water from a spring called Hippocrene, Pegasus held out his head, of his
own accord, so that his master might put on the bridle. Then, with a
great many playful leaps and airy caperings, he showed his impatience to
be gone; while Bellerophon was girding on his sword, and hanging his
shield about his neck, and preparing himself for battle. When everything
was ready, the rider mounted, and (as was his custom, when going a long
distance) ascended five miles perpendicularly, so as the better to see
whither he was directing his course. He then turned the head of Pegasus
towards the east, and set out for Lycia. In their flight they overtook
an eagle, and came so nigh him, before he could get out of their way,
that Bellerophon might easily have caught him by the leg. Hastening
onward at this rate, it was still early in the forenoon when they beheld
the lofty mountains of Lycia, with their deep and shaggy valleys. If
Bellerophon had been told truly, it was in one of those dismal valleys
that the hideous Chimaera had taken up its abode.
Being now so near their journey's end, the winged horse gradually
descended with his rider; and they took advantage of some clouds that
were floating over the mountain-tops, in order to conceal themselves.
Hovering on the upper surface of a cloud, and peeping over its edge,
Bellerophon had a pretty distinct view of the mountainous part of Lycia,
and could look into all its shadowy vales at once. At first there
appeared to be nothing remarkable. It was a wild, savage, and rocky
tract of high and precipitous hills. In the more level part of the
country, there were the ruins of houses that had been burnt, and, here
and there, the carcasses of dead cattle, strewn about the pastures where
they had been feeding.
"The Chimaera must have done this mischief," thought Bellerophon. "But
where can the monster be?"
As I have already said, there was nothing remarkable to be detected, at
first sight, in any of the valleys and dells that lay among the
precipitous heights of the mountains. Nothing at all; unless, indeed it
were three spires of black smoke, which issued from what seemed to be
the mouth of a cavern, and clambered sullenly into the atmosphere.
Before reaching the mountain-top, these three black smoke-wreaths
mingled themselves into one. The cavern was almost directly beneath the
winged horse and his rider, at the distance of about a thousand feet.
The smoke, as it crept heavily upward, had an ugly, sulphurous, stifling
scent, which caused Pegasus to snort and Bellerophon to sneeze. So
disagreeable was it to the marvellous steed (who was accustomed to
breathe only the purest air), that he waved his wings, and shot half a
mile out of the range of this offensive vapor.
But, on looking behind him, Bellerophon saw something that induced him
first to draw the bridle, and then to turn Pegasus about. He made a
sign, which the winged horse understood, and sunk slowly through the
air, until his hoofs were scarcely more than a man's height above the
rocky bottom of the valley. In front, as far off as you could throw a
stone, was the cavern's mouth, with the three smoke-wreaths oozing out
of it. And what else did Bellerophon behold there?
There seemed to be a heap of strange and terrible creatures curled up
within the cavern. Their bodies lay so close together, that Bellerophon
could not distinguish them apart; but, judging by their heads, one of
these creatures was a huge snake, the second a fierce lion, and the
third an ugly goat. The lion and the goat were asleep; the snake was
broad awake, and kept staring around him with a great pair of fiery
eyes. But--and this was the most wonderful part of the matter--the three
spires of smoke evidently issued from the nostrils of these three heads!
So strange was the spectacle, that, though Bellerophon had been all
along expecting it, the truth did not immediately occur to him, that
here was the terrible three-headed Chimaera. He had found out the
Chimaera's cavern. The snake, the lion, and the goat, as he supposed them
to be, were not three separate creatures, but one monster!
The wicked, hateful thing! Slumbering as two thirds of it were, it still
held, in its abominable claws, the remnant of an unfortunate lamb,--or
possibly (but I hate to think so) it was a dear little boy,--which its
three mouths had been gnawing, before two of them fell asleep!
All at once, Bellerophon started as from a dream, and knew it to be the
Chimaera. Pegasus seemed to know it, at the same instant, and sent forth
a neigh, that sounded like the call of a trumpet to battle. At this
sound the three heads reared themselves erect, and belched out great
flashes of flame. Before Bellerophon had time to consider what to do
next, the monster flung itself out of the cavern and sprung straight
towards him, with its immense claws extended, and its snaky tail
twisting itself venomously behind. If Pegasus had not been as nimble as
a bird, both he and his rider would have been overthrown by the
Chimera's headlong rush, and thus the battle have been ended before it
was well begun. But the winged horse was not to be caught so. In the
twinkling of an eye he was up aloft, half-way to the clouds, snorting
with anger. He shuddered, too, not with affright, but with utter disgust
at the loathsomeness of this poisonous thing with three heads.
