“It is I,” replied Ceres sternly; “I, of old their best friend.  Never shall spear of grass or blade of corn show above the ground, never shall blossom or fruit appear on any tree, until my beloved daughter is brought back to me from the realm of Pluto.”

Then indeed there was consternation on Olympus; for Jupiter did not wish to anger his brother, and yet, how could he let the earth continue to be barren?  There was much consulting of the Fates, those three dread sisters whose decrees even Jupiter could not break, and finally Jupiter called Mercury to him, and said: 

“Hasten to the lower world, and lead thence Proserpina, the daughter of Ceres.  Only, if during her stay there she have allowed food to pass her lips, she shall not return.”

Meanwhile, Proserpina had been dwelling in gloom.  How could one whose chief care had been the flowers, whose chief joy had been to stray abroad in the sunshine with gay companions, be happy in a realm where the sun never shone, where no flowers ever grew save the white, sleep-bringing poppies, where she had no companions except the gloomy king of the dead?  Pluto was kind to her, he showered jewels upon her, and gorgeous raiment; but what meant such things to her when she could not delight with them the eyes of her mother and her friends?  The dead over whom she reigned she could not even make happy, and the only one who seemed to have profited at all by her coming to Hades was Pluto, who was of a certainty somewhat less stern and gloomy.

Of all the food that had been set before Proserpina since she entered Hades, nothing had tempted her but a pomegranate, and of that she had eaten but six seeds.  This one taste of food, however, she soon had reason to regret, for ere long Mercury, Jupiter’s messenger, stood before Pluto and cried with a flourish: 

“Hear the decree of mighty Jupiter and of the Fates, powerful over all.  The Lady Proserpina shall return with me, the messenger of mighty Jupiter, to the upper world.  Only, if she have allowed food to pass her lips, she shall not return, but shall remain queen of the dead forever.”

Proserpina turned pale—­paler than her months underground had made her—­ but she said nothing.  Then, from the throng of spirits who had crowded round to see the messenger of the gods, stepped forth one, Ascalaphus.  No pity for the white-faced, sad-eyed queen moved him as he told how he had seen Proserpina eat of the pomegranate.  Poor Proserpina felt that she would never see her beloved mother again, and was overwhelmed with grief when the messenger of the gods, the first cheerful personage she had seen since leaving earth, turned to depart.