for by this time she was many thousands of miles away making the corn
grow in another country.
No sooner did Proserpina begin to cry out than the strange man leaped
to the ground; he caught her in his arms and sprang into the chariot,
then he shook the reins and shouted to the two black horses to set
off. They began to gallop so fast that it was just like flying, and in
less than a minute Proserpina had lost sight of the sunny fields where
she and her mother had always lived.
She screamed and screamed and all the beautiful flowers fell out of
her apron to the ground.
But Mother Ceres was too far away to know what was happening to her
little daughter.
"Why are you so frightened, my little girl?" said the strange man, and
he tried to soften his rough voice. "I promise not to do you any harm.
I see you have been gathering flowers? Wait till we come to my palace
and I will give you a garden full of prettier flowers than these, all
made of diamonds and pearls and rubies. Can you guess who I am? They
call me Pluto, and I am the King of the mines where all the diamonds
and rubies and all the gold and silver are found: they all belong to
me. Do you see this lovely crown on my head? I will let you have it
to play with. Oh, I think we are going to be very good friends when we
get out of this troublesome sunshine."
"Let me go home," sobbed Proserpina, "let me go home."
"My home is better than your mother's," said King Pluto. "It is a
palace made of gold, with crystal windows and with diamond lamps
instead of sunshine; and there is a splendid throne; if you like
you may sit on it and be my little Queen, and I will sit on the
footstool."
"I do not care for golden palaces and thrones," sobbed Proserpina. "O
mother, mother! Take me back to my mother."
But King Pluto only shouted to his horses to go faster.
"You are very foolish, Proserpina," he said, rather crossly. "I am
doing all I can to make you happy, and I want very much to have a
merry little girl to run upstairs and downstairs in my palace and make
it brighter with her laughter. This is all I ask you to do for King
Pluto."
"Never" answered Proserpina, looking very miserable. "I shall never
laugh again, till you take me back to my mother's cottage."
And the horses galloped on, and the wind whistled past the chariot,
and Proserpina cried and cried till her poor little voice was almost
cried away, and nothing was left but a whisper.
The road now began to get very dull and gloomy. On each side were
black rocks and very thick trees and bushes that looked as if they
never got any sunshine. It got darker and darker, as if night was
coming, and still the black horses rushed on leaving the sunny home of
Mother Ceres far behind.
But the darker it grew, the happier King Pluto seemed to be.
Proserpina began to peep at him, she thought he might not be such a
wicked man after all.
"Is it much further," she asked, "and will you carry me back when I
have seen your palace?"
"We will talk of that by and by," answered Pluto. "Do you see these
big gates? When we pass these we are at home; and look! there is my
faithful dog at the door! Cerberus; Cerberus, come here, good dog."
Pluto pulled the horses' reins, and the chariot stopped between two
big tall pillars. The dog got up and stood on his hind legs, so that
he could put his paws on the chariot wheel. What a strange dog he was!
A big, rough, ugly-looking monster, with three heads each fiercer than
the other.
King Pluto patted his heads and the dog wagged his tail with delight.
Proserpina was much afraid when she saw that his tail was a live
dragon, with fiery eyes and big poisonous teeth.
"Will the dog bite me?" she asked, creeping closer to King Pluto. "How
very ugly he is."
"Oh, never fear," Pluto answered; "he never bites people unless they
try to come in here when I do not want them. Down, Cerberus. Now,
Proserpina, we will drive on."
The black horses started again and King Pluto seemed very happy to
find himself once more at home.
All along the road Proserpina could see diamonds, and rubies and
precious stones sparkling, and there were bits of real gold among the
rocks. It was a very rich place.
Not far from the gateway they came to an iron bridge. Pluto stopped
the chariot and told Proserpina to look at the river which ran
underneath. It was very black and muddy, and flowed slowly, very
slowly, as if it had quite forgotten which way it wanted to go, and
was in no hurry to flow anywhere.
"This is the river Lethe," said King Pluto; "do you not think it a
very pleasant stream?"
"I think it is very dismal," said Proserpina.
