Book 8

Minos commences the war with the siege of Megara. The preservation of the city depends on a lock of the hair of its king, Nisus. His daughter, Scylla, falling in love with Minos, cuts off the fatal lock, and gives it to him. Minos makes himself master of the place; and, abhorring Scylla and the crime she has been guilty of, he takes his departure. In despair, she throws herself into the sea, and follows his fleet. Nisus, being transformed into a sea eagle, attacks her in revenge, and she is changed into a bird called Ciris.

Minos begins the war by laying siege to Megara. The city’s survival depends on a lock of hair belonging to its king, Nisus. His daughter, Scylla, falls in love with Minos. She cuts off the fateful lock and gives it to him. Minos conquers the city, but he is disgusted by Scylla and her crime, and he leaves. In despair, she throws herself into the sea and follows his fleet. Nisus is transformed into a sea eagle and attacks her in revenge. She is then changed into a bird called Ciris.

Now, Lucifer unveiling the day and dispelling the season of night, the East wind⁶⁸¹ fell, and the moist vapours arose. The favourable South winds gave a passage to the sons of Æacus,⁶⁸² and Cephalus returning; with which, being prosperously impelled, they made the port they were bound for, before it was expected.

As Lucifer brought in the day and drove away the night, the East wind⁶⁸¹ died down, and moist vapors rose. Favorable South winds gave the sons of Æacus⁶⁸² and the returning Cephalus a passage. The winds carried them safely to their destination ahead of schedule.

In the meantime Minos is laying waste the Lelegeian coasts,⁶⁸³ and previously tries the strength of his arms against the city Alcathoë, which Nisus had; among whose honoured hoary hairs a lock, distinguished by its purple colour, descended from the middle of his crown, the safeguard of his powerful kingdom. The sixth horns of the rising Phœbe were now growing again, and the fortune of the war was still in suspense, and for a long time did victory hover between them both with uncertain wings. There was a regal tower built with vocal walls, on which the son of Latona⁶⁸⁴ is reported to have laid his golden harp; and its sound adhered to the stone. The daughter of Nisus was wont often to go up thither, and to strike the resounding stones with a little pebble, when it was a time of peace. She used, likewise, often to view the fight, and the contests of the hardy warfare, from that tower. And now, by the continuance of the hostilities, she had become acquainted with both the names of the chiefs, their arms, their horses, their dresses, and the Cydonean⁶⁸⁵ quivers.

Meanwhile, Minos was laying waste to the Lelegeian coasts.⁶⁸³ He first tested his strength against Alcathoë, a city ruled by Nisus. Among Nisus’s honored gray hairs was a purple lock that fell from the middle of his crown. It protected his powerful kingdom. The sixth crescent of the rising Phœbe was now growing, and the outcome of the war remained uncertain. For a long time, victory hovered between the two sides on uncertain wings. A royal tower had walls that echoed with sound. The son of Latona⁶⁸⁴ was said to have laid his golden harp on them, leaving its sound in the stone. In peacetime, Nisus’s daughter often climbed the tower and struck the ringing stones with a small pebble. She also often watched the fighting and the fierce battles from the tower. By now, the war had gone on so long that she knew the leaders’ names, weapons, horses, clothing, and Cydonean⁶⁸⁵ quivers.

Before the rest, she had observed the face of the chieftain, the son of Europa; even better than was enough for merely knowing him. In her opinion, Minos, whether it was that he had enclosed his head in a helm crested with feathers, was beauteous in a helmet; or whether he had taken up a shield shining with gold, it became him to assume that shield. Drawing his arm back, did he hurl the slender javelin; the maiden commended his skill, joined with strength. Did he bend the wide bow with the arrow laid upon it; she used to swear that thus Phœbus stood, when assuming his arrows. But when he exposed his face, by taking off the brazen helmet, and, arrayed in purple, pressed the back of a white horse, beauteous with embroidered housings, and guided his foaming mouth; the virgin daughter of Nisus was hardly mistress of herself, hardly able to control a sound mind. She used to call the javelin happy which he touched, and the reins happy which he was pressing with his hand. She had an impulse (were it only possible) to direct her virgin footsteps through the hostile ranks; she had an impulse to cast her body from the top of the towers into the Gnossian camp, or to open the gates, strengthened with brass, to the enemy; or, indeed, anything else, if Minos should wish it. And as she was sitting, looking at the white tents of the Dictæan king, she said, “I am in doubt whether I should rejoice, or whether I should grieve, that this mournful war is carried on. I grieve that Minos is the enemy of the person who loves him; but unless there had been a war, would he have been known to me? yet, taking me for a hostage, he might cease the war, and have me for his companion, me as a pledge of peace. If, most beauteous of beings, she who bore thee, was such as thou art thyself, with reason was the God Jupiter inflamed with love for her. Oh! thrice happy were I, if, moving upon wings through the air, I could light upon the camp of the Gnossian king, and, owning myself and my flame, could ask him with what dowry he could wish to be purchased; provided only, that he did not ask the city of my father. For, perish rather the desired alliance, than that I should prevail by treason; although the clemency of a merciful conqueror has often made it of advantage to many, to be conquered. He certainly carries on a just war for his slain son,⁶⁸⁶ and is strong both in his cause, and in the arms that defend his cause.

Above all, she had noticed the face of the chieftain, Europa’s son. She knew his face far better than she needed to merely recognize him. To her, Minos looked beautiful wearing a helmet with a crest of feathers. When he carried a shield shining with gold, the shield suited him. When he drew back his arm and hurled a slender javelin, the maiden praised his skill and strength. When he bent his great bow with an arrow in place, she swore that Phœbus looked just like him when taking up his arrows. But then he removed his bronze helmet and showed his face. Dressed in purple, he rode a white horse with beautiful embroidered trappings and guided its foaming mouth. Nisus’s virgin daughter could hardly control herself or keep her senses. She called the javelin lucky because he touched it, and the reins lucky because he held them. She longed to walk through the enemy ranks, if only she could. She longed to throw herself from the top of the towers into the Gnossian camp. She longed to open the bronze-reinforced gates to the enemy, or, indeed, do anything else Minos wanted. As she sat looking at the white tents of the Dictæan king, she said, “I do not know whether to rejoice or grieve that this sorrowful war is being fought. I grieve that Minos is the enemy of the woman who loves him. But if there had been no war, would I have come to know him? Yet he could take me as a hostage and end the war. He could have me as his companion and as a pledge of peace. Most beautiful of beings, if the woman who bore you was as beautiful as you, the God Jupiter had good reason to burn with love for her. Oh, how happy I would be if I could fly through the air and land in the Gnossian king’s camp! I could reveal who I am and confess my love. I could ask what dowry he would accept in return for himself, as long as he did not ask for my father’s city. I would rather lose the union I desire than win it through treason. Yet the mercy of a compassionate conqueror has often made defeat a blessing for many. He is certainly fighting a just war for his slain son,⁶⁸⁶ and he is strong both in his cause and in the weapons that defend it.

“We shall be conquered, as I suppose. If this fate awaits this city, why should his own arms, and not my love, open the walls to him? It will be better for him to conquer without slaughter and delay, and the expense of his own blood. How much, indeed, do I dread, Minos, lest any one should unknowingly wound thy breast! for who is so hardened as to dare, unless unknowingly, to direct his cruel lance against thee? The design pleases me; and my determination is to deliver up my country as a dowry, together with myself, and so to put an end to the war. But to be willing, is too little; a guard watches the approaches, and my father keeps the keys of the gates. Him alone, in my wretchedness, do I dread; he alone obstructs my desires. Would that the Gods would grant I might be without a father! Every one, indeed, is a God to himself. Fortune is an enemy to idle prayers. Another woman, inflamed with a passion so great, would long since have taken a pleasure in destroying whatever stood in the way of her love. And why should any one be bolder than myself? I could dare to go through flames, and amid swords. But in this case there is no occasion for any flames or any swords; I only want the lock of my father. That purple lock is more precious to me than gold; it will make me happy, and mistress of my own wish.”

“We shall be conquered, I suppose. If that is this city’s fate, why should his own weapons open its walls to him, rather than my love? It would be better for him to conquer without slaughter, delay, or the loss of his own blood. Minos, how I fear that someone might unknowingly wound your breast! Who could be so hardened as to dare aim a cruel spear at you, except unknowingly? The plan pleases me. I have decided to surrender my country as a dowry, along with myself, and so end the war. But wanting to do it is not enough. Guards watch the approaches, and my father keeps the keys to the gates. In my misery, I fear him alone. He alone stands in the way of my desires. If only the gods would let me be without a father! Yet everyone is a god to themselves. Fortune is an enemy to idle prayers. Another woman, burning with such passion, would long ago have taken pleasure in destroying whatever stood in her love’s way. Why should anyone be bolder than I am? I could dare to go through flames and among swords. But here there is no need for flames or any swords. I only need my father’s lock of hair. That purple lock is more precious to me than gold. It will make me happy and let me have my wish.”

As she is saying such things, the night draws on, the greatest nurse of cares, and with the darkness her boldness increases. The first slumbers are now come, in which sleep takes possession of the breast wearied with the cares of the day. She silently enters the chamber of her father, and (O abominable crime!) the daughter despoils the father of his fatal lock, and having got the prize of crime, carries with her the spoil of her impiety; and issuing forth by the gate, she goes through the midst of the enemy, (so great is her confidence in her deserts) to the king, whom, in astonishment, she thus addresses: “’Twas love that urged the deed. I am Scylla, the royal issue of Nisus; to thee do I deliver the fortunes of my country and my own, as well; I ask for no reward, but thyself. Take this purple lock, as a pledge of my love; and do not consider that I am delivering to thee a lock of hair, but the life of my father.” And then, in her right hand, she holds forth the infamous present. Minos refuses it, thus held out; and shocked at the thought of so unheard of a crime, he says, “May the Gods, O thou reproach of our age, banish thee from their universe; and may both earth and sea be denied to thee. At least, I will not allow so great a monster to come into Crete, the birth-place of Jupiter, which is my realm.” He thus spoke;⁶⁸⁷ and when, like a most just lawgiver, he had imposed conditions on the vanquished, he ordered the halsers of the fleet to be loosened, and the brazen beaked ships to be impelled with the oars. Scylla, when she beheld the launched ships sailing on the main, and saw that the prince did not give her the expected reward of her wickedness, having spent all her entreaties, fell into a violent rage, and holding up her hands, with her hair dishevelled, in her frenzy she exclaimed,

As she speaks, night draws near, the greatest nurse of worries. As darkness falls, her courage grows. The first sleep has come, when sleep takes hold of hearts weary from the day’s cares. She silently enters her father’s chamber. In an (O abominable crime!), the daughter steals her father’s fateful lock of hair. With this prize of her crime, she carries away the spoil of her wickedness. She goes out through the gate and passes through the enemy’s ranks to the king. So confident is she that she deserves his favor. To his astonishment, she says: “Love drove me to do it. I am Scylla, the royal daughter of Nisus. I give you the fate of my country and my own, as well. I ask for no reward but you. Take this purple lock as a pledge of my love. Do not think I am giving you a lock of hair, but my father’s life.” And then, she holds out the shameful gift in her right hand. Minos refuses the lock. Shocked by such an unheard of crime, he says, “May the gods banish you from their universe, you disgrace of our age. May both earth and sea be denied to you. At least, I will not let such a monster enter Crete, the birthplace of Jupiter, which is my kingdom.” He thus spoke;⁶⁸⁷ then, like a most just lawgiver, he set terms for the defeated people. He ordered the fleet’s mooring ropes untied and the bronze beaked ships rowed away. Scylla sees the ships set sail on the open sea. She realizes that the prince has not given her the expected reward for her wickedness. Having exhausted all her pleas, she flies into a rage. Raising her hands, her hair disheveled, she cries out in a frenzy,

“Whither dost thou fly, the origin of thy achievements thus left behind, O thou preferred before my country, preferred before my father? Whither dost thou fly, barbarous man? whose victory is both my crime and my merit. Has neither the gift presented to thee, nor yet my passion, moved thee? nor yet the fact that all my hopes were centred in thee alone? For whither shall I return, forsaken by thee? To my country? Subdued, it is ruined. But suppose it were still safe; by my treachery, it is shut against me. To the face of my father, that I have placed in thy power. My fellow-citizens hate me deservedly; the neighbours dread my example. I have closed the whole world against me, that Crete alone might be open to me. And dost thou thus forbid me that as well? Is it thus, ungrateful one, that thou dost desert me? Europa was not thy mother, but the inhospitable Syrtis,⁶⁸⁸ or Armenian⁶⁸⁹ tigresses, or Charybdis disturbed by the South wind. Nor wast thou the son of Jupiter; nor was thy mother beguiled by the assumed form of a bull. That story of thy birth is false. He was both a fierce bull, and one charmed with the love of no heifer, that begot thee. Nisus, my father, take vengeance upon me. Thou city so lately betrayed, rejoice at my misfortunes; for I have deserved them, I confess, and I am worthy to perish. Yet let some one of those, whom I have impiously ruined, destroy me. Why dost thou, who hast conquered by means of my crime, chastise that crime? This, which was treason to my country and to my father, was an act of kindness to thee. She is truly worthy⁶⁹⁰ of thee for a husband, who, adulterously enclosed in wood, deceived the fierce-looking bull, and bore in her womb an offspring of shape dissimilar to herself. And do my complaints reach thy ears? Or do the same winds bear away my fruitless words, and thy ships, ungrateful man? Now, ah! now, it is not to be wondered at that Pasiphaë preferred the bull to thee; thou didst have the more savage nature of the two. Wretch that I am! He joys in speeding onward, and the waves resound, cleaved by his oars. Together with myself, alas! my native land recedes from him. Nothing dost thou avail; oh thou! forgetful to no purpose of my deserts. In spite of thee, will I follow thee, and grasping thy crooked stern, I will be dragged through the long seas.”

