it was a sorrowful predicament that he could not, at least, have the
consolation of telling what it was. But Ulysses had no time to waste
in trying to get at the mystery. He therefore quickened his pace, and
had gone a good way along the pleasant wood path when there met him a
young man of very brisk and intelligent aspect, and clad in a rather
singular garb. He wore a short cloak, and a sort of cap that seemed to
be furnished with a pair of wings; and from the lightness of his step,
you would have supposed that there might likewise be wings on his feet.
To enable him to walk still better, (for he was always on one journey
or another,) he carried a winged staff, around which two serpents were
wriggling and twisting. In short, I have said enough to make you guess
that it was Quicksilver; and Ulysses (who knew him of old, and had
learned a great deal of his wisdom from him) recognized him in a moment.
"Whither are you going in such a hurry, wise Ulysses?" asked
Quicksilver. "Do you not know that this island is enchanted? The wicked
enchantress (whose name is Circe, the sister of King Æetes) dwells in
the marble palace which you see yonder among the trees. By her magic
arts, she changes every human being into the brute beast or fowl whom
he happens most to resemble."
"That little bird, which met me at the edge of the cliff," exclaimed
Ulysses; "was he a human being once?"
"Yes," answered Quicksilver. "He was once a king, named Picus, and a
pretty good sort of a king too, only rather too proud of his purple
robe, and his crown, and the golden chain about his neck; so he was
forced to take the shape of a gaudy-feathered bird. The lions, and
wolves, and tigers, who will come running to meet you, in front of
the palace, were formerly fierce and cruel men, resembling in their
dispositions the wild beasts whose forms they now rightfully wear."
"And my poor companions," said Ulysses. "Have they undergone a similar
change, through the arts of this wicked Circe?"
"You well know what gormandizers they were," replied Quicksilver; and
rogue that he was, he could not help laughing at the joke. "So you will
not be surprised to hear that they have all taken the shapes of swine!
If Circe had never done anything worse, I really should not think her
so very much to blame."
"But can I do nothing to help them?" inquired Ulysses.
"It will require all your wisdom," said Quicksilver, "and a little of
my own into the bargain, to keep your royal and sagacious self from
being transformed into a fox. But do as I bid you, and the matter may
end better than it has begun."
While he was speaking, Quicksilver seemed to be in search of something;
he went stooping along the ground, and soon laid his hand on a little
plant with a snow-white flower, which he plucked and smelt of. Ulysses
had been looking at that very spot only just before; and it appeared
to him that the plant had burst into full flower the instant when
Quicksilver touched it with his fingers.
"Take this flower, King Ulysses," said he. "Guard it as you do your
eyesight; for I can assure you it is exceedingly rare and precious, and
you might seek the whole earth over without ever finding another like
it. Keep it in your hand, and smell of it frequently after you enter
the palace, and while you are talking with the enchantress. Especially
when she offers you food, or a draught of wine out of her goblet, be
careful to fill your nostrils with the flower's fragrance. Follow these
directions, and you may defy her magic arts to change you into a fox."
Quicksilver then gave him some further advice how to behave, and
bidding him to be bold and prudent, again assured him that, powerful as
Circe was, he would have a fair prospect of coming safely out of her
enchanted palace. After listening attentively, Ulysses thanked his good
friend, and resumed his way. But he had taken only a few steps, when,
recollecting some other questions which he wished to ask, he turned
round again, and beheld nobody on the spot where Quicksilver had stood;
for that winged cap of his, and those winged shoes, with the help of
the winged staff, had carried him quickly out of sight.
When Ulysses reached the lawn, in front of the palace, the lions and
other savage animals came bounding to meet him, and would have fawned
upon him and licked his feet. But the wise king struck at them with
his long spear, and sternly bade them begone out of his path; for he
knew that they had once been bloodthirsty men, and would now tear him
limb from limb, instead of fawning upon him, could they do the mischief
that was in their hearts. The wild beasts yelped and glared at him, and
stood at a distance, while he ascended the palace steps.
