of magic. It is full of suggestiveness, and, in its way, is as good as a
cathedral. Ah, it would be just the spot for one to sit in, of a summer
afternoon, and tell the children some more of those wild stories from
the classic myths!"
"It would, indeed," answered I. "The summer-house itself, so airy and so
broken, is like one of those old tales, imperfectly remembered; and
these living branches of the Baldwin apple-tree, thrusting themselves so
rudely in, are like your unwarrantable interpolations. But, by the by,
have you added any more legends to the series, since the publication of
the Wonder Book?"
"Many more," said Eustace; "Primrose, Periwinkle, and the rest of them
allow me no comfort of my life, unless I tell them a story every day or
two. I have run away from home partly to escape the importunity of those
little wretches! But I have written out six of the new stories, and have
brought them for you to look over."
"Are they as good as the first?" I inquired.
"Better chosen, and better handled," replied Eustace Bright. "You will
say so when you read them."
"Possibly not," I remarked. "I know, from my own experience, that an
author's last work is always his best one, in his own estimate, until it
quite loses the red heat of composition. After that, it falls into its
true place, quietly enough. But let us adjourn to my study, and examine
these new stories. It would hardly be doing yourself justice, were you
to bring me acquainted with them, sitting here on this snow-bank!"
So we descended the hill to my small, old cottage, and shut ourselves up
in the southeastern room, where the sunshine comes in, warmly and
brightly, through the better half of a winter's day. Eustace put his
bundle of manuscript into my hands; and I skimmed through it pretty
rapidly, trying to find out its merits and demerits by the touch of my
fingers, as a veteran story-teller ought to know how to do.
It will be remembered, that Mr. Bright condescended to avail himself of
my literary experience by constituting me editor of the Wonder Book. As
he had no reason to complain of the reception of that erudite work by
the public, he was now disposed to retain me in a similar position, with
respect to the present volume, which he entitled "TANGLEWOOD TALES."
Not, as Eustace hinted, that there was any real necessity for my
services as introductor, inasmuch as his own name had become
established, in some good degree of favor, with the literary world. But
the connection with myself, he was kind enough to say, had been highly
agreeable; nor was he by any means desirous, as most people are, of
kicking away the ladder that had perhaps helped him to reach his present
elevation. My young friend was willing, in short, that the fresh verdure
of his growing reputation should spread over my straggling and
half-naked boughs; even as I have sometimes thought of training a vine,
with its broad leafiness, and purple fruitage, over the worm-eaten posts
and rafters of the rustic summer-house. I was not insensible to the
advantages of his proposal, and gladly assured him of my acceptance.
Merely from the titles of the stories, I saw at once that the subjects
were not less rich than those of the former volume; nor did I at all
doubt that Mr. Bright's audacity (so far as that endowment might avail)
had enabled him to take full advantage of whatever capabilities they
offered. Yet, in spite of my experience of his free way of handling
them, I did not quite see, I confess, how he could have obviated all the
difficulties in the way of rendering them presentable to children. These
old legends, so brimming over with everything that is most abhorrent to
our Christianized moral sense,--some of them so hideous, others so
melancholy and miserable, amid which the Greek tragedians sought their
themes, and moulded them into the sternest forms of grief that ever the
world saw; was such material the stuff that children's playthings should
be made of! How were they to be purified? How was the blessed sunshine
to be thrown into them?
But Eustace told me that these myths were the most singular things in
the world, and that he was invariably astonished, whenever he began to
relate one, by the readiness with which it adapted itself to the
childish purity of his auditors. The objectionable characteristics seem
to be a parasitical growth, having no essential connection with the
original fable. They fall away, and are thought of no more, the instant
he puts his imagination in sympathy with the innocent little circle,
whose wide-open eyes are fixed so eagerly upon him. Thus the stories
(not by any strained effort of the narrator's, but in harmony with their
inherent germ) transform themselves, and reassume the shapes which they
might be supposed to possess in the pure childhood of the world. When
the first poet or romancer told these marvellous legends (such is
Eustace Bright's opinion), it was still the Golden Age. Evil had never
yet existed; and sorrow, misfortune, crime, were mere shadows which the
mind fancifully created for itself, as a shelter against too sunny
realities; or, at most, but prophetic dreams, to which the dreamer
himself did not yield a waking credence. Children are now the only
representatives of the men and women of that happy era; and therefore it
is that we must raise the intellect and fancy to the level of childhood,
in order to recreate the original myths.
