The Three Golden Apples
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Nathaniel Hawthorne >> The Three Golden Apples
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A WONDER-BOOK FOR GIRLS AND BOYS
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES
CONTENTS:
TANGLEWOOD FIRESIDE--Introductory to "The Three Golden Apples"
THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES
TANGLEWOOD FIRESIDE--After the Story
INTRODUCTORY TO "THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES"
The snow-storm lasted another day; but what became of it afterwards, I
cannot possibly imagine. At any rate, it entirely cleared away, during
the night; and when the sun arose, the next morning, it shone brightly
down on as bleak a tract of hill-country, here in Berkshire, as could be
seen anywhere in the world. The frost-work had so covered the
windowpanes that it was hardly possible to get a glimpse at the scenery
outside. But, while waiting for breakfast, the small populace of
Tanglewood had scratched peepholes with their finger-nails, and saw with
vast delight that--unless it were one or two bare patches on a
precipitous hillside, or the gray effect of the snow, intermingled with
the black pine forest--all nature was as white as a sheet. How
exceedingly pleasant! And, to make it all the better, it was cold
enough to nip one's nose short off! If people have but life enough in
them to bear it, there is nothing that so raises the spirits, and makes
the blood ripple and dance so nimbly, like a brook down the slope of a
hill, as a bright, hard frost.
No sooner was breakfast over, than the whole party, well muffled in furs
and woollens, floundered forth into the midst of the snow. Well, what a
day of frosty sport was this! They slid down hill into the valley, a
hundred times, nobody knows how far; and, to make it all the merrier,
upsetting their sledges, and tumbling head over heels, quite as often as
they came safely to the bottom. And, once, Eustace Bright took
Periwinkle, Sweet Fern, and Squash-blossom, on the sledge with him, by
way of insuring a safe passage; and down they went, full speed. But,
behold, half-way down, the sledge hit against a hidden stump, and flung
all four of its passengers into a heap; and, on gathering themselves up,
there was no little Squash-blossom to be found! Why, what could have
become of the child? And while they were wondering and staring about,
up started Squash-blossom out of a snow-bank, with the reddest face you
ever saw, and looking as if a large scarlet flower had suddenly sprouted
up in midwinter. Then there was a great laugh.
When they had grown tired of sliding down hill, Eustace set the children
to digging a cave in the biggest snow-drift that they could find.
Unluckily, just as it was completed, and the party had squeezed
themselves into the hollow, down came the roof upon their heads, and
buried every soul of them alive! The next moment, up popped all their
little heads out of the ruins, and the tall student's head in the midst
of them, looking hoary and venerable with the snow-dust that had got
amongst his brown curls. And then, to punish Cousin Eustace for
advising them to dig such a tumble-down cavern, the children attacked
him in a body, and so bepelted him with snowballs that he was fain to
take to his heels.
So he ran away, and went into the woods, and thence to the margin of
Shadow Brook, where he could hear the streamlet grumbling along, under
great overhanging banks of snow and ice, which would scarcely let it see
the light of day. There were adamantine icicles glittering around all
its little cascades. Thence be strolled to the shore of the lake, and
beheld a white, untrodden plain before him, stretching from his own feet
to the foot of Monument Mountain. And, it being now almost sunset,
Eustace thought that he had never beheld anything so fresh and beautiful
as the scene. He was glad that the children were not with him; for
their lively spirits and tumble-about activity would quite have chased
away his higher and graver mood, so that he would merely have been merry
(as he had already been, the whole day long), and would not have known
the loveliness of the winter sunset among the hills.
When the sun was fairly down, our friend Eustace went home to eat his
supper. After the meal was over, he betook himself to the study, with a
purpose, I rather imagine, to write an ode, or two or three sonnets, or
verses of some kind or other, in praise of the purple and golden clouds
which he had seen around the setting sun. But, before he had hammered
out the very first rhyme, the door opened, and Primrose and Periwinkle
made their appearance.
"Go away, children! I can't be troubled with you now!" cried the
student, looking over his shoulder, with the pen between his fingers.
"What in the world do you want here? I thought you were all in bed!"
"Hear him, Periwinkle, trying to talk like a grown man!" said Primrose.
