Book 1

My design leads me to speak of forms changed into new bodies.¹ Ye Gods, (for you it was who changed them,) favor my attempts,² and bring down the lengthened narrative from the very beginning of the world, even to my own times.³

I intend to tell of forms changed into new bodies.¹ Gods, you brought about these changes, so favor my efforts.² Guide my long story from the very beginning of the world even to my own time.³

God reduces Chaos into order. He separates the four elements, and disposes the several bodies, of which the universe is formed, into their proper situations.

God brings order to Chaos. He separates the four elements and puts the various bodies that form the universe in their proper places.

At first, the sea, the earth, and the heaven, which covers all things, were the only face of nature throughout the whole universe, which men have named Chaos; a rude and undigested mass,⁴ and nothing more than an inert weight, and the discordant atoms of things not harmonizing, heaped together in the same spot. No Sun⁵ as yet gave light to the world; nor did the Moon,⁶ by increasing, recover her horns anew. The Earth did not as yet hang in the surrounding air, balanced by its own weight, nor had Amphitrite⁷ stretched out her arms along the lengthened margin of the coasts. Wherever, too, was the land, there also was the sea and the air; and thus was the earth without firmness, the sea unnavigable, the air void of light; in no one of them did its present form exist. And one was ever obstructing the other; because in the same body the cold was striving with the hot, the moist with the dry, the soft with the hard, things having weight with those devoid of weight.

At first, the sea, the earth, and the heaven that covers all things shared a single form throughout the universe. People have called this form Chaos. It was a rough, shapeless mass,⁴ nothing more than an inert weight. The conflicting atoms of things were heaped together in one place, without harmony. No Sun⁵ yet gave light to the world. The Moon⁶ did not yet grow full and regain her horns. The Earth did not yet hang in the surrounding air, balanced by its own weight. Nor had Amphitrite⁷ stretched out her arms along the long edge of the coasts. Wherever there was land, there was also sea and air. And so the earth was not firm, the sea could not be sailed, and the air had no light. None of them had its present form. Each was always obstructing the others. For within the same body, cold struggled with heat, moisture with dryness, and softness with hardness. Things with weight struggled with those without weight.

To this discord God and bounteous Nature⁸ put an end; for he separated the earth from the heavens, and the waters from the earth, and distinguished the clear heavens from the gross atmosphere. And after he had unravelled these elements, and released them from that confused heap, he combined them, thus disjoined, in harmonious unison, each in its proper place. The element of the vaulted heaven,⁹ fiery and without weight, shone forth, and selected a place for itself in the highest region; next after it, both in lightness and in place, was the air; the Earth was more weighty than these, and drew with it the more ponderous atoms, and was pressed together by its own gravity. The encircling waters sank to the lowermost place,¹⁰ and surrounded the solid globe.

God and generous Nature⁸ put an end to this disorder. He separated the earth from the heavens and the waters from the earth. He also separated the clear heavens from the dense air. After untangling these elements and freeing them from that confused mass, he brought them together thus in harmony, with each in its proper place. The element of the arched heaven,⁹ fiery and weightless, shone forth and chose a place in the highest region. Next came the air, both in lightness and in place. Earth was heavier than either and drew the heavier particles with it. Its own weight pressed it together. The waters sank to the lowest place¹⁰ and surrounded the solid globe.

After the separation of matter, God gives form and regularity to the universe; and all other living creatures being produced, Prometheus moulds earth tempered with water, into a human form, which is animated by Minerva.

After matter is separated, God gives the universe form and order. Once all other living creatures have been created, Prometheus shapes earth mixed with water into a human form. Minerva brings it to life.

When thus he, whoever of the Gods he was,¹¹ had divided the mass so separated, and reduced it, so divided, into distinct members; in the first place, that it might not be unequal on any side, he gathered it up into the form of a vast globe; then he commanded the sea to be poured around it, and to grow boisterous with the raging winds, and to surround the shores of the Earth, encompassed by it; he added also springs, and numerous pools and lakes, and he bounded the rivers as they flowed downwards, with slanting banks. These, different in different places, are some of them swallowed up¹² by the Earth itself; some of them reach the ocean, and, received in the expanse of waters that take a freer range, beat against shores instead of banks.

