Tanglewood Tales (7 page)

When the Pygmy was quite satisfied that his eyes had not deceived him,
he scampered, as fast as his legs would carry him, to the Giant's ear,
and stooping over its cavity, shouted lustily into it:

"Halloo, brother Antaeus! Get up this minute, and take your pine-tree
walking stick in your hand. Here comes another Giant to have a tussle
with you."

"Poh, poh!" grumbled Antaeus, only half awake. "None of your nonsense,
my little fellow! Don't you see I'm sleepy? There is not a Giant on
earth for whom I would take the trouble to get up."

But the Pygmy looked again, and now perceived that the stranger was
coming directly towards the prostrate form of Antaeus. With every step,
he looked less like a blue mountain, and more like an immensely large
man. He was soon so nigh, that there could be no possible mistake about
the matter. There he was, with the sun flaming on his golden helmet, and
flashing from his polished breastplate; he had a sword by his side,
and a lion's skin over his back, and on his right shoulder he carried a
club, which looked bulkier and heavier than the pine-tree walking stick
of Antaeus.

By this time, the whole nation of the Pygmies had seen the new wonder,
and a million of them set up a shout all together; so that it really
made quite an audible squeak.

"Get up, Antaeus! Bestir yourself, you lazy old Giant! Here comes
another Giant, as strong as you are, to fight with you."

"Nonsense, nonsense!" growled the sleepy Giant. "I'll have my nap out,
come who may."

Still the stranger drew nearer; and now the Pygmies could plainly
discern that, if his stature were less lofty than the Giant's, yet his
shoulders were even broader. And, in truth, what a pair of shoulders
they must have been! As I told you, a long while ago, they once upheld
the sky. The Pygmies, being ten times as vivacious as their great
numskull of a brother, could not abide the Giant's slow movements, and
were determined to have him on his feet. So they kept shouting to him,
and even went so far as to prick him with their swords.

"Get up, get up, get up," they cried. "Up with you, lazy bones! The
strange Giant's club is bigger than your own, his shoulders are the
broadest, and we think him the stronger of the two."

Antaeus could not endure to have it said that any mortal was half so
mighty as himself. This latter remark of the Pygmies pricked him deeper
than their swords; and, sitting up, in rather a sulky humor, he gave
a gape of several yards wide, rubbed his eyes, and finally turned his
stupid head in the direction whither his little friends were eagerly
pointing.

No sooner did he set eyes on the stranger, than, leaping on his feet,
and seizing his walking stick, he strode a mile or two to meet him; all
the while brandishing the sturdy pine tree, so that it whistled through
the air.

"Who are you?" thundered the Giant. "And what do you want in my
dominions?"

There was one strange thing about Antaeus, of which I have not yet
told you, lest, hearing of so many wonders all in a lump, you might
not believe much more than half of them. You are to know, then, that
whenever this redoubtable Giant touched the ground, either with his
hand, his foot, or any other part of his body, he grew stronger than
ever he had been before. The Earth, you remember, was his mother, and
was very fond of him, as being almost the biggest of her children;
and so she took this method of keeping him always in full vigor. Some
persons affirm that he grew ten times stronger at every touch; others
say that it was only twice as strong. But only think of it! Whenever
Antaeus took a walk, supposing it were but ten miles, and that he
stepped a hundred yards at a stride, you may try to cipher out how much
mightier he was, on sitting down again, than when he first started. And
whenever he flung himself on the earth to take a little repose, even if
he got up the very next instant, he would be as strong as exactly ten
just such giants as his former self. It was well for the world that
Antaeus happened to be of a sluggish disposition and liked ease better
than exercise; for, if he had frisked about like the Pygmies, and
touched the earth as often as they did, he would long ago have been
strong enough to pull down the sky about people's ears. But these great
lubberly fellows resemble mountains, not only in bulk, but in their
disinclination to move.

Any other mortal man, except the very one whom Antaeus had now
encountered, would have been half frightened to death by the Giant's
ferocious aspect and terrible voice. But the stranger did not seem at
all disturbed. He carelessly lifted his club, and balanced it in his
hand, measuring Antaeus with his eye, from head to foot, not as if
wonder-smitten at his stature, but as if he had seen a great many Giants
before, and this was by no means the biggest of them. In fact, if the
Giant had been no bigger than the Pygmies (who stood pricking up their
ears, and looking and listening to what was going forward), the stranger
could not have been less afraid of him.