"And he seems to forget that I am now thirteen years old, and may sit up
almost as late as I please. But, Cousin Eustace, you must put off your
airs, and come with us to the drawing-room. The children have talked so
much about your stories, that my father wishes to hear one of them, in
order to judge whether they are likely to do any mischief."
"Poh, poh, Primrose!" exclaimed the student, rather vexed. "I don't
believe I can tell one of my stories in the presence of grown people.
Besides, your father is a classical scholar; not that I am much afraid
of his scholarship, neither, for I doubt not it is as rusty as an old
case-knife, by this time. But then he will be sure to quarrel with the
admirable nonsense that I put into these stories, out of my own head,
and which makes the great charm of the matter for children, like
yourself. No man of fifty, who has read the classical myths in his
youth, can possibly understand my merit as a re-inventor and improver
of them."
"All this may be very true," said Primrose, "but come you must! My
father will not open his book, nor will mamma open the piano, till you
have given us some of your nonsense, as you very correctly call it.
So be a good boy, and come along."
Whatever he might pretend, the student was rather glad than otherwise,
on second thoughts, to catch at the opportunity of proving to Mr.
Pringle what an excellent faculty he had in modernizing the myths of
ancient times. Until twenty years of age, a young man may, indeed, be
rather bashful about showing his poetry and his prose; but, for all
that, he is pretty apt to think that these very productions would
place him at the tip-top of literature, if once they could be known.
Accordingly, without much more resistance, Eustace suffered Primrose
and Periwinkle to drag him into the drawing-room.
It was a large handsome apartment, with a semicircular window at one
end, in the recess of which stood a marble copy of Greenough's Angel and
Child. On one side of the fireplace there were many shelves of books,
gravely but richly bound. The white light of the astrallamp, and the
red glow of the bright coal-fire, made the room brilliant and cheerful;
and before the fire, in a deep arm-chair, sat Mr. Pringle, looking just
fit to be seated in such a chair, and in such a room. He was a tall and
quite a handsome gentleman, with a bald brow; and was always so nicely
dressed, that even Eustace Bright never liked to enter his presence,
without at least pausing at the threshold to settle his shirt-collar.
But now, as Primrose had hold of one of his hands, and Periwinkle of the
other, he was forced to make his appearance with a rough-and-tumble sort
of look, as if he had been rolling all day in a snow-bank. And so he
had.
Mr. Pringle turned towards the student, benignly enough, but in a way
that made him feel how uncombed and unbrushed he was, and how uncombed
and unbrushed, likewise, were his mind and thoughts.
"Eustace," said Mr. Pringle, with a smile, "I find that you are
producing a great sensation among the little public of Tanglewood, by
the exercise of your gifts of narrative. Primrose here, as the little
folks choose to call her, and the rest of the children, have been so
loud in praise of your stories, that Mrs. Pringle and myself are really
curious to hear a specimen. It would be so much the more gratifying to
myself, as the stories appear to be an attempt to render the fables of
classical antiquity into the idiom of modern fancy and feeling. At
least, so I judge from a few of the incidents, which have come to me
at second hand."
"You are not exactly the auditor that I should have chosen, sir,"
observed the student, "for fantasies of this nature."
"Possibly not," replied Mr. Pringle. "I suspect, however, that a young
author's most useful critic is precisely the one whom he would be least
apt to choose. Pray oblige me, therefore."
"Sympathy, methinks, should have some little share in the critic's
qualifications," murmured Eustace Bright. "However, sir, if you will
find patience, I will find stories. But be kind enough to remember that
I am addressing myself to the imagination and sympathies of the
children, not to your own."
Accordingly, the student snatched hold of the first theme which
presented itself. It was suggested by a plate of apples that he
happened to spy on the mantel-piece.
THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES.
Did you ever hear of the golden apples, that grew in the garden of the
Hesperides? Ah, those were such apples as would bring a great price,
by the bushel, if any of them could be found growing in the orchards of
nowadays! But there is not, I suppose, a graft of that wonderful fruit
on a single tree in the wide world. Not so much as a seed of those
apples exists any longer.
And, even in the old, old, half-forgotten times, before the garden of
the Hesperides was overrun with weeds, a great many people doubted
whether there could be real trees that bore apples of solid gold upon
their branches. All had heard of them, but nobody remembered to have
seen any. Children, nevertheless, used to listen, open-mouthed, to
stories of the golden apple-tree, and resolved to discover it, when they
should be big enough. Adventurous young men, who desired to do a braver
thing than any of their fellows, set out in quest of this fruit. Many
of them returned no more; none of them brought back the apples. No
wonder that they found it impossible to gather them! It is said that
there was a dragon beneath the tree, with a hundred terrible heads,
fifty of which were always on the watch, while the other fifty slept.