I let the youthful author talk as much and as extravagantly as he
pleased, and was glad to see him commencing life with such confidence in
himself and his performances. A few years will do all that is necessary
towards showing him the truth in both respects. Meanwhile, it is but
right to say, he does really appear to have overcome the moral
objections against these fables, although at the expense of such
liberties with their structure as must be left to plead their own
excuse, without any help from me. Indeed, except that there was a
necessity for it,--and that the inner life of the legends cannot be come
at save by making them entirely one's own property,--there is no defence
to be made.
Eustace informed me that he had told his stories to the children in
various situations,--in the woods, on the shore of the lake, in the dell
of Shadow Brook, in the play-room, at Tanglewood fireside, and in a
magnificent palace of snow, with ice windows, which he helped his little
friends to build. His auditors were even more delighted with the
contents of the present volume than with the specimens which have
already been given to the world. The classically learned Mr. Pringle,
too, had listened to two or three of the tales, and censured them even
more bitterly than he did THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES; so that, what with
praise, and what with criticism, Eustace Bright thinks that there is
good hope of at least as much success with the public as in the case of
the Wonder Book.
I made all sorts of inquiries about the children, not doubting that
there would be great eagerness to hear of their welfare among some good
little folks who have written to me, to ask for another volume of myths.
They are all, I am happy to say (unless we except Clover), in excellent
health and spirits. Primrose is now almost a young lady, and, Eustace
tells me, is just as saucy as ever. She pretends to consider herself
quite beyond the age to be interested by such idle stories as these;
but, for all that, whenever a story is to be told, Primrose never fails
to be one of the listeners, and to make fun of it when finished.
Periwinkle is very much grown, and is expected to shut up her baby-house
and throw away her doll in a month or two more. Sweet Fern has learned
to read and write, and has put on a jacket and pair of pantaloons,--all
of which improvements I am sorry for. Squash-Blossom, Blue Eye,
Plantain, and Buttercup have had the scarlet fever, but came easily
through it. Huckleberry, Milkweed, and Dandelion were attacked with the
hooping-cough, but bore it bravely, and kept out of doors whenever the
sun shone. Cowslip, during the autumn, had either the measles, or some
eruption that looked very much like it, but was hardly sick a day. Poor
Clover has been a good deal troubled with her second teeth, which have
made her meagre in aspect and rather fractious in temper; nor, even when
she smiles, is the matter much mended, since it discloses a gap just
within her lips, almost as wide as the barn door. But all this will
pass over, and it is predicted that she will turn out a very pretty
girl.
As for Mr. Bright himself, he is now in his senior year at Williams
College, and has a prospect of graduating with some degree of honorable
distinction at the next Commencement. In his oration for the bachelor's
degree, he gives me to understand, he will treat of the classical myths,
viewed in the aspect of baby stories, and has a great mind to discuss
the expediency of using up the whole of ancient history for the same
purpose. I do not know what he means to do with himself after leaving
college, but trust that, by dabbling so early with the dangerous and
seductive business of authorship, he will not be tempted to become an
author by profession. If so, I shall be very sorry for the little that I
have had to do with the matter, in encouraging these first beginnings.
I wish there were any likelihood of my soon seeing Primrose, Periwinkle,
Dandelion, Sweet Fern, Clover, Plantain, Huckleberry, Milkweed, Cowslip,
Buttercup, Blue Eye, and Squash-Blossom again. But as I do not know when
I shall revisit Tanglewood, and as Eustace Bright probably will not ask
me to edit a third Wonder Book, the public of little folks must not
expect to hear any more about those dear children from me. Heaven bless
them, and everybody else, whether grown people or children!
THE WAYSIDE, CONCORD, MASS.