"Who are you, I say?" roared Antaeus again. "What's your name? Why do
you come hither? Speak, you vagabond, or I'll try the thickness of your
skull with my walking-stick!"

"You are a very discourteous Giant," answered the stranger quietly, "and
I shall probably have to teach you a little civility, before we part. As
for my name, it is Hercules. I have come hither because this is my most
convenient road to the garden of the Hesperides, whither I am going to
get three of the golden apples for King Eurystheus."

"Caitiff, you shall go no farther!" bellowed Antaeus, putting on a
grimmer look than before; for he had heard of the mighty Hercules, and
hated him because he was said to be so strong. "Neither shall you go
back whence you came!"

"How will you prevent me," asked Hercules, "from going whither I
please?"

"By hitting you a rap with this pine tree here," shouted Antaeus,
scowling so that he made himself the ugliest monster in Africa. "I am
fifty times stronger than you; and now that I stamp my foot upon the
ground, I am five hundred times stronger! I am ashamed to kill such a
puny little dwarf as you seem to be. I will make a slave of you, and you
shall likewise be the slave of my brethren here, the Pygmies. So throw
down your club and your other weapons; and as for that lion's skin, I
intend to have a pair of gloves made of it."

"Come and take it off my shoulders, then," answered Hercules, lifting
his club.

Then the Giant, grinning with rage, strode tower-like towards the
stranger (ten times strengthened at every step), and fetched a monstrous
blow at him with his pine tree, which Hercules caught upon his club; and
being more skilful than Antaeus, he paid him back such a rap upon the
sconce, that down tumbled the great lumbering man-mountain, flat upon
the ground. The poor little Pygmies (who really never dreamed that
anybody in the world was half so strong as their brother Antaeus) were a
good deal dismayed at this. But no sooner was the Giant down, than up
he bounced again, with tenfold might, and such a furious visage as was
horrible to behold. He aimed another blow at Hercules, but struck awry,
being blinded with wrath, and only hit his poor innocent Mother Earth,
who groaned and trembled at the stroke. His pine tree went so deep into
the ground, and stuck there so fast, that, before Antaeus could get it
out, Hercules brought down his club across his shoulders with a mighty
thwack, which made the Giant roar as if all sorts of intolerable noises
had come screeching and rumbling out of his immeasurable lungs in that
one cry. Away it went, over mountains and valleys, and, for aught I
know, was heard on the other side of the African deserts.

As for the Pygmies, their capital city was laid in ruins by the
concussion and vibration of the air; and, though there was uproar enough
without their help, they all set up a shriek out of three millions of
little throats, fancying, no doubt, that they swelled the Giant's bellow
by at least ten times as much. Meanwhile, Antaeus had scrambled upon his
feet again, and pulled his pine tree out of the earth; and, all aflame
with fury, and more outrageously strong than ever, he ran at Hercules,
and brought down another blow.

"This time, rascal," shouted he, "you shall not escape me."

But once more Hercules warded off the stroke with his club, and the
Giant's pine tree was shattered into a thousand splinters, most of which
flew among the Pygmies, and did them more mischief than I like to think
about. Before Antaeus could get out of the way, Hercules let drive
again, and gave him another knock-down blow, which sent him heels over
head, but served only to increase his already enormous and insufferable
strength. As for his rage, there is no telling what a fiery furnace it
had now got to be. His one eye was nothing but a circle of red flame.
Having now no weapons but his fists, he doubled them up (each bigger
than a hogshead), smote one against the other, and danced up and down
with absolute frenzy, flourishing his immense arms about, as if he meant
not merely to kill Hercules, but to smash the whole world to pieces.

"Come on!" roared this thundering Giant. "Let me hit you but one box on
the ear, and you'll never have the headache again."

Now Hercules (though strong enough, as you already know, to hold the
sky up) began to be sensible that he should never win the victory, if he
kept on knocking Antaeus down; for, by and by, if he hit him such hard
blows, the Giant would inevitably, by the help of his Mother Earth,
become stronger than the mighty Hercules himself. So, throwing down his
club, with which he had fought so many dreadful battles, the hero stood
ready to receive his antagonist with naked arms.