The Chimaera, on the other hand, raised itself up so as to stand
absolutely on the tip-end of its tail, with its talons pawing fiercely
in the air, and its three heads spluttering fire at Pegasus and his
rider. My stars, how it roared, and hissed, and bellowed! Bellerophon,
meanwhile, was fitting his shield on his arm, and drawing his sword.
"Now, my beloved Pegasus," he whispered in the winged horse's ear, "thou
must help me to slay this insufferable monster; or else thou shalt fly
back to thy solitary mountain-peak without thy friend Bellerophon. For
either the Chimaera dies, or its three mouths shall gnaw this head of
mine, which has slumbered upon thy neck!"
Pegasus whinnied, and, turning back his head, rubbed his nose tenderly
against his rider's cheek. It was his way of telling him that, though he
had wings and was an immortal horse, yet he would perish, if it were
possible for immortality to perish, rather than leave Bellerophon
behind.
"I thank you, Pegasus," answered Bellerophon. "Now, then, let us make a
dash at the monster!"
Uttering these words, he shook the bridle; and Pegasus darted down
aslant, as swift as the flight of an arrow, right towards the Chimaera's
threefold head, which, all this time, was poking itself as high as it
could into the air. As he came within arm's-length, Bellerophon made a
cut at the monster, but was carried onward by his steed, before he could
see whether the blow had been successful. Pegasus continued his course,
but soon wheeled round, at about the same distance from the Chimaera as
before. Bellerophon then perceived that he had cut the goat's head of
the monster almost off, so that it dangled downward by the skin, and
seemed quite dead.
But, to make amends, the snake's head and the lion's head had taken all
the fierceness of the dead one into themselves, and spit flame, and
hissed, and roared, with a vast deal more fury than before.
"Never mind, my brave Pegasus!" cried Bellerophon. "With another stroke
like that, we will stop either its hissing or its roaring."
And again he shook the bridle. Dashing aslantwise, as before, the winged
horse made another arrow-flight towards the Chimaera, and Bellerophon
aimed another downright stroke at one of the two remaining heads, as he
shot by. But this time, neither he nor Pegasus escaped so well as at
first. With one of its claws, the Chimaera had given the young man a deep
scratch in his shoulder, and had slightly damaged the left wing of the
flying steed with the other. On his part, Bellerophon had mortally
wounded the lion's head of the monster, insomuch that it now hung
downward, with its fire almost extinguished, and sending out gasps of
thick black smoke. The snake's head, however (which was the only one now
left), was twice as fierce and venomous as ever before. It belched forth
shoots of fire five hundred yards long, and emitted hisses so loud, so
harsh, and so ear-piercing, that King Iobates heard them, fifty miles
off, and trembled till the throne shook under him.
"Well-a-day!" thought the poor king; "the Chimaera is certainly coming to
devour me!"
Meanwhile Pegasus had again paused in the air, and neighed angrily,
while sparkles of a pure crystal flame darted out of his eyes. How
unlike the lurid fire of the Chimaera! The aerial steed's spirit was all
aroused, and so was that of Bellerophon.
"Dost thou bleed, my immortal horse?" cried the young man, caring less
for his own hurt than for the anguish of this glorious creature, that
ought never to have tasted pain. "The execrable Chimaera shall pay for
this mischief with his last head!"
Then he shook the bridle, shouted loudly, and guided Pegasus, not
aslantwise as before, but straight at the monster's hideous front. So
rapid was the onset, that it seemed but a dazzle and a flash before
Bellerophon was at close gripes with his enemy.
The Chimaera, by this time, after losing its second head, had got into a
red-hot passion of pain and rampant rage. It so flounced about, half on
earth and partly in the air, that it was impossible to say which element
it rested upon. It opened its snake-jaws to such an abominable width,
that Pegasus might almost, I was going to say, have flown right down its
throat, wings outspread, rider and all! At their approach it shot out a
tremendous blast of its fiery breath, and enveloped Bellerophon and his
steed in a perfect atmosphere of flame, singeing the wings of Pegasus,
scorching off one whole side of the young man's golden ringlets, and
making them both far hotter than was comfortable, from head to foot.