_March 13, 1853._
The Minotaur
In the old city of Troezene, at the foot of a lofty mountain, there
lived, a very long time ago, a little boy named Theseus. His
grandfather, King Pittheus, was the sovereign of that country, and was
reckoned a very wise man; so that Theseus, being brought up in the royal
palace, and being naturally a bright lad, could hardly fail of profiting
by the old king's instructions. His mother's name was AEthra. As for his
father, the boy had never seen him. But, from his earliest remembrance,
AEthra used to go with little Theseus into a wood, and sit down upon a
moss-grown rock, which was deeply sunk into the earth. Here she often
talked with her son about his father, and said that he was called AEgeus,
and that he was a great king, and ruled over Attica, and dwelt at
Athens, which was as famous a city as any in the world. Theseus was very
fond of hearing about King AEgeus, and often asked his good mother AEthra
why he did not come and live with them at Troezene.
"Ah, my dear son," answered AEthra, with a sigh, "a monarch has his
people to take care of. The men and women over whom he rules are in the
place of children to him; and he can seldom spare time to love his own
children as other parents do. Your father will never be able to leave
his kingdom for the sake of seeing his little boy."
"Well, but, dear mother," asked the boy, "why cannot I go to this famous
city of Athens, and tell King AEgeus that I am his son?"
"That may happen by and by," said AEthra. "Be patient, and we shall see.
You are not yet big and strong enough to set out on such an errand."
"And how soon shall I be strong enough?" Theseus persisted in inquiring.
"You are but a tiny boy as yet," replied his mother. "See if you can
lift this rock on which we are sitting?"
The little fellow had a great opinion of his own strength. So, grasping
the rough protuberances of the rock, he tugged and toiled amain, and got
himself quite out of breath, without being able to stir the heavy stone.
It seemed to be rooted into the ground. No wonder he could not move it;
for it would have taken all the force of a very strong man to lift it
out of its earthy bed.
His mother stood looking on, with a sad kind of a smile on her lips and
in her eyes, to see the zealous and yet puny efforts of her little boy.
She could not help being sorrowful at finding him already so impatient
to begin his adventures in the world.
"You see how it is, my dear Theseus," said she. "You must possess far
more strength than now before I can trust you to go to Athens, and tell
King AEgeus that you are his son. But when you can lift this rock, and
show me what is hidden beneath it, I promise you my permission to
depart."
Often and often, after this, did Theseus ask his mother whether it was
yet time for him to go to Athens; and still his mother pointed to the
rock, and told him that, for years to come, he could not be strong
enough to move it. And again and again the rosy-cheeked and curly-headed
boy would tug and strain at the huge mass of stone, striving, child as
he was, to do what a giant could hardly have done without taking both of
his great hands to the task. Meanwhile the rock seemed to be sinking
farther and farther into the ground. The moss grew over it thicker and
thicker, until at last it looked almost like a soft green seat, with
only a few gray knobs of granite peeping out. The overhanging trees,
also, shed their brown leaves upon it, as often as the autumn came; and
at its base grew ferns and wild flowers, some of which crept quite over
its surface. To all appearance, the rock was as firmly fastened as any
other portion of the earth's substance.
But, difficult as the matter looked, Theseus was now growing up to be
such a vigorous youth, that, in his own opinion, the time would quickly
come when he might hope to get the upper hand of this ponderous lump of
stone.
"Mother, I do believe it has started!" cried he, after one of his
attempts. "The earth around it is certainly a little cracked!"
"No, no, child!" his mother hastily answered. "It is not possible you
can have moved it, such a boy as you still are!"
Nor would she be convinced, although Theseus showed her the place where
he fancied that the stem of a flower had been partly uprooted by the
movement of the rock. But AEthra sighed and looked disquieted; for, no
doubt, she began to be conscious that her son was no longer a child, and
that, in a little while hence, she must send him forth among the perils
and troubles of the world.
It was not more than a year afterwards when they were again sitting on
the moss-covered stone. AEthra had once more told him the oft-repeated
story of his father, and how gladly he would receive Theseus at his
stately palace, and how he would present him to his courtiers and the
people, and tell them that here was the heir of his dominions. The eyes
of Theseus glowed with enthusiasm, and he would hardly sit still to hear
his mother speak.
"Dear mother AEthra," he exclaimed, "I never felt half so strong as now!
