there came other people, who chanced to have no homes; and, seeing how
pleasant a spot it was, they built themselves huts in the neighborhood
of Phoenix's habitation. Thus, before many years went by, a city had
grown up there, in the centre of which was seen a stately palace of
marble, wherein dwelt Phoenix, clothed in a purple robe, and wearing a
golden crown upon his head. For the inhabitants of the new city, finding
that he had royal blood in his veins, had chosen him to be their king.
The very first decree of state which King Phoenix issued was, that if
a maiden happened to arrive in the kingdom, mounted on a snow-white
bull, and calling herself Europa, his subjects should treat her with the
greatest kindness and respect, and immediately bring her to the palace.
You may see, by this, that Phoenix's conscience never quite ceased to
trouble him, for giving up the quest of his dear sister, and sitting
himself down to be comfortable, while his mother and her companions went
onward.
But often and often, at the close of a weary day's journey, did
Telephassa and Cadmus, Cilix and Thasus, remember the pleasant spot in
which they had left Phoenix. It was a sorrowful prospect for these
wanderers, that on the morrow they must again set forth, and that, after
many nightfalls, they would perhaps be no nearer the close of their
toilsome pilgrimage than now. These thoughts made them all melancholy at
times, but appeared to torment Cilix more than the rest of the party. At
length, one morning, when they were taking their staffs in hand to set
out, he thus addressed them:--
"My dear mother, and you good brother Cadmus, and my friend Thasus,
methinks we are like people in a dream. There is no substance in the
life which we are leading. It is such a dreary length of time since the
white bull carried off my sister Europa, that I have quite forgotten how
she looked, and the tones of her voice, and, indeed, almost doubt
whether such a little girl ever lived in the world. And whether she once
lived or no, I am convinced that she no longer survives, and that
therefore it is the merest folly to waste our own lives and happiness in
seeking her. Were we to find her, she would now be a woman grown, and
would look upon us all as strangers. So, to tell you the truth, I have
resolved to take up my abode here; and I entreat you, mother, brother,
and friend, to follow my example."
"Not I, for one," said Telephassa; although the poor queen, firmly as
she spoke, was so travel-worn that she could hardly put her foot to the
ground,--"not I, for one! In the depths of my heart, little Europa is
still the rosy child who ran to gather flowers so many years ago. She
has not grown to womanhood, nor forgotten me. At noon, at night,
journeying onward, sitting down to rest, her childish voice is always in
my ears, calling, 'Mother! mother!' Stop here who may, there is no
repose for me."
"Nor for me," said Cadmus, "while my dear mother pleases to go onward."
And the faithful Thasus, too, was resolved to bear them company. They
remained with Cilix a few days, however, and helped him to build a
rustic bower, resembling the one which they had formerly built for
Phoenix.
When they were bidding him farewell, Cilix burst into tears, and told
his mother that it seemed just as melancholy a dream to stay there, in
solitude, as to go onward. If she really believed that they would ever
find Europa, he was willing to continue the search with them, even now.
But Telephassa bade him remain there, and be happy, if his own heart
would let him. So the pilgrims took their leave of him, and departed,
and were hardly out of sight before some other wandering people came
along that way, and saw Cilix's habitation, and were greatly delighted
with the appearance of the place. There being abundance of unoccupied
ground in the neighborhood, these strangers built huts for themselves,
and were soon joined by a multitude of new settlers, who quickly formed
a city. In the middle of it was seen a magnificent palace of colored
marble, on the balcony of which, every noontide, appeared Cilix, in a
long purple robe, and with a jewelled crown upon his head; for the
inhabitants, when they found out that he was a king's son, had
considered him the fittest of all men to be a king himself.
One of the first acts of King Cilix's government was to send out an
expedition, consisting of a grave ambassador and an escort of bold and
hardy young men, with orders to visit the principal kingdoms of the
earth, and inquire whether a young maiden had passed through those
regions, galloping swiftly on a white bull. It is, therefore, plain to
my mind, that Cilix secretly blamed himself for giving up the search for
Europa, as long as he was able to put one foot before the other.