But this was nothing to what followed.
When the airy rush of the winged horse had brought him within the
distance of a hundred yards, the Chimaera gave a spring, and flung its
huge, awkward, venomous, and utterly detestable carcass right upon poor
Pegasus, clung round him with might and main, and tied up its snaky tail
into a knot! Up flew the aerial steed, higher, higher, higher, above the
mountain-peaks, above the clouds, and almost out of sight of the solid
earth. But still the earth-born monster kept its hold, and was borne
upward, along with the creature of light and air. Bellerophon,
meanwhile, turning about, found himself face to face with the ugly
grimness of the Chimaera's visage, and could only avoid being scorched to
death, or bitten right in twain, by holding up his shield. Over the
upper edge of the shield, he looked sternly into the savage eyes of the
monster.
But the Chimaera was so mad and wild with pain, that it did not guard
itself so well as might else have been the case. Perhaps, after all, the
best way to fight a Chimaera is by getting as close to it as you can. In
its efforts to stick its horrible iron claws into its enemy, the
creature left its own breast quite exposed; and perceiving this,
Bellerophon thrust his sword up to the hilt into its cruel heart.
Immediately the snaky tail untied its knot. The monster let go its hold
of Pegasus, and fell from that vast height, downward; while the fire
within its bosom, instead of being put out, burned fiercer than ever,
and quickly began to consume the dead carcass. Thus it fell out of the
sky, all a-flame, and (it being nightfall before it reached the earth)
was mistaken for a shooting star or a comet. But, at early sunrise, some
cottagers were going to their day's labor, and saw, to their
astonishment, that several acres of ground were strewn with black ashes.
In the middle of a field, there was a heap of whitened bones, a great
deal higher than a haystack. Nothing else was ever seen of the dreadful
Chimaera!
And when Bellerophon had won the victory, he bent forward and kissed
Pegasus, while the tears stood in his eyes.
"Back now, my beloved steed!" said he. "Back to the Fountain of Pirene!"
Pegasus skimmed through the air, quicker than ever he did before, and
reached the fountain in a very short time. And there he found the old
man leaning on his staff, and the country fellow watering his cow, and
the pretty maiden filling her pitcher.
"I remember now," quoth the old man, "I saw this winged horse once
before, when I was quite a lad. But he was ten times handsomer in those
days."
"I own a cart-horse, worth three of him!" said the country fellow. "If
this pony were mine, the first thing I should do would be to clip his
wings!"
But the poor maiden said nothing, for she had always the luck to be
afraid at the wrong time. So she ran away, and let her pitcher tumble
down, and broke it.
"Where is the gentle child," asked Bellerophon, "who used to keep me
company, and never lost his faith, and never was weary of gazing into
the fountain?"
"Here am I, dear Bellerophon!" said the child, softly.
For the little boy had spent day after day, on the margin of Pirene,
waiting for his friend to come back; but when he perceived Bellerophon
descending through the clouds, mounted on the winged horse, he had
shrunk back into the shrubbery. He was a delicate and tender child, and
dreaded lest the old man and the country fellow should see the tears
gushing from his eyes.
"Thou hast won the victory," said he, joyfully, running to the knee of
Bellerophon, who still sat on the back of Pegasus. "I knew thou
wouldst."
"Yes, dear child!" replied Bellerophon, alighting from the winged horse.
"But if thy faith had not helped me, I should never have waited for
Pegasus, and never have gone up above the clouds, and never have
conquered the terrible Chimaera. Thou, my beloved little friend, hast
done it all. And now let us give Pegasus his liberty."
So he slipped off the enchanted bridle from the head of the marvellous
steed.
"Be free, forevermore, my Pegasus!" cried he, with a shade of sadness in
his tone. "Be as free as thou art fleet!"
But Pegasus rested his head on Bellerophon's shoulder, and would not be
persuaded to take flight.
"Well then," said Bellerophon, caressing the airy horse, "thou shalt be
with me, as long as thou wilt; and we will go together, forthwith, and
tell King Iobates that the Chimaera is destroyed."
