Journeys Through Bookland V3

C >> Charles H. Sylvester >> Journeys Through Bookland V3

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27

Undaunted by these sickening sights, Beowulf blew a mighty blast upon
his terrible war-horn, at the sound of which the noisome animals slunk
back to the slimy depths of the dismal pond. Clad in his shirt of iron
mail, wearing the hooded helmet that had often protected his head from
the savage blows of his enemies, and clasping in his hand the handle
of his great knife, Hrunting, whose hardened blade had carried death
to many a strong foeman, Beowulf fronted the awful lake.

Thus armed and protected, he plunged into the thickened oily waters,
which closed quickly over him, leaving but a few great bubbles to show
where he had disappeared. Into the depths of the dark abyss he swam
until it seemed as though he were plunging straight into the jaws of
death.

As his mighty strength neared exhaustion, Beowulf found the hall at
the depth of the abyss, and there saw Grendel's mother lying in wait
for him. With her fierce claws she grappled him and dragged him into
her dismal water palace whose dark walls oozed with the slime of ages.
Recovering his breath, and fierce at the assault, Beowulf swung his
heavy knife and brought it down on the sea wolf's head. Never before
had Hrunting failed him, but now the hard skull of Grendel's mother
turned the biting edge of the forged steel, and the blow twisted the
blade as though it were soft wire. Flinging aside his useless knife,
Beowulf clutched the sea woman with the mighty grip that had slain her
son, and the struggle for mastery began. More than once was Beowulf
pushed nigh to exhaustion, but every time he recovered himself and
escaped from the deadly grasp of the powerful fiend who strove to take
his life. As he grew weaker, Grendel's mother seized her russet-bladed
knife and with a mighty blow drove it straight at the heart of
Beowulf. Once again his trusty shirt of mail turned the blade, and by
a last convulsive effort he regained his feet.

As he rose from his dangerous position he saw glittering in his sight
as it hung in the walls of water, the hilt of a mighty sword, which
was made for giants, and which no man on earth but Beowulf could
wield. Little he knew of its magic power, but he seized it in both
hands, and swinging it about his head in mighty curves, struck full at
the head of the monster. Savage was the blow, more mighty than human
being ever struck before, and the keen edge of the sword crashed
through the brazen mail, cleft the neck of the sea wolf, and felled
her dead upon the floor. From her neck spurted hot blood which melted
the blade and burned it away as frost wreathes are melted by the sun.
In his hand remained only the carven hilt.

On the shore of the dark lake the Danes waited anxiously for the
reappearance of Beowulf, and when blood came welling up through the
dark waters they felt their champion had met his fate, and returning
to Heorot, they sat down to mourn in the great mead-hall.

Then among them strode Beowulf, carrying in one hand the great head of
the sea woman and in the other the blistered hilt of the sword, snake-
shaped, carven with the legend of its forging. Beowulf related the
story of his combat and added, "When I saw that Grendel's mother was
dead I seized her head and swam upward again through the heaving
waters, bearing the heavy burden with me; and as I landed on the shore
of the lake I saw its waters dry behind me, and bright meadows with
beautiful flowers take their place. The trees themselves put on new
robes of green, and peace and gladness settled over all. God and my
strong right hand prospered me, and here I show the sword with which
the giants of old defied the eternal God, The enemies of God are
overcome, and here in Heorot may Hrothgar and his counselors dwell in
peace."

The king and his counselors gathered round about Beowulf, and looked
with wonder and amazement on the head of the fierce sea monster and
read with strange thrills of awe the wondrous history of the sword and
the cunning work of its forgers.

Then to Beowulf, Hrothgar spoke in friendly wise, "Glorious is thy
victory, O Beowulf, and great and marvelous is the strength that God
hath given thee, but accept now in the hour of thy success a word of
kindly counsel. When a man rides on the high tide of success he may
think that his strength and glory are forever, but it is God alone who
giveth him courage and power over others, and in the end all must fall
before the arrows of death. God sent Grendel to punish me for my pride
when I had freed the Danes and built my pinnacled mead-hall. Then when
this despair was upon me he brought thee to my salvation. Bear then
thy honors meekly, and give thanks to God that made thee strong. Go
now into the feast and join thy happiness to that of my warriors."