"Well, I like it," answered Pluto, who got rather cross when any one
did not agree with him. "It is a strange kind of river. If you drink
only a little sip of the water, you will at once forget all your care
and sorrow. When we reach the palace, you shall have some in a golden
cup, and then you will not cry any more for your mother, and will be
perfectly happy with me."
"Oh no, oh no!" said Proserpina, sobbing again. "O mother, mother,
I will never forget you; I do not want to be happy by forgetting all
about you."
"We shall see," said King Pluto; "you do not know what good times we
will have in my palace. Here we are, just at the gate. Look at the big
pillars; they are all made of solid gold."
He got out of the chariot and carried Proserpina in his arms up a long
stair into the great hall of the palace. It was beautifully lit by
hundreds of diamonds and rubies which shone like lamps. It was very
rich and splendid to look at, but it was cold and lonely and Pluto
must have longed for some one to keep him company; perhaps that was
why he had stolen Proserpina from her sunny home.
King Pluto sent for his servants and told them to get ready a grand
supper with all kinds of dainty food and sweet things such as children
like. "And be sure not to forget a golden cup filled with the water of
Lethe," he said to the servant.
"I will not eat anything," said Proserpina, "nor drink a single drop,
even if you keep me for ever in your palace."
"I should be sorry for that," replied King Pluto. He really wished to
be kind if he had only known how. "Wait till you see the nice things
my cook will make for you, and then you will be hungry."
Now King Pluto had a secret reason why he wanted Proserpina to eat
some food. You must understand that when people are carried off to the
land of magic, if once they taste any food they can never go back to
their friends.
If King Pluto had offered Proserpina some bread and milk she would
very likely have taken it as soon as she was hungry, but all the
cook's fine pastries and sweets were things she had never seen at
home, and, instead of making her hungry, she was afraid to touch them.
But now my story must leave King Pluto's palace, and we must see what
Mother Ceres has been about.
You remember she had gone off in her chariot with the winged dragons
to the other side of the world to see how the corn and fruit were
growing. And while she was busy in a field she thought she heard
Proserpina's voice calling her. She was sure her little daughter
could not possibly be anywhere near, but the idea troubled her: and
presently she left the fields before her work was half done and,
ordering her dragons with the chariot, she drove off.
In less than an hour Mother Ceres got down at the door of her cottage.
It was empty! At first she thought "Oh, Proserpina will still be
playing on the shore with the sea-children." So she went to find her.
"Where is Proserpina, you naughty sea-children?" she asked; "tell me,
have you taken her to your home under the sea?"
"Oh no, Mother Ceres," they said, "she left us early in the day to
gather flowers for a wreath, and we have seen nothing of her since."
Ceres hurried off to ask all the neighbors. A poor fisherman had seen
her little footprints in the sand as he went home with his basket of
fish.
A man in the fields had noticed her gathering flowers.
Several persons had heard the rattling of chariot wheels or the
rumbling of distant thunder: and one old woman had heard a scream, but
supposed it was only merriment, and had not even looked up.
None of the neighbors knew where Proserpina was, and Mother Ceres
decided she must seek her daughter further from home.
By this time it was night, so she lit a torch and set off, telling the
neighbors she would never come back till Proserpina was found. In
her hurry she quite forgot her chariot with the dragons; may be she
thought she could search better on foot.
So she started on her sad journey, holding her torch in front of her,
and looking carefully along every road and round every corner.
She had not gone very far before she found one of the wonderful
flowers which Proserpina had pulled from the poison bush.
"Ha!" said Mother Ceres, examining it carefully, "there is mischief in
this flower: it did not grow in the earth by any help of mine; it is
the work of magic, and perhaps it has poisoned my poor child." And she
hid it in her bosom.
All night long Ceres sought for her daughter. She knocked at the doors
of farm-houses where the people were all asleep, and they came to see
who was there, rubbing their eyes and yawning. They were very sorry
for the poor mother when they heard her tale--but they knew nothing
about Proserpina.
At every palace door, too, she knocked, so loudly that the servants
ran quickly, expecting to find a great queen, and when they saw only
a sad lonely woman with a burning torch in her hand, and a wreath of
withered poppies on her head, they were angry and drove her rudely
away.
But nobody had seen Proserpina, and Mother Ceres wandered about till
the night was passed, without sitting down to rest, and without taking
any food. She did not even remember to put out her torch, and it
looked very pale and small in the bright morning sunshine.