Then he, whoever among the Gods he was,¹¹ divided the mass he had so separated into distinct parts. First, he gathered it into a vast globe, so that it would be even on every side. Then he commanded the sea to spread around it, grow rough with raging winds, and surround the shores of the Earth, which it encircled. He also added springs, and many pools and lakes. He gave the rivers sloping banks as they flowed downhill. These rivers vary from place to place. Some are swallowed up¹² by the Earth itself. Others reach the ocean and enter its freer waters, beating against shores instead of banks.

He commanded the plains,¹³ too, to be extended, the valleys to sink down, the woods to be clothed with green leaves, the craggy mountains to arise; and, as on the right-hand side,¹⁴ two Zones intersect the heavens, and as many on the left; and as there is a fifth hotter than these, so did the care of the Deity distinguish this enclosed mass of the Earth by the same number, and as many climates are marked out upon the Earth. Of these, that which is the middle one¹⁵ is not habitable on account of the heat; deep snow covers two¹⁶ of them. Between either these he placed as many more,¹⁷ and gave them a temperate climate, heat being mingled with cold.

He also commanded the plains¹³ to spread out, the valleys to sink, the woods to grow green leaves, and the rugged mountains to rise. On the right side¹⁴ of the heavens, two Zones cross the sky, and two more lie on the left. And there is a fifth Zone, hotter than the others. In the same way, the Deity carefully divided the enclosed mass of the Earth into the same number of climates. Of these, the middle climate¹⁵ is uninhabitable because of the heat. Deep snow covers two¹⁶ of them. Between the middle climate and each snowy one, he placed another climate,¹⁷ making two more. He gave them a temperate climate, mixing heat with cold.

Over these hangs the air, which is heavier than fire, in the same degree that the weight of water is lighter than the weight of the earth. Here he ordered vapors, here too, the clouds to take their station; the thunder, too, to terrify the minds of mortals, and with the lightnings, the winds that bring on cold. The Contriver of the World did not allow these indiscriminately to take possession of the sky. Even now, (although they each of them govern their own blasts in a distinct tract) they are with great difficulty prevented from rending the world asunder, so great is the discord of the brothers.¹⁸ Eurus took his way¹⁹ towards the rising of Aurora and the realms of Nabath²⁰ and Persia, and the mountain ridges exposed to the rays of the morning. The Evening star, and the shores which are warm with the setting sun, are bordering upon Zephyrus.²¹ The terrible Boreas invaded Scythia,²² and the regions of the North. The opposite quarter is wet with continual clouds, and the drizzling South Wind.²³ Over these he placed the firmament, clear and devoid of gravity, and not containing anything of the dregs of earth.

Above these hangs the air. It is heavier than fire by the same degree that water is lighter than earth. Here he ordered the vapors and clouds to settle. Here, too, he placed thunder to frighten mortals, along with lightning and the winds that bring cold. The Contriver of the World did not allow the winds to roam freely across the sky. Even now, each wind controls its own blasts in a separate region. Yet they are barely prevented from tearing the world apart, so great is the discord among the brothers.¹⁸ Eurus made his way¹⁹ toward the rising of Aurora, the realms of Nabath²⁰ and Persia, and the mountain ridges exposed to the morning sun. Zephyrus borders the Evening star and the shores warmed by the setting sun.²¹ The terrible Boreas invaded Scythia²² and the northern regions. The opposite quarter is wet with constant clouds and the drizzling South Wind.²³ Above these he placed the firmament, clear and weightless, containing none of the dregs of earth.

Scarcely had he separated all these by fixed limits, when the stars, which had long lain hid, concealed beneath that mass of Chaos, began to glow through the range of the heavens. And that no region might be destitute of its own peculiar animated beings, the stars and the forms of the Gods²⁴ possess the tract of heaven; the waters fell to be inhabited by the smooth fishes;²⁵ the Earth received the wild beasts, and the yielding air the birds.

