[Illustration]
Once, in the old, old times (for all the strange things which I tell
you about happened long before anybody can remember), a fountain
gushed out of a hill-side, in the marvelous land of Greece. And, for
aught I know, after so many thousand years, it is still gushing out of
the very selfsame spot. At any rate, there was the pleasant fountain,
welling freshly forth and sparkling adown the hill-side, in the golden
sunset, when a handsome young man named Bellerophon drew near its
margin. In his hand he held a bridle, studded with brilliant gems, and
adorned with a golden bit. Seeing an old man, and another of middle
age, and a little boy, near the fountain, and likewise a maiden, who
was dipping up some of the water in a pitcher, he paused, and begged
that he might refresh himself with a draught.
"This is very delicious water," he said to the maiden as he rinsed and
filled her pitcher, after drinking out of it. "Will you be kind enough
to tell me whether the fountain has any name?"
"Yes; it is called the Fountain of Pirene," answered the maiden; and
then she added, "My grandmother has told me that this clear fountain
was once a beautiful woman; and when her son was killed by the arrows
of the huntress Diana, she melted all away into tears. And so the
water, which you find so cool and sweet, is the sorrow of that poor
mother's heart!"
"I should not have dreamed," observed the young stranger, "that so
clear a well-spring, with its gush and gurgle, and its cheery dance
out of the shade into the sunlight, had so much as one tear-drop in
its bosom! And this, then, is Pirene? I thank you, pretty maiden, for
telling me its name. I have come from a far-away country to find this
very spot."
A middle-aged country fellow (he had driven his cow to drink out of
the spring) stared hard at young Bellerophon, and at the handsome
bridle which he carried in his hand.
"The water-courses must be getting low, friend, in your part of the
world," remarked he, "if you come so far only to find the Fountain of
Pirene. But, pray, have you lost a horse? I see you carry the bridle
in your hand; and a very pretty one it is with that double row of
bright stones upon it. If the horse was as fine as the bridle, you are
much to be pitied for losing him."
"I have lost no horse," said Bellerophon, with a smile. "But I happen
to be seeking a very famous one, which, as wise people have informed
me, must be found hereabouts, if anywhere. Do you know whether the
winged horse Pegasus still haunts the Fountain of Pirene, as he used
to do in your forefathers' days?"
But then the country fellow laughed.
Some of you, my little friends, have probably heard that this Pegasus
was a snow-white steed, with beautiful silvery wings, who spent most
of his time on the summit of Mount Helicon. He was as wild, and as
swift, and as buoyant, in his flight through the air, as any eagle
that ever soared into the clouds. There was nothing else like him in
the world. He had no mate; he never had been backed or bridled by a
master; and, for many a long year, he led a solitary and a happy life.
Oh, how fine a thing it is to be a winged horse! Sleeping at night, as
he did, on a lofty mountain-top, and passing the greater part of the
day in the air, Pegasus seemed hardly to be a creature of the earth.
Whenever he was seen, up very high above people's heads, with the
sunshine on his silvery wings, you would have thought that he belonged
to the sky, and that, skimming a little too low, he had got astray
among our mists and vapors, and was seeking his way back again. It was
very pretty to behold him plunge into the fleecy bosom of a bright
cloud, and be lost in it, for a moment or two, and then break forth
from the other side. Or, in a sullen rain-storm, when there was a gray
pavement of clouds over the whole sky, it would sometimes happen that
the winged horse descended right through it, and the glad light of the
upper region would gleam after him. In another instant, it is true,
both Pegasus and the pleasant light would be gone away together. But
any one that was fortunate enough to see this wondrous spectacle felt
cheerful the whole day afterwards, and as much longer as the storm
lasted.
In the summer-time, and in the beautifullest of weather, Pegasus often
alighted on the solid earth, and, closing his silvery wings, would
gallop over hill and dale for pastime, as fleetly as the wind. Oftener
than in any other place, he had been seen near the Fountain of Pirene,
drinking the delicious water, or rolling himself upon the soft grass
of the margin. Sometimes, too (but Pegasus was very dainty in his
food), he would crop a few of the clover-blossoms that happened to be
sweetest.
To the Fountain of Pirene, therefore, people's great-grandfathers had
been in the habit of going (as long as they were youthful, and
retained their faith in winged horses), in hopes of getting a glimpse
at the beautiful Pegasus. But, of late years, he had been very seldom
seen. Indeed, there were many of the country folks, dwelling within
half an hour's walk of the fountain, who had never beheld Pegasus, and
did not believe that there was any such creature in existence. The
country fellow to whom Bellerophon was speaking chanced to be one of
those incredulous persons.
And that was the reason why he laughed.