That day the high walls of Heorot rang with the thunderous shouts of
the warriors and echoed the inspiring words of the Skalds who sang of
Beowulf's victory. When at last darkness settled o'er the towers and
pinnacles of the palace, the grateful Danes laid themselves down to
sleep in peace and safety, knowing that their slumber would never
again be disturbed by the old sea woman or her giant progeny.

CUPID AND PSYCHE

Adapted by ANNA MCCALEB

Once upon a time, in a far-off country whose exact location no man
knows, there lived a king whose chief glory and pride was in his three
beautiful daughters. The two elder sisters were sought in marriage by
princes, but Psyche, by far the most beautiful of the three, remained
at her father's home, unsought. The fact was, she was so lovely that
all the people worshiped her as a goddess, while no man felt that he
was worthy to ask for her hand.

"Shall a mere mortal," they said, "venture to seek the love of Venus,
queen of beauty?"

When Psyche learned of the name they had given her she was frightened,
for she knew well the jealous, vengeful nature of the goddess of
beauty. And she did well to fear; for Venus, jealous, angry, was even
then plotting her destruction.

"Go," she said to her son Cupid. "Wound that proud, impertinent girl
with your arrows, and see to it that she falls in love with some
wretched, depraved human being. She shall pay for attempting to rival
me."

Off went the mischievous youth, pleased with his errand; but when he
bent over the sleeping Psyche and saw that she was far more beautiful
than any one whom he had ever looked upon, he started hastily back,
and wounded, not the maiden, but himself, with his arrow. Happy, and
yet wretched in his love (for he knew his mother too well to fancy
that she would relent toward the offending Psyche), he stole away; and
for days he did not go near his mother, knowing that she would demand
of him the outcome of his mission.

Meanwhile the old king, feeling that disgrace rested on his family
because no man had come to seek Psyche in marriage, sent messengers to
ask of the oracle [Footnote: An oracle was a place where some god
answered questions about future happenings. The same name was also
given to the answers made by the god. The most famous oracles were
that of Jupiter at Dodona and that of Apollo at Delphi, the latter
holding chief place. At Delphi there was a temple to Apollo built over
a chasm in the mountain side from which came sulphurous fumes. A
priestess took her seat on a tripod over this chasm, and the answers
she gave to inquiries were supposed to be dictated by the god. These
answers were almost always unintelligible, and even when interpreted
by the priests were ambiguous and of little use. Nevertheless, the
Greeks believed in oracles firmly, and never undertook any important
work without first consulting one or more of them.] of Apollo whether
he or his family had ignorantly offended any of the gods. Eagerly he
watched for the return of the messengers, but as they came back the
sight of their white faces told him that no favorable answer had been
theirs.

"Pardon, O King," said the spokesman, "thy servants who bring thee ill
news. We can but speak the words of the gods, which were these:

"'For hear thy doom; a rugged rock there is
Set back a league from thine own palace fair;
There leave the maid, that she may wait the kiss
Of the fell monster that doth harbour there:
This is the mate for whom her yellow hair
And tender limbs have been so fashioned,
This is the pillow for her lovely head.

"'And if thou sparest now to do this thing,
I will destroy thee and thy land also,
And of dead corpses shalt thou be the king,
And stumbling through the dark land shalt thou go,
Howling for second death to end thy woe;
Live therefore as thou mayst and do my will,
And be a king that men may envy still.'"
[Footnote: From William Morris's Earthly Paradise.]

Imagine the grief of the loving father at these words! Had the oracle
but threatened punishment to him, he would have endured any torture
before subjecting his child to such a fate; but as a king, he dared
not bring ruin on all his people, who trusted him. Psyche, herself,
numb with horror, commanded quietly that preparations be made for the
procession which should accompany her to the rock described by the
oracle. Some days later, this procession set out, the priests in their
white robes preceding Psyche, who, in mourning garments, with bowed
head and clasped hands, walked between her father and mother. Her
parents bewailed their fate and clung to her, but she said only, "It
is the will of the gods, and therefore must be."

At last the mountain top was reached, the last heart-breaking
farewells were said, and the procession wound back toward the city,
leaving Psyche alone. All the horror of her fate burst upon her as she
stood on the bleak rock, and she raised her hands to heaven and cried.
Suddenly, however, it seemed to her that the breeze which blew past
her murmured in her ear "Do not fear"; and certainly she felt herself
being lifted gently and carried over mountain and valley and sea. At
last, she was placed on a grassy bank, in a pleasant, flower-bright
valley, and here she fell asleep, feeling quite safe after all her
fears.