He had barely separated all these things with fixed boundaries when the stars began to glow across the heavens. They had long been hidden beneath the mass of Chaos. So that no region would lack its own particular living creatures, the stars and the forms of the Gods²⁴ occupied the heavens. Smooth fish²⁵ were given the waters to inhabit. The Earth received wild beasts, and the yielding air received birds.

But an animated being, more holy than these, more fitted to receive higher faculties, and which could rule over the rest,²⁶ was still wanting. Then Man was formed. Whether it was that the Artificer of all things, the original of the world in its improved state, framed him from divine elements;²⁷ or whether, the Earth, being newly made, and but lately divided from the lofty æther, still retained some atoms of its kindred heaven, which, tempered with the waters of the stream, the son of Iapetus fashioned after the image of the Gods, who rule over all things. And, whereas other animals bend their looks downwards upon the Earth, to Man he gave a countenance to look on high and to behold the heavens, and to raise his face erect to the stars. Thus, that which had been lately rude earth, and without any regular shape, being changed, assumed the form of Man, till then unknown.

But a living being more sacred than these was still needed. This being would be better suited to receive higher faculties and could rule over the rest.²⁶ Then Man was formed. Perhaps the Creator of all things, the source of the world in its improved state, made him from divine elements.²⁷ Or perhaps the newly made Earth still held some particles of its kindred heaven. Earth had only recently been separated from the lofty ether. The son of Iapetus mixed this earth with water from a stream. He shaped it in the image of the Gods, who rule over all things. Other animals look down at the Earth. But he gave Man a face that could look up and see the heavens and lift itself toward the stars. Thus, the earth, which had recently been rough and shapeless, was transformed. It took the form of Man, till then unknown.

The formation of man is followed by a succession of the four ages of the world. The first is the Golden Age, during which Innocence and Justice alone govern the world.

After man is created, the world passes through four ages. The first is the Golden Age, when Innocence and Justice alone govern the world.

The Golden Age was first founded, which, without any avenger, of its own accord, without laws, practised both faith and rectitude. Punishment, and the fear of it, did not exist, and threatening decrees were not read upon the brazen tables,²⁸ fixed up to view, nor yet did the suppliant multitude dread the countenance of its judge; but all were in safety without any avenger. The pine-tree, cut from its native mountains, had not yet descended to the flowing waves, that it might visit a foreign region; and mortals were acquainted with no shores beyond their own. Not as yet did deep ditches surround the towns; no trumpets of straightened, or clarions of crooked brass,²⁹ no helmets, no swords then existed. Without occasion for soldiers, the minds of men, free from care, enjoyed an easy tranquillity.

The Golden Age came first. Without an avenger or laws, people practised honesty and justice of their own accord. There was no punishment and no fear of it. No threatening decrees were displayed on bronze tablets,²⁸ fixed up for all to see. The pleading crowds did not fear the face of a judge. Instead, all were safe without an avenger. Pine trees had not yet been cut from their native mountains to become ships sailing to foreign lands. Mortals knew no shores beyond their own. Deep ditches did not yet surround towns. There were no straight trumpets or curved brass horns,²⁹ no helmets and no swords. With no need for soldiers, people were free from care and enjoyed a peaceful, easy life.

The Earth itself, too, in freedom, untouched by the harrow, and wounded by no ploughshares, of its own accord produced everything; and men, contented with the food created under no compulsion, gathered the fruit of the arbute-tree, and the strawberries of the mountain, and cornels, and blackberries adhering to the prickly bramble-bushes, and acorns which had fallen from the wide-spreading tree of Jove. Then it was an eternal spring; and the gentle Zephyrs, with their soothing breezes, cherished the flowers produced without any seed. Soon, too, the Earth unploughed yielded crops of grain, and the land, without being renewed, was whitened with the heavy ears of corn. Then, rivers of milk, then, rivers of nectar were flowing, and the yellow honey was distilled from the green holm oak.

