the sea at about noon the next day, and would walk over to a large
cavern not far distant, where his sea-calves took their daily sleep, and
that when he had counted them to see if they were all there, he would
lie down in the midst of them and go to sleep also. This, said she,
would be the time for Menelaus and three of his trusted sailors to
spring upon him and seize him firmly, and she added that they must _hold
on to him, no matter what happened_, until he changed back into his own
form, that of an old man; then they could ask him any questions they
wished and he would be compelled to answer them.
Having given Menelaus these instructions, the beautiful goddess suddenly
plunged into the ocean and the green waves closed over her.
With bowed head and mind filled with anxious thought Menelaus returned
to his men. They gathered round their boats on the seashore and ate
their scanty evening meal. Silently and solemnly the night settled down
upon the landscape and made the trees look like dark, shadowy forms, and
the outlines of the hills grew dim, and the ocean was covered by the
hush of the darkness, and silence reigned over all.
The sailors threw themselves down upon the sand and were soon fast
asleep. Menelaus lay beside them, but I fear much that he did not sleep.
His mind was troubled. What would the next day bring forth? He was to
meet the strange and terrible Ancient of the Deep, and was to struggle
fiercely with him. Would he be able to cope with the monster? Would he
have the courage to hold on to him? What awful and unknown shapes might
not the creature take? These and a hundred other questions kept rising
in his mind and banished all sleep from his eyes. One by one the stars
came out in the deep, black sky above his head. Had not the gods kept
them in their places for unnumbered ages? Could not these same gods
protect and strengthen him when they knew that in his heart he was
striving to learn what was their will? The night slowly wore away, and
when the faint purplish light softened the eastern sky, he arose and
going apart from his sleeping comrades, he knelt down and prayed
earnestly to the ever-living gods. Then returning to his men, he awoke
the three whom he could trust the most, and taking them with him he
sought the spot where the goddess Idothea had promised to meet him. She,
radiant as the dawn, was already there awaiting him.
As they approached she plunged into the sea and was lost to sight. In a
few moments, however, she re-appeared bringing with her the newly flayed
skins of four sea-calves. Then quickly digging four oblong holes in the
wet sand she commanded Menelaus and his three companions to lie down in
them. This they did, and she skillfully spread over each of them, one of
the skins which she had brought from the bottom of the ocean. After they
were so closely covered that even the shrewd Proteus would mistake them
for sea-calves, the radiant goddess seated herself on a rock not far
distant, to await his coming.
The horrible smell which came from the skins of the newly-slain
sea-calves was so sickening that Menelaus and his three comrades could
not stand it, and were about to give up the attempt to capture the
sea-god, when the shining goddess came to the rescue. Bringing from,
they knew not whence, some fragrant ambrosia, the food of the immortals,
she placed it beneath their nostrils and its sweet perfume made them
forget the loathsome coverings with which they were concealed. Its
refreshing odor soon restored their strength and thus they were able to
remain hidden until the noon hour.
Then the sea-calves floundering much rose from the depths of the ocean
and began crawling along the sand. They came in throngs and laid
themselves down in rows upon the sandy shore beside the brave but
anxious heroes. Soon the sunlit waves parted from right to left and
slowly and solemnly Proteus, the Ancient of the Deep, appeared. His hair
and beard and garments were covered with white foam. He walked over to
where his sea-calves lay basking in the sun and counted them. This was a
trying time for Menelaus. His heart beat loud and fast, so great was his
fear that he and his companions might be discovered. But the goddess had
done her work too well for that. Proteus did not notice any difference
between them and the beasts which lay about them. Having finished his
task, he stretched his body upon the sand beside his flock, ready for
his afternoon nap.
Now was the critical moment! Menelaus and his men throwing off the skins
of the dead sea-calves sprang forward with loud shouts, and before the
old sea-god knew it, they had fast hold of his arms and legs.