"Pegasus, indeed!" cried he, turning up his nose as high as such a
flat nose could be turned up,--"Pegasus, indeed! A winged horse,
truly! Why, friend, are you in your senses? Of what use would wings
be to a horse? Could he drag the plow so well, think you? To be sure,
there might be a little saving in the expense of shoes; but then, how
would a man like to see his horse flying out of the stable
window?--yes, or whisking up him above the clouds, when he only wanted
to ride to mill? No, no! I don't believe in Pegasus. There never was
such a ridiculous kind of a horse-fowl made!"
"I have some reason to think otherwise," said Bellerophon, quietly.
And then he turned to an old, gray man, who was leaning on a staff,
and listening very attentively, with his head stretched forward, and
one hand at his ear, because, for the last twenty years, he had been
getting rather deaf.
"And what say you, venerable sir?" inquired he. "In your younger days,
I should imagine, you must frequently have seen the winged steed!"
"Ah, young stranger, my memory is very poor!" said the aged man. "When
I was a lad, if I remember rightly, I used to believe there was such a
horse, and so did everybody else. But, nowadays, I hardly know what to
think, and very seldom think about the winged horse at all. If I ever
saw the creature, it was a long, long while ago; and, to tell you the
truth, I doubt whether I ever did see him. One day, to be sure, when I
was quite a youth, I remember seeing some hoof-tramps round about the
brink of the fountain. Pegasus might have made those hoof-marks; and
so might some other horse."
[Illustration: BELLEROPHON AT THE FOVNTAIN]
"And have you never seen him, my fair maiden?" asked Bellerophon of
the girl, who stood with the pitcher on her head, while this talk went
on. "You certainly could see Pegasus, if anybody can, for your eyes
are very bright."
"Once I thought I saw him," replied the maiden, with a smile and a
blush. "It was either Pegasus, or a large white bird, a very great way
up in the air. And one other time, as I was coming to the fountain
with my pitcher, I heard a neigh. Oh, such a brisk and melodious neigh
as that was! My very heart leaped with delight at the sound. But it
startled me, nevertheless; so that I ran home without filling my
pitcher."
"That was truly a pity!" said Bellerophon.
And he turned to the child, whom I mentioned at the beginning of the
story, and who was gazing at him, as children are apt to gaze at
strangers, with his rosy mouth wide open.
"Well, my little fellow," cried Bellerophon, playfully pulling one of
his curls, "I suppose you have often seen the winged horse."
"That I have," answered the child, very readily. "I saw him yesterday,
and many times before."
"You are a fine little man!" said Bellerophon, drawing the child
closer to him. "Come, tell me all about it."
"Why," replied the child, "I often come here to sail little boats in
the fountain, and to gather pretty pebbles out of its basin. And
sometimes, when I look down into the water, I see the image of the
winged horse, in the picture of the sky that is there. I wish he would
come down, and take me on his back, and let me ride him up to the
moon! But, if I so much as stir to look at him, he flies far away out
of sight."
And Bellerophon put his faith in the child, who had seen the image of
Pegasus in the water, and in the maiden, who had heard him neigh so
melodiously, rather than in the middle-aged clown, who believed only
in cart-horses, or in the old man who had forgotten the beautiful
things of his youth.
Therefore, he haunted about the Fountain of Pirene for a great many
days afterwards. He kept continually on the watch, looking upward at
the sky, or else down into the water, hoping forever that he should
see either the reflected image of the winged horse, or the marvelous
reality. He held the bridle, with its bright gems and golden bit,
always ready in his hand. The rustic people, who dwelt in the
neighborhood, and drove their cattle to the fountain to drink, would
often laugh at poor Bellerophon, and sometimes take him pretty
severely to task. They told him that an able-bodied young man, like
himself, ought to have better business than to be wasting his time in
such an idle pursuit. They offered to sell him a horse, if he wanted
one; and when Bellerophon declined the purchase, they tried to drive a
bargain with him for his fine bridle.
Even the country boys thought him so very foolish, that they used to
have a great deal of sport about him, and were rude enough not to care
a fig, although Bellerophon saw and heard it. One little urchin, for
example, would play Pegasus, and cut the oddest imaginable capers, by
way of flying; while one of his schoolfellows would scamper after him,
holding forth a twist of bulrushes, which was intended to represent
Bellerophon's ornamental bridle. But the gentle child, who had seen
the picture of Pegasus in the water, comforted the young stranger more
than all the naughty boys could torment him. The dear little fellow,
in his play-hours, often sat down beside him, and, without speaking a
word, would look down into the fountain and up towards the sky, with
so innocent a faith, that Bellerophon could not help feeling
encouraged.
Now you will, perhaps, wish to be told why it was that Bellerophon had
undertaken to catch the winged horse. And we shall find no better
opportunity to speak about this matter than while he is waiting for
Pegasus to appear.