“Where are you fleeing, leaving thus behind the source of all you have achieved? I chose you over my country and my father. Where are you fleeing, barbarous man? Your victory is both my crime and my service to you. Have neither the gift I gave you nor my love moved you? Has it not moved you that I placed all my hopes in you alone? Where can I return, now that you have abandoned me? To my country? It has been conquered and ruined. But even if it were still safe, my treachery has closed it to me. Can I face my father, whom I have placed in your power? My fellow citizens rightly hate me, and our neighbors dread the example I have set. I have closed the whole world to myself so that Crete alone would be open to me. And now you deny me even that? Is this how you desert me, ungrateful man? Europa was not your mother. It was the inhospitable Syrtis,⁶⁸⁸ or Armenian⁶⁸⁹ tigresses, or Charybdis stirred up by the South wind. You were not the son of Jupiter, nor was your mother seduced by his disguise as a bull. That story of your birth is false. Your father was a fierce bull, never charmed by the love of any heifer. Nisus, my father, take revenge on me. You city I betrayed so recently, rejoice in my misfortunes. I admit that I deserve them, and I deserve to die. Yet let one of those I have wickedly ruined destroy me. Why do you punish my crime when you conquered through it? My betrayal of my country and my father was an act of kindness to you. She is truly worthy⁶⁹⁰ of you as a husband. Hidden adulterously inside a wooden frame, she deceived the fierce-looking bull. In her womb she bore offspring unlike herself in shape. Do my complaints reach your ears? Or do the same winds carry away my useless words and your ships, ungrateful man? Now, ah! now, it is no wonder that Pasiphaë preferred the bull to you. You were the more savage of the two. How wretched I am! He delights in speeding onward, and the waves resound as his oars cut through them. Alas, he leaves both me and my native land behind. You gain nothing, you who forget my service to you for nothing. In spite of you, I will follow you. I will grasp your curved stern and be dragged across the vast seas.”

Scarce has she said this, when she leaps into the waves, and follows the ships, Cupid giving her strength, and she hangs, an unwelcome companion, to the Gnossian ship. When her father beholds her, (for now he is hovering in the air, and he has lately been made a sea eagle, with tawny wings), he is going to tear her in pieces with his crooked beak. Through fear she quits the stern; but the light air seems to support her as she is falling, that she may not touch the sea. It is feathers that support her. With feathers, being changed into a bird, she is called Ciris;⁶⁹¹ and this name does she obtain from cutting off the lock.

She has barely said this when she leaps into the waves and follows the ships. Cupid gives her strength, and she clings to the Gnossian ship, an unwelcome companion. Her father sees her. He is now hovering in the air, having recently been changed into a sea eagle with tawny wings. He is about to tear her to pieces with his hooked beak. In fear, she lets go of the stern. But as she falls, the light air seems to hold her up, keeping her from touching the sea. It is feathers that hold her up. Changed into a bird and covered in feathers, she is called Ciris.⁶⁹¹ She receives this name because she cut off the lock.

Minos, having overcome the Athenians, obliges them to pay a tribute of youths and virgins of the best families, to be exposed to the Minotaur. The lot falls on Theseus, who, by the assistance of Ariadne, kills the monster, escapes from the labyrinth, which Dædalus made, and carries Ariadne to the island of Naxos, where he abandons her. Bacchus wooes her, and, to immortalize her name, he transforms the crown which he has given her into a Constellation.

After defeating the Athenians, Minos forces them to send young men and women from their best families as tribute. They are to be given to the Minotaur. Theseus is chosen by lot. With Ariadne’s help, he kills the monster and escapes from the labyrinth made by Dædalus. He takes Ariadne to the island of Naxos, where he abandons her. Bacchus courts her and turns the crown he gave her into a constellation to make her name immortal.

Minos paid, as a vow to Jupiter, the bodies of a hundred bulls, as soon as, disembarking from his ships, he reached the land of the Curetes; and his palace was decorated with the spoils there hung up. The reproach of his family had now grown up, and the shameful adultery of his mother was notorious, from the unnatural shape of the two-formed monster. Minos resolves to remove the disgrace from his abode, and to enclose it in a habitation of many divisions, and an abode full of mazes. Dædalus, a man very famed for his skill in architecture, plans the work, and confounds the marks of distinction, and leads the eyes into mazy wanderings, by the intricacy of its various passages. No otherwise than as the limpid Mæander sports in the Phrygian fields, and flows backwards and forwards with its varying course, and, meeting itself, beholds its waters that are to follow, and fatigues its wandering current, now pointing to its source, and now to the open sea. Just so, Dædalus fills innumerable paths with windings; and scarcely can he himself return to the entrance, so great are the intricacies of the place. After he has shut up here the double figure of a bull and of a youth;⁶⁹² and the third supply, chosen by lot each nine years, has subdued the monster twice before gorged with Athenian blood; and when the difficult entrance, retraced by none of those who have entered it before, has been found by the aid of the maiden, by means of the thread gathered up again; immediately, the son of Ægeus, carrying away the daughter of Minos, sets sail for Dia,⁶⁹³ and barbarously deserts his companion on those shores.

As soon as Minos landed from his ships on the land of the Curetes, he fulfilled a vow to Jupiter by sacrificing a hundred bulls. His palace was decorated with the spoils he hung there. The disgrace of his family had now grown up. The unnatural shape of the two-formed monster made his mother’s shameful adultery known to all. Minos decided to remove the disgrace from his home and shut it away in a dwelling of many rooms and winding passages. Dædalus, a man famous for his skill in architecture, designed the building. He made its landmarks hard to distinguish and led the eye astray through its intricate passages. The clear Mæander does much the same as it winds through the Phrygian fields. It flows back and forth, meeting itself and looking upon the waters that will follow it. It wears out its wandering current, now flowing toward its source, and now toward the open sea. In the same way, Dædalus made countless winding paths. The place was so intricate that he could scarcely find his own way back to the entrance. Minos shut up there the creature that was both bull and youth.⁶⁹² The monster had twice before gorged itself on Athenian blood. Then came the third group, chosen by lot every nine years, and it defeated the monster. With the maiden’s help, the son of Ægeus found his way back to the hard-to-find entrance by gathering up the thread. None who had entered before had retraced the way. Immediately, he carried off the daughter of Minos and sailed for Dia.⁶⁹³ There he cruelly abandoned his companion on the shore.

Her, thus deserted and greatly lamenting, Liber embraces and aids; and, that she may be famed by a lasting Constellation, he places in the heavens the crown taken from off her head. It flies through the yielding air, and, as it flies, its jewels are suddenly changed into fires, and they settle in their places, the shape of the crown still remaining; which is in the middle,⁶⁹⁴ between the Constellation resting on his knee,⁶⁹⁵ and that which holds the serpents.

Liber embraces and helps her, thus abandoned and grieving deeply. So that she may be remembered in a lasting constellation, he takes the crown from her head and places it in the heavens. It flies through the yielding air, and its jewels suddenly turn into flames. They settle in place, still forming the shape of the crown. The crown lies in the middle,⁶⁹⁴ between the Constellation resting on his knee⁶⁹⁵ and the one holding the serpents.

Dædalus, weary of his exile, finds means, by making himself wings, to escape out of Crete. His son Icarus, forgetting the advice of his father, and flying too high, the Sun melts his wings, and he perishes in the sea, which afterwards bore his name. The sister of Dædalus commits her son Perdix to his care, for the purpose of being educated. Dædalus, being jealous of the talent of his nephew, throws him from a tower, with the intention of killing him; but Minerva supports him in his fall, and transforms him into a partridge.

Dædalus, tired of living in exile, makes himself wings and escapes from Crete. His son Icarus forgets his father’s advice and flies too high. The Sun melts his wings, and he drowns in the sea, which is later named after him. Dædalus’s sister entrusts her son Perdix to him for his education. Jealous of his nephew’s talent, Dædalus throws him from a tower, intending to kill him. But Minerva catches Perdix as he falls and transforms him into a partridge.

In the meantime, Dædalus, abhorring Crete and his prolonged exile,⁶⁹⁶ and inflamed by the love of his native soil, was enclosed there by the sea. “Although Minos,” said he, “may beset the land and the sea, still the skies, at least, are open. By that way will we go: let Minos possess everything besides: he does not sway the air.” Thus he spoke; and he turned his thoughts to arts unknown till then; and varied the course of nature. For he arranges feathers in order, beginning from the least, the shorter one succeeding the longer; so that you might suppose they grew on an incline. Thus does the rustic pipe sometimes rise by degrees, with unequal straws. Then he binds those in the middle with thread, and the lowermost ones with wax; and, thus ranged, with a gentle curvature, he bends them, so as to imitate real wings of birds. His son Icarus stands together with him; and, ignorant that he is handling the source of danger to himself, with a smiling countenance, he sometimes catches at the feathers which the shifting breeze is ruffling; and, at other times, he softens the yellow wax with his thumb; and, by his playfulness, he retards the wondrous work of his father.

Meanwhile, Dædalus hated Crete and his long exile,⁶⁹⁶ and longed for his homeland. But the sea kept him trapped there. “Although Minos may block the land and sea,” he said, “the skies are still open. We will go that way. Let Minos have everything else. He does not rule the air.” So he spoke and turned his thoughts to skills no one had known before. He set out to change the course of nature. He arranged feathers in order, starting with the smallest, with each shorter feather following a longer one. They looked as though they had grown on a slope. A rustic pipe rises in the same way, in steps of unequal reeds. Then he fastened the middle feathers with thread and the lowest ones with wax. Once they were arranged, he gently curved them to imitate the real wings of birds. His son Icarus stood beside him, unaware that he was handling the source of his own danger. Smiling, he sometimes caught at the feathers that the shifting breeze tossed about. At other times, he softened the yellow wax with his thumb. His play slowed his father’s wondrous work.

After the finishing hand was put to the work, the workman himself poised his own body upon the two wings, and hung suspended in the beaten air. He provided his son with them as well; and said to him, “Icarus, I recommend thee to keep the middle tract; lest, if thou shouldst go too low, the water should clog thy wings; if too high, the fire of the sun should scorch them. Fly between both; and I bid thee neither to look at Boötes, nor Helice,⁶⁹⁷ nor the drawn sword of Orion. Under my guidance, take thy way.” At the same time, he delivered him rules for flying, and fitted the untried wings to his shoulders. Amid his work and his admonitions, the cheeks of the old man were wet, and the hands of the father trembled. He gives kisses to his son, never again to be repeated; and, raised upon his wings, he flies before, and is concerned for his companion, just as the bird which has led forth her tender young from the lofty nest into the air. And he encourages him to follow, and instructs him in the fatal art, and both moves his own wings himself, and looks back on those of his son. A person while he is angling for fish with his quivering rod, or the shepherd leaning on his crook, or the ploughman on the plough tail, when he beholds them, is astonished, and believes them to be Divinities, who thus can cleave the air. And now Samos,⁶⁹⁸ sacred to Juno, and Delos, and Paros, were left behind to the left hand. On the right were Lebynthus,⁶⁹⁹ and Calymne,⁷⁰⁰ fruitful in honey; when the boy began to be pleased with a bolder flight, and forsook his guide; and, touched with a desire of reaching heaven, pursued his course still higher. The vicinity of the scorching Sun softened the fragrant wax that fastened his wings. The wax was melted; he shook his naked arms, and, wanting his oar-like wings, he caught no more air. His face, too, as he called on the name of his father, was received in the azure water, which received its name⁷⁰¹ from him.