Proteus having the power to change his body into whatever shape he
pleased, suddenly transformed himself into a roaring lion, so fierce and
strong that it seemed as if he might crush anything that came in his
way. Still Menelaus and his stout-hearted men _held on_. Then, in an
instant the lion became a fiery panther whose glaring eyes struck
terror into their hearts, but still they _held on_. In a moment more a
large snake was twisting and writhing in their hands, hissing and
darting his forked tongue out as if he would gladly poison all of them,
still they _held on_. Shape after shape the monster assumed, but still
they _held on_. Now it was a clear, harmless stream of water flowing
gently through their hands. Again it was a flame of fire darting here
and there threatening to scorch their faces and even to burn out their
eyes; still they _held on_. Then it became a beautiful tree, tall and
stately, with broad spreading branches and shining green leaves, still
they _held on_.
At last, finding that his enchantments were of no avail he changed back
into his real form and turning to Menelaus he said, "What wouldst thou
have?" Menelaus begged him to tell why he and his faithful sailors were
kept from crossing the dark waters of the sea to their distant homes.
Then Proteus, the Ancient of the Deep, who knew all secrets of both gods
and men, told him that he must go back to Egypt where he had sinned, and
do all that he could to atone for that sin before he might hope to reach
his beloved home.
Menelaus now understood what the wind had been trying to tell him. Each
hoarse whisper as the gale rushed by, meant "Return to Egypt! Return to
Egypt!" In fact, all these twenty days it had been blowing in that
direction, as if to assure the mariners that it would fill their sails
and help them to return to Egypt if they would only launch their boats
and turn the prows eastward.
This they did the very next day, and soon were back on Egypt's shore.
Due worship was paid to the gods, and then right merrily the wind
whistled and sang about their ears as it filled their white sails and
helped them to speed across the blue water, and in a few days they had
reached their beloved home-land.
But never to the end of their lives did they forget the terrible
struggle with the Mighty Proteus, Ancient of the Deep, where by _holding
on_ they had won the silent battle. And oftentimes they told the story
to their children and grandchildren, just as I am telling it to you,
to-day.
_THE VISION OF DANTE._
I want to tell a beautiful story to you, dear children. It has been told
over and over again for six hundred years, yet people keep reading it,
and re-reading it, and wise men never tire of studying it. Many great
artists have painted pictures, and sculptors have made statues, and
musicians have composed operas, and clergymen have written sermons from
thoughts inspired by it. A great poet first gave it to the world in the
form of a grand poem which some day you may read, but I will try to tell
it to you to-day as a short story. I am afraid that you would go to
sleep if I should undertake to read the poem to you. You do not yet know
enough about life to understand it.
Once upon a time, very long ago, there was a man whose name was Dante.
He had done wrong and had wandered a long way from his home. He does not
tell us how, or why. He begins by saying that he had gone to sleep in a
great forest. Suddenly he awoke, and tried to find his way out of it,
first by one path, and then another; but all in vain.
Through an opening where the tall trees had not grown quite so thick, he
saw in the distance a great mountain, on the top of which the sun was
shining brightly. "Ah!" thought he to himself, "if I can but reach the
top of that mountain I am sure I can see a long way in every direction.
No woods can grow tall enough to keep me from finding my path then!" So
with new courage he started toward the mountain, but he had not walked
far when a beautiful spotted panther stood with glaring eyes in his
pathway. He trembled, for he knew that going forward meant that he would
be destroyed. He turned hastily aside into another path, but he had gone
only a short distance in this direction before he saw a huge lion coming
toward him. In greater haste than before he turned into still another
path. His heart was beating very fast now, and he hastened along without
taking much notice of what lay before him. Suddenly he came upon a lean
and hungry wolf, which looked as if he could devour half a dozen men.
Dante turned and fled back into the dark woods, "where the sun was
silent." He thought, "What is the use of trying to get out of this
terrible forest? There are wild beasts on every side. If I escape one I
am sure to be devoured by another; I might as well give up trying." He
had now lost all hope.
Just at this moment he saw a man coming towards him. The face of the man
was beaming with smiles as if he had some good news to tell. Dante ran
forward to meet him, crying, "Have mercy on me, whoever you are! See
that beast from which I have fled! My body is trembling yet with
fright."