As for Telephassa, and Cadmus, and the good Thasus, it grieves me to
think of them, still keeping up that weary pilgrimage. The two young men
did their best for the poor queen, helping her over the rough places
often carrying her across rivulets in their faithful arms, and seeking
to shelter her at nightfall, even when they themselves lay on the
ground. Sad, sad it was to hear them asking of every passer-by if he had
seen Europa, so long after the white bull had carried her away. But,
though the gray years thrust themselves between, and made the child's
figure dim in their remembrance, neither of these true-hearted three
ever dreamed of giving up the search.
One morning, however, poor Thasus found that he had sprained his ankle,
and could not possibly go a step farther.
"After a few days, to be sure," said he, mournfully, "I might make shift
to hobble along with a stick. But that would only delay you, and perhaps
hinder you from finding dear little Europa, after all your pains and
trouble. Do you go forward, therefore, my beloved companions, and leave
me to follow as I may."
"Thou hast been a true friend, dear Thasus," said Queen Telephassa,
kissing his forehead. "Being neither my son, nor the brother of our lost
Europa, thou hast shown thyself truer to me and her than Phoenix and
Cilix did, whom we have left behind us. Without thy loving help, and
that of my son Cadmus, my limbs could not have borne me half so far as
this. Now, take thy rest, and be at peace. For--and it is the first
time I have owned it to myself--I begin to question whether we shall
ever find my beloved daughter in this world."
Saying this, the poor queen shed tears, because it was a grievous trial
to the mother's heart to confess that her hopes were growing faint. From
that day forward, Cadmus noticed that she never travelled with the same
alacrity of spirit that had heretofore supported her. Her weight was
heavier upon his arm.
Before setting out, Cadmus helped Thasus build a bower; while
Telephassa, being too infirm to give any great assistance, advised them
how to fit it up and furnish it, so that it might be as comfortable as a
hut of branches could. Thasus, however, did not spend all his days in
this green bower. For it happened to him, as to Phoenix and Cilix,
that other homeless people visited the spot and liked it, and built
themselves habitations in the neighborhood. So here, in the course of a
few years, was another thriving city with a red freestone palace in the
centre of it, where Thasus sat upon a throne, doing justice to the
people, with a purple robe over his shoulders, a sceptre in his hand,
and a crown upon his head. The inhabitants had made him king, not for
the sake of any royal blood (for none was in his veins), but because
Thasus was an upright, true-hearted, and courageous man, and therefore
fit to rule.
But, when the affairs of his kingdom were all settled, King Thasus laid
aside his purple robe, and crown, and sceptre, and bade his worthiest
subject distribute justice to the people in his stead. Then, grasping
the pilgrim's staff that had supported him so long, he set forth again,
hoping still to discover some hoof-mark of the snow-white bull, some
trace of the vanished child. He returned, after a lengthened absence,
and sat down wearily upon his throne. To his latest hour, nevertheless,
King Thasus showed his true-hearted remembrance of Europa, by ordering
that a fire should always be kept burning in his palace, and a bath
steaming hot, and food ready to be served up, and a bed with snow-white
sheets, in case the maiden should arrive, and require immediate
refreshment. And though Europa never came, the good Thasus had the
blessings of many a poor traveller, who profited by the food and lodging
which were meant for the little playmate of the king's boyhood.
Telephassa and Cadmus were now pursuing their weary way, with no
companion but each other. The queen leaned heavily upon her son's arm,
and could walk only a few miles a day. But for all her weakness and
weariness, she would not be persuaded to give up the search. It was
enough to bring tears into the eyes of bearded men to hear the
melancholy tone with which she inquired of every stranger whether he
could tell her any news of the lost child.
"Have you seen a little girl--no, no, I mean a young maiden of full
growth--passing by this way, mounted on a snow-white bull, which gallops
as swiftly as the wind?"
"We have seen no such wondrous sight," the people would reply; and very
often, taking Cadmus aside, they whispered to him, "Is this stately and
sad-looking woman your mother? Surely she is not in her right mind; and
you ought to take her home, and make her comfortable, and do your best
to get this dream out of her fancy."
"It is no dream," said Cadmus. "Everything else is a dream, save that."
But, one day, Telephassa seemed feebler than usual, and leaned almost
her whole weight on the arm of Cadmus, and walked more slowly than ever
before. At last they reached a solitary spot, where she told her son
that she must needs lie down, and take a good, long rest.
