Journeys Through Bookland V3

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

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Gladly did Psyche leave this gloomy abode and set out on her homeward
journey. The black path seemed not so long nor so frightful when she
knew she was moving toward the light of day; and O, how happy she was
when she saw the sunlight glimmering ahead of her! Out once more in
the free light and fresh air, she sat down for a time to rest, and a
great curiosity came upon her to know what the little casket in her
hand contained.

"My beauty must have been growing less through these weeks of trouble
and fright," she thought, "and perhaps if my husband saw me now he
would not love me. It can do no harm for me to borrow just a little of
the contents of this box."

She raised the lid, but from the box there came, with a rushing sound,
the spirit of sleep. This spirit seized upon Psyche and laid her by
the roadside in a sleep resembling death, and here she might have
slept for all time, had not Cupid, wandering by, spied her. Bending
over her, he kissed her; then he wrestled with the spirit of sleep
until he had forced it to release Psyche, and to enter again the
little casket from which her curiosity had loosed it.

[Illustration: CUPID SPIED PSYCHE SLEEPING]

"Psyche," he said, turning to his wife, who lay speechless with
happiness at beholding him again, "once through thy curiosity I was
lost to thee; this time thou wast almost lost to me. Never again must
I leave thee; never must thou be absent from my sight."

Together, then, they hastened to Olympus, the dwelling of the gods:
together they bowed before Jupiter's throne. The king of the gods,
looking upon Psyche and seeing that she was beautiful as a goddess,
listened favorably to their petition, and, calling for a cup of
ambrosia, presented it to her and said:

"Drink, Psyche; so shalt thou become immortal, and fit wife for a
god."

Venus, touched by her son's happiness, forgave his bride, and the
young lovers, who had gone through so many griefs and hardships, lived
happily forever in the beautiful palace presented to them by the king
of the gods.

The myth of Cupid and Psyche is of much later date than most of the
other myths; in fact, it is met with first in a writer of the second
century of the Christian era. Many of the myths are material--that is,
they explain physical happenings, such as the rising of the sun, the
coming of winter, or the flashing of the lightning; but the myth of
Cupid and Psyche has nothing to do with the forces of nature--it is
wholly spiritual in its application.

Cupid is Love, while Psyche represents the soul; and thus the story,
in its descriptions of Psyche's sufferings, shows how the soul, loved
by heaven, and really loving heaven, is robbed of its joy through its
own folly. Only by striving and suffering, the story tells us, is the
soul purified and made fit for joy everlasting.

Psyche's descent into the regions of the dead signifies that it is
only after death that the soul realizes its true happiness. Even if we
did not know just when this myth originated, we might guess from this
teaching that the myth was a late one, for the earliest Greeks and
Romans did not believe in a real happiness after death. They believed
in existence after death, but it was a very shadowy existence, with
the most negative sort of pleasures. Later, the Romans, even before
they accepted Christianity, had their beliefs more or less modified by
their contact with Christians.

We may sum this myth up by saying that it is an allegory of

"the soul of man, the deathless soul,
Defeated, struggling, purified and blest."

As you read this story of Cupid and Psyche, some incidents in it
doubtless seemed familiar to you; you had come across them before in
various fairy tales. Thus the story of Psyche's arrival at the palace
and of the way in which she was waited upon by invisible beings will
remind you of certain parts of Beauty and the Beast, while the labors
set for Psyche by Venus will recall The Three Tasks. Now, while some
of the fairy stories are undoubtedly borrowed from this old, old tale,
it is a singular fact that there is an old Norse story which contains
some of the same incidents, and yet could not have been taken from
this.

One of the most interesting things about the study of mythology is the
attempt to discover how widely separate nations came to have similar
stories. Many learned men have worked much over this question, and
some of them say that, having the same facts to explain, or the same
things to express in allegory, the various ancient peoples naturally
hit upon the same explanations. Others believe that this similarity of
myths shows that far, far back, the ancestors of these different
people must have had intercourse with each other. Probably there is
some truth in both theories, though most authorities believe that the
former theory covers more cases than does the latter.