On awaking, she strolled about the lovely garden in which she found
herself, wondering to see no one, though on all sides there were signs
of work and care and thought. At the door of a palace, more gorgeous
than any she had ever seen before, she paused, but soft voices called
"Enter, beautiful maiden," and gentle hands, which she saw not, drew
her within the door. While she gazed in wonder at the wrought golden
pillars, the ivory and gold furnishings, the mosaic of precious stones
which formed the floor, a voice said, close beside her:

"Sovereign lady, let not fear oppress thee:
All is thine on which thine eye doth rest.
We, whose voices greet thee, are thy servants--
Thou art mistress here, not passing guest.
In thy chamber, bed of down awaits thee;
Perfumed baths our skilled hands prepare."

As she had slept in the garden, Psyche felt no need of rest, but
passed at once to the refreshment of the bath. Then, for she had eaten
nothing since the oracle's decree, she seated herself at the table and
ate of the delicious dishes which the invisible hands presented to
her. Swiftly the remaining hours of daylight passed, while the amazed
and enraptured Psyche wandered about the palace and listened to the
exquisite music which invisible performers furnished for her.

With the coming of the darkness, the voice which had spoken to her at
her entrance said, "Our master comes!" And shortly after, he began to
speak to her himself. At the first tones of his gentle, loving voice,
Psyche forgot her fears, forgot the oracle; and when her unseen lover
said, "Canst thou love me somewhat in return for all the love I give
thee?" she answered, "Willingly!"

"Thou mayest have all the joys which earth and heaven afford; one
thing only I ask of thee in return. I shall come to thee with the
darkness, and never shalt thou try to see my face."

Psyche promised, and she kept her promise faithfully for a long time,
though her longing to see the husband who was so good to her was
great. During the hours when he was with her, she was perfectly happy,
but through the long days, when she had nothing but the voices that
had greeted her on her arrival, and her own thoughts for company, she
longed and longed to see her sisters, and to send to her parents news
of her happiness. One night when her husband came, she begged of him
that he would allow her sisters to visit her.

"Art thou not happy with me, Pysche?" he asked sorrowfully. "Do I not
fill thy heart as thou fillest mine?"

"I am happier with thee than ever happy girl was with seen lover,"
replied Psyche, "but my parents and my sisters are yet in sorrow over
my fate, and my heart tells me it is selfishness for me to be so happy
while they grieve for me."

At last, her husband gave a reluctant consent to her request, and on
the very next day, the West Wind, [Footnote: The winds, four in
number, were the sons of Aeolus, god of the storm and of winds. Their
names were Boreas, the north wind; Zephyrus, the west wind; Auster,
the south wind, and Eurus, the east wind.] who had brought Psyche to
this retreat, brought her two sisters and set them down at her door.
Joyfully Psyche led them in, and she commanded her invisible servants
to serve them with the finest foods and entertain them with the most
exquisite music. After the meal was over, the happy girl conducted
them about the palace and pointed out to them all its treasures. She
was not proud or boastful; she only wanted to show them how kind and
thoughtful her husband was. But the sights that met their eyes filled
them with envy, and when Psyche left the room to make some further
plans for their comfort, one said to the other:

"Is it not unendurable that this girl, who was left unsought in our
father's house for years, should be living in such splendor? I shall
hate the sight of my own palace when I return."

"Yes," sighed the other, "all the polished oaken furnishings of which
I was so proud will be worthless in my eyes after seeing Psyche's
magnificent ivory and gold. And she is our younger sister!"

"Do you notice," said the elder sister, "that while she says much
about what her husband does for her, she says nothing at all about
him? But wait--here she comes--say nothing, and I will question her."

Happy, innocent Psyche, never doubting that her sisters were as
pleased at her good fortune as she would have been at theirs, came to
lead them to another room, but her sister detained her.

"Stay," she said, "we have something to ask of you. About all the
splendors of your palace you have talked; you have told us at great
length about your husband's goodness to you. But not a word about his
looks or his age or his occupation have you said. See, sister! She
blushes! Shy girl, she has been unwilling to speak of him until we
spoke first."

"No doubt," said the other sister, "she has saved until the last her
description of him, since he is the best part of her life here."

Poor Psyche knew not what to say. How should she confess that, after
these many months, she had never seen her husband; that she knew not
at all what manner of man he was?

"Why, he's a young man," she replied hesitatingly, "a very young man,
and he spends much of his time hunting on the mountains."