The Earth itself was free, untouched by harrows and unwounded by plows. It produced everything on its own. People were content with food that grew without being forced. They gathered fruit from the arbutus tree, mountain strawberries, cornel berries, and blackberries from prickly brambles. They also gathered acorns that had fallen from the wide-spreading tree of Jove. Then spring lasted forever. The gentle Zephyrs nurtured flowers that grew without seeds, caressing them with soothing breezes. Soon, the unplowed Earth also yielded grain. Without being replanted, the land turned white with heavy heads of grain. Rivers of milk and rivers of nectar flowed, and golden honey dripped from the green holm oak.

In the Silver Age, men begin not to be so just, nor, consequently, so happy, as in the Golden Age. In the Brazen Age, which succeeds, they become yet less virtuous; but their wickedness does not rise to its highest pitch until the Iron Age, when it makes its appearance in all its deformity.

In the Silver Age, men are less just than in the Golden Age, and therefore less happy. In the Brazen Age that follows, they become even less virtuous. But their wickedness does not reach its height until the Iron Age, when it appears in all its ugliness.

Afterwards (Saturn being driven into the shady realms of Tartarus), the world was under the sway of Jupiter; then the Silver Age succeeded, inferior to that of gold, but more precious than that of yellow brass. Jupiter shortened the duration of the former spring, and divided the year into four periods by means of winters, and summers, and unsteady autumns, and short springs. Then, for the first time, did the parched air glow with sultry heat, and the ice, bound up by the winds, was pendant. Then, for the first time, did men enter houses; those houses were caverns, and thick shrubs, and twigs fastened together with bark. Then, for the first time, were the seeds of Ceres buried in long furrows, and the oxen groaned, pressed by the yoke of the ploughshare.

After Saturn was driven into the shadowy realms of Tartarus, Jupiter ruled the world. Then the Silver Age followed, inferior to the Age of gold but more precious than the Age of yellow brass. Jupiter shortened the spring that had lasted before and divided the year into four seasons. There were winters, summers, unsteady autumns, and short springs. Then, for the first time, the dry air glowed with scorching heat, and ice hardened by the winds hung down. Then, for the first time, people sheltered in houses. Those houses were caves, thick shrubs, and twigs tied together with bark. Then, for the first time, the seeds of Ceres were buried in long furrows. Oxen groaned under the weight of the plow's yoke.

The Age of Brass succeeded, as the third in order, after these; fiercer in disposition, and more prone to horrible warfare, but yet free from impiety. The last Age was of hard iron. Immediately every species of crime burst forth, in this age of degenerated tendencies;³⁰ modesty, truth, and honor took flight; in their place succeeded fraud, deceit, treachery, violence, and the cursed hankering for acquisition. The sailor now spread his sails to the winds, and with these, as yet, he was but little acquainted; and the trees, which had long stood on the lofty mountains, now, as ships bounded³¹ through the unknown waves. The ground, too, hitherto common as the light of the sun and the breezes, the cautious measurer marked out with his lengthened boundary.

The Age of Brass came third in order, after these. It was fiercer in spirit and more prone to terrible wars, but it was still free from impiety. The last Age was one of hard iron. In this age of declining morals, every kind of crime immediately burst forth.³⁰ Modesty, truth, and honor fled. Fraud, deceit, treachery, violence, and the cursed desire to acquire more took their place. Sailors now spread their sails to winds they barely knew. The trees that had long stood on high mountains now bounded³¹ through unknown waves as ships. The land, too, had until then been shared by all, like sunlight and breezes. Now the careful surveyor marked it out with long boundary lines.