We have said that this story is an allegory; do you understand just
what an allegory is? There are different types of allegories; in some,
each person that appears represents some quality or some influence; in
others, a general truth is set forth, but there is no attempt to make
every minor character fill a place in the allegory. To which type do
you think the story of Cupid and Psyche belongs? Do Psyche's sisters,
for instance, represent anything?

What was the real fault of Psyche--the folly that cost her her
happiness?

The word "Psyche" means in Greek, the SOUL; it is also the word for
BUTTERFLY. Can you see any reason why the one name should be used for
both?

There are still some very, very old pictures which show a man with a
butterfly just fluttering out from between his lips. Remembering that
the butterfly was the emblem of the soul, can you imagine what the
artists meant to show by this?

THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN

By ROBERT BROWNING

Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,
By famous Hanover City;
The river Weser, deep and wide,
Washes its wall on the southern side;
A pleasanter spot you never spied;
But when begins my ditty,
Almost five hundred years ago,
To see the townsfolk suffer so
From vermin was a pity.

Rats!
They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,
And bit the babies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles,
Split open the kegs of salted sprats.
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women's chats,
By drowning their speaking
With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a body
To the Town Hall came flocking:
"'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;
And as for our Corporation,--shocking
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
For dolts that can't or won't determine
What's best to rid us of our vermin!
You hope, because you're old and obese,
To find in the furry civic robe ease?
Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking
To find the remedy we're lacking,
Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing."
At this the Mayor and Corporation
Quaked with a mighty consternation.

[Illustration: PEOPLE CALL ME THE PIED PIPER]

An hour they sate in counsel,--
At length the Mayor broke silence:
For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell;
I wish I were a mile hence!
It's easy to bid one rack one's brain,--
I'm sure my poor head aches again,
I've scratched it so, and all in vain,
O for a trap, a trap, a trap!"
Just as he said this, what could hap
At the chamber door but a gentle tap?
"Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?"
(With the Corporation as he sat,
Looking little though wondrous fat;
Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister
Than a too-long-opened oyster,
Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous
For a plate of turtle green and glutinous.)
"Only a scraping of shoes on the mat?
Anything like the sound of a rat
Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!"

"Come in!"--the Mayor cried, looking bigger;
And in did come the strangest figure;
His queer long coat from heel to head
Was half of yellow and half of red.
And he himself was tall and thin,
With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,
And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,
No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin,
But lips where smiles went out and in;
There was no guessing his kith and kin;

And nobody could enough admire
The tall man and his quaint attire.
Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire,
Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone,
Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"

He advanced to the council-table:
And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able,
By means of a secret charm, to draw
All creatures living beneath the sun,
That creep or swim or fly or run,
After me so as you never saw!
And I chiefly use my charm
On creatures that do people harm,
The mole and toad and newt and viper;
And people call me the Pied Piper."
(And here they noticed round his neck
A scarf of red and yellow stripe,
To match with his coat of the self-same check;
And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;
And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying
As if impatient to be playing
Upon this pipe, as low it dangled
Over his vesture so old-fangled.)
"Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am,
In Tartary I freed the Cham,
Last June, from his huge swarm of gnats;
I eased in Asia the Nizam
Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats;
And as for what your brain bewilders,--
If I can rid your town of rats,
Will you give me a thousand guilders?"
"One? fifty thousand!"--was the exclamation
Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

Into the street the piper stept,
Smiling first a little smile,
As if he knew what magic slept
In his quiet pipe the while;
Then, like a musical adept,
To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,
And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled,
Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled;
And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,
You heard as if an army muttered;
And the muttering grew to a grumbling;
And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;
And out of the houses the rats came tumbling,
Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,
Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats,
Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,
Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
Cocking tails and pricking whiskers;
Families by tens and dozens,
Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives,--
Followed the piper for their lives.
From street to street he piped advancing,
And step for step they followed dancing,
Until they came to the river Weser,
Wherein all plunged and perished
Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar,
Swam across and lived to carry
(As he, the manuscript he cherished)
To Rat-land home his commentary,
Which was: "At the first shrill notes of the pipe,
I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,
And putting apples, wondrous ripe,
Into a cider-press's gripe,--
And a moving away of pickle-tub boards,
And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards,
And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks,
And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks;
And it seemed as if a voice
(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery
Is breathed) called out, 'O rats, rejoice!
The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!
So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,
Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!'
And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon,
All ready staved, like a great sun shone
Glorious scarce an inch before me,
Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!'--
I found the Weser rolling o'er me."