Then Bellerophon embraced the gentle child, and promised to come to him
again, and departed. But, in after years, that child took higher flights
upon the aerial steed than ever did Bellerophon, and achieved more
honorable deeds than his friend's victory over the Chimaera. For, gentle
and tender as he was, he grew to be a mighty poet!
Bald-Summit
_After the Story_
Eustace Bright told the legend of Bellerophon with as much fervor and
animation as if he had really been taking a gallop on the winged horse.
At the conclusion, he was gratified to discern, by the glowing
countenances of his auditors, how greatly they had been interested. All
their eyes were dancing in their heads, except those of Primrose. In her
eyes there were positively tears; for she was conscious of something in
the legend which the rest of them were not yet old enough to feel.
Child's story as it was, the student had contrived to breathe through it
the ardor, the generous hope, and the imaginative enterprise of youth.
"I forgive you, now, Primrose," said he, "for all your ridicule of
myself and my stories. One tear pays for a great deal of laughter."
"Well, Mr. Bright," answered Primrose, wiping her eyes, and giving him
another of her mischievous smiles, "it certainly does elevate your
ideas, to get your head above the clouds. I advise you never to tell
another story, unless it be, as at present, from the top of a mountain."
"Or from the back of Pegasus," replied Eustace, laughing. "Don't you
think that I succeeded pretty well in catching that wonderful pony?"
"It was so like one of your madcap pranks!" cried Primrose, clapping her
hands. "I think I see you now on his back, two miles high, and with your
head downward! It is well that you have not really an opportunity of
trying your horsemanship on any wilder steed than our sober Davy, or Old
Hundred."
[Illustration: THE FOUNTAIN OF PIRENE
(From the original in the collection of Austin M. Purves, Esq're
Philadelphia)]
"For my part, I wish I had Pegasus here, at this moment," said the
student. "I would mount him forthwith, and gallop about the country,
within a circumference of a few miles, making literary calls on my
brother authors. Dr. Dewey would be within my reach, at the foot of
Taconic. In Stockbridge, yonder, is Mr. James, conspicuous to all the
world on his mountain-pile of history and romance. Longfellow, I
believe, is not yet at the Ox-bow, else the winged horse would neigh at
the sight of him. But, here in Lenox, I should find our most truthful
novelist, who has made the scenery and life of Berkshire all her own. On
the hither side of Pittsfield sits Herman Melville, shaping out the
gigantic conception of his 'White Whale,' while the gigantic shape of
Graylock looms upon him from his study-window. Another bound of my
flying steed would bring me to the door of Holmes, whom I mention last,
because Pegasus would certainly unseat me, the next minute, and claim
the poet as his rider."
"Have we not an author for our next neighbor?" asked Primrose. "That
silent man, who lives in the old red house, near Tanglewood Avenue, and
whom we sometimes meet, with two children at his side, in the woods or
at the lake. I think I have heard of his having written a poem, or a
romance, or an arithmetic, or a school-history, or some other kind of a
book."
"Hush, Primrose, hush!" exclaimed Eustace, in a thrilling whisper, and
putting his finger on his lip. "Not a word about that man, even on a
hill-top! If our babble were to reach his ears, and happen not to please
him, he has but to fling a quire or two of paper into the stove, and
you, Primrose, and I, and Periwinkle, Sweet Fern, Squash-Blossom, Blue
Eye, Huckleberry, Clover, Cowslip, Plantain, Milkweed, Dandelion, and
Buttercup,--yes, and wise Mr. Pringle, with his unfavorable criticisms
on my legends, and poor Mrs. Pringle, too,--would all turn to smoke,
and go whisking up the funnel! Our neighbor in the red house is a
harmless sort of person enough, for aught I know, as concerns the rest
of the world; but something whispers to me that he has a terrible power
over ourselves, extending to nothing short of annihilation."
"And would Tanglewood turn to smoke, as well as we?" asked Periwinkle,
quite appalled at the threatened destruction. "And what would become of
Ben and Bruin?"
"Tanglewood would remain," replied the student, "looking just as it does
now, but occupied by an entirely different family. And Ben and Bruin
would be still alive, and would make themselves very comfortable with
the bones from the dinner-table, without ever thinking of the good times
which they and we have had together!"
"What nonsense you are talking!" exclaimed Primrose.