When the work was finished, the craftsman poised himself on his two wings and hung suspended in the air. He fitted his son with wings too and said, “Icarus, I advise you to keep to the middle path. If you fly too low, the water will weigh down your wings. If you fly too high, the fire of the sun will scorch them. Fly between the two. Do not look at Boötes, or Helice,⁶⁹⁷ or the drawn sword of Orion. Follow my lead.” As he spoke, he taught his son how to fly and fitted the untried wings to his shoulders. As the old man worked and warned his son, tears ran down his cheeks and his hands trembled. He kissed his son for the last time. Then he rose on his wings and flew ahead, worried for his companion. He was like a bird leading her tender young from their high nest into the air. He encouraged Icarus to follow and taught him the fatal art. He beat his own wings and looked back at his son’s. A fisherman with his quivering rod, a shepherd leaning on his crook, or a ploughman holding his plough might see them. Each was astonished and believed that beings who could fly through the air must be gods. They had now left Samos,⁶⁹⁸ sacred to Juno, Delos, and Paros behind them on the left. On their right were Lebynthus,⁶⁹⁹ and Calymne,⁷⁰⁰ rich in honey. Then the boy began to delight in flying more boldly and left his guide. Filled with a desire to reach heaven, he flew higher and higher. The heat of the nearby Sun softened the fragrant wax that held his wings together. The wax melted. He waved his bare arms, but without his oar-like wings, he could no longer catch the air. As he called his father’s name, his face sank into the blue water, which took its name⁷⁰¹ from him.

But the unhappy father, now no more a father, said, “Icarus, where art thou? In what spot shall I seek thee, Icarus?” did he say; when he beheld his wings in the waters, and then he cursed his own arts; and he buried his body in a tomb, and the land was called from the name of him buried there. As he was laying the body of his unfortunate son in the tomb, a prattling partridge beheld him from a branching holm-oak,⁷⁰² and, by its notes, testified its delight. ’Twas then but a single bird of its kind, and never seen in former years, and, lately made a bird, was a grievous reproof, Dædalus, to thee. For, ignorant of the decrees of fate, his sister had entrusted her son to be instructed by him, a boy who had passed twice six birthdays, with a mind eager for instruction. ’Twas he, too, who took the backbones observed in the middle of the fish, for an example, and cut a continued row of teeth in iron, with a sharp edge, and thus discovered the use of the saw.

But the unhappy father, now a father no longer, cried, “Icarus, where are you? Where shall I look for you, Icarus?” Then he saw his son’s wings in the water, and then he cursed his own skills. He buried Icarus in a tomb, and the land was named after the one buried there. As he laid his unfortunate son’s body in the tomb, a chattering partridge watched him from a branching holm oak.⁷⁰² Its calls showed its delight. It was then the only bird of its kind and had never been seen in earlier years. Only recently changed into a bird, it was a painful reproach to you, Dædalus. His sister, unaware of the decrees of fate, had entrusted her son to him for instruction. The boy was twelve years old and eager to learn. He noticed the bones along the middle of a fish and used them as a model. He cut a continuous row of teeth into a sharp edge of iron and thus invented the saw.

He was the first, too, that bound two arms of iron to one centre, that, being divided and of equal length, the one part might stand fixed, and the other might describe a circle. Dædalus was envious, and threw him headlong from the sacred citadel of Minerva, falsely pretending that he had fallen by accident. But Pallas, who favours ingenuity, received him, and made him a bird; and, in the middle of the air, he flew upon wings. Yet the vigour of his genius, once so active, passed into his wings and into his feet; his name, too, remained the same as before. Yet this bird does not raise its body aloft, nor make its nest in the branches and the lofty tops of trees, but flies near the ground, and lays its eggs in hedges: and, mindful of its former fall, it dreads the higher regions.

He was also the first to fasten two iron arms at a single point. The arms were separate and equal in length. One could stay fixed, and the other could draw a circle. Dædalus was envious and threw him headfirst from Minerva’s sacred citadel. He falsely claimed that he had fallen by accident. But Pallas, who favors ingenuity, caught him and turned him into a bird. He flew through the air on wings. Yet the energy of his once active genius passed into his wings and feet. His name, too, stayed the same as before. Yet this bird does not fly high or build its nest in the branches or high tops of trees, but flies near the ground and lays its eggs in hedges. Mindful of its former fall, it fears high places.

Diana, offended at the neglect of Œneus, king of Calydon, when performing his vows to the Gods, sends a wild boar to ravage his dominions; on which Œneus assembled the princes of the country for its pursuit. His son Meleager leads the chase, and, having killed the monster, presents its head to his mistress, Atalanta, the daughter of the king of Arcadia. He afterwards kills his two uncles, Plexippus and Toxeus, who would deprive her of this badge of his victory. Their sister Althæa, the mother of Meleager, filled with grief at their death, loads her son with execrations; and, remembering the torch which she received from the Fates at his birth, and on which the preservation of his life depends, she throws it into the fire. As soon as it is consumed, Meleager expires in the greatest torments. His sisters mourn over his body, until Diana changes them into birds.

Diana was offended when Œneus, king of Calydon, overlooked her while making his vows to the Gods. She sent a wild boar to ravage his kingdom. Œneus then gathered the princes of the country to hunt it. His son Meleager led the hunt and killed the monster. He gave its head to his lover, Atalanta, the daughter of the king of Arcadia. He later killed his two uncles, Plexippus and Toxeus, who wanted to take this sign of his victory from her. Their sister Althæa, Meleager’s mother, was filled with grief at their deaths and cursed her son. She remembered the torch the Fates had given her at his birth, on which his life depended. She threw it into the fire. As soon as the torch was consumed, Meleager died in terrible agony. His sisters mourned over his body until Diana changed them into birds.

And now the Ætnæan land received Dædalus in his fatigue; and Cocalus,⁷⁰³ taking up arms for him as he entreated, was commended for his kindness. And now Athens has ceased to pay her mournful tribute, through the exploits of Theseus. The temples are decked with garlands, and they invoke warlike Minerva, with Jupiter and the other Gods, whom they adore with the blood of victims vowed, and with presents offered, and censers⁷⁰⁴ of frankincense. Wandering Fame had spread the renown of Theseus throughout the Argive cities, and the nations which rich Achaia contained, implored his aid amid great dangers. Calydon, too, although it had Meleager,⁷⁰⁵ suppliantly addressed him with anxious entreaties. The occasion of asking aid was a boar, the servant and the avenger of Diana in her wrath.

At last, the Ætnæan land received the weary Dædalus. Cocalus,⁷⁰³ moved by his pleas, took up arms for him and was praised for his kindness. And now Athens has stopped paying her sorrowful tribute, thanks to the exploits of Theseus. The temples are decorated with garlands, and the people call on warlike Minerva, Jupiter, and the other Gods. They worship the Gods with the blood of victims they had promised, with offerings, and with censers⁷⁰⁴ of frankincense. Wandering Fame had spread the renown of Theseus throughout the Argive cities. The nations of rich Achaia begged for his help in times of great danger. Calydon, too, although it had Meleager,⁷⁰⁵ anxiously pleaded with him for help. The reason for asking for aid was a boar, which served and avenged Diana in her anger.

For they say that Œneus, for the blessings of a plenteous year, had offered the first fruits of the corn to Ceres, to Bacchus his wine, and the Palladian juice⁷⁰⁶ of olives to the yellow-haired Minerva. These invidious honours commencing with the rural Deities, were continued to all the Gods above; they say that the altars of the daughter of Latona, who was omitted, were alone left without frankincense. Wrath affects even the Deities. “But this,” says she, “I will not tamely put up with; and I, who am thus dishonoured, will not be said to be unrevenged as well:” and she sends a boar as an avenger throughout the lands of Œneus, than which not even does verdant Epirus⁷⁰⁷ possess bulls of greater size; even the fields of Sicily have them of less magnitude. His eyes shine with blood and flames, his rough neck is stiff; bristles, too,⁷⁰⁸ stand up, like spikes, thickly set; like palisades⁷⁰⁹ do those bristles project, just like high spikes. Boiling foam, with a harsh noise, flows down his broad shoulders; his tusks rival the tusks of India. Thunders issue from his mouth; the foliage is burnt up with the blast. One while he tramples down the corn in the growing blade, and crops the expectations of the husbandman, doomed to lament, as yet unripe, and he intercepts the corn in the ear. In vain does the threshing floor, and in vain do the barns await the promised harvest. The heavy grapes, with the long branches of the vine, are scattered about, and the berries with the boughs of the ever-green olive. He vents his fury, too, upon the flocks. These, neither dogs nor shepherds can protect; not even the fierce bulls are able to defend the herds. The people fly in all directions, and do not consider themselves safe, but in the walls of a city, until Meleager, and, together with him, a choice body of youths, unite from a desire for fame.

They say that Œneus gave thanks for a plentiful year by offering the first fruits of the grain to Ceres. He offered his wine to Bacchus and the Palladian juice⁷⁰⁶ of olives to yellow-haired Minerva. These honors, which caused resentment, began with the rural deities and continued to all the gods above. They say that only the altars of Latona’s daughter were left without frankincense, because she had been overlooked. Even the gods feel anger. “But this,” she said, “I will not accept without protest. Though I have been dishonored, I will not be said to have gone without revenge as well.” So she sent a boar to take revenge throughout the lands of Œneus. Not even green Epirus⁷⁰⁷ has bulls larger than the boar. Even the bulls in the fields of Sicily are smaller. His eyes shine with blood and fire, and his rough neck is stiff. His bristles, too,⁷⁰⁸ stand up thickly like spikes. They jut out like palisades,⁷⁰⁹ just like tall spikes. Boiling foam runs down his broad shoulders with a harsh sound. His tusks rival those of India. Thunder comes from his mouth, and his breath burns up the leaves. He tramples the young grain and devours the farmer’s hopes before they can ripen, leaving him to mourn. He destroys the grain while it is still in the ear. The threshing floor and the barns wait in vain for the promised harvest. Heavy grapes and long vine branches lie scattered, along with the berries and branches of the evergreen olive. He also turns his fury on the flocks. Neither dogs nor shepherds can protect them. Not even fierce bulls can defend the herds. People flee in every direction and feel safe only within a city’s walls. At last, Meleager and a chosen band of young men join forces, driven by the desire for fame.

The two sons of Tyndarus,⁷¹⁰ the one famous for boxing, the other for his skill in horsemanship; Jason, too, the builder of the first ship, and Theseus, with Pirithoüs,⁷¹¹ happy unison, and the two sons of Thestius,⁷¹² and Lynceus,⁷¹³ the son of Aphareus, and the swift Idas, and Cæneus,⁷¹⁴ now no longer a woman; and the valiant Leucippus,⁷¹⁵ and Acastus,⁷¹⁶ famous for the dart, and Hippothoüs,⁷¹⁷ and Dryas,⁷¹⁸ and Phœnix,⁷¹⁹ the son of Amyntor, and the two sons of Actor,⁷²⁰ and Phyleus,⁷²¹ sent from Elis, are there. Nor is Telamon⁷²² absent; the father, too, of the great Achilles;⁷²³ and with the son of Pheres,⁷²⁴ and the Hyantian Iolaüs,⁷²⁵ the active Eurytion,⁷²⁶ and Echion,⁷²⁷ invincible in the race, and the Narycian Lelex,⁷²⁸ and Panopeus,⁷²⁹ and Hyleus,⁷³⁰ and bold Hippasus,⁷³¹ and Nestor,⁷³² now but in his early years. Those, too, whom Hippocoön⁷³³ sent from ancient Amyclæ,⁷³⁴ and the father-in-law of Penelope,⁷³⁵ with the Parrhasian Ancæus,⁷³⁶ and the sage son of Ampycus,⁷³⁷ and the descendant of Œclus,⁷³⁸ as yet safe from his wife, and Tegeæan⁷³⁹ Atalanta, the glory of the Lycæan groves. A polished buckle fastened the top of her robe; her plain hair was gathered into a single knot. The ivory keeper of her weapons rattled, hanging from her left shoulder; her left hand, too, held a bow. Such was her dress, and her face such as you might say, with reason, was that of a maid in a boy, that of a boy in a maid. Her the Calydonian hero both beheld, and at the same moment sighed for her, against the will of the God; and he caught the latent flame, and said, “Oh, happy will he be, if she shall vouchsafe to make any one her husband.” The occasion and propriety allow him to say no more; the greater deeds of the mighty contest now engage him.