I am no longer a child, nor a boy, nor a mere youth! I feel myself a
man! It is now time to make one earnest trial to remove the stone!"
"Ah, my dearest Theseus," replied his mother, "not yet! not yet!"
"Yes, mother," said he, resolutely, "the time has come."
Then Theseus bent himself in good earnest to the task, and strained
every sinew, with manly strength and resolution. He put his whole brave
heart into the effort. He wrestled with the big and sluggish stone, as
if it had been a living enemy. He heaved, he lifted, he resolved now to
succeed, or else to perish there, and let the rock be his monument
forever! AEthra stood gazing at him, and clasped her hands, partly with a
mother's pride, and partly with a mother's sorrow. The great rock
stirred! Yes, it was raised slowly from the bedded moss and earth,
uprooting the shrubs and flowers along with it, and was turned upon its
side. Theseus had conquered!
While taking breath, he looked joyfully at his mother, and she smiled
upon him through her tears.
"Yes, Theseus," she said, "the time has come, and you must stay no
longer at my side! See what King AEgeus, your royal father, left for you,
beneath the stone, when he lifted it in his mighty arms, and laid it on
the spot whence you have now removed it."
Theseus looked, and saw that the rock had been placed over another slab
of stone, containing a cavity within it; so that it somewhat resembled a
roughly made chest or coffer, of which the upper mass had served as the
lid. Within the cavity lay a sword, with a golden hilt, and a pair of
sandals.
"That was your father's sword," said AEthra, "and those were his sandals.
When he went to be king of Athens, he bade me treat you as a child until
you should prove yourself a man by lifting this heavy stone. That task
being accomplished, you are to put on his sandals, in order to follow in
your father's footsteps, and to gird on his sword, so that you may fight
giants and dragons, as King AEgeus did in his youth."
"I will set out for Athens this very day!" cried Theseus.
But his mother persuaded him to stay a day or two longer, while she got
ready some necessary articles for his journey. When his grandfather, the
wise King Pittheus, heard that Theseus intended to present himself at
his father's palace, he earnestly advised him to get on board of a
vessel, and go by sea; because he might thus arrive within fifteen miles
of Athens, without either fatigue or danger.
"The roads are very bad by land," quoth the venerable king; "and they
are terribly infested with robbers and monsters. A mere lad, like
Theseus, is not fit to be trusted on such a perilous journey, all by
himself. No, no; let him go by sea!"
But when Theseus heard of robbers and monsters, he pricked up his ears,
and was so much the more eager to take the road along which they were to
be met with. On the third day, therefore, he bade a respectful farewell
to his grandfather, thanking him for all his kindness, and, after
affectionately embracing his mother, he set forth, with a good many of
her tears glistening on his cheeks, and some, if the truth must be told,
that had gushed out of his own eyes. But he let the sun and wind dry
them, and walked stoutly on, playing with the golden hilt of his sword
and taking very manly strides in his father's sandals.
I cannot stop to tell you hardly any of the adventures that befell
Theseus on the road to Athens. It is enough to say, that he quite
cleared that part of the country of the robbers, about whom King
Pittheus had been so much alarmed. One of these bad people was named
Procrustes; and he was indeed a terrible fellow, and had an ugly way of
making fun of the poor travellers who happened to fall into his
clutches. In his cavern he had a bed, on which, with great pretence of
hospitality, he invited his guests to lie down; but if they happened to
be shorter than the bed, this wicked villain stretched them out by main
force; or, if they were too long, he lopped off their heads or feet, and
laughed at what he had done, as an excellent joke. Thus, however weary
a man might be, he never liked to lie in the bed of Procrustes. Another
of these robbers, named Scinis, must likewise have been a very great
scoundrel. He was in the habit of flinging his victims off a high cliff
into the sea; and, in order to give him exactly his deserts, Theseus
tossed him off the very same place. But if you will believe me, the sea
would not pollute itself by receiving such a bad person into its bosom,
neither would the earth, having once got rid of him, consent to take him
back; so that, between the cliff and the sea, Scinis stuck fast in the
air, which was forced to bear the burden of his naughtiness.
