Not far from the gateway they came to a bridge which seemed to be built
of iron, Pluto stopped the chariot, and bade Proserpina look at the
stream which was gliding so lazily beneath it. Never in her life had she
beheld so torpid, so black, so muddy looking a stream: its waters
reflected no images of anything that was on the banks, and it moved as
sluggishly as if it had quite forgotten which way it ought to flow, and
had rather stagnate than flow either one way or the other.
"This is the river Lethe," observed King Pluto. "Is it not a very
pleasant stream?"
"I think it a very dismal one," said Proserpina.
"It suits my taste, however," answered Pluto, who was apt to be sullen
when anybody disagreed with him. "At all events, its water has one very
excellent quality; for a single draught of it makes people forget every
care and sorrow that has hitherto tormented them. Only sip a little of
it, my dear Proserpina, and you will instantly cease to grieve for your
mother, and will have nothing in your memory that can prevent your being
perfectly happy in my palace. I will send for some, in a golden goblet,
the moment we arrive."
"Oh no, no, no!" cried Proserpina, weeping afresh. "I had a thousand
times rather be miserable with remembering my mother, than be happy in
forgetting her. That dear, dear mother! I never, never will forget her.
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