If I were to relate the whole of Bellerophon's previous adventures,
they might easily grow into a very long story. It will be quite enough
to say, that, in a certain country of Asia, a terrible monster, called
a Chimaera, had made its appearance, and was doing more mischief than
could be talked about between now and sunset. According to the best
accounts which I have been able to obtain, this Chimaera was nearly, if
not quite, the ugliest and most poisonous creature, and the strangest
and unaccountablest, and the hardest to fight with, and the most
difficult to run away from, that ever came out of the earth's inside.
It had a tail like a boa-constrictor; its body was like I do not care
what; and it had three separate heads, one of which was a lion's, the
second a goat's, and the third an abominably great snake's. And a hot
blast of fire came flaming out of each of its three mouths! Being an
earthly monster, I doubt whether it had any wings; but, wings or no,
it ran like a goat and a lion, and wriggled along like a serpent, and
thus contrived to make about as much speed as all the three together.
Oh, the mischief, and mischief, and mischief that this naughty
creature did! With its flaming breath, it could set a forest on fire,
or burn up a field of grain, or, for that matter, a village, with all
its fences and houses. It laid waste the whole country round about,
and used to eat up people and animals alive, and cook them afterwards
in the burning oven of its stomach. Mercy on us, little children, I
hope neither you nor I will ever happen to meet a Chimaera!
While the hateful beast (if a beast we can anywise call it) was doing
all these horrible things, it so chanced that Bellerophon came to that
part of the world, on a visit to the king. The king's name was
Iobates, and Lycia was the country which he ruled over. Bellerophon
was one of the bravest youths in the world, and desired nothing so
much as to do some valiant and beneficent deed, such as would make all
mankind admire and love him. In those days, the only way for a young
man to distinguish himself was by fighting battles, either with the
enemies of his country, or with wicked giants, or with troublesome
dragons, or with wild beasts, when he could find nothing more
dangerous to encounter. King Iobates, perceiving the courage of his
youthful visitor, proposed to him to go and fight the Chimaera, which
everybody else was afraid of, and which, unless it should be soon
killed, was likely to convert Lycia into a desert. Bellerophon
hesitated not a moment, but assured the king that he would either slay
this dreaded Chimaera, or perish in the attempt.
But, in the first place, as the monster was so prodigiously swift, he
bethought himself that he should never win the victory by fighting on
foot. The wisest thing he could do, therefore, was to get the very
best and fleetest horse that could anywhere be found. And what other
horse, in all the world, was half so fleet as the marvelous horse
Pegasus, who had wings as well as legs, and was even more active in
the air than on the earth? To be sure, a great many people denied that
there was any such horse with wings, and said that the stories about
him were all poetry and nonsense. But, wonderful as it appeared,
Bellerophon believed that Pegasus was a real steed, and hoped that he
himself might be fortunate enough to find him; and, once fairly
mounted on his back, he would be able to fight the Chimaera at better
advantage.
And this was the purpose with which he had traveled from Lycia to
Greece, and had brought the beautifully ornamented bridle in his hand.
It was an enchanted bridle. If he could only succeed in putting the
golden bit into the mouth of Pegasus, the winged horse would be
submissive, and would own Bellerophon for his master, and fly
whithersoever he might choose to turn therein.
But, indeed, it was a weary and anxious time, while Bellerophon waited
and waited for Pegasus, in hopes that he would come and drink at the
Fountain of Pirene. He was afraid lest King Iobates should imagine
that he had fled from the Chimaera. It pained him, too, to think how
much mischief the monster was doing, while he himself, instead of
fighting with it, was compelled to sit idly poring over the bright
waters of Pirene, as they gushed out of the sparkling sand. And as
Pegasus came thither so seldom in these latter years, and scarcely
alighted there more than once in a lifetime, Bellerophon feared that
he might grow an old man, and have no strength left in his arms nor
courage in his heart, before the winged horse would appear. Oh, how
heavily passes the time, while an adventurous youth is yearning to do
his part in life, and to gather in the harvest of his renown! How hard
a lesson it is to wait! Our life is brief, and how much of it is spent
in teaching us only this!
Well was it for Bellerophon that the gentle child had grown so fond of
him, and was never weary of keeping him company. Every morning the
child gave him a new hope to put in his bosom, instead of yesterday's
withered one.
"Dear Bellerophon," he would cry, looking up hopefully into his face,
"I think we shall see Pegasus to-day!"
And, at length, if it had not been for the little boy's unwavering
faith, Bellerophon would have given up all hope, and would have gone
back to Lycia, and have done his best to slay the Chimaera without the
help of the winged horse. And in that case poor Bellerophon would at
least have been terribly scorched by the creature's breath, and would
most probably have been killed and devoured. Nobody should ever try to
fight an earth-born Chimaera, unless he can first get upon the back of
an aerial steed.
One morning the child spoke to Bellerophon even more hopefully than
usual.
"Dear, dear Bellerophon," cried he, "I know not why it is, but I feel
as if we should certainly see Pegasus to-day!"