The two sons of Tyndarus⁷¹⁰ are there, one famous for boxing, the other for horsemanship. So are Jason, the builder of the first ship, and Theseus with Pirithoüs,⁷¹¹ a happy pair. The two sons of Thestius⁷¹² are there, along with Lynceus,⁷¹³ son of Aphareus, swift Idas, and Cæneus,⁷¹⁴ who is no longer a woman. There are also brave Leucippus,⁷¹⁵ Acastus,⁷¹⁶ famous for his skill with the dart, Hippothoüs,⁷¹⁷ Dryas,⁷¹⁸ and Phœnix,⁷¹⁹ son of Amyntor. The two sons of Actor⁷²⁰ and Phyleus,⁷²¹ sent from Elis, are there as well. Nor is Telamon⁷²² absent, or the father of the great Achilles.⁷²³ With the son of Pheres⁷²⁴ and the Hyantian Iolaüs⁷²⁵ are the agile Eurytion,⁷²⁶ Echion,⁷²⁷ unbeatable in a race, the Narycian Lelex,⁷²⁸ Panopeus,⁷²⁹ Hyleus,⁷³⁰ bold Hippasus,⁷³¹ and Nestor,⁷³² still young. Also present are those Hippocoön⁷³³ sent from ancient Amyclæ,⁷³⁴ and Penelope’s father-in-law.⁷³⁵ With them are the Parrhasian Ancæus,⁷³⁶ the wise son of Ampycus,⁷³⁷ and the descendant of Œclus,⁷³⁸ still safe from his wife. There too is Tegeæan⁷³⁹ Atalanta, the glory of the Lycæan groves. A polished buckle fastened the top of her robe. Her unadorned hair was gathered into a single knot. The ivory case for her weapons hung from her left shoulder and rattled. She held a bow in her left hand. This was how she was dressed. Her face, one might fairly say, was a girl’s in a boy and a boy’s in a girl. The Calydonian hero saw her and, against the will of the God, fell in love at once. He caught the hidden flame and said, “Oh, happy will be the man, if she should choose to make anyone her husband.” The occasion and propriety allowed him to say no more. The greater deeds of the mighty contest now demanded his attention.

A wood, thick with trees, which no age has cut down, rises from a plain, and looks down upon the fields below. After the heroes are come there, some extend the nets; some take the couples off the dogs, some follow close the traces of his feet, and are anxious to discover their own danger. There is a hollow channel, along which rivulets of rain water are wont to discharge themselves. The bending willows cover the lower parts of the cavity, and smooth sedges, and marshy rushes, and oziers, and thin reeds with their long stalks. Aroused from this spot, the boar rushes violently into the midst of the enemy, like lightning darted from the bursting clouds. In his onset the grove is laid level, and the wood, borne down, makes a crashing noise. The young men raise a shout, and with strong right hands hold their weapons extended before them, brandished with their broad points. Onward he rushes, and disperses the dogs, as any one of them opposes his career; and scatters them, as they bark at him, with sidelong wounds. The spear that was first hurled by the arm of Echion, was unavailing, and made a slight incision in the trunk of a maple tree. The next, if it had not employed too much of the strength of him who threw it, seemed as if it would stick in the back it was aimed at: it went beyond. The owner of the weapon was the Pagasæan Jason. “Phœbus,” said the son of Ampycus,⁷⁴⁰ “if I have worshipped thee, and if I do worship thee, grant me the favour to reach what is now aimed at, with unerring weapon.” The God consented to his prayer, so far as he could. The boar was struck by him, but without a wound; Diana took the steel head from off the flying weapon; the shaft reached him without the point. The rage of the monster was aroused, and not less violently was he inflamed than the lightnings; light darted from his eyes, and flame was breathed from his breast. As the stone flies, launched by the tightened rope, when it is aimed⁷⁴¹ at either walls, or towers filled with soldiers, with the like unerring onset is the destroying boar borne on among the youths, and lays upon the ground Eupalamus and Pelagon,⁷⁴² who guard the right wing. Thus prostrate, their companions bear them off. But Enæsimus, the son of Hippocoön, does not escape a deadly wound. The sinews of his knee, cut by the boar, fail him as he trembles, and prepares to turn his back.

A forest thick with trees rises from a plain and overlooks the fields below. No one has cut its trees down in living memory. When the heroes arrive, some spread nets, some unleash the dogs, and some follow the boar’s tracks. They are eager to find the danger that awaits them. A hollow channel carries away streams of rainwater. Bending willows, smooth sedges, marsh rushes, oziers, and slender reeds with long stalks cover the bottom of the hollow. The boar is roused from this spot and charges into the midst of his enemies, like lightning bursting from a cloud. He flattens the grove as he charges, and the trees crash as he brings them down. The young men shout and thrust their weapons forward in their strong right hands, brandishing the broad points. The boar charges on, scattering the dogs that stand in his way. As they bark at him, he scatters them with wounds from his sideways thrusts. Echion throws the first spear, but it misses, making a slight cut in a maple trunk. The next spear seems sure to strike the boar’s back, but its owner throws it too hard. It flies past the boar. The man who threw it is Jason of Pagasæ. “Phœbus,” says the son of Ampycus,⁷⁴⁰ “if I have worshipped you and still worship you, grant me the favor of striking my target with an unerring weapon.” The god grants his prayer as far as he can. The spear strikes the boar, but it does not wound him. Diana has removed the steel head from the flying weapon, and the shaft reaches him without its point. The monster’s rage rises, blazing no less fiercely than lightning. Light flashes from his eyes, and flames pour from his chest. A stone flies from a taut sling when it is aimed⁷⁴¹ at walls or towers filled with soldiers. With an equally unerring charge, the deadly boar rushes among the youths. He knocks Eupalamus and Pelagon,⁷⁴² who guard the right wing, to the ground. As they lie there, their companions carry them away. But Enæsimus, the son of Hippocoön, does not escape a fatal wound. As he trembles and prepares to turn and flee, the sinews of his knee, cut by the boar, give way.

Perhaps, too, the Pylian Nestor would have perished⁷⁴³ before the times of the Trojan war: but taking a spring, by means of his lance, planted in the ground, he leaped into the branches of a tree that was standing close by, and, safe in his position, looked down upon the enemy which he had escaped. He, having whetted his tusk on the trunk of an oak, fiercely stood, ready for their destruction; and, trusting to his weapons newly pointed, gored the thigh of the great Othriades⁷⁴⁴ with his crooked tusks. But the two brothers, not yet made Constellations of the heavens, distinguished from the rest, were borne upon horses whiter than the bleached snow; and both were brandishing the points of their lances, poised in the air, with a tremulous motion. They would have inflicted wounds, had not the bristly monster entered the shady wood, a place penetrable by neither weapons nor horses. Telamon pursues him; and, heedless in the heat of pursuit, falls headlong, tripped up by the root of a tree. While Peleus⁷⁴⁵ is lifting him up, the Tegeæan damsel fits a swift arrow to the string, and, bending the bow, lets it fly. Fixed under the ear of the beast, the arrow razes the surface of the skin, and dyes the bristles red with a little blood. And not more joyful is she at the success of her aim than Meleager is.

Perhaps Nestor of Pylos would also have died⁷⁴³ before the Trojan war. But he planted his lance in the ground and used it to vault into the branches of a nearby tree. Safe there, he looked down at the enemy he had escaped. The beast had sharpened his tusk on an oak trunk. He stood fierce and ready to destroy them, confident in his freshly sharpened weapons. With his curved tusks, he gored the thigh of the great Othriades⁷⁴⁴. But the two brothers, not yet made Constellations in the heavens, stood out from the rest. They rode horses whiter than bleached snow, and both waved their lances in the air, their points trembling. They would have wounded the beast, but the bristly monster entered a shady wood that neither weapons nor horses could penetrate. Telamon pursued him, but in the heat of the chase he failed to watch his step. A tree root tripped him, and he fell headlong. While Peleus⁷⁴⁵ helped him up, the young woman from Tegeæ fitted a swift arrow to her bowstring. She drew the bow and let it fly. The arrow grazed the beast's skin beneath his ear and stained his bristles with a little blood. Meleager was as joyful as she was at her successful shot.

He is supposed to have observed it first, and first to have pointed out the blood to his companions, and to have said, “Thou shalt receive due honour for thy bravery.” The heroes blush in emulation; and they encourage one another, and raise their spirits with shouts, and discharge their weapons without any order. Their very multitude is a hindrance to those that are thrown, and it baffles the blow for which it is designed. Behold! the Arcadian,⁷⁴⁶ wielding his battle-axe, rushing madly on to his fate, said, “Learn, O youths, how much the weapons of men excel those of women, and give way for my achievement. Though the daughter of Latona herself should protect him by her own arms, still, in spite of Diana, shall my right hand destroy him.” Such words did he boastingly utter with self-confident lips; and lifting his double-edged axe with both hands, he stood erect upon tiptoe. The beast seized him thus bold, and, where there is the nearest way to death, directed his two tusks to the upper part of his groin. Ancæus fell; and his bowels, twisted, rush forth, falling with plenteous blood, and the earth was soaked with gore. Pirithoüs, the son of Ixion, was advancing straight against the enemy, shaking his spear in his powerful right hand. To him the son of Ægeus, at a distance, said, “O thou, dearer to me than myself; stop, thou better part of my soul; we may be valiant at a distance: his rash courage was the destruction of Ancæus.” Thus he spoke, and he hurled his lance of cornel wood, heavy with its brazen point; which, well poised, and likely to fulfil his desires, a leafy branch of a beech-tree opposed.

He is said to have noticed it first and pointed out the blood to his companions. He said, “You shall receive due honor for your bravery.” The heroes blush in rivalry. They encourage one another, raise their spirits with shouts, and throw their weapons wildly. Their very numbers get in the way of the weapons they throw, spoiling their aim. Then the Arcadian,⁷⁴⁶ wielding his battle-axe, rushed madly toward his fate. He said, “Young men, learn how much better men’s weapons are than women’s, and make way for my feat. Even if the daughter of Latona herself protects him with her own weapons, my right hand will destroy him, despite Diana.” He spoke these boastful words with confidence. Then he raised his double-edged axe with both hands and stood on tiptoe. The beast seized him as he stood there so boldly. It drove both tusks into his upper groin, where they could most quickly kill him. Ancæus fell, and his twisted bowels spilled out with a great gush of blood. The earth was soaked with gore. Pirithoüs, the son of Ixion, advanced straight toward the enemy, shaking his spear in his powerful right hand. From a distance, the son of Ægeus called to him, “You are dearer to me than I am to myself. Stop, you who are the better part of my soul. We can fight bravely from a distance. Rash courage destroyed Ancæus.” With these words, he hurled his cornel-wood lance, heavy with its bronze point. It was well aimed and seemed sure to strike as he intended, but a leafy branch of a beech tree blocked it.

The son of Æson, too, hurled his javelin, which unlucky chance turned away from the beast, to the destruction of an unoffending dog, and running through his entrails, it was pinned through those entrails into the earth. But the hand of the son of Œneus has different success; and of two discharged by him, the first spear is fastened in the earth, the second in the middle of his back. There is no delay; while he rages, while he is wheeling his body round, and pouring forth foam, hissing with the fresh blood, the giver of the wound comes up, and provokes his adversary to fury, and buries his shining hunting spear in his opposite shoulder. His companions attest their delight in an encouraging shout, and in their right hands endeavour to grasp the conquering right hand; and with wonder they behold the huge beast as he lies upon a large space of ground, and they do not deem it safe as yet to touch him; but yet they, each of them, stain their weapons with his blood. Jason himself, placing his foot upon it, presses his frightful head, and thus he says: “Receive, Nonacrian Nymph, the spoil that is my right; and let my glory be shared by thee.” Immediately he gives her the skin as the spoil, thick with the stiffening bristles, and the head remarkable for the huge tusks. The giver of the present, as well as the present, is a source of pleasure to her. The others envy her, and there is a murmuring throughout the whole company. Of these, stretching out their arms, with a loud voice, the sons of Thestius cry out, “Come, lay them down, and do not thou, a woman, interfere with our honours; let not thy confidence in thy beauty deceive thee, and let the donor, seized with this passion for thee, keep at a distance.” And then from her they take the present, and from him the right of disposing of the present.