You should have heard the Hamelin people
Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple;
"Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles!
Poke out the nests and block up the holes!
Consult with carpenters and builders
And leave in our town not even a trace
Of the rats!"--when suddenly, up the face
Of the piper perked in the market-place,
With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"
A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue;
So did the Corporation too.
For council-dinners made rare havoc
With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;
And half the money would replenish
Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish.
To pay this sum to a wandering fellow
With a gypsy coat of red and yellow!
"Beside," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink,
"Our business was done at the river's brink;
We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,
And what's dead can't come to life, I think.
So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink
From the duty of giving you something for drink,
And a matter of money to put in your poke;
But as for the guilders, what we spoke
Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.
Besides, our losses have made us thrifty;
A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"

The piper's face fell, and he cried,
"No trifling! I can't wait! beside,
I've promised to visit by dinner time
Bagdat, and accept the prime
Of the head cook's pottage, all he's rich in,
For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen,
Of a nest of scorpions no survivor,--
With him I proved no bargain-driver;
With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!
And folks who put me in a passion
May find me pipe to another fashion."

"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brook
Being worse treated than a cook?
Insulted by a lazy ribald
With idle pipe and vesture piebald?
You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,
Blow your pipe there till you burst!"

Once more he stept into the street;
And to his lips again
Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;
And ere he blew three notes (such sweet
Soft notes as yet musician's cunning
Never gave the enraptured air)
There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling
Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling;
Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering;
And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering,
Out came the children running;
All the little boys and girls,
With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,
And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,
Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after
The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood
As if they were changed into blocks of wood,
Unable to move a step, or cry
To the children merrily skipping by,--
And could only follow with the eye
That joyous crowd at the piper's back.
But how the Mayor was on the rack,
And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,
As the piper turned from the High Street
To where the Weser rolled its waters
Right in the way of their sons and daughters!
However, he turned from south to west,
And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,
And after him the children pressed;
Great was the joy in every breast.
"He never can cross that mighty top!
He's forced to let the piping drop,
And we shall see our children stop!"
When lo, as they reached the mountain's side,
A wondrous portal opened wide,
As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;
And the piper advanced and the children followed;
And when all were in, to the very last,
The door in the mountain-side shut fast.
Did I say all? No! One was lame,
And could not dance the whole of the way;
And in after years, if you would blame
His sadness, he was used to say,--
"It's dull in our town since my playmates left!
I can't forget that I'm bereft
Of all the pleasant sights they see,
Which the piper also promised me;
For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,
Joining the town and just at hand,
Where waters gushed and fruit trees grew,
And flowers put forth a fairer hue,
And everything was strange and new;
The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,
And their dogs outran our fallow deer,
And honey-bees had lost their stings,
And horses were born with eagle's wings;
And just as I became assured
My lame foot would be speedily cured,

[Illustration: A WONDROUS PORTAL OPENED WIDE]

The music stopped and I stood still,
And found myself outside the Hill,
Left alone against my will,
To go now limping as before,
And never hear of that country more!'

FRITHIOF THE BOLD

Adapted by GRACE E. SELLON

Ingeborg was the favored child of King Bele of Sognland--favored not
only by the king, but, it would seem, by the gods themselves; for
while she possessed great beauty and a disposition of rare loveliness,
her brothers, Helge and Halfdan, were endowed neither with comeliness
nor with the bravery and the gentler virtues of true princes. Indeed,
King Bele seemed to have good cause for regarding Frithiof, the
stalwart son of his loyal friend Thorsten, with greater affection than
he bestowed upon his own sons, for Frithiof was fearless in danger and
could surpass all other youths in feats of strength, yet was so mild-
mannered and noble-hearted that from the first he found great pleasure
in the companionship of the little princess Ingeborg.