And all that day he would not stir a step from Bellerophon's side; so
they ate a crust of bread together, and drank some of the water of the
fountain. In the afternoon, there they sat, and Bellerophon had thrown
his arm around the child, who likewise had put one of his little hands
into Bellerophon's. The latter was lost in his own thoughts, and was
fixing his eyes vacantly on the trunks of the trees that overshadowed
the fountain, and on the grapevines that clambered up among their
branches. But the gentle child was gazing down into the water; he was
grieved, for Bellerophon's sake, that the hope of another day should
be deceived, like so many before it; and two or three quiet tear-drops
fell from his eyes, and mingled with what were said to be the many
tears of Pirene, when she wept for her slain children.
But, when he least thought of it, Bellerophon felt the pressure of the
child's little hand, and heard a soft, almost breathless, whisper.
"See there, dear Bellerophon! There is an image in the water!"
The young man looked down into the dimpling mirror of the fountain,
and saw what he took to be the reflection of a bird which seemed to be
flying at a great height in the air, with a gleam of sunshine on its
snowy or silvery wings.
"What a splendid bird it must be!" said he. "And how very large it
looks, though it must really be flying higher than the clouds!"
"It makes me tremble!" whispered the child. "I am afraid to look up
into the air! It is very beautiful, and yet I dare only look at its
image in the water. Dear Bellerophon, do you not see that it is no
bird? It is the winged horse Pegasus!"
Bellerophon's heart began to throb! He gazed keenly upward, but could
not see the winged creature, whether bird or horse; because, just
then, it had plunged into the fleecy depths of a summer cloud. It was
but a moment, however, before the object reappeared, sinking lightly
down out of the cloud, although still at a vast distance from the
earth. Bellerophon caught the child in his arms, and shrank back with
him, so that they were both hidden among the thick shrubbery which
grew all around the fountain. Not that he was afraid of any harm, but
he dreaded lest, if Pegasus caught a glimpse of them, he would fly far
away, and alight in some inaccessible mountain-top. For it was really
the winged horse. After they had expected him so long, he was coming
to quench his thirst with the water of Pirene.
Nearer and nearer came the aerial wonder, flying in great circles, as
you may have seen a dove when about to alight. Downward came Pegasus,
in those wide, sweeping circles, which grew narrower, and narrower
still, as he gradually approached the earth. The nigher the view of
him, the more beautiful he was, and the more marvelous the sweep of
his silvery wings. At last, with so light a pressure as hardly to bend
the grass about the fountain, or imprint a hoof-tramp in the sand of
its margin, he alighted, and, stooping his wild head, began to drink.
He drew in the water, with long and pleasant sighs, and tranquil
pauses of enjoyment; and then another draught, and another, and
another. For, nowhere in the world, or up among the clouds, did
Pegasus love any water as he loved this of Pirene. And when his thirst
was slaked, he cropped a few of the honey-blossoms of the clover,
delicately tasting them, but not caring to make a hearty meal, because
the herbage, just beneath the clouds, on the lofty sides of Mount
Helicon, suited his palate better than this ordinary grass.
After thus drinking to his heart's content, and, in his dainty
fashion, condescending to take a little food, the winged horse began
to caper to and fro, and dance as it were, out of mere idleness and
sport. There never was a more playful creature made than this very
Pegasus. So there he frisked, in a way that it delights me to think
about, fluttering his great wings as lightly as ever did a linnet, and
running little races, half on earth and half in air, and which I know
not whether to call a flight or a gallop. When a creature is
perfectly able to fly, he sometimes chooses to run, just for the
pastime of the thing; and so did Pegasus, although it cost him some
little trouble to keep his hoofs so near the ground. Bellerophon,
meanwhile, holding the child's hand, peeped forth from the shrubbery,
and thought that never was any sight so beautiful as this, nor ever a
horse's eyes so wild and spirited as those of Pegasus. It seemed a sin
to think of bridling him and riding on his back.
Once or twice, Pegasus stopped, and snuffed the air, pricking up his
ears, tossing his head, and turning it on all sides, as if he partly
suspected some mischief or other. Seeing nothing, however, and hearing
no sound, he soon began his antics again.
At length--not that he was weary, but only idle and luxurious--Pegasus
folded his wings, and lay down on the soft green turf. But, being too
full of aerial life to remain quiet for many moments together, he soon
rolled over on his back, with his four slender legs in the air. It was
beautiful to see him, this one solitary creature, whose mate had never
been created, but who needed no companion, and, living a great many
hundred years, was as happy as the centuries were long. The more he
did such things as mortal horses are accustomed to do, the less
earthly and the more wonderful he seemed. Bellerophon and the child
almost held their breath, partly from a delightful awe, but still more
because they dreaded lest the slightest stir or murmur should send
him up, with the speed of an arrow-flight, into the farthest blue of
the sky.