The son of Æson also hurled his javelin, but bad luck turned it away from the beast. Instead, it killed an innocent dog, piercing its entrails and pinning them to the ground. But the son of Œneus had different luck. He threw two spears. The first stuck in the ground, and the second struck the middle of the beast's back. He did not hesitate. As the beast raged and turned, spewing foam that hissed with fresh blood, the man who had wounded him came forward. He drove his foe into a fury and buried his shining hunting spear in the beast's opposite shoulder. His companions cheered with delight and tried to grasp his victorious right hand with theirs. They gazed in wonder at the huge beast, sprawled across a wide stretch of ground. They still did not think it safe to touch him, but each stained his weapon with the beast's blood. Jason himself put his foot on the beast's frightening head and pressed it down. Then he said, “Nonacrian Nymph, accept the prize that is mine by right, and share my glory.” He immediately gave her the hide, thick with stiff bristles, and the head with its enormous tusks. The giver pleased her as much as the gift. The others envied her, and murmurs spread through the whole company. Among them, the sons of Thestius stretched out their arms and shouted, “Come, put them down. You are a woman, so do not interfere with our honors. Do not let confidence in your beauty deceive you. And let the man who gave you the gift, overcome with passion for you, keep his distance.” Then they took the gift from her and the right to give it from him.

The warlike⁷⁴⁷ prince did not brook it, and, indignant with swelling rage, he said, “Learn, ye spoilers of the honour that belongs to another, how much deeds differ from threats;” and, with his cruel sword, he pierced the breast of Plexippus, dreading no such thing. Nor suffered he Toxeus, who was doubtful what to do, and both wishful to avenge his brother, and fearing his brother’s fate, long to be in doubt; but a second time warmed his weapon, reeking with the former slaughter, in the blood of the brother.

The warlike⁷⁴⁷ prince could not bear it. Swelling with rage, he said, “You who steal the honor that belongs to another, learn how much deeds differ from threats.” Then he plunged his cruel sword into the breast of Plexippus, who expected nothing of the kind. Toxeus was unsure what to do. He wanted to avenge his brother, but feared sharing his fate. The prince did not let him remain uncertain for long. He warmed his weapon a second time in the brother’s blood, while it still dripped from the first killing.

Althæa was carrying gifts to the temples of the Gods, her son being victorious, when she beheld her slain brothers carried off from the field: uttering a shriek, she filled the city with her sad lamentations, and assumed black garments in exchange for her golden ones. But soon as the author of their death was made known, all grief vanished; and from tears it was turned to a thirst for vengeance. There was a billet, which, when the daughter of Thestius was lying in labour with her son, the three Sisters, the Fates, placed in the flames, and spinning the fatal threads, with their thumbs pressed upon them, they said, “We give to thee, O new-born babe, and to this wood, the same period of existence.” Having uttered this charm, the Goddesses departed; and the mother snatched the flaming brand from the fire, and sprinkled it with flowing water. Long had it been concealed in her most retired apartment; and being thus preserved, had preserved, O youth, thy life. This billet the mother now brings forth, and orders torches to be heaped on broken pieces of wood; and when heaped, applies to them the hostile flames. Then four times essaying to lay the branch upon the flames, four times does she pause in the attempt. Both the mother and the sister struggle hard, and the two different titles influence her breast in different ways. Often is her countenance pale with apprehension of the impending crime; often does rage, glowing in her eyes, produce its red colour. And one while is her countenance like that of one making some cruel threat or other; at another moment, such as you could suppose to be full of compassion. And when the fierce heat of her feelings has dried up her tears, still are tears found to flow. Just as the ship, which the wind and a tide running contrary to the wind, seize, is sensible of the double assault, and unsteadily obeys them both; no otherwise does the daughter of Thestius fluctuate between two varying affections, and in turn lays by her anger, and rouses it again, when thus laid by. Still, the sister begins to get the better of the parent; and that, with blood she may appease the shades of her relations, in her unnatural conduct she proves affectionate.

Althæa was carrying gifts to the temples of the Gods to celebrate her son's victory. Then she saw her slain brothers being carried away from the battlefield. She shrieked, filling the city with her grief, and exchanged her golden clothes for black ones. But as soon as she learned who had killed them, all her grief vanished. Her tears gave way to a thirst for revenge. When the daughter of Thestius was giving birth to her son, the three Sisters, the Fates, had placed a log in the fire. As they spun the threads of fate, pressing them with their thumbs, they said, “We give you, O newborn child, and this wood the same span of life.” After speaking this charm, the Goddesses departed. And the mother snatched the burning log from the fire and sprinkled it with water. She had long kept it hidden in her most private room. By keeping it safe, she had kept you alive, O youth. The mother now brings out the log and orders torches to be piled on broken pieces of wood. When they have been piled up, she sets them alight with vengeful flames. Four times she tries to lay the log on the fire. Four times she stops herself. The mother and the sister struggle fiercely within her. Each claim on her heart pulls her in a different direction. Often her face turns pale at the thought of the crime she is about to commit. Often rage blazes in her eyes and brings color to her face. At one moment, she looks as though she is making some cruel threat. At another, she seems full of compassion. Even when the fierce heat of her feelings has dried her tears, they begin to flow again. A ship caught between the wind and a tide running against it feels the force of both. It moves unsteadily under their opposing blows. Just so, the daughter of Thestius sways between two conflicting feelings. She puts aside her anger, then rouses it again after laying it to rest. Yet the sister begins to overcome the mother. To appease the shades of her relatives with blood, she shows her love through an unnatural act.

For after the pernicious flames gained strength, she said, “Let this funeral pile consume my entrails.” And as she was holding the fatal billet in her ruthless hand, she stood, in her wretchedness, before the sepulchral altars,⁷⁴⁸ and said, “Ye Eumenides,⁷⁴⁹ the three Goddesses of punishment, turn your faces towards these baleful rites; I am both avenging and am committing a crime. With death must death be expiated; crime must be added to crime, funeral to funeral; by accumulated calamities, let this unnatural race perish. Shall Œneus, in happiness, be blessed in his victorious son; and shall Thestius be childless? It is better that you both should mourn. Only do ye, ghosts of my brothers, phantoms newly made, regard this my act of affection, and receive this funeral offering,⁷⁵⁰ provided at a cost so great, the guilty pledge of my womb. Ah, wretched me! Whither am I hurried away? Pardon, my brothers, the feelings of a mother. My hands fail me in my purpose, I confess that he deserves to die; but the author of his death is repugnant to me. Shall he then go unpunished? Alive and victorious, and flushed with his success, shall he possess the realms of Calydon? And shall you lie, a little heap of ashes, and as lifeless phantoms? For my part, I will not endure this. Let the guilty wretch perish, and let him carry along with him the hopes of his father,⁷⁵¹ and the ruin of his kingdom and country. But where are the feelings of a mother, where are the affectionate ties of the parent? Where, too, are the pangs which for twice five months⁷⁵² I have endured? Oh, that thou hadst been burnt, when an infant, in that first fire! And would that I had allowed it! By my aid hast thou lived; now, for thy own deserts, shalt thou die. Take the reward of thy deeds; and return to me that life which was twice given thee, first at thy birth, next when the billet was rescued; or else place me as well in the tomb of my brothers. I both desire to do it, and I am unable. What shall I do? one while the wounds of my brothers are before my eyes, and the form of a murder so dreadful; at another time, affection and the name of mother break my resolution. Wretch that I am! To my sorrow, brothers, will you prevail; but still prevail; so long as I myself shall follow the appeasing sacrifice that I shall give you, and you yourselves;” she thus said, and turning herself away, with trembling right hand she threw the fatal brand into the midst of the flames.

After the deadly flames grew stronger, she said, “Let this funeral pyre consume my own flesh and blood.” Holding the fatal log in her merciless hand, she stood in misery before the funeral altars.⁷⁴⁸ She said, “You Eumenides,⁷⁴⁹ three goddesses of punishment, turn your faces toward these terrible rites. I am both avenging a crime and committing one. Death must be paid for with death. Crime must be added to crime, and funeral to funeral. Let this unnatural family perish under the weight of its disasters. Shall Œneus be happy and blessed with his victorious son, while Thestius is childless? It is better that you both mourn. Ghosts of my brothers, newly made spirits, look upon this act of love. Accept this funeral offering,⁷⁵⁰ bought at so great a cost, the guilty child of my womb. “Ah, poor me! Where am I being driven? Forgive a mother’s feelings, my brothers. My hands fail me. I admit that he deserves to die, but I cannot bear to be the one who kills him. Shall he then go unpunished? Shall he live, victorious and proud of his success, and rule Calydon? And shall you lie there, a small heap of ashes and lifeless spirits? I will not endure it. Let the guilty wretch die, and let his father’s hopes die with him.⁷⁵¹ Let him bring ruin to his kingdom and country. But where are a mother’s feelings? Where is a parent’s love? Where, too, are the pains I endured for ten months?⁷⁵² If only you had burned in that first fire, when you were a baby! If only I had allowed it! You lived because I saved you. Now you shall die for what you have done. Take the reward for your deeds, and give me back the life I gave you twice. I gave it first at your birth, then when I saved the log. Or else put me in my brothers’ tomb as well. “I both want to do it and cannot. What shall I do? At one moment, I see my brothers’ wounds and the horror of their murder. At another, love and the name of mother weaken my resolve. Wretched woman that I am! To my sorrow, my brothers, you will win. But win you shall, as long as I follow you and the sacrifice I offer to appease you.” With these words, she turned away and threw the fatal log into the flames with a trembling right hand.

That billet either utters, or seems to utter, a groan, and, caught by the reluctant flames, it is consumed. Unsuspecting, and at a distance, Meleager is burned by that flame, and feels his entrails scorched by the secret fires; but with fortitude he supports the mighty pain. Still, he grieves that he dies by an inglorious death, and without shedding his blood, and says that the wounds of Ancæus were a happy lot. And while, with a sigh, he calls upon his aged father, and his brother, and his affectionate sisters, and with his last words the companion of his bed,⁷⁵³ perhaps, too, his mother as well; the fire and his torments increase; and then again do they diminish. Both of them are extinguished together, and by degrees his spirit vanishes into the light air.

The log gives a groan, or seems to, and is consumed by the reluctant flames. Far away and unsuspecting, Meleager burns in that flame and feels his insides scorched by its hidden fire. But he bears the terrible pain bravely. Still, he mourns his inglorious death, dying without shedding his blood. He says that Ancæus was fortunate to die of his wounds. With a sigh, he calls on his elderly father, his brother, and his loving sisters. With his last words, he calls on his wife,⁷⁵³ and perhaps his mother as well. Meanwhile, the fire and his suffering grow stronger, then fade again. Both go out together, and his spirit gradually vanishes into the open air.

Lofty Calydon now lies prostrate. Young and old mourn, both people and nobles lament; and the Calydonian matrons of Evenus,⁷⁵⁴ tearing their hair, bewail him. Lying along upon the ground, his father pollutes his white hair and his aged features with dust, and chides his prolonged existence. But her own hand, conscious to itself of the ruthless deed, exacted punishment of the mother, the sword piercing her entrails.⁷⁵⁵ If a God had given me a mouth sounding with a hundred tongues, and an enlarged genius, and the whole of Helicon besides; still I could not enumerate the mournful expressions of his unhappy sisters. Regardless of shame, they beat their livid bosoms, and while the body still exists, they embrace it, and embrace it again; they give kisses to it, and they give kisses to the bier there set. After he is reduced to ashes, they pour them, when gathered up, to their breasts; and they lie prostrate around the tomb, and kissing his name cut out in the stone, they pour their tears upon his name. Them, the daughter of Latona, at length satiated with the calamities of the house of Parthaon,⁷⁵⁶ bears aloft on wings springing from their bodies, except Gorge,⁷⁵⁷ and the daughter-in-law of noble Alcmena; and she stretches long wings over their arms, and makes their mouths horny, and sends them, thus transformed, through the air.

Proud Calydon now lies stricken. Young and old mourn, and both common people and nobles grieve. The Calydonian women of Evenus⁷⁵⁴ tear their hair and mourn him. His father lies stretched on the ground, covering his white hair and aged face with dust. He curses his long life. But his mother, knowing her own hand had committed the ruthless deed, punished herself with a sword through her body.⁷⁵⁵ If a God had given me a mouth with a hundred tongues, a greater genius, and all of Helicon besides, still I could not list all the cries of his grieving sisters. Without shame, they beat their bruised breasts. While the body still exists, they embrace it again and again. They kiss it, and they kiss the bier placed there. After he is reduced to ashes, they gather them and pour them over their breasts. They lie around the tomb and kiss his name carved in the stone. They pour their tears over his name. At last, the daughter of Latona has had her fill of the suffering of the house of Parthaon.⁷⁵⁶ She raises the sisters on wings that grow from their bodies, except for Gorge⁷⁵⁷ and noble Alcmena’s daughter-in-law. She stretches long wings over their arms, turns their mouths into hard beaks, and sends them, thus transformed, through the air.

Theseus, returning from the chase of the Calydonian boar, is stopped by an inundation of the river Acheloüs, and accepts of an invitation from the God of that river, to come to his grotto. After the repast, Acheloüs gives him the history of the five Naiads, who had been changed into the islands called Echinades, and an account of his own amour with the Nymph Perimele, whom, being thrown by her father into the sea, Neptune had transformed into an island.