With so much satisfaction did King Bele look upon this comradeship
that when Ingeborg was but a small child he gave her into the care of
her foster-father, Hilding, under whose guardianship Frithiof also had
been placed. Thus thrown constantly into each other's company, the
youth and his child playmate found delight in daily expeditions
through the forest and on the firth; [Footnote: Firth, an arm of the
sea.] and rare times they had.

"Her pilot soon he joyed to glide,
In Viking*-guise, o'er stream and tide:
Sure, hands so gentle, heart so gay,
Ne'er plauded rover's young essay!

"No beetling lair, no pine-rocked nest,
Might 'scape the love-urged spoiler's quest:
Oft ere an eaglet-wing had soared,
The eyry mourned its parted hoard.

"He sought each brook of rudest force,
To bear his Ing'borg o'er its source:
So thrilling, midst the wild alarm,
The tendril-twining of her arm."
[Footnote: From Longfellow's translation of portions of Tegner's
Frithiof Saga.]
*[Footnote: Viking, the name of the Norse sea-pirates who coasted the
shores of Europe in the eighth, ninth and tenth centuries. The name is
derived from wick, a kind of creek or inlet which these plunderers
used as harbors.]

As the years passed, and Ingeborg became lovelier and Frithiof more
brave and noble each day, their pleasure in each other's company grew
deeper and more absorbing. From this state of happy content, however,
Frithiof was to be rudely awakened by the faithful Hilding, who could
see a great disappointment looming in the path of his young charge.

Calling Frithiof to him one day, he said:

"Thou knowest the grief I would feel to see thee unhappy. For thy own
good I warn thee that it is not possible for Ingeborg ever to be
thine. Thou dost forget that she is the king's daughter, and can trace
her lineage even to All-father Odin, [Footnote: Odin, the father of
the Norse gods. From his lofty throne in Asgard, home of the gods, he
could survey and govern all heaven.] while thou art a mere subject in
this realm."

"Ah, but strength and prowess, the gifts of Thor [Footnote: Thor, the
eldest son of Odin, superior in strength to all the other Norse gods.
He was renowned for the possession of a wonderful hammer, which, after
being cast at an object, came back of itself to the hand of him who
had thrown it, a magic belt that greatly increased his strength; and a
pair of iron gloves that gave him strength and skill in throwing his
hammer.] himself, must rank above the dignity of kings. Ingeborg, the
white lily, shall be mine," retorted Frithiof in angry pride, and took
himself off, apparently unheeding the counsel.

Nevertheless, when he thought later of Hilding's words and of the
hostile feelings that Halfdan and Helge bore him because of envy of
his prowess, he became troubled in mind.

It was not long after this that both Bele and his loyal Thorsten,
after impressing many a word of wisdom upon the hearts and minds of
their heirs, died peacefully and were placed so near each other that
in death, as in life, they seemed always together.

Helge and Halfdan now became the kings of Sogn and Frithiof went to
live on the estate of Framnas, left him by his father. Great indeed
was his inheritance, for he came into possession of the wonderful
sword Angurvadel, on the blade of which were mystic runes [Footnote:
Runes, letters or characters of ancient Scandinavian alphabets. The
literal meaning of rune, a secret or mystery, is explained by the fact
that at first these symbols could be read only by a few.] dull in
times of peace, but fiery red in war; the magic ring or armlet made by
Vaulund the smith, and the ship Ellida, built in the shape of a dragon
and swifter in its flight than any eagle.

[Illustration: THEY HAD BECOME BETROTHED]

These gifts of good fortune, however, failed to satisfy the new master
of Framnas. So greatly did he miss the presence of Ingeborg that he
could find content in no occupation and wandered about in
restlessness. At length he determined to dispel his loneliness by
filling his great house with guests and holding a feast that should
cause him to be remembered ever afterwards for boundless hospitality.
Just at this time came Helge and Halfdan with their sister Ingeborg to
visit him. Then indeed did Frithiof's gloom take flight as he sat by
Ingeborg's side or with her roamed the woods and fields, living over
again the days of their happy comradeship and building hopes for an
even happier reunion in the future. In renewing their love, they had
secretly become betrothed, and thus the hours of the visit sped all
too swiftly.