It must have been a magic torch, for it burned dimly all day, and then
when night came it shone with a beautiful red light, and neither the
wind nor the rain put it out through all these weary days while Ceres
sought for Proserpina.
It was not only men and women that Mother Ceres questioned about her
daughter. In the woods and by the streams she met other creatures
whose way of talking she could understand, and who knew many things
that we have never learned.
Sometimes she tapped with her finger against an oak tree, and at once
its rough bark would open and a beautiful maiden would appear: she was
the spirit of the oak, living inside it, and as happy as could be when
its green leaves danced in the breeze.
Then another time Ceres would find a spring bubbling out of a little
hole in the earth, and she would play with her fingers in the water.
Immediately up through the sandy bed a nymph with dripping hair would
rise and float half out of the water, looking at Mother Ceres, and
swaying up and down with the water bubbles.
But when the mother asked whether her poor lost child had stopped to
drink of the fountain, the nymph with weeping eyes would answer
"No," in a murmuring voice which was just like the sound of a running
stream.
Often, too, she met fauns. These were little people with brown faces
who looked as if they had played a great deal in the sun. They had
hairy ears and little horns on their brows, and their legs were like
goats' legs on which they danced merrily about the woods and fields.
They were very kind creatures, and were very sorry for Mother Ceres
when they heard that her daughter was lost.
And once she met a rude band of satyrs who had faces like monkeys
and who had horses' tails behind; they were dancing and shouting in
a rough, noisy manner, and they only laughed when Ceres told them how
unhappy she was.
One day while she was crossing a lonely sheep-field she saw the god
Pan: he was sitting at the foot of a tall rock, making music on a
shepherd's flute. He too had horns on his brow, and hairy ears, and
goat's feet. He knew Mother Ceres and answered her questions kindly,
and he gave her some milk and honey to drink out of a wooden bowl. But
he knew nothing of Proserpina.
And so Mother Ceres went wandering about for nine long days and
nights. Now and then she found a withered flower, and these she picked
up and put in her bosom, because she fancied they might have fallen
from her daughter's hand. All day she went on through the hot
sunshine, and at night the flame of her torch would gleam on the
pathway, and she would continue her weary search without ever sitting
down to rest.
On the tenth day she came to the mouth of a cave. It was dark inside,
but a torch was burning dimly and lit up half of the gloomy place.
Ceres peeped in and held up her own torch before her, and then she saw
what looked like a woman, sitting on a heap of withered leaves, which
the wind had blown into the cave. She was a very strange-looking
woman: her head was shaped like a dog's, and round it she had a wreath
of snakes.
As soon as she saw her, Mother Ceres knew that this was a queer kind
of person who was always grumbling and unhappy. Her name was Hecate,
and she would never say a word to other people unless they were
unhappy too. "I am sad enough," thought poor Ceres, "to talk with
Hecate:" so she stepped into the cave and sat down on the withered
leaves beside the dog-headed woman.
"O Hecate," she said, "if ever you lose a daughter you will know
what sorrow is. Tell me, for pity's sake, have you seen my poor child
Proserpina pass by the mouth of your cave?"
"No, Mother Ceres," answered Hecate. "I have seen nothing of your
daughter. But my ears, you know, are made so that all cries of
distress or fright all over the world are heard by them. And nine days
ago, as I sat in my cave, I heard the voice of a young girl sobbing
as if in great distress. As well as I could judge, some dragon was
carrying her away."
"You kill me by saying so," cried Mother Ceres, almost ready to faint;
"where was the sound, and which way did it seem to go?"
"It passed along very quickly," said Hecate, "and there was a rumbling
of wheels to the eastward. I cannot tell you any more. I advise
you just to come and live here with me, and we will be the two most
unhappy women in all the world."
"Not yet, dark Hecate," replied Ceres. "Will you first come with your
torch and help me to seek for my child. When there is no more hope
of finding her, then I will come back with you to your dark cave. But
till I know that Proserpina is dead, I will not allow myself time to
sorrow."