Returning from the hunt for the Calydonian boar, Theseus is stopped by the flooded river Acheloüs. He accepts an invitation from the river god to visit his grotto. After the meal, Acheloüs tells him the story of the five Naiads, who were changed into the islands called Echinades. He also tells him about his love affair with the Nymph Perimele. Her father threw her into the sea, and Neptune transformed her into an island.

In the meantime, Theseus having performed his part in the joint labour, was going to the Erecthean towers of Tritonis. But Acheloüs, swollen with rains, opposed his journey,⁷⁵⁸ and caused him delay as he was going. “Come,” said he, “famous Cecropian, beneath my roof; and do not trust thyself to the rapid floods. They are wont to bear away strong beams, and to roll down stones, as they lie across, with immense roaring. I have seen high folds, contiguous to my banks, swept away, together with the flocks; nor was it of any avail there for the herd to be strong, nor for the horses to be swift. Many bodies, too, of young men has this torrent overwhelmed in its whirling eddies, when the snows of the mountains dissolved. Rest is the safer for thee; until the river runs within its usual bounds, until its own channel receives the flowing waters.”

Meanwhile, Theseus had finished his part in the joint labor and was heading for the Erecthean towers of Tritonis. But Acheloüs, swollen by rain, blocked his journey⁷⁵⁸ and delayed him. “Come under my roof, famous Cecropian,” he said, “and do not risk crossing the swift floods. They often carry away strong beams and roll stones downstream with a tremendous roar. I have seen high sheepfolds beside my banks swept away, along with their flocks. Strength did not save the cattle, and speed did not save the horses. When the mountain snows melted, this torrent also drowned many young men in its swirling currents. It is safer for you to rest until the river returns to its usual bounds and its channel holds the flowing waters again.”

To this the son of Ægeus agreed; and replied, “I will make use of thy dwelling and of thy advice, Acheloüs;” and both he did make use of. He entered an abode built of pumice stone with its many holes, and the sand-stone far from smooth. The floor was moist with soft moss, shells with alternate rows of murex arched the roof. And now, Hyperion having measured out two parts of the light, Theseus and the companions of his labours lay down upon couches; on the one side the son of Ixion,⁷⁵⁹ on the other, Lelex, the hero of Trœzen, having his temples now covered with thin grey hairs; and some others whom the river of the Acarnanians, overjoyed with a guest so great, had graced with the like honour. Immediately, some Nymphs, barefoot, furnished with the banquet the tables that were set before them; and the dainties being removed, they served up wine in bowls adorned with gems. Then the mighty hero, surveying the seas that lay beneath his eyes, said, “What place is this?” and he pointed with his finger; “and inform me what name that island bears; although it does not seem to be one only?” In answer to these words, the River said, “It is not, indeed, one object that we see; five countries lie there; they deceive through their distance. And that thou mayst be the less surprised at the deeds of the despised Diana, these were Naiads; who, when they had slain twice five bullocks, and had invited the Gods of the country to a sacrifice, kept a joyous festival, regardless of me. At this I swelled, and I was as great as I ever am, in my course, when I am the fullest; and, redoubled both in rage and in flood, I tore away woods from woods, and fields from fields; and together with the spot, I hurled the Nymphs⁷⁶⁰ into the sea, who then, at last, were mindful of me. My waves and those of the main divided the land, before continuous, and separated it into as many parts, as thou seest islands, called Echinades, in the midst of the waves.

The son of Ægeus agreed to this and replied, “I will accept your shelter and your advice, Acheloüs.” And he did both. He entered a dwelling built of porous pumice and rough sandstone. Soft moss covered the damp floor. Shells and rows of murex alternated across the arched roof. By now, Hyperion had measured out two parts of the daylight. Theseus and the companions of his labours lay down on couches. On one side was the son of Ixion,⁷⁵⁹ and on the other was Lelex, the hero of Trœzen. Lelex’s temples were now covered with thin grey hair. Others were there too. The river of the Acarnanians, overjoyed to receive such a great guest, had honoured them in the same way. Barefoot Nymphs at once brought food to the tables set before them. When the delicacies had been cleared away, they served wine in bowls decorated with gems. Then the mighty hero looked out over the sea below. He pointed and said, “What place is this? Tell me the name of that island, though it does not seem to be just one island.” The River answered, “It is indeed more than one. Five lands lie there, though their distance deceives the eye. Let me tell you about them, so that you may be less surprised by the deeds of Diana when she was slighted. They were Naiads. They killed ten bullocks and invited the local Gods to a sacrifice. They held a joyful festival but paid no attention to me. At this I swelled as high as I ever do when my waters are fullest. My rage and my flood both grew. I tore woods from woods and fields from fields. I swept the Nymphs⁷⁶⁰ into the sea along with the land they stood on. Only then did they finally remember me. My waves and those of the sea divided the land, which had once been joined together. They split it into as many parts as the islands called Echinades that you see among the waves.

“But yet, as thou thyself seest from afar, one island, see! was withdrawn far off from the rest, an island pleasing to me. The mariner calls it Perimele.⁷⁶¹ This beloved Nymph did I deprive of the name of a virgin. This her father, Hippodamas, took amiss, and pushed the body of his daughter, when about to bring forth, from a rock, into the sea. I received her; and bearing her up when swimming, I said, ‘O thou bearer of the Trident, who hast obtained, by lot, next in rank to the heavens, the realms of the flowing waters, in which we sacred rivers end, and to which we run; come hither, Neptune, and graciously listen to me, as I pray. Her, whom I am bearing up, I have injured. If her father, Hippodamas, had been mild and reasonable, or if he had been less unnatural, he ought to have pitied her, and to have forgiven me. Give thy assistance; and grant a place, Neptune, I beseech thee, to her, plunged in the waters by the cruelty of her father; or allow her to become a place herself. Her, even, thus will I embrace.’ The King of the ocean moved his head, and shook all the waters with his assent. The Nymph was afraid; but yet she swam. Her breast, as she was swimming, I myself touched, as it throbbed with a tremulous motion; and while I felt it, I perceived her whole body grow hard, and her breast become covered with earth growing over it. While I was speaking, fresh earth enclosed her floating limbs, and a heavy island grew upon her changed members.”

“But as you can see from afar, one island lies far apart from the others. It is an island dear to me. Sailors call it Perimele.⁷⁶¹ I took this beloved Nymph’s virginity. Her father, Hippodamas, was angry and pushed his daughter from a cliff into the sea as she was about to give birth. I caught her and held her up as she swam. Then I said, ‘O bearer of the Trident, you received the realm of flowing waters by lot. Your realm is second only to the heavens. We sacred rivers flow toward it and end there. Come, Neptune, and hear my prayer with favor. I have wronged the woman I am holding up. If her father, Hippodamas, had been gentle and reasonable, or less cruel, he should have pitied her and forgiven me. Help her, Neptune, I beg you. Give her a place, though her father’s cruelty has plunged her into the water. Or let her become a place herself. Even then I will embrace her.’ “The King of the ocean nodded and shook all the waters in agreement. The Nymph was afraid, but she kept swimming. As she swam, I touched her breast and felt it trembling. Then I felt her whole body grow hard, and earth began to cover her breast. While I was speaking, fresh earth enclosed her floating limbs, and a heavy island grew over her changed body.”

Jupiter and Mercury, disguised in human shape, are received by Philemon and Baucis, after having been refused admittance by their neighbours. The Gods, in acknowledgment of their hospitality, transform their cottage into a temple, of which, at their own request, they are made the priest and priestess; and, after a long life, the worthy couple are changed into trees. The village where they live is laid under water, on account of the impiety of the inhabitants, and is turned into a lake. Acheloüs here relates the surprising changes of Proteus.

Jupiter and Mercury disguise themselves as humans. Their neighbors refuse to take them in, but Philemon and Baucis welcome them. To reward their hospitality, the gods turn the couple’s cottage into a temple. At their own request, Philemon and Baucis become its priest and priestess. After a long life, the worthy couple are turned into trees. Because the inhabitants of their village are impious, the village is flooded and turned into a lake. Here, Acheloüs tells of the surprising changes of Proteus.

After these things the river was silent. The wondrous deed had astonished them all. The son of Ixion laughed at them,⁷⁶² believing the story; and as he was a despiser of the Gods, and of a haughty disposition, he said, “Acheloüs, thou dost relate a fiction, and dost deem the Gods more powerful than they are, if they both give and take away the form of things.” At this all were amazed, and did not approve of such language; and before all, Lelex, ripe in understanding and age, spoke thus: “The power of heaven is immense, and has no limits; and whatever the Gods above will, ’tis done.

After this, the river fell silent. The wondrous deed had amazed them all. The son of Ixion laughed at them,⁷⁶² though he believed the story. He despised the Gods and was proud, so he said, “Acheloüs, you are telling a tale. You think the Gods are more powerful than they are if you believe they can give things their forms and take those forms away.” At this, everyone was astonished and disapproved of his words. Lelex, wise with age, was the first to speak: “The power of heaven is immense and has no limits. Whatever the Gods above wish, comes to pass.

“And that thou mayst the less doubt of this, there is upon the Phrygian hills, an oak near to the lime tree, enclosed by a low wall.⁷⁶³ I, myself, have seen the spot; for Pittheus sent me into the land of Pelops, once governed by his father, Pelops. Not far thence is a standing water, formerly habitable ground, but now frequented by cormorants and coots, that delight in fens. Jupiter came hither in the shape of a man, and together with his parent, the grandson of Atlas, Mercury, the bearer of the Caduceus, having laid aside his wings. To a thousand houses did they go, asking for lodging and for rest. A thousand houses did the bolts fasten against them. Yet one received them, a small one indeed, thatched with straw,⁷⁶⁴ and the reeds of the marsh. But a pious old woman named Baucis, and Philemon of a like age, were united in their youthful years in that cottage, and in it, they grew old together; and by owning their poverty, they rendered it light, and not to be endured with discontented mind. It matters not, whether you ask for the masters there, or for the servants; the whole family are but two; the same persons both obey and command. When, therefore, the inhabitants of heaven reached this little abode, and, bending their necks, entered the humble door, the old man bade them rest their limbs on a bench set there; upon which the attentive Baucis threw a coarse cloth. Then she moves the warm embers on the hearth, and stirs up the fire they had had the day before, and supplies it with leaves and dry bark, and with her aged breath kindles it into a flame; and brings out of the house faggots split into many pieces, and dry bits of branches, and breaks them, and puts them beneath a small boiler. Some pot-herbs, too, which her husband has gathered in the well-watered garden, she strips of their leaves.

“And so that you may have less doubt of this, there is an oak beside a lime tree in the Phrygian hills. A low wall surrounds them.⁷⁶³ I have seen the spot myself. Pittheus sent me to the land of Pelops, once ruled by his father, Pelops. Not far from there is a pool of still water. The land was once fit for people to live on, but now cormorants and coots, which love marshes, gather there. Jupiter came there in the shape of a man. With him came his son, the grandson of Atlas, Mercury, bearer of the Caduceus. Mercury had laid aside his wings. They went to a thousand houses, asking for a place to stay and rest. A thousand houses barred their doors against them. Yet one house welcomed them. It was a small cottage, thatched with straw⁷⁶⁴ and marsh reeds. A pious old woman named Baucis and Philemon, who was the same age, had married in that cottage when they were young. There they grew old together. By accepting their poverty, they made it easier to bear and did not resent it. It makes no difference whether you ask for the masters or the servants there. The whole household consists of just two people. The same people give orders and obey them. When the gods reached the little cottage, they bent their heads to enter its low doorway. The old man invited them to rest on a bench, and the attentive Baucis spread a coarse cloth over it. Then she stirred the warm embers on the hearth and revived the previous day’s fire. She fed it with leaves and dry bark and blew on it with her aged breath until it flamed. She brought out bundles of split wood and dry twigs, broke them up, and put them under a small pot. She also stripped the leaves from some herbs her husband had gathered in their well-watered garden.