With idle chat of this kind, the party had already begun to descend the
hill, and were now within the shadow of the woods. Primrose gathered
some mountain-laurel, the leaf of which, though of last year's growth,
was still as verdant and elastic as if the frost and thaw had not
alternately tried their force upon its texture. Of these twigs of laurel
she twined a wreath, and took off the student's cap, in order to place
it on his brow.
"Nobody else is likely to crown you for your stories," observed saucy
Primrose, "so take this from me."
"Do not be too sure," answered Eustace, looking really like a youthful
poet, with the laurel among his glossy curls, "that I shall not win
other wreaths by these wonderful and admirable stories. I mean to spend
all my leisure, during the rest of the vacation, and throughout the
summer term at college, in writing them out for the press. Mr. J. T.
Fields (with whom I became acquainted when he was in Berkshire, last
summer, and who is a poet, as well as a publisher) will see their
uncommon merit at a glance. He will get them illustrated, I hope, by
Billings, and will bring them before the world under the very best of
auspices, through the eminent house of Ticknor & Co. In about five
months from this moment, I make no doubt of being reckoned among the
lights of this age!"
"Poor boy!" said Primrose, half aside. "What a disappointment awaits
him!"
Descending a little lower, Bruin began to bark, and was answered by the
graver bow-wow of the respectable Ben. They soon saw the good old dog,
keeping careful watch over Dandelion, Sweet Fern, Cowslip, and
Squash-Blossom. These little people, quite recovered from their fatigue,
had set about gathering checkerberries, and now came clambering to meet
their playfellows. Thus reunited, the whole party went down through
Luther Butler's orchard, and made the best of their way home to
Tanglewood.
Tanglewood Tales,
For Girls And Boys,
Being A Second Wonder-Book
TANGLEWOOD TALES
The Wayside
_Introductory_
A short time ago, I was favored with a flying visit from my young friend
Eustace Bright, whom I had not before met with since quitting the breezy
mountains of Berkshire. It being the winter vacation at his college,
Eustace was allowing himself a little relaxation, in the hope, he told
me, of repairing the inroads which severe application to study had made
upon his health; and I was happy to conclude, from the excellent
physical condition in which I saw him, that the remedy had already been
attended with very desirable success. He had now run up from Boston by
the noon train, partly impelled by the friendly regard with which he is
pleased to honor me, and partly, as I soon found, on a matter of
literary business.
It delighted me to receive Mr. Bright, for the first time, under a roof,
though a very humble one, which I could really call my own. Nor did I
fail (as is the custom of landed proprietors all about the world) to
parade the poor fellow up and down over my half a dozen acres; secretly
rejoicing, nevertheless, that the disarray of the inclement season, and
particularly the six inches of snow then upon the ground, prevented him
from observing the ragged neglect of soil and shrubbery into which the
place has lapsed. It was idle, however, to imagine that an airy guest
from Monument Mountain, Bald-Summit, and old Graylock, shaggy with
primeval forests, could see anything to admire in my poor little
hill-side, with its growth of frail and insect-eaten locust-trees.
Eustace very frankly called the view from my hill-top tame; and so, no
doubt, it was, after rough, broken, rugged, headlong Berkshire, and
especially the northern parts of the county, with which his college
residence had made him familiar. But to me there is a peculiar, quiet
charm in these broad meadows and gentle eminences. They are better than
mountains, because they do not stamp and stereotype themselves into the
brain, and thus grow wearisome with the same strong impression, repeated
day after day. A few summer weeks among mountains, a lifetime among
green meadows and placid slopes, with outlines forever new, because
continually fading out of the memory,--such would be my sober choice.
I doubt whether Eustace did not internally pronounce the whole thing a
bore, until I led him to my predecessor's little ruined, rustic
summer-house, midway on the hill-side. It is a mere skeleton of slender,
decaying tree-trunks, with neither walls nor a roof; nothing but a
tracery of branches and twigs, which the next wintry blast will be very
likely to scatter in fragments along the terrace. It looks, and is, as
evanescent as a dream; and yet, in its rustic net-work of boughs, it has
somehow enclosed a hint of spiritual beauty, and has become a true
emblem of the subtile and ethereal mind that planned it. I made Eustace
Bright sit down on a snow-bank, which bad heaped itself over the mossy
seat, and gazing through the arched window opposite, he acknowledged
that the scene at once grew picturesque.