"A good, long rest!" she repeated, looking Cadmus tenderly in the
face,"--a good, long rest, thou dearest one!"
"As long as you please, dear mother," answered Cadmus.
Telephassa bade him sit down on the turf beside her, and then she took
his hand.
"My son," said she, fixing her dim eyes most lovingly upon him, "this
rest that I speak of will be very long indeed! You must not wait till it
is finished. Dear Cadmus, you do not comprehend me. You must make a
grave here, and lay your mother's weary frame into it. My pilgrimage is
over."
Cadmus burst into tears, and, for a long time, refused to believe that
his dear mother was now to be taken from him. But Telephassa reasoned
with him, and kissed him, and at length made him discern that it was
better for her spirit to pass away out of the toil, the weariness, the
grief, and disappointment which had burdened her on earth, ever since
the child was lost. He therefore repressed his sorrow and listened to
her last words.
"Dearest Cadmus," said she, "thou hast been the truest son that mother
ever had, and faithful to the last. Who else would have borne with my
infirmities as thou hast! It is owing to thy care, thou tenderest child,
that my grave was not dug long years ago, in some valley, or on some
hill-side, that lies far, far behind us. It is enough. Thou shalt wander
no more on this hopeless search. But when thou hast laid thy mother in
the earth, then go, my son, to Delphi, and inquire of the oracle what
thou shalt do next."
"O mother, mother," cried Cadmus, "couldst thou but have seen my sister
before this hour!"
"It matters little now," answered Telephassa, and there was a smile upon
her face. "I go to the better world, and, sooner or later, shall find my
daughter there."
I will not sadden you, my little hearers, with telling how Telephassa
died and was buried, but will only say, that her dying smile grew
brighter, instead of vanishing from her dead face; so that Cadmus felt
convinced that, at her very first step into the better world, she had
caught Europa in her arms. He planted some flowers on his mother's
grave, and left them to grow there, and make the place beautiful, when
he should be far away.
After performing this last sorrowful duty, he set forth alone, and took
the road towards the famous oracle of Delphi, as Telephassa had advised
him. On his way thither, he still inquired of most people whom he met
whether they had seen Europa; for, to say the truth, Cadmus had grown so
accustomed to ask the question, that it came to his lips as readily as a
remark about the weather. He received various answers. Some told him one
thing, and some another. Among the rest, a mariner affirmed, that, many
years before, in a distant country, he had heard a rumor about a white
bull, which came swimming across the sea with a child on his back,
dressed up in flowers that were blighted by the sea-water. He did not
know what had become of the child or the bull; and Cadmus suspected,
indeed, by a queer twinkle in the mariner's eyes, that he was putting a
joke upon him, and had never really heard anything about the matter.
Poor Cadmus found it more wearisome to travel alone than to bear all his
dear mother's weight while she had kept him company. His heart, you will
understand, was now so heavy that it seemed impossible, sometimes, to
carry it any farther. But his limbs were strong and active, and well
accustomed to exercise. He walked swiftly along, thinking of King Agenor
and Queen Telephassa, and his brothers, and the friendly Thasus, all of
whom he had left behind him, at one point of his pilgrimage or another,
and never expected to see them any more. Full of these remembrances, he
came within sight of a lofty mountain, which the people thereabouts told
him was called Parnassus. On the slope of Mount Parnassus was the famous
Delphi, whither Cadmus was going.
This Delphi was supposed to be the very midmost spot of the whole world.
The place of the oracle was a certain cavity in the mountain-side, over
which, when Cadmus came thither, he found a rude bower of branches. It
reminded him of those which he had helped to build for Phoenix and
Cilix, and afterwards for Thasus. In later times, when multitudes of
people came from great distances to put questions to the oracle, a
spacious temple of marble was erected over the spot. But in the days of
Cadmus, as I have told you, there was only this rustic bower, with its
abundance of green foliage, and a tuft of shrubbery, that ran wild over
the mysterious hole in the hill-side.