On entering the hall, Ulysses saw the magic fountain in the center
of it. The up-gushing water had now again taken the shape of a man
in a long, white, fleecy robe, who appeared to be making gestures
of welcome. The king likewise heard the noise of the shuttle in the
loom, and the sweet melody of the beautiful woman's song, and then the
pleasant voices of herself and the four maidens talking together, with
peals of merry laughter intermixed. But Ulysses did not waste much time
in listening to the laughter or the song. He leaned his spear against
one of the pillars of the hall, and then, after loosening his sword in
the scabbard, stepped boldly forward, and threw the folding doors wide
open. The moment she beheld his stately figure standing in the doorway,
the beautiful woman rose from the loom, and ran to meet him with a glad
smile throwing its sunshine over her face, and both her hands extended.
"Welcome, brave stranger!" cried she. "We were expecting you."
And the nymph with the sea-green hair made a courtesy down to the
ground, and likewise bade him welcome; so did her sister with the
bodice of oaken bark, and she that sprinkled dewdrops from her fingers'
ends, and the fourth one with some oddity which I cannot remember. And
Circe, as the beautiful enchantress was called, (who had deluded so
many persons that she did not doubt of being able to delude Ulysses,
not imagining how wise he was,) again addressed him:--
"Your companions," said she, "have already been received into my
palace, and have enjoyed the hospitable treatment to which the
propriety of their behavior so well entitles them. If such be your
pleasure, you shall first take some refreshment, and then join them in
the elegant apartment which they now occupy. See, I and my maidens have
been weaving their figures into this piece of tapestry."
She pointed to the web of beautifully-woven cloth in the loom. Circe
and the four nymphs must have been very diligently at work since the
arrival of the mariners; for a great many yards of tapestry had now
been wrought, in addition to what I before described. In this new
part, Ulysses saw his two and twenty friends represented as sitting
on cushioned and canopied thrones, greedily devouring dainties, and
quaffing deep draughts of wine. The work had not yet gone any further.
O, no, indeed. The enchantress was far too cunning to let Ulysses
see the mischief which her magic arts had since brought upon the
gormandizers.
"As for yourself, valiant sir," said Circe, "judging by the dignity of
your aspect, I take you to be nothing less than a king. Deign to follow
me, and you shall be treated as befits your rank."
So Ulysses followed her into the oval saloon, where his two and twenty
comrades had devoured the banquet, which ended so disastrously for
themselves. But, all this while, he had held the snow-white flower in
his hand, and had constantly smelt of it while Circe was speaking;
and as he crossed the threshold of the saloon, he took good care to
inhale several long and deep snuffs of its fragrance. Instead of two
and twenty thrones, which had before been ranged around the wall, there
was now only a single throne, in the center of the apartment. But this
was surely the most magnificent seat that ever a king or an emperor
reposed himself upon, all made of chased gold, studded with precious
stones, with a cushion that looked like a soft heap of living roses,
and overhung by a canopy of sunlight which Circe knew how to weave into
drapery. The enchantress took Ulysses by the hand, and made him sit
down upon this dazzling throne. Then, clapping her hands, she summoned
the chief butler.
"Bring hither," said she, "the goblet that is set apart for kings to
drink out of. And fill it with the same delicious wine which my royal
brother King Æetes praised so highly, when he last visited me with my
fair daughter Medea. That good and amiable child! Were she now here, it
would delight her to see me offering this wine to my honored guest."
But Ulysses, while the butler was gone for the wine, held the
snow-white flower to his nose.
"Is it a wholesome wine?" he asked.
At this the four maidens tittered; whereupon the enchantress looked
around at them, with an aspect of severity.
"It is the wholesomest juice that ever was squeezed out of the grape,"
said she; "for, instead of disguising a man, as other liquor is apt to
do, it brings him to his true self, and shows him as he ought to be."
The chief butler liked nothing better than to see people turned into
swine, or making any kind of a beast of themselves; so he made haste
to bring the royal goblet, filled with a liquid as bright as gold, and
which kept sparkling upward, and throwing a sunny spray over the brim.
But, delightfully as the wine looked, it was mingled with the most
potent enchantments that Circe knew how to concoct. For every drop of
the pure grape juice there were two drops of the pure mischief; and
the danger of the thing was, that the mischief made it taste all the
better. The mere smell of the bubbles, which effervesced at the brim,
was enough to turn a man's beard into pig's bristles, or make a lion's
claws grow out of his fingers, or a fox's brush behind him.