"Has he blue eyes or brown?" asked the elder sister.

"I--why--O, blue eyes," said Psyche.

"And his hair," inquired the second sister, "is it straight or
curling, black or fair?"

"It's--it's straight and--and brown," faltered poor Psyche, who had
never before uttered a lie.

"Now, see here, my child," said the elder sister, "I can tell from
your answers that you've never seen this precious husband of yours. Is
not that the case?"

Psyche nodded, the tears running down her cheeks.

"But he's so good to me," she whispered. "And I promised I wouldn't
try to see him."

"Good to you! You deluded innocent, of course he's good to you! What
did the oracle say? It's plain to be seen that the prophecy has come
true and that you are wedded to some fearful monster, who is kind to
you now that he may kill and devour you by-and-by."

At length, for they were older than Psyche, and she had always been
accustomed to taking their advice, they convinced her that her only
safety lay in discovering at once what sort of a monster had her in
its possession.

"Now mind," they counseled her, "this very night conceal a lamp and a
dagger where you can reach them easily, and as soon as he is asleep,
steal upon him. You shall see what you shall see. And if he's the
distorted monster we think him, plunge the knife into his heart."

Poor, timid Psyche! Left to herself, she scarce knew what to do. She
kindled the lamp, then extinguished it, ashamed of her lack of faith
in her kind husband.

But when she heard him coming, she again hastily lighted the lamp and
hid it, with a sharp dagger, behind a tapestry. When her husband
approached her she pretended weariness; she knew that if she allowed
him to talk with her, her fears would melt away.

"My visit with my sisters has tired me. Let me rest," she pleaded, and
her husband, always ready to humor any wish of hers, did not try to
coax her into conversation. He threw himself upon the couch, and when
his regular breathing told her that he really slept, Psyche arose
tremblingly, took up her lamp and dagger and stole to his side.
Lifting her lamp high she looked upon--the very god of Love, himself!

[Illustration: SHE LOOKED UPON THE GOD OF LOVE]

"I stood
Long time uncertain, and at length turned round
And gazed upon my love. He lay asleep,
And ah, how fair he was! The flickering light
Fell on the fairest of the gods, stretched out
In happy slumber. Looking on his locks
Of gold, and faultless face and smile, and limbs
Made perfect, a great joy and trembling took me
Who was most blest of women, and in awe
And fear I stooped to kiss him. One warm drop
From the full lamp within my trembling hand,
Fell on his shoulder."
[Footnote: From Epic of Hades by Lewis Morris]

Cupid awoke, looked with startled eyes at his wife, and reading aright
the story of the lamp and the dagger, spread his wings and flew
through the open window, saying sadly:

"Farewell! There is no love except with Faith, And thine is dead!
Farewell! I come no more!"

Weeping and calling out to her husband, Psyche ran out of doors into
the black, stormy night. To the edge of the garden she ran, and then,
in her grief and terror she swooned. When she awakened, the palace and
garden had vanished, but Psyche cared little for that; henceforth her
only care was to seek her husband.

Encountering on her wanderings the kindly Ceres, Psyche implored her
help; but Ceres could give her no aid except advice.

"The gods must stand by each other," she said. "If Venus is angered at
thee, I can give thee no aid. This, though, thou mayst do: Go to
Venus, submit thyself unto her, and perhaps thou mayst win her favor."

At the temple of Venus, Psyche encountered that goddess, the cause of
all her misfortunes; and right glad was Venus to have the once proud
maiden for her humble slave.

"Many are the tasks thou canst perform for me," said the disdainful
goddess, "if them art not as stupid as thou art ugly. Here is a simple
little task to begin upon."

She led Psyche to the storehouse of the temple and pointed out to her
a great heap of grain--wheat, barley, poppy seeds, beans and millet.

"When I return at evening," she commanded, "have each sort of grain in
a heap by itself."

The luckless girl knew that the work could not be accomplished in the
time allowed her, and she made, therefore, no attempt to begin it. As
she sat with her head in her hands, she heard a faint sound, as if the
grain were being stirred about, and looking up, she saw that the ants
had come in vast numbers and were sorting it out. Fascinated, she
watched them, until long before evening the task was done.

"Thou couldst never have done this by thyself, lazy one," exclaimed
Venus, on her return. "To-morrow I will see whether thou art indeed
able to do anything. Beyond the river which flows past my temple are
golden-fleeced sheep, roaming without a shepherd. Do thou bring to me
a portion of their fleece."