Hecate did not much like the idea of going abroad into the sunshine,
but at last she agreed to go, and they set out together, each carrying
a torch, although it was broad daylight and the sun was shining. Any
people they met ran away without waiting to be spoken to, as soon as
they caught sight of Hecate's wreath of snakes.
As the sad pair wandered on, a thought struck Ceres. "There is one
person," she exclaimed, "who must have seen my child and can tell
me what has become of her. Why did I not think of him sooner? It is
Phoebus."
"What!" said Hecate, "the youth that always sits in the sunshine! Oh!
pray do not think of going near him: he is a gay young fellow that
will only smile in your face. And, besides, there is such a glare of
sunshine about him that he will quite blind my poor eyes, which are
weak with so much weeping."
"You have promised to be my companion," answered Ceres. "Come, let us
make haste, or the sunshine will be gone and Phoebus along with it."
So they set off in search of Phoebus, both sighing a great deal,
and after a long journey they came to the sunniest spot in the whole
world. There they saw a young man with curly golden hair which seemed
to be made of sunbeams.
His clothes were like light summer clouds, and the smile on his face
was so bright that Hecate held her hands before her eyes and muttered
that she wished he would wear a veil! Phoebus had a lyre in his hands
and was playing very sweet music, at the same time singing a merry
song.
As Ceres and her dismal companion came near, Phoebus smiled on them
so cheerfully that Hecate's wreath of snakes gave a spiteful hiss and
Hecate wished she was back in her dark cave.
But Ceres was too unhappy to know whether Phoebus smiled or looked
angry.
"Phoebus" she said, "I am in great trouble and have come to you
for help. Can you tell me what has become of my little daughter
Proserpina?"
"Proserpina, Proserpina did you call her?" answered Phoebus, trying to
remember. He had so many pleasant ideas in his head that he sometimes
forgot what had happened no longer ago than yesterday.
"Ah yes! I remember now--a very lovely little girl. I am happy to tell
you that I did see Proserpina not many days ago. You may be quite easy
about her. She is safe and in good hands."
"Oh, where is my dear child?" cried Ceres, clasping her hands and
flinging herself at his feet.
"Why," replied Phoebus, "as the little girl was gathering flowers she
was snatched up by King Pluto and carried off to his kingdom. I have
never been there myself, but I am told the royal palace is splendidly
built. Proserpina will have gold and silver and diamonds to play with,
and I am sure even although there is no sunshine, she will have a very
happy life."
"Hush! do not say such a thing," said Ceres. "What has she got to
love? What are all these splendors if she has no one to care for? I
must have her back. Good Phoebus, will you come with me to demand my
daughter from this wicked Pluto?"
"Pray excuse me," answered Phoebus, with a bow. "I certainly wish you
success, and I am sorry I am too busy to go with you. Besides, King
Pluto does not care much for me. To tell you the truth, his dog with
the three heads would never let me pass the gateway. I always carry
a handful of sunbeams with me, and those, you know, are not allowed
within King Pluto's kingdom."
So the poor mother said good-by and hastened away along with Hecate.
Ceres had now found out what had become of her daughter, but she was
not any happier than before. Indeed, her trouble seemed worse than
ever. So long as Proserpina was above-ground there was some hope of
getting her home again. But now that the poor child was shut up behind
King Pluto's iron gates, with the three-headed Cerberus on guard
beside them, there seemed no hope of her escape.
The dismal Hecate, who always looked on the darkest side of things,
told Ceres she had better come back with her to the cave and spend the
rest of her life in being miserable. But Ceres answered that Hecate
could go back if she wished, but that for her part she would wander
about all the world looking for the entrance to King Pluto's kingdom.
So Hecate hurried off alone to her beloved cave, frightening a great
many little children with her dog's face as she went.
Poor Mother Ceres! It is sad to think of her all alone, holding up her
never-dying torch and wandering up and down the wide, wide world. So
much did she suffer that in a very short time she began to look quite
old. She wandered about with her hair hanging down her back, and she
looked so wild that people took her for some poor mad woman, and never
thought that this was Mother Ceres who took care of every seed which
was sown in the ground and of all the fruit and flowers.
Now she gave herself no trouble about seedtime or harvest; there was
nothing in which she seemed to feel any interest, except the children
she saw at play or gathering flowers by the wayside. Then, indeed, she
would stand and look at them with tears in her eyes.