"Drink, my noble guest," said Circe, smiling as she presented him
with the goblet. "You will find in this draught a solace for all your
troubles."
King Ulysses took the goblet with his right hand, while with his left
he held the snow-white flower to his nostrils, and drew in so long
a breath that his lungs were quite filled with its pure and simple
fragrance. Then, drinking off all the wine, he looked the enchantress
calmly in the face.
"Wretch," cried Circe, giving him a smart stroke with her wand, "how
dare you keep your human shape a moment longer? Take the form of the
brute whom you most resemble. If a hog, go join your fellow-swine in
the sty; if a lion, a wolf, a tiger, go howl with the wild beasts on
the lawn; if a fox, go exercise your craft in stealing poultry. Thou
hast quaffed off my wine, and canst be man no longer."
But, such was the virtue of the snow-white flower, instead of wallowing
down from his throne in swinish shape, or taking any other brutal form,
Ulysses looked even more manly and king-like than before. He gave the
magic goblet a toss, and sent it clashing over the marble floor, to
the farthest end of the saloon. Then drawing his sword, he seized the
enchantress by her beautiful ringlets, and made a gesture as if he
meant to strike off her head at one blow.
[Illustration: "Wretch!" cried Circe.]
"Wicked Circe," cried he in a terrible voice, "this sword shall put an
end to thy enchantments. Thou shalt die, vile witch, and do no more
mischief in the world, by tempting human beings into the vices which
make beasts of them."
The tone and countenance of Ulysses were so awful, and his sword
gleamed so brightly, and seemed to have so intolerably keen an edge,
that Circe was almost killed by the mere fright, without waiting for
the blow. The chief butler scrambled out of the saloon, picking up the
golden goblet as he went; and the enchantress and the four maidens fell
on their knees, wringing their hands, and screaming for mercy.
"Spare me!" cried Circe. "Spare me, royal and wise Ulysses. For now
I know that thou art he of whom Quicksilver forewarned me, the most
prudent of mortals, against whom no enchantments can prevail. Thou only
couldst have conquered Circe. Spare me, wisest of men. I will show
thee true hospitality, and even give myself to be thy slave, and this
magnificent palace to be henceforth thy home."
The four nymphs, meanwhile, were making a most piteous ado; and
especially the ocean nymph, with the sea-green hair, wept a great deal
of salt water, and the fountain nymph, besides scattering dewdrops from
her fingers' ends, nearly melted away into tears. But Ulysses would
not be pacified until Circe had taken a solemn oath to change back his
companions, and as many others as he should direct, from their present
forms of beast or bird into their former shapes of men.
"On these conditions" said he, "I consent to spare your life. Otherwise
you must die on the spot."
With a drawn sword hanging over her, the enchantress would readily have
consented to do as much good as she had hitherto done mischief, however
little she might like such employment. She therefore led Ulysses out
of the back entrance of the palace, and showed him the swine in their
sty. There were about fifty of these unclean beasts in the whole herd;
and though the greater part were hogs by birth and education, there was
wonderfully little difference to be seen betwixt them and their new
brethren who had so recently worn the human shape. To speak critically,
indeed, the latter rather carried the thing to excess, and seemed to
make it a point to wallow in the miriest part of the sty, and otherwise
to outdo the original swine in their own natural vocation. When men
once turn to brutes, the trifle of man's wit that remains in them adds
tenfold to their brutality.
The comrades of Ulysses, however, had not quite lost the remembrance
of having formerly stood erect. When he approached the sty, two and
twenty enormous swine separated themselves from the herd, and scampered
towards him, with such a chorus of horrible squealing as made him clap
both hands to his ears. And yet they did not seem to know what they
wanted, nor whether they were merely hungry, or miserable from some
other cause. It was curious, in the midst of their distress, to observe
them thrusting their noses into the mire, in quest of something to eat.
The nymph with the bodice of oaken bark (she was the hamadryad of an
oak) threw a handful of acorns among them; and the two and twenty hogs
scrambled and fought for the prize, as if they had tasted not so much
as a noggin of sour milk for a twelvemonth.