“With a two-pronged fork Philemon lifts down⁷⁶⁵ a rusty side of bacon, that hangs from a black beam; and cuts off a small portion from the chine that has been kept so long; and when cut, softens it in boiling water. In the meantime, with discourse they beguile the intervening hours; and suffer not the length of time to be perceived. There is a beechen trough there, that hangs on a peg by its crooked handle; this is filled with warm water, and receives their limbs to refresh them. On the middle of the couch, its feet and frame⁷⁶⁶ being made of willow, is placed a cushion of soft sedge. This they cover with cloths, which they have not been accustomed to place there but on festive occasions; but even these cloths are coarse and old, though not unfitting for a couch of willow. The Gods seat themselves. The old woman, wearing an apron, and shaking with palsy, sets the table before them. But the third leg of the table is too short; a potsherd, placed beneath, makes it equal. After this, being placed beneath, has taken away the inequality, green mint rubs down the table thus made level. Here are set the double-tinted berries⁷⁶⁷ of the chaste Minerva, and cornel-berries, gathered in autumn, and preserved in a thin pickle; endive, too, and radishes, and a large piece of curdled milk, and eggs, that have been gently turned in the slow embers; all served in earthenware. After this, an embossed goblet of similar clay is placed there; cups, too, made of beech wood, varnished, where they are hollowed out, with yellow wax.

“With a two-pronged fork, Philemon takes down⁷⁶⁵ a rusty side of bacon hanging from a black beam. He cuts a small piece from the long-kept loin and softens it in boiling water. Meanwhile, they pass the time in conversation, so that the hours do not seem long. A beechwood trough hangs nearby by its curved handle on a peg. They fill it with warm water so their guests can refresh their limbs. In the middle of the couch is a cushion of soft sedge. The couch has a willow frame and legs⁷⁶⁶. They cover the cushion with cloths they usually bring out only on festive occasions. But even these cloths are coarse and old, though they are fitting enough for a willow couch. The Gods sit down. The old woman, wearing an apron and shaking with palsy, sets the table before them. But the table’s third leg is too short. A piece of broken pottery placed underneath makes it level. Once the table is steady, she rubs it down with green mint. They set out the two-colored berries⁷⁶⁷ of chaste Minerva, and cornel-berries gathered in autumn and preserved in a thin pickle. There are also endive, radishes, a large piece of curdled milk, and eggs gently turned in the low embers. All are served in earthenware. Then they set out an embossed goblet of the same clay, and beechwood cups coated inside with yellow wax.

“There is now a short pause;⁷⁶⁸ the fire then sends up the warm repast; and wine kept no long time, is again put on; and then, set aside for a little time, it gives place to the second course. Here are nuts, and here are dried figs mixed with wrinkled dates, plums too, and fragrant apples in wide baskets, and grapes gathered from the purple vines. In the middle there is white honey-comb. Above all, there are welcome looks, and no indifferent and niggardly feelings. In the meanwhile, as oft as Baucis and the alarmed Philemon behold the goblet, when drunk off, replenish itself of its own accord, and the wine increase of itself, astonished at this singular event, they are frightened, and, with hands held up, they offer their prayers, and entreat pardon for their entertainment, and their want of preparation. There was a single goose, the guardian of their little cottage, which its owners were preparing to kill for the Deities, their guests. Swift with its wings, it wearied them, rendered slow by age, and it escaped them a long time, and at length seemed to fly for safety to the Gods themselves. The immortals forbade it⁷⁶⁹ to be killed, and said, ‘We are Divinities, and this impious neighbourhood shall suffer deserved punishment. To you it will be allowed to be free from this calamity; only leave your habitation, and attend our steps, and go together to the summit of the mountain.’

“There is now a short pause.⁷⁶⁸ Then the fire brings forth the hot meal. Wine that has not been kept long is served again. Then, after a little while, it is set aside for the second course. There are nuts and dried figs mixed with wrinkled dates. There are also plums and fragrant apples in wide baskets, and grapes gathered from the purple vines. In the middle is white honeycomb. Above all, there are welcoming looks, and no lack of warmth or generosity. Meanwhile, whenever Baucis and the frightened Philemon see the empty goblet refill itself, and the wine increase on its own, they are astonished and afraid. They raise their hands in prayer and beg forgiveness for their meal and their lack of preparation. They have one goose, the guardian of their little cottage, which they prepare to kill for their guests, the Deities. The goose is swift on its wings and tires them, slowed as they are by age. It escapes them for a long time and at last seems to flee to the Gods themselves for safety. The immortals forbid the goose⁷⁶⁹ to be killed and say, ‘We are Divinities, and this wicked neighborhood will suffer the punishment it deserves. You will be spared this disaster. Only leave your home, follow us, and go with us to the mountain’s summit.’

“They both obeyed; and, supported by staffs, they endeavoured to place their feet on the top of the high hill. They were now as far from the top, as an arrow discharged can go at once, when they turned their eyes, and beheld the other parts sinking in a morass, and their own abode alone remaining. While they were wondering at these things, and while they were bewailing the fate of their fellow countrymen, that old cottage of theirs, too little for even two owners, was changed into a temple. Columns took the place of forked stakes, the thatch grew yellow, and the earth was covered with marble; the doors appeared carved, and the roof to be of gold. Then, the son of Saturn uttered such words as these with benign lips: ‘Tell us, good old man, and thou, wife, worthy of a husband so good, what it is you desire?’ Having spoken a few words to Baucis, Philemon discovered their joint request to the Gods: ‘We desire to be your priests, and to have the care of your temple; and, since we have passed our years in harmony, let the same hour take us off both together; and let me not ever see the tomb of my wife, nor let me be destined to be buried by her.’ Fulfilment attended their wishes. So long as life was granted, they were the keepers of the temple; and when, enervated by years and old age, they were standing, by chance, before the sacred steps, and were relating the fortunes of the spot, Baucis beheld Philemon, and the aged Philemon saw Baucis, too, shooting into leaf. And now the tops of the trees growing above their two faces, so long as they could they exchanged words with each other, and said together, ‘Farewell! my spouse;’ and at the same moment the branches covered their concealed faces. The inhabitants of Tyana⁷⁷⁰ still shew these adjoining trees, made of their two bodies. Old men, no romancers, (and there was no reason why they should wish to deceive me) told me this. I, indeed, saw garlands hanging on the branches, and placing there some fresh ones myself, I said, ‘The good are the peculiar care of the Gods, and those who worshipped the Gods, are now worshipped themselves.’”

“They both obeyed and, leaning on their staffs, tried to reach the top of the high hill. They were now only an arrow’s flight from the top when they looked around. They saw that the rest of the land was sinking into a swamp, and only their own home remained. They marveled at this sight and mourned the fate of their fellow countrymen. Then that old cottage of theirs, too small for even two people, changed into a temple. Columns replaced the forked stakes, the thatch turned yellow, and marble covered the ground. The doors appeared carved, and the roof seemed to be made of gold. Then the son of Saturn spoke kindly: ‘Tell us, good old man, and you, wife, worthy of a husband so good, what do you desire?’ Philemon spoke briefly with Baucis and then told the Gods what they both wished: ‘We wish to be your priests and care for your temple. And, since we have spent our years in harmony, let us both die at the same hour. Let me never see my wife’s tomb or have her bury me.’ Their wishes were granted. As long as they lived, they cared for the temple. At last, weakened by their many years, they happened to stand before the sacred steps, telling the story of the place. Baucis saw Philemon beginning to grow leaves, and the aged Philemon saw Baucis doing the same. As the treetops grew above their faces, they spoke to each other for as long as they could. Together they said, ‘Farewell! My spouse.’ At that same moment, branches covered and hid their faces. The inhabitants of Tyana⁷⁷⁰ still show visitors these two adjoining trees, formed from their bodies. Old men told me this story. They were not storytellers, and they had no reason to deceive me. I myself saw garlands hanging on the branches. I placed some fresh ones there myself and said, ‘The good are especially cared for by the Gods, and those who worshipped the Gods are now worshipped themselves.’”

He had now ceased; and the thing itself and the relator of it had astonished them all; and especially Theseus, whom, desiring to hear of the wonderful actions of the Gods, the Calydonian river leaning on his elbow, addressed in words such as these: “There are, O most valiant hero, some things, whose form has been once changed, and then has continued under that change. There are some whose privilege it is to pass into many shapes, as thou, Proteus, inhabitant of the sea that embraces the earth. For people have seen thee one while a young man, and again a lion; at one time thou wast a furious boar, at another a serpent, which they dreaded to touch; and sometimes, horns rendered thee a bull. Ofttimes thou mightst be seen as a stone; often, too, as a tree. Sometimes imitating the appearance of flowing water, thou wast a river; sometimes fire, the very contrary of water.”

He had now finished. Both the story itself and the teller of it had astonished them all, and especially Theseus. Theseus wanted to hear about the wonderful deeds of the gods. So the Calydonian river, leaning on his elbow, addressed him in words like these: “O most valiant hero, some things change form once and then remain in that form. Others can take many shapes, like you, Proteus, who live in the sea that surrounds the earth. People have seen you as a young man and then as a lion. At one time you were a fierce boar, and at another a serpent they feared to touch. And sometimes you grew horns and became a bull. Often you could be seen as a stone, and often as a tree. Sometimes you took the form of flowing water and became a river. Sometimes you became fire, the very opposite of water.”

Acheloüs continues his narrative with the story of Metra, the daughter of Erisicthon, who is attacked with insatiable hunger, for having cut down an oak, in one of the groves of Ceres. Metra begs of Neptune, who was formerly in love with her, the power of transforming herself into different shapes; that she may be enabled, if possible, to satisfy the voracious appetite of her father. By these means, Erisicthon, being obliged to expose her for sale, in order to purchase himself food, always recovers her again; until, by his repeated sale of her, the fraud is discovered. He at last becomes the avenger of his own impiety, by devouring his own limbs.

Acheloüs continues his story with the tale of Metra, the daughter of Erisicthon. Erisicthon is struck with insatiable hunger because he cut down an oak in one of Ceres’s groves. Metra begs Neptune, who once loved her, to give her the power to take different shapes. She hopes this will enable her to satisfy her father’s voracious appetite. Erisicthon is forced to sell her to buy food for himself, but her power allows him to get her back each time. Eventually, his repeated sales of Metra expose the fraud. In the end, he punishes his own impiety by devouring his own limbs.

“Nor has the wife of Autolycus,⁷⁷¹ the daughter of Erisicthon, less privileges than he. Her father was one who despised the majesty of the Gods; and he offered them no honours on their altars. He is likewise said to have profaned with an axe a grove of Ceres, and to have violated her ancient woods with the iron. In these there was standing an oak with an ancient trunk, a wood in itself alone, fillets and tablets, as memorials,⁷⁷² and garlands, proofs of wishes that had been granted, surrounded the middle of it. Often, beneath this tree, did the Dryads lead up the festive dance; often, too, with hands joined in order, did they go round the compass of its trunk; and the girth of the oak made up three times five ells. The rest of the wood, too, lay as much under this oak as the grass lay beneath the whole of the wood. Yet not on that account even did the son of Triopas⁷⁷³ withhold the axe from it; and he ordered his servants to cut down the sacred oak; and when he saw them hesitate, thus ordered, the wicked wretch, snatching from one of them an axe, uttered these words: ‘Were it not only beloved by a Goddess, but even were it a Goddess itself, it should now touch the ground with its leafy top.’ Thus he said; and while he was poising his weapon for a side stroke, the Deoïan oak⁷⁷⁴ shuddered, and uttered a groan; and at once, its green leaves, and, with them, its acorns began to turn pale; and the long branches to be moistened with sweat. As soon as his impious hand had made an incision in its trunk, the blood flowed from the severed bark no otherwise than, as, at the time when the bull, a large victim, falls before the altars, the blood pours forth from his divided neck. All were amazed and one of the number attempted to hinder the wicked design, and to restrain the cruel axe. The Thessalian eyes him, and says, ‘Take the reward of thy pious intentions,’ and turns the axe from the tree upon the man, and hews off his head; and then hacks at the oak again; when such words as these are uttered from the middle of the oak: ‘I, a Nymph,⁷⁷⁵ most pleasing to Ceres, am beneath this wood; I, now dying, foretell to thee that the punishment of thy deeds, the solace of my death, is at hand.’

“The wife of Autolycus,⁷⁷¹ the daughter of Erisicthon, has no fewer privileges than he does. Her father despised the majesty of the gods and offered them no honors on their altars. He is also said to have desecrated a grove of Ceres with an axe, violating her ancient woods with its iron blade. In that grove stood an oak with an ancient trunk, a whole wood in itself. Ribbons, tablets left as memorials,⁷⁷² and garlands encircled its trunk, proof that wishes had been granted. Often the Dryads danced in celebration beneath the tree. Often, too, they joined hands and circled its trunk, which measured fifteen ells around. The rest of the wood lay as far beneath this oak as the grass lay beneath the whole wood. Yet even so, the son of Triopas⁷⁷³ did not spare it from the axe. He ordered his servants to cut down the sacred oak. When he saw them hesitate, the wicked man snatched an axe from one of them and said: ‘Even if this tree were not only beloved by a goddess, but a goddess itself, its leafy crown would now touch the ground.’ Thus he spoke, and as he raised his weapon for a sideways blow, the Deoïan oak⁷⁷⁴ shuddered and groaned. At once, its green leaves and acorns began to turn pale, and its long branches grew wet with sweat. As soon as his impious hand cut into the trunk, blood flowed from the split bark. It poured out just as it does from the severed neck of a bull, a great victim, when it falls before the altars. All were amazed, and one of them tried to stop the wicked deed and hold back the cruel axe. The Thessalian looked at him and said, ‘Take the reward for your pious intentions.’ He turned the axe from the tree and struck off the man’s head. Then he hacked at the oak again. From the middle of the oak came these words: ‘I am a Nymph,⁷⁷⁵ beloved by Ceres, beneath this wood. As I now die, I tell you that punishment for your deeds is near, and it will comfort me in death.’

