The Corn King and the Spring Queen

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Naomi Mitchison. The Corn King and the Spring Queen

THE. CORN KING. AND THE. SPRING QUEEN

Contents

Introduction

Foreword

Kataleptike Phantasia

Philylla and the Grown-ups

What Advantageth it Me?

The Patterns of Sparta

Up the Ladder and over the Wall

Dream on, who can!

Kings who die for the People

Death and Philylla

They that Mourn

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Naomi Mitchison

With a new Introduction by the author

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‘Yes, but—’ said Berris again, and then suddenly, ‘Oh, it’s more than that! Whatever I did, you wouldn’t like it! I can’t make my things right, I never shall!’ He looked down at the shape on the anvil; he hated his little horse now.

Epigethes sat down on the bench; still he had not seen Erif Der. ‘Berris,’ he said, ‘I’ll make you an offer. I can teach you, I know I can teach you! You have the hands and eyes—everything but the spirit. There—forgive me, Berris!—you are still a barbarian. No fault of yours: but I can cure it. Come and work with me for six months, and no one will know that you are not a Hellene born.’ But Berris Der was getting more and more gloomy; all the joy had faded out of his horse; he saw nothing but its faults, its weaknesses; he lost all pride and assertion, could not hope to be anything but a failure; he shook his head. ‘No, but I promise you!’ said Epigethes. ‘I swear by Apollo himself! And all I ask is what you can give me easily, this pure northern gold of yours, the weight of a loaf of bread, no more. And not coined, not to spend on foolishness, but to use as an artist, to make into beauty! Like this, Berris’—he put his hand into the breast fold of his mantle—‘and I am sure you could do as good if once you had the spirit.’

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