"These must certainly be my comrades," said Ulysses. "I recognize their
dispositions. They are hardly worth the trouble of changing them into
the human form again. Nevertheless, we will have it done, lest their
bad example should corrupt the other hogs. Let them take their original
shapes, therefore, Dame Circe, if your skill is equal to the task. It
will require greater magic, I trow, than it did to make swine of them."
So Circe waved her wand again, and repeated a few magic words, at the
sound of which the two and twenty hogs pricked up their pendulous ears.
It was a wonder to behold how their snouts grew shorter and shorter,
and their mouths (which they seemed to be sorry for, because they could
not gobble so expeditiously) smaller and smaller, and how one and
another began to stand upon his hind legs, and scratch his nose with
his fore trotters. At first the spectators hardly knew whether to call
them hogs or men, but by and by came to the conclusion that they rather
resembled the latter. Finally, there stood the twenty-two comrades of
Ulysses, looking pretty much the same as when they left the vessel.
You must not imagine, however, that the swinish quality had entirely
gone out of them. When once it fastens itself into a person's
character, it is very difficult getting rid of it. This was proved
by the hamadryad, who, being exceedingly fond of mischief, threw
another handful of acorns before the twenty-two newly restored people;
whereupon down they wallowed, in a moment, and gobbled them up in a
very shameful way. Then, recollecting themselves, they scrambled to
their feet, and looked more than commonly foolish.
"Thanks, noble Ulysses!" they cried. "From brute beasts you have
restored us to the condition of men again."
"Do not put yourselves to the trouble of thanking me," said the wise
king. "I fear I have done but little for you."
To say the truth, there was a suspicious kind of a grunt in their
voices, and, for a long time afterwards, they spoke gruffly, and were
apt to set up a squeal.
"It must depend on your own future behavior," added Ulysses, "whether
you do not find your way back to the sty."
At this moment, the note of a bird sounded from the branch of a
neighboring tree.
"Peep, peep, pe--wee--ep!"
It was the purple bird, who, all this while, had been sitting over
their heads, watching what was going forward, and hoping that Ulysses
would remember how he had done his utmost to keep him and his followers
out of harm's way. Ulysses ordered Circe instantly to make a king of
this good little fowl and leave him exactly as she had found him.
Hardly were the words spoken and before the bird had time to utter
another "pe--weep," King Picus leaped down from the bough of the tree,
as majestic a sovereign as any in the world, dressed in a long purple
robe and gorgeous yellow stockings, with a splendidly wrought collar
about his neck, and a golden crown upon his head. He and King Ulysses
exchanged with one another the courtesies which belonged to their
elevated rank. But from that time forth, King Picus was no longer proud
of his crown and his trappings of royalty nor of the fact of his being
a king; he felt himself merely the upper servant of his people, and
that it must be his lifelong labor to make them better and happier.
As for the lions, tigers, and wolves, (though Circe would have restored
them to their former shapes at his slightest word,) Ulysses thought
it advisable that they should remain as they now were, and thus give
warning of their cruel dispositions, instead of going about under the
guise of men, and pretending to human sympathies, while their hearts
had the bloodthirstiness of wild beasts. So he let them howl as much
as they liked, but never troubled his head about them. And, when
everything was settled according to his pleasure, he sent to summon the
remainder of his comrades, whom he had left at the sea shore. These
being arrived, with the prudent Eurylochus at their head, they all made
themselves comfortable in Circe's enchanted palace, until quite rested
and refreshed from the toils and hardships of their voyage.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE POMEGRANATE SEEDS
Mother Ceres was exceedingly fond of her daughter Proserpina, and
seldom let her go alone into the fields. But, just at the time when my
story begins, the good lady was very busy, because she had the care of
the wheat, and the Indian corn, and the rye and barley, and, in short,
of the crops of every kind, all over the earth; and as the season had
thus far been uncommonly backward, it was necessary to make the harvest
ripen more speedily than usual. So she put on her turban, made of
poppies, (a kind of flower which she was always noted for wearing,) and
got into her car drawn by a pair of winged dragons, and was just ready
to set off.
"Dear mother," said Proserpina, "I shall be very lonely while you are
away. May I not run down to the shore, and ask some of the sea nymphs
to come up out of the waves and play with me?"
