Return to Free & Treadwell, Fifth Reader
Adapted from Nathaniel Hawthorne
When Jason, the son of the dethroned King of Iolchos, was a little boy, he was sent away from his parents and placed under the queerest schoolmaster ever heard of. This person was one of the people called Centaurs. He lived in a cavern and had the body and legs of a white horse with the head and shoulders of a man. His name was Chiron and, in spite of his odd appearance, he was an excellent teacher. The good Chiron taught his pupils how to play upon the harp, and how to cure diseases, and how to use the sword and shield, together with other branches of education, in which the lads of those days used to be instructed. So Jason dwelt in the cave with this four-footed Chiron from the time when he was an infant until he had grown to manhood. He became a good harper, skillful in the use of weapons, acquainted with herbs and other doctors’ stuff, and, above all, a good horseman.
At length, being now a tall, strong youth, Jason resolved to seek his fortune in the world. He had heard that he himself was a prince and that his father had been deprived of his kingdom by Pelias, who would have killed Jason, had he not been hidden in the Centaur’s cave. So Jason determined to punish the wicked Pelias, to cast him down from the throne, and seat himself there instead. With this intention, he took a spear in his hand, threw a leopard’s skin over his shoulders, and set forth on his travels, with his long yellow ringlets waving in the wind. The part of his dress on which he most prided himself was a pair of sandals that had been his father’s. They were tied upon his feet with strings of gold. His whole attire was a kind not often seen by the people. As he passed along, the women and children ran to the doors, wondering whither this beautiful youth was going with his leopard’s skin, his golden-tied sandals, and a spear in each hand.
I know not how far Jason had traveled when he came to a river, which gushed right across his pathway, roaring angrily as it went. Though not a broad river in the dry seasons of the year, it was now swollen by the heavy rains and the melting of the snow on the sides of Mount Olympus. It thundered so loudly and looked so wild and dangerous that Jason, bold as he was, thought it wise to pause upon the brink. The bed of the stream seemed to be strewn with sharp and rugged rocks, some of which thrust themselves above the water. By and by an uprooted tree came drifting along the current and got entangled among the rocks. In short, the swollen river had already done a great deal of mischief. It was too deep for Jason to wade and too rough for him to swim.
“See the poor lad,” said a voice close to his side, “he must have had a poor education, since he does not know how to cross a little stream like this. Or is he afraid of wetting his fine sandals? It is a pity his four-footed schoolmaster is not here to carry him safe across on his back!”
Jason looked round, for he did not know that anybody was near. Beside him stood an old woman with a ragged mantle over her head, leaning on a staff, the top of which was carved into the shape of a cuckoo. She looked very old and wrinkled and infirm, yet her eyes were so large and beautiful that, when they were fixed on Jason’s eyes, he could see nothing else. The old woman had a pomegranate in her hand, although the fruit was then quite out of season. While Jason was gazing at her, a peacock strutted forward and took his stand at the old woman’s side.
“Where are you going, Jason?” the old woman asked, before he had recovered from his surprise.
“I am going to Iolchos,” answered the young man, “to bid the wicked King Pelias come down from my father’s throne and let me reign in his stead.”
“Ah, well then,” said the old woman, “if that is all your business, you need not be in a great hurry. Just take me on your back and carry me across the river. I and my peacock have something to do on the other side as well as yourself.”
“Good mother,” replied Jason, “your business can hardly be so important as the pulling of a king from his throne. Besides, as you see for yourself, the river is very rough, and if I should chance to stumble, it would sweep both of us away. I would gladly help you if I could, but I doubt if I am strong enough to carry you across.”
“Then,” said she, scornfully, “neither are you strong enough to pull King Pelias off his throne. And, Jason, unless you help an old woman in her need, you ought not to be a king. What are kings made for except to help the feeble and distressed? But do as you please. Either take me on your back, or with my poor limbs I shall try my best to struggle across the stream.”
Saying this, the old woman poked with her staff in the river, as if to find the safest place in its rocky bed where she might make the first step. Now Jason felt that he could never forgive himself if this poor, feeble creature should come to any harm. The good Chiron had taught him that the noblest use of his strength was to assist the weak; and also that he must treat every young woman as if she were his sister, and every old woman as his mother. So the young man knelt down and asked the good woman to mount upon his back.
“The passage seems to me not very safe,” he remarked; “but I will try to carry you across. If the river sweeps you away it shall sweep me too.”
“Never fear,” she said, “we shall get over safe,” and she threw her arms around Jason’s neck.
Lifting her from the ground, he stepped boldly into the raging and foamy current and began to stagger from the shore. As for the peacock, it alighted on the old woman’s shoulder. Jason’s two spears kept him from stumbling and helped him to find his way among the rocks, although every instant he expected to go down. On came the cold torrent, raging and thundering as if it had a spite against Jason. When he was half way across, his foot was caught in a crevice between two of the rocks and stuck there so fast that, in the effort to get free, he lost one of his golden-stringed sandals. At this accident Jason could not help uttering a cry of vexation.
“What is the matter, Jason?” asked the old woman.
“Matter enough,” said Jason. “I have lost a sandal here among the rocks. And what sort of a figure shall I cut at the court of King Pelias, with a golden-stringed sandal on one foot and the other foot bare!”
“Do not take it to heart,” answered his companion, cheerily. “You never met with better fortune than in losing this sandal. I know now that you are the person whom the Speaking Oak has been talking about.”
There was no time just then to inquire what the Speaking Oak had said. But the cheer of her tone encouraged the young man. Besides, he had never in his life felt so strong and mighty as since he took this old woman on his back. Instead of being tired he gathered strength as he went on, and, struggling against the torrent, at last he gained the shore, climbed up the bank, and set the old woman and her peacock safe on the grass. As soon as this was done he could not help looking at his bare foot, with only the golden string of the sandal clinging round his ankle.
“You will get a handsomer pair of sandals by and by,” said the old woman, with a kindly look out of her beautiful brown eyes. “Only let King Pelias get a glimpse of that bare foot and you will see him turn as pale as ashes. There is your path. Go along, Jason, and my blessing go with you. And, when you sit on your throne, remember the old woman whom you helped over the river.”
With these words she hobbled away, giving him a smile over her shoulder. The peacock, which had now fluttered down, strutted behind her and spread out its tail for Jason to admire it.
Return to Free & Treadwell, Fifth Reader