Finally, when he had had enough of rolling over and over, Pegasus
turned himself about, and, indolently, like any other horse, put out
his fore legs, in order to rise from the ground; and Bellerophon, who
had guessed that he would do so, darted suddenly from the thicket, and
leaped astride of his back.
Yes, there he sat, on the back of the winged horse!
But what a bound did Pegasus make, when, for the first time, he felt
the weight of a mortal man upon his loins! A bound, indeed! Before he
had time to draw a breath, Bellerophon found himself five hundred feet
aloft, and still shooting upward, while the winged horse snorted and
trembled with terror and anger. Upward he went, up, up, up, until he
plunged into the cold misty bosom of a cloud, at which, only a little
while before, Bellerophon had been gazing, and fancying it a very
pleasant spot. Then again, out of the heart of the cloud, Pegasus shot
down like a thunderbolt, as if he meant to dash both himself and his
rider headlong against a rock. Then he went through about a thousand
of the wildest caprioles that had ever been performed either by a bird
or a horse.
I cannot tell you half that he did. He skimmed straight forward, and
sideways, and backward. He reared himself erect, with his fore legs on
a wreath of mist, and his hind legs on nothing at all. He flung out
his heels behind, and put down his head between his legs, with his
wings pointing right upward. At about two miles' height above the
earth, he turned a somerset, so that Bellerophon's heels were where
his head should have been, and he seemed to look down into the sky,
instead of up. He twisted his head about, and, looking Bellerophon in
the face, with fire flashing from his eyes, made a terrible attempt to
bite him. He fluttered his pinions so wildly that one of the silver
feathers was shaken out, and, floating earthward, was picked up by the
child, who kept it as long as he lived, in memory of Pegasus and
Bellerophon.
But the latter (who, as you may judge, was as good a horseman as ever
galloped) had been watching his opportunity, and at last clapped the
golden bit of the enchanted bridle between the winged steed's jaws. No
sooner was this done, than Pegasus became as manageable as if he had
taken food, all his life, out of Bellerophon's hand. To speak what I
really feel, it was almost a sadness to see so wild a creature grow
suddenly so tame. And Pegasus seemed to feel it so, likewise. He
looked round to Bellerophon, with the tears in his beautiful eyes,
instead of the fire that so recently flashed from them. But when
Bellerophon patted his head, and spoke a few authoritative, yet kind
and soothing words, another look came into the eyes of Pegasus; for he
was glad at heart, after so many lonely centuries, to have found a
companion and a master.
Thus it always is with winged horses, and with all such wild and
solitary creatures. If you can catch and overcome them, it is the
surest way to win their love.
While Pegasus had been doing his utmost to shake Bellerophon off his
back, he had flown a very long distance; and they had come within
sight of a lofty mountain by the time the bit was in his mouth.
Bellerophon had seen this mountain before, and knew it to be Helicon,
on the summit of which was the winged horse's abode. Thither (after
looking gently into his rider's face, as if to ask leave) Pegasus now
flew, and, alighting, waited patiently until Bellerophon should please
to dismount. The young man, accordingly, leaped from his steed's back,
but still held him fast by the bridle. Meeting his eyes, however, he
was so affected by the gentleness of his aspect, and by the thought of
the free life which Pegasus had heretofore lived, that he could not
bear to keep him a prisoner, if he really desired his liberty.
Obeying this generous impulse he slipped the enchanted bridle off the
head of Pegasus, and took the bit from his mouth.
"Leave me, Pegasus!" said he. "Either leave me, or love me."
In an instant, the winged horse shot almost out of sight, soaring
straight upward from the summit of Mount Helicon. Being long after
sunset, it was now twilight on the mountain-top, and dusky evening
over all the country round about. But Pegasus flew so high that he
overtook the departed day, and was bathed in the upper radiance of the
sun. Ascending higher and higher, he looked like a bright speck, and,
at last, could no longer be seen in the hollow waste of the sky. And
Bellerophon was afraid that he should never behold him more. But,
while he was lamenting his own folly, the bright speck reappeared, and
drew nearer and nearer, until it descended lower than the sunshine;
and, behold, Pegasus had come back! After this trial there was no more
fear of the winged horse's making his escape. He and Bellerophon were
friends, and put loving faith in one another.
That night they lay down and slept together, with Bellerophon's arm
about the neck of Pegasus, not as a caution, but for kindness. And
they awoke at peep of day, and bade one another good morning, each in
his own language.