The strange man, whose name was Virgil, told Dante that he had come to
help him, but that they would have to go by another path to get out of
this savage wilderness. He then explained that they must go down through
a deep, bad-smelling and dark hole in the ground, and must meet with
many disagreeable things and crawl through much dirt and filth; but
after they had gone through this close, dirty tunnel, they would again
see the light, and if they had strength enough to climb, they might in
the end get to a delightful spot on the top of the mountain called the
Terrestrial Paradise, from which lovely place Dante could go home if he
wanted to.
At first Dante was afraid to go with Virgil, although he had often read
the wise and noble books which the latter had written. But when he
heard that Beatrice, whom he had loved as he loved no one else on earth,
had come from Heaven in the form of a bright Angel to urge Virgil to
come to him, his heart was so filled with joy that he at once renewed
his courage, and told Virgil to go forward, promising that he would
trust him as a guide.
They then began their perilous journey. The dark pit through which they
were to pass was the shape of an immense funnel or a cone turned upside
down. It was so large that it reached from the surface down to the very
center of the earth. Indeed, though it was as twilight where they
entered, and was quite wide and airy, yet as they slowly traveled down
its rocky sides the place grew darker and narrower and the air more
stifling, and the smell was worse than anything of which you have ever
dreamed. At times Dante nearly fainted, but Virgil put his arms around
him and held him up until he revived. I will not stop to tell you of all
the horrible experiences they went through. By and by when you grow to
be men and women, you can read the whole poem for yourselves.
At last they reached the bottom of the foul pit; it was the very center
of the earth, and was the darkest spot possible. Then they began to
climb through the narrow opening which they saw. They wanted to get to
the surface on the other side of the world, and again see the light of
the sun.
Dante felt as if he were escaping from a terrible plague-stricken
prison-house. The first things he looked at were four beautiful stars
shining far above his head; then he knew he was where he could get fresh
air and light, for he felt sure that where stars were to be seen air and
light could be found. He soon discovered that he was on a large island,
in the middle of which stood a great mountain. This, Virgil told Dante,
was the mountain which they would have to climb.
It was Easter morning!
As they were looking about them, not knowing exactly which way to turn,
they saw an old man with a long white beard. His face was so radiant
that it reminded Dante of the stars at which he had been gazing. The old
man told them where to go to begin the ascent of the mountain. But he
said that Virgil must first get the grime and dirt off of Dante. You
know we cannot very well get into dirty places without having some of
the cinders and ashes and other filth stick to us. He also kindly told
them where they could find some easily bent rushes which they could use
to gird up Dante's long cloak, so that he might climb the better.
I think it must have been the old man's kindness to the many strangers
who came to the island that caused his face to look so beaming as to
remind Dante of the stars. Poor Dante thought over all his past life,
how he had wandered away from his home, how he had found himself in the
gloomy woods, how he had met the fierce beasts, and last of all he
thought of the blackening dirt he had gotten on himself in coming
through the deep hole. Then he thought of his rescue from all these
evils and the tears rolled down his cheeks. Virgil spread his hands out
upon the grass, still wet with the dew from heaven, and with the
moisture thus gained, he washed Dante's face. The tears Dante was
shedding helped to wash away the dirt.
After this they went to where the rushes were growing and gathered some
for a belt for Dante. Strange as it may sound to you, dear children, as
fast as they gathered one rush, another sprang up in its place. They
bound these enchanted rushes around Dante's waist, and he was now ready
for the upward climb and was quite eager to begin.
They turned and looked once more at the ocean. Dante's eyes were just
beginning to get used to the sunlight. Suddenly he saw a strange white
light coming along the sea towards them. He was astonished. As it came
nearer and nearer the light grew more and more dazzling, and Dante saw
that it was a _glorious and radiant angel_! He fell upon his knees and
dropped his gaze to the ground, for the face of the angel was so bright
that he could not look upon it. The strange and beautiful being came
swiftly forward, bringing with him a small boat full of people, the very
water became resplendent with light as the boat moved swiftly through
it, yet the angel had neither oar nor sail. His shining wings, spread
high above his head, seemed to waft the boat along by some invisible
power. He landed the people, and--quick as a sunbeam was gone.