And not only was the rich soil required to furnish corn and due sustenance, but men even descended into the entrails of the Earth; and riches were dug up, the incentives to vice, which the Earth had hidden, and had removed to the Stygian shades.³² Then destructive iron came forth, and gold, more destructive than iron; then War came forth, that fights through the means of both,³³ and that brandishes in his blood-stained hands the clattering arms. Men live by rapine; the guest is not safe from his entertainer, nor the father-in-law from the son-in-law; good feeling, too, between brothers is a rarity. The husband is eager for the death of the wife, she for that of her husband. Horrible stepmothers then mingle the ghastly wolfsbane; the son prematurely makes inquiry³⁴ into the years of his father. Piety lies vanquished, and the virgin Astræa³⁵ is the last of the heavenly Deities to abandon the Earth, now drenched in slaughter.

The rich soil was required not only to provide grain and daily food. Men also dug deep into the Earth. They unearthed riches that tempted people to vice, though the Earth had hidden them away in the Stygian shades.³² Then destructive iron emerged, followed by gold, more destructive than iron. Then came War, who fights with both,³³ and brandishes clashing weapons in his bloodstained hands. Men live by plunder. A guest is not safe from his host, nor a father-in-law from his son-in-law. Even affection between brothers is rare. A husband longs for his wife's death, and she for her husband's. Horrible stepmothers then mix deadly wolfsbane. A son asks too soon³⁴ about his father's age. Piety lies defeated, and the virgin Astræa³⁵ is the last of the heavenly Deities to leave the Earth, now drenched in blood.

The Giants having attempted to render themselves masters of heaven, Jupiter buries them under the mountains which they have heaped together to facilitate their assault; and the Earth, animating their blood, forms out of it a cruel and fierce generation of men.

The Giants tried to seize control of heaven. Jupiter buried them beneath the mountains they had piled up to help them attack. The Earth gave life to their blood, creating a cruel and fierce generation of men.

And that the lofty realms of æther might not be more safe than the Earth, they say that the Giants aspired to the sovereignty of Heaven, and piled the mountains, heaped together, even to the lofty stars. Then the omnipotent Father, hurling his lightnings, broke through Olympus,³⁶ and struck Ossa away from Pelion, that lay beneath it. While the dreadful carcasses lay overwhelmed beneath their own structure, they say that the Earth was wet, drenched with the plenteous blood of her sons, and that she gave life to the warm gore; and that, lest no memorial of this ruthless race should be surviving, she shaped them into the form of men. But that generation, too, was a despiser of the Gods above, and most greedy of ruthless slaughter, and full of violence: you might see that they derived their origin from blood.

So that the lofty realms of æther would be no safer than Earth, the Giants sought to rule Heaven. They say the Giants piled mountains on top of one another, reaching the high stars. Then the almighty Father hurled his lightning bolts and shattered Olympus.³⁶ He struck Ossa away from Pelion, which lay beneath it. The Giants' terrible bodies lay buried beneath the mountains they had piled up. They say that Earth was drenched with the abundant blood of her sons, and that she brought the warm blood to life. She shaped it into men, so that some memory of that ruthless race would survive. But this new generation also despised the gods above and was eager for ruthless slaughter and full of violence. You could see that they came from blood.

Jupiter, having seen the crimes of this impious race of men, calls a council of the Gods, and determines to destroy the world.

Jupiter sees the crimes of this wicked race of men. He calls a council of the gods and decides to destroy the world.

When the Father of the Gods, the son of Saturn, beheld this from his loftiest height, he groaned aloud; and recalling to memory the polluted banquet on the table of Lycaon, not yet publicly known, from the crime being but lately committed, he conceives in his mind vast wrath, and such as is worthy of Jove, and calls together a council; no delay detains them, thus summoned.

When the Father of the Gods, the son of Saturn, saw this from his highest place, he groaned aloud. He remembered the defiled banquet at Lycaon's table. The crime had only recently been committed and was not yet publicly known. His anger grew as great as Jove's anger should be, and he called a council. Those he summoned came without delay.