And the children seemed to understand her sorrow and would gather in
a little group about her knees and look up lovingly into her face, and
Ceres, after giving them a kiss all round, would lead them home and
advise their mothers never to let them stray out of sight. "For if
they do," said she, "it may happen to you as it has happened to me:
the iron-hearted King Pluto may take a liking to your darlings and
carry them away in his golden chariot."
At last, in her despair, Ceres made up her mind that not a stalk
of grain, nor a blade of grass, not a potato, nor a turnip, nor any
vegetable that is good for man or beast, should be allowed to grow
till her daughter was sent back. She was so unhappy that she even
forbade the flowers to bloom.
Now you can see what a terrible misfortune had fallen on the earth.
The farmer plowed the ground and planted his seed, as usual, and
there lay the black earth without a single green blade to be seen. The
fields looked as brown in the sunny months of spring as ever they did
in winter. The rich man's garden and the flower-plot in front of the
laborer's cottage were both empty; even the children's gardens showed
nothing but withered stalks. It was very sad to see the poor starving
sheep and cattle that followed behind Ceres, bleating and lowing as if
they knew that she could help them.
All the people begged her at least to let the grass grow, but Mother
Ceres was too miserable to care for any one's trouble. "Never," she
said. "If the earth is ever to be green again, it must grow along the
path by which my daughter comes back to me."
At last, as there seemed to be no other way out of it, Mercury, the
favorite messenger of the gods, was sent to King Pluto in the hope
that he would set everything right again by giving up Proserpina.
Mercury went as quickly as he could to the great iron gates, and with
the help of the wings on his shoes, he took a flying leap right over
Cerberus with his three heads, and very soon he stood at the door of
King Pluto's palace.
The servants all knew him, as he had often been there in his short
cloak, and cap, and shoes with the wings, and with his curious staff
which had two snakes twisted round it.
He asked to see the King immediately, and Pluto, who had heard his
voice from the top of the stairs, called out to him to come up at
once, for he was always glad to listen to Mercury's cheery talk.
And while they are laughing together we must find out what Proserpina
had been doing since we last heard about her.
You will remember that Proserpina had said she would not taste food so
long as she was kept a prisoner in King Pluto's palace.
It was now six months since she had been carried off from her home,
and not a mouthful had she eaten, not even when the cook had made all
kinds of sweet things and had ordered all the dainties which children
usually like best.
Proserpina was naturally a bright, merry little girl, and all this
time she was not so unhappy as you may have thought.
In the big palace were a thousand rooms, and each was full of
wonderful and beautiful things. It is true there was never any
sunshine in these rooms, and Proserpina used to fancy that the shadowy
light which came from the jeweled lamps was alive: it seemed to float
before her as she walked between the golden pillars, and to close
softly behind her in the echo of her footsteps.
And Proserpina knew that all the glitter of these precious stones was
not worth a single sunbeam, nor could the rubies and emeralds which
she played with ever be as dear to her as the daisies and buttercups
she had gathered among the soft green grass.
King Pluto felt how much happier his palace was since Proserpina came,
and so did all his servants. They loved to hear her childish voice
laughing as she ran from room to room, and they felt less old and
tired when they saw again how glad little children can be.
"My own little Proserpina," King Pluto used to say, "I wish you would
like me a little better. Although I look rather a sad man, I am really
fond of children, and if you would stay here with me always, it would
make me happier than having hundreds of palaces like this."
"Ah," said Proserpina, "you should have tried to make me like you
first before carrying me off, and now the best thing you can do is to
let me go again; then I might remember you sometimes and think that
you were as kind as you knew how to be. Perhaps I might come back to
pay you a visit one day."
"No, no," answered Pluto, with his gloomy smile, "I will not trust
you for that. You are too fond of living in the sunshine and gathering
flowers. What an idle, childish thing to do! Do you not think that
these diamonds which I have had dug out of the mine for you are far
prettier than violets?"
"No, oh no! not half so pretty," said Proserpina, snatching them from
Pluto's hand, and flinging them to the other end of the room. "O my
sweet purple violets, shall I ever see you again?" and she began to
cry bitterly.