THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES
D
id you ever hear of the golden apples that grew in the garden of the Hes-
perides? 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 Hes-
perides 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, never-
theless, 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 ter-
3 UNKNOWN
rible 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 youngwomen had been having a fine time together, weaving the