In this manner, Bellerophon and the wondrous steed spent several days,
and grew better acquainted and fonder of each other all the time. They
went on long aerial journeys, and sometimes ascended so high that the
earth looked hardly bigger than--the moon. They visited distant
countries, and amazed the inhabitants, who thought that the beautiful
young man, on the back of the winged horse, must have come down out of
the sky. A thousand miles a day was no more than an easy space for the
fleet Pegasus to pass over. Bellerophon was delighted with this kind
of life, and would have liked nothing better than to live always in
the same way, aloft in the clear atmosphere; for it was always sunny
weather up there, however cheerless and rainy it might be in the lower
region. But he could not forget the horrible Chimaera, which he had
promised King Iobates to slay. So, at last, when he had become well
accustomed to feats of horsemanship in the air, and could manage
Pegasus with the least motion of his hand, and had taught him to obey
his voice, he determined to attempt the performance of this perilous
adventure.
At daybreak, therefore, as soon as he unclosed his eyes, he gently
pinched the winged horse's ear, in order to arouse him. Pegasus
immediately started from the ground, and pranced about a quarter of a
mile aloft, and made a grand sweep around the mountain-top, by way of
showing that he was wide awake, and ready for any kind of an
excursion. During the whole of this little flight, he uttered a loud,
brisk, and melodious neigh, and finally came down at Bellerophon's
side, as lightly as ever you saw a sparrow hop upon a twig.
"Well done, dear Pegasus! well done, my sky-skimmer!" cried
Bellerophon, fondly stroking the horse's neck. "And now, my fleet and
beautiful friend, we must break our fast. To-day we are to fight the
terrible Chimaera."
As soon as they had eaten their morning meal, and drank some sparkling
water from a spring called Hippocrene, Pegasus held out his head, of
his own accord, so that his master might put on the bridle. Then, with
a great many playful leaps and airy caperings, he showed his
impatience to be gone; while Bellerophon was girding on his sword, and
hanging his shield about his neck, and preparing himself for battle.
When everything was ready, the rider mounted, and (as was his custom,
when going a long distance) ascended five miles perpendicularly, so as
the better to see whither he was directing his course. He then turned
the head of Pegasus towards the east, and set out for Lycia. In their
flight they overtook an eagle, and came so nigh him, before he could
get out of their way, that Bellerophon might easily have caught him by
the leg. Hastening onward at this rate, it was still early in the
forenoon when they beheld the lofty mountains of Lycia, with their
deep and shaggy valleys. If Bellerophon had been told truly, it was in
one of those dismal valleys that the hideous Chimaera had taken up its
abode.
Being now so near their journey's end, the winged horse gradually
descended with his rider; and they took advantage of some clouds that
were floating over the mountain-tops, in order to conceal themselves.
Hovering on the upper surface of a cloud, and peeping over its edge,
Bellerophon had a pretty distinct view of the mountainous part of
Lycia, and could look into all its shadowy vales at once. At first
there appeared to be nothing remarkable. It was a wild, savage, and
rocky tract of high and precipitous hills. In the more level part of
the country, there were the ruins of houses that had been burnt, and,
here and there, the carcasses of dead cattle, strewn about the
pastures where they had been feeding.
"The Chimaera must have done this mischief," thought Bellerophon. "But
where can the monster be?"
As I have already said, there was nothing remarkable to be detected,
at first sight, in any of the valleys and dells that lay among the
precipitous heights of the mountains. Nothing at all; unless, indeed,
it were three spires of black smoke, which issued from what seemed to
be the mouth of a cavern, and clambered sullenly into the atmosphere.
Before reaching the mountain-top, these three black smoke-wreaths
mingled themselves into one. The cavern was almost directly beneath
the winged horse and his rider, at the distance of about a thousand
feet. The smoke, as it crept heavily upward, had an ugly, sulphurous,
stifling scent, which caused Pegasus to snort and Bellerophon to
sneeze. So disagreeable was it to the marvelous steed (who was
accustomed to breathe only the purest air), that he waved his wings,
and shot half a mile out of the range of this offensive vapor.
But, on looking behind him, Bellerophon saw something that induced him
first to draw the bridle, and then to turn Pegasus about. He made a
sign, which the winged horse understood, and sunk slowly through the
air, until his hoofs were scarcely more than a man's height above the
rocky bottom of the valley. In front, as far off as you could throw a
stone, was the cavern's mouth, with the three smoke-wreaths oozing out
of it. And what else did Bellerophon behold there?
There seemed to be a heap of strange and terrible creatures curled up
within the cavern. Their bodies lay so close together, that
Bellerophon could not distinguish them apart; but, judging by their
heads, one of these creatures was a huge snake, the second a fierce
lion, and the third an ugly goat. The lion and the goat were asleep;
the snake was broad awake, and kept staring around him with a great
pair of fiery eyes. But--and this was the most wonderful part of the
matter--the three spires of smoke evidently issued from the nostrils
of these three heads! So strange was the spectacle, that, though
Bellerophon had been all along expecting it, the truth did not
immediately occur to him, that here was the terrible three-headed
Chimaera. He had found out the Chimaera's cavern. The snake, the lion,
and the goat, as he supposed them to be, were not three separate
creatures, but one monster!