There is a way on high,³⁷ easily seen in a clear sky, and which, remarkable for its very whiteness, receives the name of the Milky Way. Along this is the way for the Gods above to the abode of the great Thunderer and his royal palace. On the right and on the left side the courts of the ennobled Deities³⁸ are thronged, with open gates. The Gods of lower rank³⁹ inhabit various places; in front of the Way, the powerful and illustrious inhabitants of Heaven have established their residence. This is the place which, if boldness may be allowed to my expression, I should not hesitate to style the palatial residence of Heaven. When, therefore, the Gods above had taken their seats in the marble hall of assembly; he himself, elevated on his seat, and leaning on his sceptre of ivory, three or four times shook the awful locks⁴⁰ of his head, with which he makes the Earth, the Seas, and the Stars to tremble. Then, after such manner as this, did he open his indignant lips:—

There is a road high above,³⁷ easily seen in a clear sky. Its striking whiteness gives it the name Milky Way. The gods above travel along it to the home and royal palace of the great Thunderer. On either side stand the crowded courts of the noble gods,³⁸ their gates open. The gods of lower rank³⁹ live in various places. Along the front of the Way, the powerful and illustrious inhabitants of Heaven have made their homes. If I may speak boldly, I would not hesitate to call this place the palace of Heaven. The gods above took their seats in the marble assembly hall. The Thunderer himself sat high above them, leaning on his ivory sceptre. Three or four times he shook the awe-inspiring locks⁴⁰ of his head, making the Earth, the Seas, and the Stars tremble. Then he opened his lips in anger and spoke as follows:

“Not even at that time was I more concerned for the empire of the universe, when each of the snake-footed monsters was endeavoring to lay his hundred arms on the captured skies. For although that was a dangerous enemy, yet that war was with but one stock, and sprang from a single origin. Now must the race of mortals be cut off by me, wherever Nereus⁴¹ roars on all sides of the earth; this I swear by the Rivers of Hell, that glide in the Stygian grove beneath the earth. All methods have been already tried; but a wound that admits of no cure, must be cut away with the knife, that the sound parts may not be corrupted. I have as subjects, Demigods, and I have the rustic Deities, the Nymphs,⁴² and the Fauns, and the Satyrs, and the Sylvans, the inhabitants of the mountains; these, though as yet, we have not thought them worthy of the honor of Heaven, let us, at least, permit to inhabit the earth which we have granted them. And do you, ye Gods of Heaven, believe that they will be in proper safety, when Lycaon remarkable for his cruelty, has formed a plot against even me, who own and hold sway over the thunder and yourselves?”

“Not even then was I more worried about my rule over the universe. Each of the snake-footed monsters tried to seize the heavens with his hundred arms. Though the enemy was dangerous, the war was against only one race, sprung from a single source. Now I must destroy the race of mortals wherever Nereus⁴¹ roars around the earth. This I swear by the Rivers of Hell, which flow through the Stygian grove beneath the earth. Every method has already been tried. But a wound that cannot be cured must be cut away with a knife, so the healthy parts are not infected. I have as subjects Demigods and rustic Deities: the Nymphs,⁴² Fauns, Satyrs, and Sylvans who inhabit the mountains. We have not yet thought them worthy of the honor of Heaven. But let us at least allow them to live on the earth we have granted them. And do you, gods of Heaven, believe they will be safe? Lycaon, who is known for his cruelty, has plotted against even me, who commands the thunder and rules over you.”

All shouted their assent aloud, and with ardent zeal they called for vengeance on one who dared such crimes. Thus, when an impious band⁴³ madly raged to extinguish the Roman name in the blood of Cæsar, the human race was astonished with sudden terror at ruin so universal, and the whole earth shook with horror. Nor was the affectionate regard, Augustus, of thy subjects less grateful to thee, than that was to Jupiter. Who, after he had, by means of his voice and his hand, suppressed their murmurs, all of them kept silence. Soon as the clamor had ceased, checked by the authority of their ruler, Jupiter again broke silence in these words:

All shouted their agreement and eagerly called for vengeance against the one who dared commit such crimes. So too, an unholy band⁴³ once madly raged to wipe out the Roman name in the blood of Cæsar. The human race was stunned by sudden terror at such widespread ruin, and the whole earth shook with horror. Augustus, the affection of your subjects pleased you no less than this show of loyalty pleased Jupiter. Jupiter raised his voice and his hand to quiet the murmurs, and everyone fell silent. Once the noise had stopped, silenced by their ruler’s authority, Jupiter spoke again:

“He, indeed, (dismiss your cares) has suffered dire punishment; but what was the offence and what the retribution, I will inform you. The report of the iniquity of the age had reached my ears; wishing to find this not to be the truth, I descended from the top of Olympus, and, a God in a human shape, I surveyed the earth. ’Twere an endless task to enumerate how great an amount of guilt was everywhere discovered; the report itself was below the truth.”

