aside his purple robe, and crown, and scepter, 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 wonderous 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 ever
mother had, and faithful to the very 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 hillside 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 now 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 mid-most 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
Phœnix 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 hillside.
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 staid 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.
[Illustration: "Sacred oracle of Delphi, whither shall I go?"]
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 brindle
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 hillside, 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 Phœnix 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 center of it there should be a noble palace, in which Cadmus might
dwell, and be their king, with a throne, a crown, and scepter, 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."
It was a fertile and lovely plain, with great trees flinging their
sun-speckled shadows over it, and hills fencing it in from the rough
weather. At no great distance, they beheld a river gleaming in the
sunshine. A home feeling stole into the heart of poor Cadmus. He was
very glad to know that here he might awake in the morning, without
the necessity of putting on his dusty sandals to travel farther and
farther. The days and the years would pass over him, and find him
still in this pleasant spot. If he could have had his brothers with
him, and his friend Thasus, and could have seen his dear mother under
a roof of his own, he might here have been happy, after all their
disappointments. Some day or other, too, his sister Europa might
have come quietly to the door of his home, and smiled round upon the
familiar faces. But, indeed, since there was no hope of regaining the
friends of his boyhood, or ever seeing his dear sister again, Cadmus
resolved to make himself happy with these new companions, who had grown
so fond of him while following the cow.
"Yes, my friends," said he to them, "this is to be our home. Here we
will build our habitations. The brindled cow, which has led us hither,
will supply us with milk. We will cultivate the neighboring soil, and
lead an innocent and happy life."
[Illustration: THIS PITILESS REPTILE HAD KILLED HIS POOR COMPANIONS]
His companions joyfully assented to this plan; and, in the first place,
being very hungry and thirsty, they looked about them for the means of
providing a comfortable meal. Not far off, they saw a tuft of trees,
which appeared as if there might be a spring of water beneath them.
They went thither to fetch some, leaving Cadmus stretched on the ground
along with the brindled cow; for, now that he had found a place of
rest, it seemed as if all the weariness of his pilgrimage, ever since
he left King Agenor's palace, had fallen upon him at once. But his new
friends had not long been gone, when he was suddenly startled by cries,
shouts, and screams, and the noise of a terrible struggle, and in the
midst of it all, a most awful hissing, which went right through his
ears like a rough saw.
Running towards the tuft of trees, he beheld the head and fiery eyes of
an immense serpent or dragon, with the widest jaws that ever a dragon
had, and a vast many rows of horribly sharp teeth. Before Cadmus could
reach the spot, this pitiless reptile had killed his poor companions,
and was busily devouring them, making but a mouthful of each man.
It appears that the fountain of water was enchanted, and that the
dragon had been set to guard it, so that no mortal might ever quench
his thirst there. As the neighboring inhabitants carefully avoided
the spot, it was now a long time (not less than a hundred years,
or thereabouts) since the monster had broken his fast; and, as was
natural enough, his appetite had grown to be enormous, and was not
half satisfied by the poor people whom he had just eaten up. When he
caught sight of Cadmus, therefore, he set up another abominable hiss,
and flung back his immense jaws, until his mouth looked like a great
red cavern, at the farther end of which were seen the legs of his last
victim, whom he had hardly had time to swallow.
But Cadmus was so enraged at the destruction of his friends, that he
cared neither for the size of the dragon's jaws nor for his hundreds
of sharp teeth. Drawing his sword, he rushed at the monster, and flung
himself right into his cavernous mouth. This bold method of attacking
him took the dragon by surprise; for, in fact, Cadmus had leaped so
far down into his throat, that the rows of terrible teeth could not
close upon him, nor do him the least harm in the world. Thus, though
the struggle was a tremendous one, and though the dragon shattered the
tuft of trees into small splinters by the lashing of his tail, yet,
as Cadmus was all the while slashing and stabbing at his very vitals,
it was not long before the scaly wretch bethought himself of slipping
away. He had not gone his length, however, when the brave Cadmus gave
him a sword thrust that finished the battle; and, creeping out of the
gateway of the creature's jaws, there he beheld him still wriggling his
vast bulk, although there was no longer life enough in him to harm a
little child.
But do not you suppose that it made Cadmus sorrowful to think of the
melancholy fate which had befallen those poor, friendly people, who had
followed the cow along with him? It seemed as if he were doomed to lose
every body whom he loved, or to see them perish in one way or another.
And here he was, after all his toils and troubles, in a solitary place,
with not a single human being to help him build a hut.
"What shall I do?" cried he aloud. "It were better for me to have been
devoured by the dragon, as my poor companions were."
"Cadmus," said a voice--but whether it came from above or below him,
or whether it spoke within his own breast, the young man could not
tell--"Cadmus, pluck out the dragon's teeth, and plant them in the
earth."
This was a strange thing to do; nor was it very easy, I should imagine,
to dig out all those deep-rooted fangs from the dead dragon's jaws. But
Cadmus toiled and tugged, and after pounding the monstrous head almost
to pieces with a great stone, he at last collected as many teeth as
might have filled a bushel or two. The next thing was to plant them.
This, likewise, was a tedious piece of work, especially as Cadmus was
already exhausted with killing the dragon and knocking his head to
pieces, and had nothing to dig the earth with, that I know of, unless
it were his sword blade. Finally, however, a sufficiently large tract
of ground was turned up, and sown with this new kind of seed; although
half of the dragon's teeth still remained to be planted some other day.
Cadmus, quite out of breath, stood leaning upon his sword, and
wondering what was to happen next. He had waited but a few moments,
when he began to see a sight, which was as great a marvel as the most
marvellous thing I ever told you about.
The sun was shining slantwise over the field, and showed all the moist,
dark soil, just like any other newly-planted piece of ground. All at
once, Cadmus fancied he saw something glisten very brightly, first at
one spot, then another, and then at a hundred and a thousand spots
together. Soon he perceived them to be the steel heads of spears,
sprouting up everywhere like so many stalks of grain, and continually
growing taller and taller. Next appeared a vast number of bright sword
blades, thrusting themselves up in the same way. A moment afterwards,
the whole surface of the ground was broken by a multitude of polished
brass helmets, coming up like a crop of enormous beans. So rapidly
did they grow that Cadmus now discerned the fierce countenance of a
man beneath every one. In short, before he had time to think what a
wonderful affair it was, he beheld an abundant harvest of what looked
like human beings, armed with helmets and breastplates, shields,
swords, and spears; and before they were well out of the earth, they
brandished their weapons, and clashed them one against another, seeming
to think, little while as they had yet lived, that they had wasted too
much of life without a battle. Every tooth of the dragon had produced
one of these sons of deadly mischief.
Up sprouted, also, a great many trumpeters, and with the first breath
that they drew, they put their brazen trumpets to their lips, and
sounded a tremendous and ear-shattering blast; so that the whole space,
just now so quiet and solitary, reverberated with the clash and clang
of arms, the bray of warlike music, and the shouts of angry men. So
enraged did they all look, that Cadmus fully expected them to put
the whole world to the sword. How fortunate would it be for a great
conqueror, if he could get a bushel of the dragon's teeth to sow!
"Cadmus," said the same voice which he had before heard, "throw a stone
into the midst of the armed men."