When Cadmus had thrust a passage through the tangled boughs, and made
his way into the bower, he did not at first discern the half-hidden
cavity. But soon he felt a cold stream of air rushing out of it, with so
much force that it shook the ringlets on his cheek. Pulling away the
shrubbery which clustered over the hole, he bent forward, and spoke in a
distinct but reverential tone, as if addressing some unseen personage
inside of the mountain.
"Sacred oracle of Delphi," said he, "whither shall I go next in quest of
my dear sister Europa?"
There was at first a deep silence, and then a rushing sound, or a noise
like a long sigh, proceeding out of the interior of the earth. This
cavity, you must know, was looked upon as a sort of fountain of truth,
which sometimes gushed out in audible words; although, for the most
part, these words were such a riddle that they might just as well have
stayed at the bottom of the hole. But Cadmus was more fortunate than
many others who went to Delphi in search of truth. By and by, the
rushing noise began to sound like articulate language. It repeated, over
and over again, the following sentence, which, after all, was so like
the vague whistle of a blast of air, that Cadmus really did not quite
know whether it meant anything or not:--
"Seek her no more! Seek her no more! Seek her no more!"
"What, then, shall I do?" asked Cadmus.
For, ever since he was a child, you know, it had been the great object
of his life to find his sister. From the very hour that he left
following the butterfly in the meadow, near his father's palace, he had
done his best to follow Europa, over land and sea. And now, if he must
give up the search, he seemed to have no more business in the world.
But again the sighing gust of air grew into something like a hoarse
voice.
"Follow the cow!" it said. "Follow the cow! Follow the cow!"
And when these words had been repeated until Cadmus was tired of hearing
them (especially as he could not imagine what cow it was, or why he was
to follow her), the gusty hole gave vent to another sentence.
"Where the stray cow lies down, there is your home."
These words were pronounced but a single time, and died away into a
whisper before Cadmus was fully satisfied that he had caught the
meaning. He put other questions, but received no answer; only the gust
of wind sighed continually out of the cavity, and blew the withered
leaves rustling along the ground before it.
"Did there really come any words out of the hole?" thought Cadmus; "or
have I been dreaming all this while?"
He turned away from the oracle, and thought himself no wiser than when
he came thither. Caring little what might happen to him, he took the
first path that offered itself, and went along at a sluggish pace; for,
having no object in view, nor any reason to go one way more than
another, it would certainly have been foolish to make haste. Whenever he
met anybody, the old question was at his tongue's end:--
"Have you seen a beautiful maiden, dressed like a king's daughter, and
mounted on a snow-white bull, that gallops as swiftly as the wind?"
But, remembering what the oracle had said, he only half uttered the
words, and then mumbled the rest indistinctly; and from his confusion,
people must have imagined that this handsome young man had lost his
wits.
I know not how far Cadmus had gone, nor could he himself have told you,
when, at no great distance before him, he beheld a brindled cow. She was
lying down by the wayside, and quietly chewing her cud; nor did she take
any notice of the young man until he had approached pretty nigh. Then,
getting leisurely upon her feet, and giving her head a gentle toss, she
began to move along at a moderate pace, often pausing just long enough
to crop a mouthful of grass. Cadmus loitered behind, whistling idly to
himself, and scarcely noticing the cow; until the thought occurred to
him, whether this could possibly be the animal which, according to the
oracle's response, was to serve him for a guide. But he smiled at
himself for fancying such a thing. He could not seriously think that
this was the cow, because she went along so quietly, behaving just like
any other cow. Evidently she neither knew nor cared so much as a wisp of
hay about Cadmus, and was only thinking how to get her living along the
wayside, where the herbage was green and fresh. Perhaps she was going
home to be milked.
"Cow, cow, cow!" cried Cadmus. "Hey, Brindle, hey! Stop, my good cow."
He wanted to come up with the cow, so as to examine her, and see if she
would appear to know him, or whether there were any peculiarities to
distinguish her from a thousand other cows, whose only business is to
fill the milk-pail, and sometimes kick it over. But still the brindled
cow trudged on, whisking her tail to keep the flies away, and taking as
little notice of Cadmus as she well could. If he walked slowly, so did
the cow, and seized the opportunity to graze. If he quickened his pace,
the cow went just so much the faster; and once, when Cadmus tried to
catch her by running, she threw out her heels, stuck her tail straight
on end, and set off at a gallop, looking as queerly as cows generally
do, while putting themselves to their speed.