The newly arrived souls came up to Dante and Virgil and inquired the
way, for they too were going up the steep, rough mountain, around which
wound a difficult path. The end of the path no one could see. They
walked along together for a short distance, and while Virgil was
searching the ground for the right path, Dante lifted his eyes upward
and saw some people looking over a rocky wall that bordered the road on
the next bend above them. To these fellow-travelers he called for help,
as he felt sure they must have found the right path up the mountain's
side. They gladly pointed out the spot where Virgil and Dante could find
the way, and soon they were upon it. But now arose a serious difficulty.
From the growing twilight they knew that night was coming on, and in
this strange, new country nobody dared travel in the dark. There were
too many pitfalls and stumbling blocks to make it safe to travel without
the light of the sun. Virgil knew that the wisest and best thing to do
in hours of darkness was to keep still and wait for more light. A man
whom they had met on the road pointed out a safe, little valley where
they could stay until the sunlight came once more.
Ah, how I wish you could have seen that valley!
It was called the Valley of the Princes. As they approached it a vision
burst upon them of the loveliest spot that could be imagined. If gold
and silver and scarlet and green and blue and all the finest colors in
the world were put together into a flower garden they would not make
anything half so beautiful as was this Valley of the Princes. Not only
were the colors so fine, but the perfumes were the sweetest ever
breathed. They went quietly and slowly into the valley and sat down. The
air about them grew darker and darker as the sun set behind the
mountains.
All at once Dante heard some voices singing a gentle hymn. I think it
must have been a hymn something like our own little hymn, "Wearily at
Daylight's Close," for it made Dante think of the Heavenly Father, and
look up into the sky, whose only brightness was the stars shining far
above his head. As he looked he saw sweep down out of the high heavens
two glad angels of God, robed in pale, shining green. Each was
surrounded with a radiance so bright that it was dazzling; both carried
swords of fire. Lightning never came from the sky more swiftly than did
these two angels. They separated as they approached the earth; one
placed himself upon the mountain on one side of the valley and the other
upon the mountain on the other side. Dante wondered what all this meant,
but the man who had told them where to find the valley was still with
them. He explained that the angels had come to protect all travelers
who were staying in the dark valley until light should come again and
they could see to go forward.
Just then Dante turned and saw a large, ugly snake winding its way
silently through the grass. Quick as a flash of lightning one of the
angels descended from his high post, and, with a touch of his flaming
sword, turned the snake, which fled in dismay. Then Dante knew that the
angels had indeed been sent from heaven, and in his heart he felt very
glad that all through this dark night he might be sure of their
protecting love. So he quietly laid himself down upon the grass, and
went to sleep. While sleeping he had a strange dream; an eagle of fire
seemed to be bearing him up through the air.
He awoke. It was morning; the sun was shining and the birds were
singing. Flowers were blooming all around him--and yet it was not the
same place in which he had gone to sleep. He saw on looking about him
that he was farther up the mountain side. He turned with a question to
Virgil, who soon told him that while he had slept in the Valley of the
Princes another angel, named Lucia, had been sent from Heaven to bear
him in her arms over the rough places where he could not have traveled
unaided, and that he now stood at the real entrance of the path up the
mountain.
"We must pass through that gate which you see in front of you," said
Virgil, "and before you enter it I must tell you that there will be some
very hard climbing for you, and sometimes you will grow weary and
discouraged, but be assured that it will become less painful as you
climb. The hardest part is the first part. It grows easier and easier as
you near the top, until, when you reach the Terrestrial Paradise, there
will be no longer any climbing at all. There you shall see your beloved
Beatrice and she will reveal to you a vision of GOD."
With this they started towards the gate. Now I must tell you about this
gate, children, because it was a very peculiar gate, and some of these
days you may have to go through it yourselves. As they came near, Dante
saw that it had three broad steps leading up to it. The bottom step was
like polished marble, and so shining that you could see your face
reflected in it. Each traveler who approached it saw just how unclean he
was, or how tired, or how cross looking. The next step was a dark
purplish black step. It was cracked lengthwise and crosswise, and had a
sad look about it as if it were sorry for the reflections which it saw
in the bottom step. The third step at the top was red, so red that it
reminded Dante of blood. Above this towered the great gate-way. Upon the
sill of this gate sat another wonderful angel in shining garments which
were brighter than the moon. His feet rested upon the top step.