"Step forward," cried he. "Since I've broken your pine tree, we'll try
which is the better man at a wrestling match."

"Aha! then I'll soon satisfy you," shouted the Giant; for, if there was
one thing on which he prided himself more than another, it was his skill
in wrestling. "Villain, I'll fling you where you can never pick yourself
up again."

On came Antaeus, hopping and capering with the scorching heat of his
rage, and getting new vigor wherewith to wreak his passion, every time
he hopped.

But Hercules, you must understand, was wiser than this numskull of a
Giant, and had thought of a way to fight him—huge, earth-born monster
that he was—and to conquer him too, in spite of all that his Mother
Earth could do for him. Watching his opportunity, as the mad Giant made
a rush at him, Hercules caught him round the middle with both hands,
lifted him high into the air, and held him aloft overhead.

Just imagine it, my dear little friends. What a spectacle it must have
been, to see this monstrous fellow sprawling in the air, face downwards,
kicking out his long legs and wriggling his whole vast body, like a baby
when its father holds it at arm's length towards the ceiling.

But the most wonderful thing was, that, as soon as Antaeus was fairly
off the earth, he began to lose the vigor which he had gained by
touching it. Hercules very soon perceived that his troublesome enemy was
growing weaker, both because he struggled and kicked with less violence,
and because the thunder of his big voice subsided into a grumble. The
truth was that unless the Giant touched Mother Earth as often as once
in five minutes, not only his overgrown strength, but the very breath of
his life, would depart from him. Hercules had guessed this secret; and
it may be well for us all to remember it, in case we should ever have
to fight a battle with a fellow like Antaeus. For these earth-born
creatures are only difficult to conquer on their own ground, but may
easily be managed if we can contrive to lift them into a loftier and
purer region. So it proved with the poor Giant, whom I am really a
little sorry for, notwithstanding his uncivil way of treating strangers
who came to visit him.

When his strength and breath were quite gone, Hercules gave his huge
body a toss, and flung it about a mile off, where it fell heavily,
and lay with no more motion than a sand hill. It was too late for the
Giant's Mother Earth to help him now; and I should not wonder if his
ponderous bones were lying on the same spot to this very day, and were
mistaken for those of an uncommonly large elephant.

But, alas me! What a wailing did the poor little Pygmies set up when
they saw their enormous brother treated in this terrible manner! If
Hercules heard their shrieks, however, he took no notice, and perhaps
fancied them only the shrill, plaintive twittering of small birds that
had been frightened from their nests by the uproar of the battle between
himself and Antaeus. Indeed, his thoughts had been so much taken up with
the Giant, that he had never once looked at the Pygmies, nor even knew
that there was such a funny little nation in the world. And now, as he
had traveled a good way, and was also rather weary with his exertions in
the fight, he spread out his lion's skin on the ground, and, reclining
himself upon it, fell fast asleep.

As soon as the Pygmies saw Hercules preparing for a nap, they nodded
their little heads at one another, and winked with their little eyes.
And when his deep, regular breathing gave them notice that he was
asleep, they assembled together in an immense crowd, spreading over
a space of about twenty-seven feet square. One of their most eloquent
orators (and a valiant warrior enough, besides, though hardly so good
at any other weapon as he was with his tongue) climbed upon a toadstool,
and, from that elevated position, addressed the multitude. His
sentiments were pretty much as follows; or, at all events, something
like this was probably the upshot of his speech:

"Tall Pygmies and mighty little men! You and all of us have seen what
a public calamity has been brought to pass, and what an insult has here
been offered to the majesty of our nation. Yonder lies Antaeus, our
great friend and brother, slain, within our territory, by a miscreant
who took him at disadvantage, and fought him (if fighting it can be
called) in a way that neither man, nor Giant, nor Pygmy ever dreamed of
fighting, until this hour. And, adding a grievous contumely to the wrong
already done us, the miscreant has now fallen asleep as quietly as
if nothing were to be dreaded from our wrath! It behooves you,
fellow-countrymen, to consider in what aspect we shall stand before
the world, and what will be the verdict of impartial history, should we
suffer these accumulated outrages to go unavenged.