In my opinion it was hardly worth running so much risk for the sake of
a solid golden apple. Had the apples been sweet, mellow, and juicy,
indeed that would be another matter. There might then have been some
sense in trying to get at them, in spite of the hundred-headed dragon.
But, as I have already told you, it was quite a common thing with young
persons, when tired of too much peace and rest, to go in search of the
garden of the Hesperides. And once the adventure was undertaken by a
hero who had enjoyed very little peace or rest since he came into the
world. At the time of which I am going to speak, he was wandering
through the pleasant land of Italy, with a mighty club in his hand, and
a bow and quiver slung across his shoulders. He was wrapt in the skin
of the biggest and fiercest lion that ever had been seen, and which he
himself had killed; and though, on the whole, he was kind, and generous,
and noble, there was a good deal of the lion's fierceness in his heart.
As he went on his way, he continually inquired whether that were the
right road to the famous garden. But none of the country people knew
anything about the matter, and many looked as if they would have
laughed at the question, if the stranger had not carried so very big a
club.
So he journeyed on and on, still making the same inquiry, until, at
last, he came to the brink of a river where some beautiful young women
sat twining wreaths of flowers.
"Can you tell me, pretty maidens," asked the stranger, "whether this is
the right way to the garden of the Hesperides?"
The young women had been having a fine time together, weaving the
flowers into wreaths, and crowning one another's heads. And there
seemed to be a kind of magic in the touch of their fingers, that made
the flowers more fresh and dewy, and of brighter lines, and sweeter
fragrance, while they played with them, than even when they had been
growing on their native stems. But, on hearing the stranger's question,
they dropped all their flowers on the grass, and gazed at him with
astonishment.
"The garden of the Hesperides!" cried one. "We thought mortals had been
weary of seeking it, after so many disappointments. And pray,
adventurous traveller, what do you want there?"
"A certain king, who is my cousin," replied he, "has ordered me to get
him three of the golden apples."
"Most of the young men who go in quest of these apples," observed
another of the damsels, "desire to obtain them for themselves, or to
present them to some fair maiden whom they love. Do you, then, love
this king, your cousin, so very much?"
"Perhaps not," replied the stranger, sighing. "He has often been severe
and cruel to me. But it is my destiny to obey him."
"And do you know," asked the damsel who had first spoken, "that a
terrible dragon, with a hundred heads, keeps watch under the golden
apple-tree?"
"I know it well," answered the stranger, calmly. "But, from my cradle
upwards, it has been my business, and almost my pastime, to deal with
serpents and dragons."
The young women looked at his massive club, and at the shaggy lion's
skin which he wore, and likewise at his heroic limbs and figure; and
they whispered to each other that the stranger appeared to be one who
might reasonably expect to perform deeds far beyond the might of other
men. But, then, the dragon with a hundred heads! What mortal, even if
he possessed a hundred lives, could hope to escape the fangs of such a
monster? So kind-hearted were the maidens, that they could not bear to
see this brave and, handsome traveller attempt what was so very
dangerous, and devote himself, most probably, to become a meal for
the dragon's hundred ravenous mouths.
"Go back," cried they all,--"go back to your own home! Your mother,
beholding you safe and sound, will shed tears of joy; and what can she
do more, should you win ever so great a victory? No matter for the
golden apples! No matter for the king, your cruel cousin! We do not
wish the dragon with the hundred heads to eat you up!"
The stranger seemed to grow impatient at these remonstrances. He
carelessly lifted his mighty club, and let it fall upon a rock that lay
half buried in the earth, near by. With the force of that idle blow,
the great rock was shattered all to pieces. It cost the stranger no
more effort to achieve this feat of a giant's strength than for one of
the young maidens to touch her sister's rosy cheek with a flower.
"Do you not believe," said he, looking at the damsels with a smile,
"that such a blow would have crushed one of the dragon's hundred heads?"