As Dante and Virgil approached, the angel asked them what they wanted.
They told him that they wished to go through the gate in order that they
might climb the mountain. The angel leaned forward, and with the edge of
the sword which he held in his hand he printed on Dante's forehead seven
letters. Dante knew that the seven letters stood for the seven things
that were wrong inside of his heart. Then the angel took from his side a
silver key and a golden key, and unlocking the gate with each, he let it
swing wide upon its hinges, and our two travelers passed through.
They had no sooner entered than they heard a man singing praises to God.
As they traveled along the path which wound upward, they saw upon the
rocks at their sides wonderfully carved pictures of people who had been
good and kind and always thoughtful of others instead of themselves. As
Dante looked at them they seemed to him to be the most marvelous
pictures he had ever seen. He thought within his heart, "How beautiful!"
"How beautiful!" "How I wish I could be like these people!" Then he
turned and looked down upon the rocks on which he was treading, he saw
there were more carvings upon the stones below; but these were of people
who thought of nobody but themselves--haughty people, selfish people,
and idle ones.
As Dante gazed upon them, he bowed himself lower and lower, for he
thought within his heart, "I fear I am more like these people than I am
like the others." He had been a proud and haughty man in the past, and
now he knew how ugly and selfish that haughtiness was. As he ascended
the road, he must have prayed to God to make him more like the beautiful
and gentle people whose portraits he had seen upon the rocks at his
side. He had been walking, bent very low; all at once he straightened
himself up; he felt as if some great weight had been lifted off his
shoulders. He turned to Virgil, saying, "Master, from what heavy thing
have I been lightened?" Virgil glanced up at his forehead. Dante
stretched forth the fingers of his hand and felt the letters which the
angel had placed upon his forehead. There were but six. There had been
seven. Virgil smiled, and the two passed on.
Their ears caught the sound of voices singing in sweet tones, "Blessed
are the poor in spirit!" "Blessed are the poor in spirit!" Then Dante
knew that the other souls, too, had prayed to God to take pride and
haughtiness and selfishness out of their lives.
They passed along to the higher terrace on the mountain side, and here
they saw no pictures, but heard strange, sweet voices singing through
the air. These voices were singing of the people who had been glad when
others were made happy, who had loved and praised the good in those
about them, who had rejoiced when some one else besides themselves had
been commended. The voices seemed so joyful as they told of these loving
hearts, that Dante shut his eyes and listened. Soon he heard other
voices tell of the people who had liked to talk of themselves and not of
others, who did not care to hear anybody else praised, people whom it
made unhappy to know that anybody else was happy. "Ah!" thought he to
himself, "I fear, I fear that I have been like these last people of whom
the voices tell such sad, unhappy things. How I long with all my heart
to be freed from this hateful thing called _Envy_!"
Then he prayed to God to help him to rejoice over the happiness of
others, to be willing to help others, and to realize that others were
helping him; and as he thought these thoughts and prayed this prayer,
another burden seemed lifted from off him, and he put his hand to his
forehead and found that another of the terrible letters was gone. He had
but five remaining on his forehead now, and already the climbing seemed
easier.
They soon came to another very difficult passage in the road, and so
rough and sharp were the rocks which stood in the pathway that Dante's
heart failed him, and he must have stopped in his onward journey up the
mountain had not another loving angel of God come from some unseen
point, and, lifting him with strong arms, carried him over the hard
place, setting him again upon his feet. I think Dante must have thanked
God for thus sending him help in his moment of discouragement; at any
rate he felt that he had been slothful and not eager enough to reach
the top of the mountain.
On and on he traveled, sometimes with voices in the air singing to
encourage him, sometimes with warnings coming from unknown quarters. The
very trees laden with fruit on the roadside seemed to say, "Take enough
of us, but do not eat too much; a glutton cannot see GOD."