aracters sunk in repose; the attendants all this time gradually
extinguishing the lights, and stealing on tiptoe from the chamber. So
that, at last, the music, each moment growing fainter, entirely ceased;
the figures on the tapestry were scarcely perceptible by the dim lustre
of a single remaining lamp; and the slumbering Proserpine fell back upon
her couch.

But the Queen of Hell was not destined to undisturbed repose. A dream
descended on her brain, and the dream was terrible and strange. She
beheld herself a child, playing, as was her wont, in the gardens of
Enna, twining garlands of roses, and chasing butterflies. Suddenly, from
a bosky thicket of myrtle, slowly issued forth an immense serpent, dark
as night, but with eyes of the most brilliant tint, and approached the
daughter of Ceres. The innocent child, ignorant of evil, beheld the
monster without alarm. Not only did she neither fly nor shriek, but she
even welcomed and caressed the frightful stranger, patted its voluminous
back, and admired its sparkling vision. The serpent, fascinated instead
of fascinating, licked her feet with his arrowy tongue, and glided about
for her diversion in a thousand shapes. Emboldened by its gentleness,
the little Proserpine at length even mounted on its back, and rode in
triumph among her bowers. Every day the dark serpent issued from the
thicket, and every day he found a welcome playmate. Now it come to
pass that one day the serpent, growing more bold, induced the young
Proserpine to extend her ride beyond the limits of Enna. Night came on,
and as it was too late to return, the serpent carried her to a large
cave, where it made for her a couch of leaves, and while she slept the
affectionate monster kept guard for her protection at the mouth of the
cavern. For some reason or other which was not apparent, for in dreams
there are always some effects without causes, Proserpine never returned
to Enna, but remained and resided with cheerfulness in this cavern. Each
morning the serpent went forth alone to seek food for its charge,
and regularly returned with a bough in its mouth laden with delicious
fruits. One day, during the absence of her guardian, a desire seized
Proserpine to quit the cavern, and accordingly she went forth. The fresh
air and fragrance of the earth were delightful to her, and she roamed
about, unconscious of time, and thoughtless of her return. And as she
sauntered along, singing to herself, a beautiful white dove,