After the departure of Ingeborg it seemed to Frithiof that all joy had
gone out of the world. His dark mood returned, and dismal fears began
to haunt him day and night. Unable longer to endure this desperate
state, he acted upon a sudden resolve, and set sail in his ship,
Ellida, for the home of the princess, determined to ask formally for
her hand in marriage. It was a daring project; but Frithiof was a
fearless suitor.

Having anchored his boat on the shore of the firth, he advanced at
once to where the two kings were "seated on Bele's tomb,"
administering law to the common people.

In a voice that reechoed round the valleys and peaks, Frithiof cried,

"Ye kings, my love is Ing'borg fair;
To ask her in marriage I here repair;
And what I require
I here maintain was King Bele's desire!"
[Footnote: Spalding's translation of Tegner's Frithiof Saga.]

The bold words and kingly bearing of the youth drew to him the
admiring gaze of all the great assembly. But Helge looked at him, at
first in astonishment; then, in deep scorn.

"The hand of my sister, the Princess Ingeborg, is for none of such
mean estate as thou. Wouldst thou enter our household? Accept then the
place of serving-man," the king at length replied disdainfully.

At these slighting words Frithiof was so moved by rage that he would
have slain the king then and there had not the place been hallowed by
Bele's tomb. As it was, he split the royal shield in two with his
mighty sword; then, drawing himself up to his full height, he turned
abruptly and strode back to his ship, with head held loftily and eyes
flashing with terrible anger.

Scarcely had he returned home when he was visited by his foster-father
Hilding who, strange as it may seem, had come to ask his aid in behalf
of Ingeborg and her brothers.

"The one whom thou lovest has given herself up to grief in the temple
of Balder, [Footnote: Balder, the much-loved god of spring.] where she
spends each day in tears," Hilding mournfully began. "Her fate is
sealed, as is that of the whole kingdom, if thou wilt not help us
resist King Ring of Ringland who, notwithstanding his great age, has
demanded Ingeborg's hand in marriage, and in anger is marching against
us because his request has been refused," continued the faithful old
guardian beseechingly.

Frithiof was playing at chess with his companion Bjorn, and to all
appearance did not hear nor heed the words of Hilding. His wounded
pride cried for revenge. However, by artful remarks concerning the
moves that were being made on the board, he let it be known that he
was aware of the king's peril but would allow himself to be concerned
only for the welfare of Ingeborg. When at length Hilding pressed for
an answer, Frithiof cried out:

"Haste! tell the sons of royal Bele
I wear not a retainer's steel;*
For wounded honor bids divide
The sacred bond it once revered."
[Footnote: Longfellow's translation.]
*[Footnote: Retainer's steel, the sword of a subject]

Filled with secret dismay by Hilding's unsuccessful mission, Helge and
Halfdan set forth at once to meet the invading King Ring. Scarcely had
they departed when Frithiof, impelled by pity for Ingeborg, went to
seek her in Balder's temple. Sympathy had indeed blinded Frithiof's
better judgment, for the spot on which the temple stood was held so
sacred that the law forbade it to be used for lover's trysts.
Regardless of peril, he approached Ingeborg, who, fearful for his
safety, implored him to return to Framnas; but the reckless youth,
defying Balder's wrath, remained to assure the unhappy princess of his
lasting devotion to her welfare.

"By the honor of my race, I swear that thou wilt ever be dearer to me
than all things else beside," declared Frithiof solemnly, with bowed
head. And then, giving Ingeborg the Vaulund ring, with her he made a
vow that their troth should never be broken.

Little did they know how soon their words were to be proved vain! Even
then were Helge and Halfdan coming back to Sogn to fulfill the promise
made King Ring that Ingeborg should become his bride; and even then
did Frithiof's violation of Balder's shrine cry out accusingly,
demanding grim punishment.

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