After these memorable deeds, Theseus heard of an enormous sow, which ran
wild, and was the terror of all the farmers round about; and, as he did
not consider himself above doing any good thing that came in his way, he
killed this monstrous creature, and gave the carcass to the poor people
for bacon. The great sow had been an awful beast, while ramping about
the woods and fields, but was a pleasant object enough when cut up into
joints, and smoking on I know not how many dinner tables.
Thus, by the time he had reached his journey's end, Theseus had done
many valiant deeds with his father's golden-hilted sword, and had gained
the renown of being one of the bravest young men of the day. His fame
travelled faster than he did, and reached Athens before him. As he
entered the city, he heard the inhabitants talking at the
street-corners, and saying that Hercules was brave, and Jason too, and
Castor and Pollux likewise, but that Theseus, the son of their own king,
would turn out as great a hero as the best of them. Theseus took longer
strides on hearing this, and fancied himself sure of a magnificent
reception at his father's court, since he came hither with Fame to blow
her trumpet before him, and cry to King AEgeus, "Behold your son!"
He little suspected, innocent youth that he was, that here, in this
very Athens, where his father reigned, a greater danger awaited him than
any which he had encountered on the road. Yet this was the truth. You
must understand that the father of Theseus, though not very old in
years, was almost worn out with the cares of government, and had thus
grown aged before his time. His nephews, not expecting him to live a
very great while, intended to get all the power of the kingdom into
their own hands. But when they heard that Theseus had arrived in Athens,
and learned what a gallant young man he was, they saw that he would not
be at all the kind of person to let them steal away his father's crown
and sceptre, which ought to be his own by right of inheritance. Thus
these bad-hearted nephews of King AEgeus, who were the own cousins of
Theseus, at once became his enemies. A still more dangerous enemy was
Medea, the wicked enchantress; for she was now the king's wife, and
wanted to give the kingdom to her son Medus, instead of letting it be
given to the son of AEthra, whom she hated.
It so happened that the king's nephews met Theseus, and found out who he
was, just as he reached the entrance of the royal palace. With all their
evil designs against him, they pretended to be their cousin's best
friends, and expressed great joy at making his acquaintance. They
proposed to him that he should come into the king's presence as a
stranger, in order to try whether AEgeus would discover in the young
man's features any likeness either to himself or his mother AEthra, and
thus recognize him for a son. Theseus consented; for he fancied that his
father would know him in a moment, by the love that was in his heart.
But, while he waited at the door, the nephews ran and told King AEgeus
that a young man had arrived in Athens, who, to their certain knowledge,
intended to put him to death, and get possession of his royal crown.
"And he is now waiting for admission to your Majesty's presence," added
they.
"Aha!" cried the old king, on hearing this. "Why, he must be a very
wicked young fellow indeed! Pray, what would you advise me to do with
him?"
In reply to this question, the wicked Medea put in her word. As I have
already told you, she was a famous enchantress. According to some
stories, she was in the habit of boiling old people in a large caldron,
under pretence of making them young again; but King AEgeus, I suppose,
did not fancy such an uncomfortable way of growing young, or perhaps was
contented to be old, and therefore would never let himself be popped
into the caldron. If there were time to spare from more important
matters, I should be glad to tell you of Medea's fiery chariot, drawn by
winged dragons, in which the enchantress used often to take an airing
among the clouds. This chariot, in fact, was the vehicle that first
brought her to Athens, where she had done nothing but mischief ever
since her arrival. But these and many other wonders must be left untold;
and it is enough to say, that Medea, amongst a thousand other bad
things, knew how to prepare a poison, that was instantly fatal to
whomsoever might so much as touch it with his lips.
So, when the king asked what he should do with Theseus, this naughty
woman had an answer ready at her tongue's end.
"Leave that to me, please your Majesty," she replied. "Only admit this
evil-minded young man to your presence, treat him civilly, and invite
him to drink a goblet of wine. Your Majesty is well aware that I
sometimes amuse myself with distilling very powerful medicines. Here is
one of them in this small phial. As to what it is made of, that is one
of my secrets of state. Do but let me put a single drop into the goblet,
and let the young man taste it; and I will answer for it, he shall quite
lay aside the bad designs with which he comes hither."