The wicked, hateful thing! Slumbering as two thirds of it were, it
still held, in its abominable claws, the remnant of an unfortunate
lamb,--or possibly (but I hate to think so) it was a dear little
boy,--which its three mouths had been gnawing, before two of them fell
asleep!
All at once, Bellerophon started as from a dream, and knew it to be
the Chimaera. Pegasus seemed to know it, at the same instant, and sent
forth a neigh, that sounded like the call of a trumpet to battle. At
this sound the three heads reared themselves erect, and belched out
great flashes of flame. Before Bellerophon had time to consider what
to do next, the monster flung itself out of the cavern and sprung
straight towards him, with its immense claws extended, and its snaky
tail twisting itself venomously behind. If Pegasus had not been as
nimble as a bird, both he and his rider would have been overthrown by
the Chimaera's headlong rush, and thus the battle have been ended
before it was well begun. But the winged horse was not to be caught
so. In the twinkling of an eye he was up aloft, halfway to the clouds,
snorting with anger. He shuddered, too, not with affright, but with
utter disgust at the loathsomeness of this poisonous thing with three
heads.
The Chimaera, on the other hand, raised itself up so as to stand
absolutely on the tip-end of its tail, with its talons pawing fiercely
in the air, and its three heads spluttering fire at Pegasus and his
rider. My stars, how it roared, and hissed, and bellowed! Bellerophon,
meanwhile, was fitting his shield on his arm, and drawing his sword.
"Now, my beloved Pegasus," he whispered in the winged horse's ear,
"thou must help me to slay this insufferable monster; or else thou
shalt fly back to thy solitary mountain-peak without thy friend
Bellerophon. For either the Chimaera dies, or its three mouths shall
gnaw this head of mine, which has slumbered upon thy neck!"
Pegasus whinnied, and, turning back his head, rubbed his nose tenderly
against his rider's cheek. It was his way of telling him that, though
he had wings and was an immortal horse, yet he would perish, if it
were possible for immortality to perish, rather than leave Bellerophon
behind.
"I thank you, Pegasus," answered Bellerophon. "Now, then, let us make
a dash at the monster!"
Uttering these words, he shook the bridle; and Pegasus darted down
aslant, as swift as the flight of an arrow, right towards the
Chimaera's three-fold head, which, all this time, was poking itself as
high as it could into the air. As he came within arm's-length,
Bellerophon made a cut at the monster, but was carried onward by his
steed, before he could see whether the blow had been successful.
Pegasus continued his course, but soon wheeled round, at about the
same distance from the Chimaera as before. Bellerophon then perceived
that he had cut the goat's head of the monster almost off, so that it
dangled downward by the skin, and seemed quite dead.
But, to make amends, the snake's head and the lion's head had taken
all the fierceness of the dead one into themselves, and spit flame,
and hissed, and roared, with a vast deal more fury than before.
"Never mind, my brave Pegasus!" cried Bellerophon. "With another
stroke like that, we will stop either its hissing or its roaring."
And again he shook the bridle. Dashing aslantwise, as before, the
winged horse made another arrow-flight towards the Chimaera, and
Bellerophon aimed another downright stroke at one of the two remaining
heads, as he shot by. But this time, neither he nor Pegasus escaped so
well as at first. With one of its claws, the Chimaera had given the
young man a deep scratch in his shoulder, and had slightly damaged the
left wing of the flying steed with the other. On his part, Bellerophon
had mortally wounded the lion's head of the monster, insomuch that it
now hung downward, with its fire almost extinguished, and sending out
gasps of thick black smoke. The snake's head, however (which was
the only one now left), was twice as fierce and venomous as ever
before. It belched forth shoots of fire five hundred yards long, and
emitted hisses so loud, so harsh, and so ear-piercing, that King
Iobates heard them, fifty miles off, and trembled till the throne
shook under him.
[Illustration: BELLEROPHON SLAYS THE CHIMAERA]
"Well-a-day!" thought the poor king; "the Chimaera is certainly coming
to devour me!"
Meanwhile Pegasus had again paused in the air, and neighed angrily,
while sparkles of a pure crystal flame darted out of his eyes. How
unlike the lurid fire of the Chimaera! The aerial steed's spirit was
all aroused, and so was that of Bellerophon.
"Dost thou bleed, my immortal horse?" cried the young man, caring less
for his own hurt than for the anguish of this glorious creature, that
ought never to have tasted pain. "The execrable Chimaera shall pay for
this mischief with his last head!"
Then he shook the bridle, shouted loudly, and guided Pegasus, not
aslantwise as before, but straight at the monster's hideous front. So
rapid was the onset, that it seemed but a dazzle and a flash before
Bellerophon was at close gripes with his enemy.