When Cadmus saw that it was impossible to come up with her, he walked on
moderately, as before. The cow, too, went leisurely on, without looking
behind. Wherever the grass was greenest, there she nibbled a mouthful or
two. Where a brook glistened brightly across the path, there the cow
drank, and breathed a comfortable sigh, and drank again, and trudged
onward at the pace that best suited herself and Cadmus.
"I do believe," thought Cadmus, "that this may be the cow that was
foretold me. If it be the one, I suppose she will lie down somewhere
hereabouts."
Whether it were the oracular cow or some other one, it did not seem
reasonable that she should travel a great way farther. So, whenever they
reached a particularly pleasant spot on a breezy hill-side, or in a
sheltered vale, or flowery meadow, on the shore of a calm lake, or along
the bank of a clear stream, Cadmus looked eagerly around to see if the
situation would suit him for a home. But still, whether he liked the
place or no, the brindled cow never offered to lie down. On she went at
the quiet pace of a cow going homeward to the barn-yard; and, every
moment, Cadmus expected to see a milkmaid approaching with a pail, or a
herdsman running to head the stray animal, and turn her back towards the
pasture. But no milkmaid came; no herdsman drove her back; and Cadmus
followed the stray Brindle till he was almost ready to drop down with
fatigue.
"O brindled cow," cried he, in a tone of despair, "do you never mean to
stop?"
He had now grown too intent on following her to think of lagging behind,
however long the way, and whatever might be his fatigue. Indeed, it
seemed as if there were something about the animal that bewitched
people. Several persons who happened to see the brindled cow, and Cadmus
following behind, began to trudge after her, precisely as he did.
Cadmus was glad of somebody to converse with, and therefore talked very
freely to these good people. He told them all his adventures, and how he
had left King Agenor in his palace, and Phoenix at one place, and
Cilix at another, and Thasus at a third, and his dear mother, Queen
Telephassa, under a flowery sod; so that now he was quite alone, both
friendless and homeless. He mentioned, likewise, that the oracle had
bidden him be guided by a cow, and inquired of the strangers whether
they supposed that this brindled animal could be the one.
"Why, 'tis a very wonderful affair," answered one of his new companions.
"I am pretty well acquainted with the ways of cattle, and I never knew a
cow, of her own accord, to go so far without stopping. If my legs will
let me, I'll never leave following the beast till she lies down."
"Nor I!" said a second.
"Nor I!" cried a third. "If she goes a hundred miles farther, I'm
determined to see the end of it."
The secret of it was, you must know, that the cow was an enchanted cow,
and that, without their being conscious of it, she threw some of her
enchantment over everybody that took so much as half a dozen steps
behind her. They could not possibly help following her, though, all the
time, they fancied themselves doing it of their own accord. The cow was
by no means very nice in choosing her path; so that sometimes they had
to scramble over rocks, or wade through mud and mire, and were all in a
terribly bedraggled condition, and tired to death, and very hungry, into
the bargain. What a weary business it was!
But still they kept trudging stoutly forward, and talking as they went.
The strangers grew very fond of Cadmus, and resolved never to leave him,
but to help him build a city wherever the cow might lie down. In the
centre of it there should be a noble palace, in which Cadmus might
dwell, and be their king, with a throne, a crown and sceptre, a purple
robe, and everything else that a king ought to have; for in him there
was the royal blood, and the royal heart, and the head that knew how to
rule.
While they were talking of these schemes, and beguiling the tediousness
of the way with laying out the plan of the new city, one of the company
happened to look at the cow.
"Joy! joy!" cried he, clapping his hands. "Brindle is going to lie
down."
They all looked; and, sure enough, the cow had stopped, and was staring
leisurely about her, as other cows do when on the point of lying down.
And slowly, slowly did she recline herself on the soft grass, first
bending her fore legs, and then crouching her hind ones. When Cadmus and
his companions came up with her, there was the brindled cow taking her
ease, chewing her cud, and looking them quietly in the face; as if this
was just the spot she had been seeking for, and as if it were all a
matter of course.
"This, then," said Cadmus, gazing around him, "this is to be my home."