“He pursued his wicked design; and, at last, weakened by numberless blows, and pulled downward with ropes, the tree fell down, and with its weight levelled a great part of the wood. All her sisters, the Dryads, being shocked at the loss of the grove and their own, in their grief repaired to Ceres, in black array,⁷⁷⁶ and requested the punishment of Erisicthon. She assented to their request, and the most beauteous Goddess, with the nodding of her head, shook the fields loaded with the heavy crops; and contrived for him a kind of punishment, lamentable, if he had not, for his crimes, been deserving of the sympathy of none, namely, to torment him with deadly Famine. And since that Goddess could not be approached by herself (for the Destinies do not allow Ceres and Famine to come together), in such words as these she addressed rustic Oreas, one of the mountain Deities: ‘There is an icy region in the extreme part of Scythia, a dreary soil, a land, desolate, without corn and without trees; there dwell drowsy Cold, and Paleness, and Trembling, and famishing Hunger; order her to bury herself in the breast of this sacrilegious wretch. Let no abundance of provisions overcome her; and let her surpass my powers in the contest. And that the length of the road may not alarm thee, take my chariot, take the dragons, which thou mayst guide aloft with the reins;’ and then she gave them to her.

“He carried out his wicked plan. At last, weakened by countless blows and pulled down with ropes, the tree fell. Its weight flattened a large part of the wood. All her sisters, the Dryads, were shocked by the loss of the grove and their sister. In their grief, they went to Ceres, dressed in black,⁷⁷⁶ and asked her to punish Erisicthon. She agreed to their request. The most beautiful Goddess nodded her head, shaking the fields heavy with crops. She devised a punishment for him that would have been pitiable if his crimes had not made him undeserving of anyone’s sympathy. She would torment him with deadly Famine. But Ceres could not approach Famine herself, because the Destinies do not allow them to meet. So she spoke to rustic Oreas, one of the mountain Deities: ‘There is an icy region at the far edge of Scythia. It is a dreary, desolate land, without corn or trees. There live drowsy Cold, Paleness, Trembling, and famishing Hunger. Order Hunger to bury herself in the breast of this sacrilegious wretch. Let no abundance of food overcome her, and let her surpass my powers in the contest. So that the long journey does not alarm you, take my chariot and my dragons. You can guide them through the air with the reins.’ And then she gave them to her.

“She, borne through the air on the chariot thus granted, arrived in Scythia; and, on the top of a steep mountain (they call it Caucasus), she unyoked the neck of the dragons, and beheld Famine, whom she was seeking, in a stony field, tearing up herbs, growing here and there, with her nails and with her teeth. Rough was her hair, her eyes hollow, paleness on her face, her lips white with scurf,⁷⁷⁷ her jaws rough with rustiness; her skin hard, through which her bowels might be seen; her dry bones were projecting beneath her crooked loins; instead of a belly, there was only the place for a belly. You would think her breast was hanging, and was only supported from the chine⁷⁷⁸ of the back. Leanness had, to appearance, increased her joints, and the caps of her knees were stiff, and excrescences projected from her overgrown ancles. Soon as Oreas beheld her at a distance (for she did not dare come near her), she delivered the commands of the Goddess; and, staying for so short a time, although she was at a distance from her, and although she had just come thither, still did she seem to feel hunger; and, turning the reins, she drove aloft the dragon’s back to Hæmonia.

“Carried through the air in the chariot thus granted, she arrived in Scythia. At the top of a steep mountain called Caucasus, she unyoked the dragons. There she saw Famine, whom she had been seeking, in a stony field. Famine was using her nails and teeth to tear up herbs that grew here and there. Her hair was rough, her eyes hollow, and her face pale. Her lips were white with scurf,⁷⁷⁷ and her jaws were rough and grimy. Her skin was hard, and her bowels could be seen through it. Her dry bones jutted out beneath her crooked loins. Instead of a belly, there was only a hollow. Her breast seemed to hang down, supported only by her spine.⁷⁷⁸ Her thinness made her joints look larger. Her kneecaps were stiff, and swellings stuck out from her enlarged ankles. As soon as Oreas saw her from a distance, she delivered the Goddess’s commands. She did not dare come near Famine. Though she stayed only a short time, kept her distance, and had just arrived, she still seemed to feel hunger. She turned the reins and drove the dragons back through the air to Hæmonia.

“Famine executes the orders of Ceres (although she is ever opposing her operations), and is borne by the winds through the air to the assigned abode, and immediately enters the bedchamber of the sacrilegious wretch, and embraces him, sunk in a deep sleep (for it is night-time), with her two wings. She breathes herself into the man, and blows upon his jaws, and his breast, and his face; and she scatters hunger through his empty veins. And having thus executed her commission, she forsakes the fruitful world, and returns to her famished abode, her wonted fields. Gentle sleep is still soothing⁷⁷⁹ Erisicthon with its balmy wings. In a vision of his sleep he craves for food, and moves his jaws to no purpose, and tires his teeth grinding upon teeth, and wearies his throat deluded with imaginary food; and, instead of victuals, he devours in vain the yielding air. But when sleep is banished, his desire for eating is outrageous, and holds sway over his craving jaws, and his insatiate entrails. And no delay is there; he calls what the sea, what the earth, what the air produces, and complains of hunger with the tables set before him, and requires food in the midst of food. And what might be enough for whole cities, and what might be enough for a whole people, is not sufficient for one man. The more, too, he swallows down into his stomach, the more does he desire. And just as the ocean receives rivers from the whole earth, and yet is not satiated with water, and drinks up the rivers of distant countries, and as the devouring fire never refuses fuel, and burns up beams of wood without number, and the greater the quantity that is given to it, the more does it crave, and it is the more voracious through the very abundance of fuel; so do the jaws of the impious Erisicthon receive all victuals presented, and at the same time ask for more. In him all food is only a ground for more food, and there is always room vacant for eating still more.

“Famine carries out Ceres’ orders, although she is always opposing Ceres’ work. The winds carry her through the air to the appointed home. She immediately enters the bedchamber of the sacrilegious wretch and enfolds him in her two wings. He is fast asleep, for it is night. She breathes herself into the man, blowing on his jaws, chest, and face. She scatters hunger through his empty veins. Having thus carried out her orders, she leaves the fruitful world. She returns to her starving home, her familiar fields. Gentle sleep still soothes⁷⁷⁹ Erisicthon with its comforting wings. In a dream, he craves food and moves his jaws in vain. He wears out his teeth grinding them against each other. He exhausts his throat with imaginary food that deceives him. Instead of food, he tries in vain to devour the empty air. But when sleep leaves him, his desire to eat is uncontrollable. It rules his craving jaws and his insatiable belly. Without delay, he calls for whatever the sea, the earth, and the air produce. With the tables set before him, he complains of hunger. Surrounded by food, he demands more food. Enough to feed whole cities, enough for an entire people, is not enough for one man. The more he swallows, the more he wants. The ocean receives rivers from all over the earth. Yet it is not satisfied with water and drinks up rivers from distant lands. A devouring fire never refuses fuel. It burns countless wooden beams, and the more it is given, the more it craves. The abundance of fuel makes it even more voracious. Just so, the jaws of the impious Erisicthon take in all the food offered and ask for more at the same time. Every meal only gives him reason to eat more. There is always room for still more.”

“And now, through his appetite, and the voracity of his capacious stomach, he had diminished his paternal estate; but yet, even then, did his shocking hunger remain undiminished, and the craving of his insatiable appetite continued in full vigour. At last, after he has swallowed down his estate into his paunch,⁷⁸⁰ his daughter alone is remaining, undeserving of him for a father; her, too, he sells, pressed by want. Born of a noble race, she cannot brook a master; and stretching out her hands, over the neighbouring sea, she says, ‘Deliver me from a master, thou who dost possess the prize of my ravished virginity.’ This prize Neptune had possessed himself of. He, not despising her prayer, although, the moment before, she has been seen by her master in pursuit of her, both alters her form, and gives her the appearance of a man, and a habit befitting such as catch fish. Looking at her, her master says, ‘O thou manager of the rod, who dost cover the brazen hook, as it hangs, with tiny morsels, even so may the sea be smooth for thee, even so may the fish in the water be ever credulous for thee, and may they perceive no hook till caught; tell me where she is, who this moment was standing upon this shore (for standing on the shore I saw her), with her hair dishevelled, and in humble garb; for no further do her footsteps extend.’ She perceives that the favour of the God has turned to good purpose, and, well pleased that she is inquired after of herself, she replies to him, as he inquires, in these words: ‘Whoever thou art, excuse me, but I have not turned my eyes on any side from this water, and, busily employed, I have been attending to my pursuit. And that thou mayst the less disbelieve me, may the God of the sea so aid this employment of mine, no man has been for some time standing on this shore, myself only excepted, nor has any woman been standing here.’ Her master believed her, and, turning his feet to go away, he paced the sands, and, thus deceived, withdrew. Her own shape was restored to her.

“And now, his appetite and the ravenous hunger of his enormous stomach had reduced his inherited estate. Yet even then, his shocking hunger remained undiminished, and his insatiable appetite was as strong as ever. At last, after he had swallowed his estate into his belly,⁷⁸⁰ his daughter alone remained. She did not deserve such a father. Pressed by need, he sold her too. Born of a noble family, she could not bear having a master. She stretched out her hands over the nearby sea and said, ‘Save me from a master, you who possess the prize of my stolen virginity.’ Neptune had taken this prize. He did not disregard her prayer. Her master had seen her only a moment before as he pursued her. But Neptune changed her form, giving her the appearance of a man and the clothes of a fisherman. Looking at her, her master said, ‘You there with the fishing rod, covering your dangling bronze hook with tiny pieces of bait. May the sea be smooth for you, and may the fish in the water always trust your bait. May they notice no hook until they are caught. Tell me where the woman is who was standing on this shore a moment ago. I saw her standing here, with her hair disheveled and wearing plain clothes. Her footprints go no farther.’ She saw that the god’s favor had served her well. Pleased that her master was asking her about herself, she replied, ‘Whoever you are, forgive me, but I have not looked away from this water. I have been busy with my fishing. And so that you may be less inclined to doubt me, may the god of the sea help me in this work. No man has stood on this shore for some time except me, nor has any woman stood here.’ Her master believed her. He turned and walked away across the sand, deceived. Her own form was restored to her.

“But when her father found that his daughter had a body capable of being transformed, he often sold the grand-daughter of Triopas to other masters. But she used to escape, sometimes as a mare, sometimes as a bird, now as a cow, now as a stag; and so provided a dishonest maintenance for her hungry parent. Yet, after this violence of his distemper had consumed all his provision, and had added fresh fuel to his dreadful malady: he himself, with mangling bites, began to tear his own limbs, and the miserable wretch used to feed his own body by diminishing it. But why do I dwell on the instances of others? I, too, O youths,⁷⁸¹ have a power of often changing my body, though limited in the number of those changes. For, one while, I appear what I now am, another while I am wreathed as a snake; then as the leader of a herd, I receive strength in my horns. In my horns, I say, so long as I could. Now, one side of my forehead is deprived of its weapons, as thou seest thyself.” Sighs followed his words.

“But when her father discovered that his daughter could change her form, he often sold Triopas’s granddaughter to other masters. But she would escape, sometimes as a mare, sometimes as a bird, now as a cow, now as a stag. So she provided for her hungry father through deceit. Yet the violence of his hunger consumed all his provisions and made his dreadful illness even worse. Then he began to tear at his own limbs with savage bites. The miserable wretch fed his own body by consuming it. But why do I dwell on the examples of others? I, too, O youths,⁷⁸¹ have the power to change my body often, though the number of forms I can take is limited. Sometimes I appear as I do now. At other times I coil like a snake. Then, as the leader of a herd, I gain strength from my horns. My horns, I say, as long as I could. Now, as you can see, one side of my forehead has lost its weapon.” He sighed after speaking.