The Chimaera, by this time, after losing its second head, had got into
a red-hot passion of pain and rampant rage. It so flounced about, half
on earth and partly in the air, that it was impossible to say which
element it rested upon. It opened its snake-jaws to such an
abominable width, that Pegasus might almost, I was going to say, have
flown right down its throat, wings outspread, rider and all! At their
approach it shot out a tremendous blast of its fiery breath, and
enveloped Bellerophon and his steed in a perfect atmosphere of flame,
singeing the wings of Pegasus, scorching off one whole side of the
young man's golden ringlets, and making them both far hotter than was
comfortable, from head to foot.
But this was nothing to what followed.
When the airy rush of the winged horse had brought him within the
distance of a hundred yards, the Chimaera gave a spring, and flung its
huge, awkward, venomous, and utterly detestable carcass right upon
poor Pegasus, clung round him with might and main, and tied up its
snaky tail into a knot! Up flew the aerial steed, higher, higher,
higher, above the mountain-peaks, above the clouds, and almost out of
sight of the solid earth. But still the earth-born monster kept its
hold, and was borne upward, along with the creature of light and air.
Bellerophon, meanwhile, turning about, found himself face to face with
the ugly grimness of the Chimaera's visage, and could only avoid being
scorched to death, or bitten right in twain, by holding up his shield.
Over the upper edge of the shield, he looked sternly into the savage
eyes of the monster.
But the Chimaera was so mad and wild with pain, that it did not guard
itself so well as might else have been the case. Perhaps, after all,
the best way to fight a Chimaera is by getting as close to it as you
can. In its efforts to stick its horrible iron claws into its enemy,
the creature left its own breast quite exposed; and perceiving this,
Bellerophon thrust his sword up to the hilt into its cruel heart.
Immediately the snaky tail untied its knot. The monster let go its
hold of Pegasus, and fell from that vast height, downward; while the
fire within its bosom, instead of being put out, burned fiercer than
ever, and quickly began to consume the dead carcass. Thus it fell out
of the sky, all a-flame, and (it being nightfall before it reached the
earth) was mistaken for a shooting star or a comet. But, at early
sunrise, some cottagers were going to their day's labor, and saw, to
their astonishment, that several acres of ground were strewn with
black ashes. In the middle of a field, there was a heap of whitened
bones, a great deal higher than a haystack. Nothing else was ever seen
of the dreadful Chimaera!
And when Bellerophon had won the victory, he bent forward and kissed
Pegasus, while the tears stood in his eyes.
"Back now, my beloved steed!" said he. "Back to the Fountain of
Pirene!"
Pegasus skimmed through the air, quicker than ever he did before, and
reached the fountain in a very short time. And there he found the old
man leaning on his staff, and the country fellow watering his cow, and
the pretty maiden filling her pitcher.
"I remember now," quoth the old man, "I saw this winged horse once
before, when I was quite a lad. But he was ten times handsomer in
those days."
"I own a cart-horse, worth three of him!" said the country fellow. "If
this pony were mine, the first thing I should do would be to clip his
wings!"
But the poor maiden said nothing, for she had always the luck to be
afraid at the wrong time. So she ran away, and let her pitcher tumble
down, and broke it.
"Where is the gentle child," asked Bellerophon, "who used to keep me
company, and never lost his faith, and never was weary of gazing into
the fountain?"
"Here am I, dear Bellerophon!" said the child, softly.
For the little boy had spent day after day, on the margin of Pirene,
waiting for his friend to come back; but when he perceived Bellerophon
descending through the clouds, mounted on the winged horse, he had
shrunk back into the shrubbery. He was a delicate and tender child,
and dreaded lest the old man and the country fellow should see the
tears gushing from his eyes.
"Thou hast won the victory," said he, joyfully, running to the knee of
Bellerophon, who still sat on the back of Pegasus. "I knew thou
wouldst."
"Yes, dear child!" replied Bellerophon, alighting from the winged
horse. "But if thy faith had not helped me, I should never have waited
for Pegasus, and never have gone up above the clouds, and never have
conquered the terrible Chimaera. Thou, my beloved little friend, hast
done it all. And now let us give Pegasus his liberty."
So he slipped off the enchanted bridle from the head of the marvelous
steed.
"Be free, forevermore, my Pegasus!" cried he, with a shade of sadness
in his tone. "Be as free as thou art fleet!"
But Pegasus rested his head on Bellerophon's shoulder, and would not
be persuaded to take flight.
"Well then," said Bellerophon, caressing the airy horse, "thou shalt
be with me, as long as thou wilt; and we will go together, forthwith,
and tell King Iobates that the Chimaera is destroyed."
Then Bellerophon embraced the gentle child, and promised to come to
him again, and departed. But, in after years, that child took higher
flights upon the aerial steed than ever did Bellerophon, and achieved
more honorable deeds than his friend's victory over the Chimaera. For,
gentle and tender as he was, he grew to be a mighty poet!
[Illustration]