In the morning Psyche set out, utterly discouraged, but afraid to
linger in the temple of the angry goddess. When she approached the
sheep, she trembled, for they were numerous, and very fierce. As she
stood concealed in the rushes by the river bank, the murmuring reeds
said to her:

"Wait! At noon the sheep will seek the shade. Then mayst thou gather
of their fleece from the bushes under which they have ranged,"

With a thankful heart Psyche followed the directions, and at evening
returned unharmed with the golden wool, which she presented to Venus.
Again the goddess upbraided her.

"Well I know that of thine own self thou couldst never have done
this," she cried wrathfully; nor did she stop to reflect that the fact
that Psyche thus received aid, unasked, in her difficulties, was a
proof that all things on earth loved and pitied her, Instead, she gave
her yet another task.

"Take this casket; go with it to the realms of the dead, and ask of
Proserpina that she loan me a little of her beauty. I have worried
about the undutiful conduct of my son until I have grown thin and
pale, and I would look my best at the assembly of the gods to-morrow
night."

This was the most hopeless task of all. To go to the realms of the
dead--what did it mean but that she must die?

"As well soon as late," sighed the poor girl; and she climbed to the
top of a high tower, meaning to cast herself down. But even here,
where no living thing seemed to be, a voice came to her ears.

"Desist, rash girl, from thy plan! Thou art not yet to die. If thou
wilt observe carefully all the directions which I shall give thee,
thou shalt fulfill thy cruel mistress's stern behest. From a cave in
yonder hill there leads a path, straight into the earth. No man has
ever trodden it. Along this shalt thou journey, bearing in thy hand
sops for the three-headed dog of Pluto, and money for the grim
ferryman, Charon. It is written that thou shalt succeed; only, thou
shalt not open the box which hides the beauty of Proserpina."

[Illustration: PSYCHE AND CHARON]

The voice ceased, and Psyche climbed from her tower and set out on the
arduous journey. Through long, long hours she toiled over the rough
path in utter darkness. What was on either side of her, she knew not;
no sound came to her except the far-off drip of water slipping through
the rocks. At length, when she was ready to drop with fatigue and
fear, a faint light appeared before her. Somewhat cheered, she walked
on, and stepping from the vast tunnel in which she had been
journeying, she found herself on the bank of a river. It was not such
a river as she had seen gliding through the green fields and
glittering over the rocks of her native country; it was a sluggish,
inky-black stream, [Footnote: There were several great rivers in
Pluto's realm. Phlegethon, a river of fire, separated Tartarus, the
abode of the wicked, from the rest of Hades, while Cocytus, a salty
river, was composed of the tears of the dwellers in Tartarus. But the
most famous of the rivers were the Styx, by which the gods swore; the
Lethe, a draught from which made one forget all that had ever happened
and begin life anew; and the Acheron, a black, cold stream, over which
the spirits of the dead had to be ferried before they could enter
Pluto's realm. The ferryman was Charon; and since he would row no one
over the river unless he were paid for it, the ancients placed under
the tongue of the dead a small coin wherewith the fare might be paid.]
which slid on without ever a ripple. A strange, gray light filled all
the place, and showed to her a ferryboat, moored to the shore, and a
grim-looking, old, long-bearded ferryman.

"Will you take me over the river?" asked Psyche, in a faint voice. The
ferryman gave her no answer, but she ventured to step upon his craft,
upon which he instantly shoved off. Without a sound they moved across
the river, and when Psyche stepped off on the farther shore, she knew
she was really in Hades, the dreadful realm of Pluto. Tossing back
onto the boat the coin she had brought, she went on and on, until she
came to a great gloomy tower of black marble. On the threshold stood
Pluto's dog, three-headed Cerberus, and fiercely he barked at the poor
frightened girl. However, the sop which she threw to him quieted him,
and she passed on into the palace. There, on their black thrones, sat
Pluto and Proserpina, king and queen of this hopeless realm.

"Great queen," said Psyche, bowing humbly before Proserpina's throne,
"my mistress has sent me to borrow for her a little of thy beauty."

"Willingly will I lend it," said Proserpina, kindly, "not to please
thy proud mistress, but to help thee, poor girl." And taking the
little casket which Psyche had brought with her, she breathed into it,
closed it hurriedly, and handed it to the waiting girl.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27