of an arrow-flight, into the farthest blue of the sky.
Finally, when he had had enough of rolling over and over, Pegasus turned
himself about, and, indolently, like any other horse, put out his fore
legs, in order to rise from the ground; and Bellerophon, who had guessed
that he would do so, darted suddenly from the thicket, and leaped
astride of his back.
Yes, there he sat, on the back of the winged horse!
But what a bound did Pegasus make, when, for the first time, he felt the
weight of a mortal man upon his loins! A bound, indeed! Before he had
time to draw a breath, Bellerophon found himself five hundred feet
aloft, and still shooting upward, while the winged horse snorted and
trembled with terror and anger. Upward he went, up, up, up, until he
plunged into the cold misty bosom of a cloud, at which, only a little
while before, Bellerophon had been gazing, and fancying it a very
pleasant spot. Then again, out of the heart of the cloud, Pegasus shot
down like a thunderbolt, as if he meant to dash both himself and his
rider headlong against a rock. Then he went through about a thousand of
the wildest caprioles that had ever been performed either by a bird or a
horse.
I cannot tell you half that he did. He skimmed straight forward, and
sideways, and backward. He reared himself erect, with his fore legs on a
wreath of mist, and his hind legs on nothing at all. He flung out his
heels behind, and put down his head between his legs, with his wings
pointing right upward. At about two miles' height above the earth, he
turned a somerset, so that Bellerophon's heels were where his head
should have been, and he seemed to look down into the sky, instead of
up. He twisted his head about, and, looking Bellerophon in the face,
with fire flashing from his eyes, made a terrible attempt to bite him.
He fluttered his pinions so wildly that one of the silver feathers was
shaken out, and floating earthward, was picked up by the child, who kept
it as long as he lived, in memory of Pegasus and Bellerophon.
But the latter (who, as you may judge, was as good a horseman as ever
galloped) had been watching his opportunity, and at last clapped the
golden bit of the enchanted bridle between the winged steed's jaws. No
sooner was this done, than Pegasus became as manageable as if he had
taken food, all his life, out of Bellerophon's hand. To speak what I
really feel, it was almost a sadness to see so wild a creature grow
suddenly so tame. And Pegasus seemed to feel it so, likewise. He looked
round to Bellerophon, with the tears in his beautiful eyes, instead of
the fire that so recently flashed from them. But when Bellerophon patted
his head, and spoke a few authoritative, yet kind and soothing words,
another look came into the eyes of Pegasus; for he was glad at heart,
after so many lonely centuries, to have found a companion and a master.
Thus it always is with winged horses, and with all such wild and
solitary creatures. If you can catch and overcome them, it is the surest
way to win their love.
While Pegasus had been doing his utmost to shake Bellerophon off his
back, he had flown a very long distance; and they had come within sight
of a lofty mountain by the time the bit was in his mouth. Bellerophon
had seen this mountain before, and knew it to be Helicon, on the summit
of which was the winged horse's abode. Thither (after looking gently
into his rider's face, as if to ask leave) Pegasus now flew, and,
alighting, waited patiently until Bellerophon should please to dismount.
The young man, accordingly, leaped from his steed's back, but still held
him fast by the bridle. Meeting his eyes, however, he was so affected by
the gentleness of his aspect, and by the thought of the free life which
Pegasus had heretofore lived, that he could not bear to keep him a
prisoner, if he really desired his liberty.
Obeying this generous impulse he slipped the enchanted bridle off the
head of Pegasus, and took the bit from his mouth.
"Leave me, Pegasus!" said he. "Either leave me, or love me."
In an instant, the winged horse shot almost out of sight, soaring
straight upward from the summit of Mount Helicon. Being long after
sunset, it was now twilight on the mountain-top, and dusky evening over
all the country round about. But Pegasus flew so high that he overtook
the departed day, and was bathed in the upper radiance of the sun.
Ascending higher and higher, he looked like a bright speck, and, at
last, could no longer be seen in the hollow waste of the sky. And
Bellerophon was afraid that he should never behold him more. But, while
he was lamenting his own folly, the bright speck reappeared, and drew
nearer and nearer, until it descended lower than the sunshine; and,
behold, Pegasus had come back! After this trial there was no more fear
of the winged horse's making his escape. He and Bellerophon were
friends, and put loving faith in one another.
That night they lay down and slept together, with Bellerophon's arm
about the neck of Pegasus, not as a caution, but for kindness. And they
awoke at peep of day, and bade one another good morning, each in his own
language.
In this manner, Bellerophon and the wondrous steed spent several days,
and grew better acquainted and fonder of each other all the time. They
went on long aerial journeys, and sometimes ascended so high that the
earth looked hardly bigger than--the moon. They visited distant
countries, and amazed the inhabitants, who thought that the beautiful
young man, on the back of the winged horse, must have come down out of
the sky. A thousand miles a day was no more than an easy space for the
fleet Pegasus to pass over. Bellerophon was delighted with this kind of
life, and would have liked nothing better than to live always in the
same way, aloft in the clear atmosphere; for it was always sunny weather
up there, however cheerless and rainy it might be in the lower region.
But he could not forget the horrible Chimaera, which he had promised King
Iobates to slay. So, at last, when he had become well accustomed to
feats of horsemanship in the air, and could manage Pegasus with the
least motion of his hand, and had taught him to obey his voice, he
determined to attempt the performance of this perilous adventure.
At daybreak, therefore, as soon as he unclosed his eyes, he gently
pinched the winged horse's ear, in order to arouse him. Pegasus
immediately started from the ground, and pranced about a quarter of a
mile aloft, and made a grand sweep around the mountain-top, by way of
showing that he was wide awake, and ready for any kind of an excursion.
During the whole of this little flight, he uttered a loud, brisk, and
melodious neigh, and finally came down at Bellerophon's side, as
lightly as ever you saw a sparrow hop upon a twig.
"Well done, dear Pegasus! well done, my sky-skimmer!" cried Bellerophon,
fondly stroking the horse's neck. "And now, my fleet and beautiful
friend, we must break our fast. To-day we are to fight the terrible
Chimaera."