Then he sat down on the grass, and told them the story of his life, or
as much of it as he could remember, from the day when he was first
cradled in a warrior's brazen shield. While he lay there, two immense
serpents came gliding over the floor, and opened their hideous jaws to
devour him; and he, a baby of a few months old, had griped one of the
fierce snakes in each of his little fists, and strangled them to death.
When he was but a stripling, he had killed a huge lion, almost as big as
the one whose vast and shaggy hide he now wore upon his shoulders. The
next thing that he had done was to fight a battle with an ugly sort of
monster, called a hydra, which had no less than nine heads, and
exceedingly sharp teeth in every one of them.
"But the dragon of the Hesperides, you know," observed one of the
damsels, "has a hundred heads!"
"Nevertheless," replied the stranger, "I would rather fight two such
dragons than a single hydra. For, as fast as I cut off a head, two
others grew in its place; and, besides, there was one of the heads that
could not possibly be killed, but kept biting as fiercely as ever, long
after it was cut off. So I was forced to bury it under a stone, where
it is doubtless alive, to this vary day. But the hydra's body, and its
eight other heads, will never do any further mischief."
The damsels, judging that the story was likely to last a good while, had
been preparing a repast of bread and grapes, that the stranger might
refresh himself in the intervals of his talk. They took pleasure in
helping him to this simple food; and, now and then, one of them would
put a sweet grape between her rosy lips, lest it should make him bashful
to eat alone.
The traveller proceeded to tell how he had chased a very swift stag, for
a twelve-month together, without ever stopping to take breath, and had
at last caught it by the antlers, and carried it home alive. And he had
fought with a very odd race of people, half horses and half men, and had
put them all to death, from a sense of duty, in order that their ugly
figures might never be seen any more. Besides all this, he took to
himself great credit for having cleaned out a stable.
"Do you call that a wonderful exploit?" asked one of the young maidens,
with a smile. "Any clown in the country has done as much!"
"Had it been an ordinary stable," replied the stranger, "I should not
have mentioned it. But this was so gigantic a task that it would have
taken me all my life to perform it, if I had not luckily thought of
turning the channel of a river through the stable-door. That did the
business in a very short time!"
Seeing how earnestly his fair auditors listened, he next told them how
he had shot some monstrous birds, and had caught a wild bull alive, and
let him go again, and had tamed a number of very wild horses, and had
conquered Hippolyta, the warlike queen of the Amazons. He mentioned,
likewise, that he had taken off Hippolyta's enchanted girdle, and had
given it to the daughter of his cousin, the king.
"Was it the girdle of Venus," inquired the prettiest of the damsels,
"which makes women beautiful?"
"No," answered the stranger. "It had formerly been the sword-belt of
Mars; and it can only make the wearer valiant and courageous."
"An old sword-belt!" cried the damsel, tossing her head. "Then I should
not care about having it!"
"You are right," said the stranger.
Going on with his wonderful narrative, he informed the maidens that as
strange an adventure as ever happened was when he fought with Geryon,
the six-legged man. This was a very odd and frightful sort of figure,
as you may well believe. Any person, looking at his tracks in the sand
or snow, would suppose that three sociable companions had been walking
along together. On hearing his footsteps at, a little distance, it was
no more than reasonable to judge that several people must be coming.
But it was only the strange man Geryon clattering onward, with his six
legs!
Six legs, and one gigantic body! Certainly, he must have been a very
queer monster to look at; and, my stars, what a waste of shoe-leather!
When the stranger had finished the story of his adventures, he looked
around at the attentive faces of the maidens.
"Perhaps you may have heard of me before," said he, modestly. "My name
is Hercules!"
"We had already guessed it," replied the maidens; "for your wonderful
deeds are known all over the world. We do not think it strange, any
longer, that you should set out in quest of the golden apples of the
Hesperides. Come, sisters, let us crown the hero with flowers!"
Then they flung beautiful wreaths over his stately head and mighty
shoulders, so that the lion's skin was almost entirely covered with
roses. They took possession of his ponderous club, and so entwined it
about with the brightest, softest, and most fragrant blossoms, that not
a finger's breadth of its oaken substance could be seen. It looked all
like a huge bunch of flowers. Lastly, they joined hands, and danced
around him, chanting words which became poetry of their own accord, and
grew into a choral song, in honor of the illustrious Hercules.
