AFTER breakfast, when Chloris was somewhat composed and Amphion had shed all his tears, Simo addressed them. “First,” said he, “I will remind you that there are many reasons why you should trust me. I need not weary your ears with serpent lore, since these deep matters may lie beyond your understanding; but it is enough that mankind has ever proclaimed our greatness, and godkind have not disdained to take our wondrous shape upon them. It was in serpent form that Jupiter Ammon loved Olympias and became the father of Alexander the Great; Jupiter Capitolinus did the like and Scipio Africanus was his son. Esculapios assumed our shape and Hygeia, fair goddess of health, bears in her hand the serpent of restoration. Thus are we worshipped very properly, and even the hyperboreans, in the land of eternal snow, adore Jormungandar, that everlasting python, whose convolutions lie about the celestial ash-tree and hold together the round world.
“We are an emblem of wisdom and of subtlety, of eternity, of renovation, of godhead — in fact a very important people in the nature of things; and those who argue against us, or pretend to any power comparable with our own, vaunt themselves in vain. They speak, for example, of Ophiogenus in Cyprus, but this is fable, for no man is serpent-proof, since no man is proof against wisdom, or beyond the reach of guile.”
“But about Dolius?” pleaded Chloris.
“I am coming to Dolius, and I must not be hurried,” replied Simo. “If you question me, you will only loosen upon yourself other reflections, because every trivial thought or word from a man or woman, Chloris, inevitably causes me to dip into my limitless knowledge. We may be a key-cold folk and our serpent blood move slowly, our serpent hearts beat less furiously than yours; but we are before all else logical, and our minds proceed with a correct appreciation of cause and effect. Thus the effect of your interruption is to make it necessary that I should detain you for yet another five minutes before we come to Dolius and his melancholy affairs.”
The snake continued in this clear and unemotional strain.
“There are as many virtues as there are senses,” he declared; “indeed there are many more; but, as above the senses sits one master, or common sense — the president of that committee which directs and controls our physical progress through the difficult business of living — so, above the virtues, should be enthroned one without which the others are of no avail.
“Concerning the virtues, I will not enumerate them, because their names are too many, and time and occasion so operate upon them that what may be a virtue before one problem becomes a vice confronted with another. Certain virtues, indeed, resist temptation to vary under any condition, and the supreme master virtue that we serpents ever set as leader and guide, is seldom amiss. I speak of Patience, without which steadfast principle no great thing can be done. The need for it in life’s pilgrimage is ever uppermost, and since we have all got to be patient whether we like it or no, should we live long enough, practice of this virtue is desirable for young and old alike.”
Simo stopped, but Chloris had learned her lesson, and waited for him to proceed.
“These things I say by way of reprimand to your impatience, good woman,” continued the serpent; “but we may well apply them to the tremendous task before us. For what is that task? To seek your dear husband, now transformed into some unknown and alien shape; to tackle Circé herself — either with or without divine aid — and demand from her that she restore Dolius to his human form and suffer him to depart in peace; or, if she prove obdurate, to rescue him by cunning from Aea, the enchanted isle. To bring him back to you in his present physical condition may, or may not, be possible. If he were a sheep, or ostrich, for example, the thing might be done; out if her malignant magic has transformed Dolius into an elephant, or river-horse, a forest tree, or a monstrous rock, then I fail to see for the moment how it could be managed. A trireme, with three banks of oars at the least, and half a hundred stalwart men, would be required for such a cargo, and these conveniences are not at our disposal.
“Far better, therefore, if we can prevail with Circé to do a merciful and comely deed, should it lie within her power; but even upon that point we lack knowledge as yet. We all know that it is far easier to make a hash of anything than correct our blunders after the folly has been performed; and because the enchantress practises her arts, there is no reason to assume that, goddess though she be, she can right the wrong once committed.”
“I don’t want an elephant about the place,” said Chloris.
“We are in fact very much in the dark,” continued Simo; “and for that reason must bring many gifts to our great problem, Patience being undoubtedly the first. I have already done some useful thinking on this affair, and determined who are the right and fitting persons to undertake the rescue of Dolius.”
“I must go myself,” said Chloris; but Simo determined otherwise.
“That is entirely out of the question,” he answered. “You would only complicate matters, irritate Circé, and end by being yourself transformed into some familiar or fantastic freak of nature, which your husband would find it impossible to love again. No; this enterprise can be trusted to two persons, and two alone.”
“You don’t mean Archidamus?” asked Chloris. “He won’t go, be sure of that.”
“I mean Amphion and myself,” replied the serpent; “and if you will but listen, I shall tell you why a partnership that may at first blush sound rather futile, is in reality the only possible one for the purpose.”
“I will gladly sacrifice my life for my father,” said Amphion.
“Listen, and don’t talk nonsense,” replied Simo. “It is for the reason that your life is ensured by certain qualities which you still possess that I make this proposal. Personally I am immune, and Circé cannot harm me; while as for Amphion, he is thrice armed by a native innocence and purity of intelligence against which the necromantic art is vain. Thus, you see, the combination of the serpent’s wisdom and the dove’s harmlessness may, as on other occasions, win the encounter. Will you consent, Chloris?”
“I have lost my husband, and now you would take away my son,” sighed the poor woman. “You are asking me to venture my all.”
“True; but by venturing all, we oft win all, including that which we have lost,” replied Simo.
“I am reminded in this connection,” he continued, “of a pleasing narrative which shows us how the gods themselves often smile upon a good son. Would you like to hear it?”
“Oh yes — if you want to tell it,” answered the distracted wife and mother.
“It fell out in Sicily, where Hephæstus has a vent for his subterranean forges. Owing to some great business, and the hasty need for thunderbolts on Olympus, Mount Etna broke forth in abundance of flames and molten rush of lava. Fearful devastation resulted for the mortals who dwell and tend their flocks and vines upon that mountain, and among those stricken and called upon to fly were two brothers. Their names were Amphinomus and Anapias; but that is no matter, for so that good deeds are done, it signifies not a brass farthing who does them. The problem before these men was whether to take their goods and wealth from the house, and bring them to safety beyond the reach of the fiery flood, or rescue their father and mother, both bedridden and profoundly ancient. Happily, there was no difference between them, for the peril permitted not of a moment’s delay. ‘Treasures indeed we have, and we have worked for them,’ declared Anapias; ‘but where shall we find a treasure more precious than those who begat us?’ ‘I am of your mind,’ replied his brother; whereupon one took up their father on his shoulders, while the other bore from death her who had borne him into life; and so the family passed safely through the flames. In consideration of which distinguished and unusual piety the gods were pleased to work a miracle, for antiquity records how the devouring flood drew back at this spectacle, and the way those good sons chose to go was ever green with verdure and bright with sweet flowers at all seasons. To this day, indeed, it is called ‘The Field of the Pious.’ Therefore,” said Simo, “the good deed designed by Amphion will at least deserve success and applause; while it may well be, Chloris, that you, who make this maternal sacrifice, also win a great reward and are blessed in the event.”
“I will get ready our boat,” said Amphion; but Simo had other views.
“Circé is not the only person who can work magic,” he answered. “I have little liking for the salt sea, and, in any case, the boat, without aid from a dolphin or some other great swimmer, would take far longer to traverse the treacherous ocean than I care to spend upon it. We will travel after a manner I shall confide to you to-morrow.”
Amphion then brought Simo a bowl of milk and a bunch of freshly gathered fennel; and when the snake had fed, he curled up within the boy’s shirt and there slept peacefully until the sun went down.