"Yes, child," answered Mother Ceres. "The sea nymphs are good
creatures, and will never lead you into any harm. But you must take
care not to stray away from them, nor go wandering about the fields by
yourself. Young girls without their mothers to take care of them, are
very apt to get into mischief."
The child promised to be as prudent as if she were a grown-up woman;
and, by the time the winged dragons had whirled the car out of sight,
she was already on the shore, calling to the sea nymphs to come and
play with her. They knew Proserpina's voice, and were not long in
showing their glistening faces and sea-green hair above the water,
at the bottom of which was their home. They brought along with them
a great many beautiful shells; and sitting down on the moist sand,
where the surf wave broke over them, they busied themselves in making
a necklace, which they hung round Proserpina's neck. By way of showing
her gratitude, the child besought them to go with her a little way into
the fields, so that they might gather abundance of flowers, with which
she would make each of her kind playmates a wreath.
"O, no, dear Proserpina," cried the sea nymphs; "we dare not go with
you upon the dry land. We are apt to grow faint, unless at every breath
we can snuff up the salt breeze of the ocean. And don't you see how
careful we are to let the surf wave break over us every moment or two,
so as to keep ourselves comfortably moist? If it were not for that, we
should soon look like bunches of uprooted seaweed dried in the sun."
[Illustration: THEY BROUGHT ALONG WITH THEM A GREAT MANY BEAUTIFUL
SHELLS]
"It is a great pity," said Proserpina. "But do you wait for me here,
and I will run and gather my apron full of flowers, and be back again
before the surf wave has broken ten times over you. I long to make you
some wreaths that shall be as lovely as this necklace of many-colored
shells." "We shall wait, then," answered the sea nymphs. "But, while
you are gone, we may as well lie down on a bank of soft sponge, under
the water. The air to-day is a little too dry for our comfort. But we
will pop up our heads every few minutes to see if you are coming."
The young Proserpina ran quickly to a spot where, only the day before,
she had seen a great many flowers. These, however, were now a little
past their bloom; and wishing to give her friends the freshest and
loveliest blossoms, she strayed farther into the fields, and found
some that made her scream with delight. Never had she met with such
exquisite flowers before--violets so large and fragrant--roses, with
so rich and delicate a blush--such superb hyacinths and such aromatic
pinks--and many others, some of which seemed to be of new shapes and
colors. Two or three times, moreover, she could not help thinking
that a tuft of most splendid flowers had suddenly sprouted out of
the earth before her very eyes, as if on purpose to tempt her a few
steps farther. Proserpina's apron was soon filled and brimming over
with delightful blossoms. She was on the point of turning back in
order to rejoin the sea nymphs, and sit with them on the moist sands,
all twining wreaths together. But, a little farther on, what should
she behold? It was a large shrub, completely covered with the most
magnificent flowers in the world.
"The darlings!" cried Proserpina; and then she thought to herself, "I
was looking at that spot only a moment ago. How strange it is that I
did not see the flowers!"
The nearer she approached the shrub, the more attractive it looked,
until she came quite close to it; and then, although its beauty was
richer than words can tell, she hardly knew whether to like it or not.
It bore above a hundred flowers of the most brilliant hues, and each
different from the others, but all having a kind of resemblance among
themselves, which showed them to be sister blossoms. But there was
a deep, glossy luster on the leaves of the shrub, and on the petals
of the flowers, that made Proserpina doubt whether they might not be
poisonous. To tell you the truth, foolish as it may seem, she was half
inclined to turn round and run away.
"What a silly child I am!" thought she, taking courage. "It is really
the most beautiful shrub that ever sprang out of the earth. I will pull
it up by the roots, and carry it home, and plant it in my mother's
garden."
Holding up her apron full of flowers with her left hand, Proserpina
seized the large shrub with the other, and pulled, and pulled, but was
hardly able to loosen the soil about its roots. What a deep-rooted
plant it was! Again the girl pulled with all her might, and observed
that the earth began to stir and crack to some distance around the
stem. She gave another pull, but relaxed her hold, fancying that there
was a rumbling sound right beneath her feet. Did the roots extend down
into some enchanted cavern? Then, laughing at herself for so childish
a notion, she made another effort: up came the shrub, and Proserpina
staggered back, holding the stem triumphantly in her hand, and gazing
at the deep hole which its roots had left in the soil.