And Hercules was rejoiced, as any other hero would have been, to know
that these fair young girls had heard of the valiant deeds which it had
cost him so much toil and danger to achieve. But, still, he was not
satisfied. He could not think that what he had already done was worthy
of so much honor, while there remained any bold or difficult adventure
to be undertaken.
"Dear maidens," said he, when they paused to take breath, "now that you
know my name, will you not tell me how I am to reach the garden of the
Hesperides?"
"Ah! must you go so soon?" they exclaimed. "You--that have performed so
many wonders, and spent such a toilsome life--cannot you content
yourself to repose a little while on the margin of this peaceful river?"
Hercules shook his head.
"I must depart now," said he.
"We will then give you the best directions we can," replied the damsels.
"You must go to the sea-shore, and find out the Old One, and compel him
to inform you where the golden apples are to be found."
"The Old One!" repeated Hercules, laughing at this odd name. "And,
pray, who may the Old One be?"
"Why, the Old Man of the Sea, to be sure!" answered one of the damsels.
"He has fifty daughters, whom some people call very beautiful; but we do
not think it proper to be acquainted with them, because they have sea-
green hair, and taper away like fishes. You must talk with this Old Man
of the Sea. He is a sea-faring person, and knows all about the garden
of the Hesperides; for it is situated in an island which he is often in
the habit of visiting."
Hercules then asked whereabouts the Old One was most likely to be met
with. When the damsels had informed him, he thanked them for all their
kindness,--for the bread and grapes with which they had fed him, the
lovely flowers with which they had crowned him, and the songs and dances
wherewith they had done him honor,--and he thanked them, most of all,
for telling him the right way,--and immediately set forth upon his
Journey.
But, before he was out of hearing, one of the maidens called after him.
"Keep fast hold of the Old-One, when you catch him!" cried she, smiling,
and lifting her finger to make the caution more impressive. "Do not be
astonished at anything that may happen. Only hold him fast, and he will
tell you what you wish to know."
Hercules again thanked her, and pursued his way, while the maidens
resumed their pleasant labor of making flower-wreaths. They talked
about the hero, long after he was gone.
"We will crown him with the loveliest of our garlands," said they, "when
he returns hither with the three golden apples, after slaying the dragon
with a hundred heads."
Meanwhile, Hercules travelled constantly onward, over hill and dale, and
through the solitary woods. Sometimes he swung his club aloft, and
splintered a mighty oak with a downright blow. His mind was so full of
the giants and monsters with whom it was the business of his life to
fight, that perhaps he mistook the great tree for a giant or a monster.
And so eager was Hercules to achieve what he had undertaken, that he
almost regretted to have spent so much time with the damsels, wasting
idle breath upon the story of his adventures. But thus it always is
with persons who are destined to perform great things. What they have
already done seems less than nothing. What they have taken in hand to
do seems worth toil, danger, and life itself.
Persons who happened to be passing through the forest must have been
affrighted to see him smite the trees with his great club. With but a
single blow, the trunk was riven as by the stroke of lightning, and the
broad boughs came rustling and crashing down.
Hastening forward, without ever pausing or looking behind, he by and by
heard the sea roaring at a distance. At this sound, he increased his
speed, and soon came to a beach, where the great surf-waves tumbled
themselves upon the hard sand, in a long line of snowy foam. At one end
of the beach, however, there was a pleasant spot, where some green
shrubbery clambered up a cliff, making its rocky face look soft and
beautiful. A carpet of verdant grass, largely intermixed with sweet-
smelling clover, covered the narrow space between the bottom of the
cliff and the sea. And what should Hercules espy there, but an old man,
fast asleep!
But was it really and truly an old man? Certainly, at first sight, it
looked very like one; but, on closer inspection, it rather seemed to be
some kind of a creature that lived in the sea. For, on his legs and
arms there were scales, such as fishes have; he was web-footed and web-
fingered, after the fashion of a duck; and his long beard, being of a
greenish tinge, had more the appearance of a tuft of sea-weed than of an
ordinary beard. Have you never seen a stick of timber, that has been
long tossed about by the waves, and has got all overgrown with
barnacles, and, at last drifting ashore, seems to have been thrown up
from the very deepest bottom of the sea? Well, the old man would have
put you in mind of just such a wave-tost spar! But Hercules, the
instant he set eyes on this strange figure, was convinced that it could
be no other than the Old One, who was to direct him on his way.