“He has indeed suffered terrible punishment, so put your worries aside. But I will tell you what his crime was and how he was punished. I had heard reports of the wickedness of the age. Hoping the reports were false, I came down from the top of Olympus. I traveled across the earth, a god in human form. It would take forever to list all the wrongdoing I found everywhere. The reports had not even told the full truth.”

Lycaon, king of Arcadia, in order to discover if it is Jupiter himself who has come to lodge in his palace, orders the body of an hostage, who had been sent to him, to be dressed and served up at a feast. The God, as a punishment, changes him into a wolf.

Lycaon, king of Arcadia, wants to find out whether Jupiter himself has come to stay at his palace. So he orders the body of a hostage sent to him to be prepared and served at a feast. As punishment, the god turns him into a wolf.

I had now passed Mænalus, to be dreaded for its dens of beasts of prey, and the pine-groves of cold Lycæus, together with Cyllene.⁴⁴ After this, I entered the realms and the inhospitable abode of the Arcadian tyrant, just as the late twilight was bringing on the night. I gave a signal that a God had come, and the people commenced to pay their adorations. In the first place, Lycaon derided their pious supplications. Afterwards, he said, I will make trial, by a plain proof, whether this is a God, or whether he is a mortal; nor shall the truth remain a matter of doubt. He then makes preparations to destroy me, when sunk in sleep, by an unexpected death; this mode of testing the truth pleases him. And not content with that, with the sword he cuts the throat of an hostage that had been sent from the nation of the Molossians,⁴⁵ and then softens part of the quivering limbs, in boiling water, and part he roasts with fire placed beneath. Soon as he had placed these on the table, I, with avenging flames, overthrew the house upon the household Gods,⁴⁶ worthy of their master. Alarmed, he himself takes to flight, and having reached the solitude of the country, he howls aloud, and in vain attempts to speak; his mouth gathers rage from himself, and through its usual desire for slaughter, it is directed against the sheep, and even still delights in blood. His garments are changed into hair, his arms into legs; he becomes a wolf, and he still retains vestiges of his ancient form. His hoariness is still the same, the same violence appears in his features; his eyes are bright as before; he is still the same image of ferocity.

I had now passed Mænalus, with its fearsome dens of beasts of prey, the pine groves of cold Lycæus, and Cyllene.⁴⁴ Then I entered the kingdom and the inhospitable home of the Arcadian tyrant. Late twilight was giving way to night. I gave a sign that a God had come, and the people began to worship. At first, Lycaon mocked their prayers. Then he said, I will test whether this is a God or a mortal with clear proof. The truth will not remain in doubt. He prepared to kill me unexpectedly while I slept. This was the test of truth he favored. But he was not content with that. He cut the throat of a hostage sent by the Molossians⁴⁵ and boiled part of the quivering body to soften it. He roasted the rest over a fire. As soon as he placed the meat on the table, I struck with avenging flames. I brought the house down on the household Gods,⁴⁶ who were worthy of their master. Terrified, Lycaon fled. When he reached the lonely countryside, he howled aloud and tried in vain to speak. Rage filled his mouth, and his usual desire for slaughter turned it against the sheep. He still delighted in blood. His clothes changed into hair, and his arms into legs. He became a wolf, but he still kept traces of his old form. His grayness was unchanged, and the same violence appeared in his features. His eyes were as bright as before. He was still the very image of ferocity.

“Thus fell one house; but one house alone did not deserve to perish; wherever the earth extends, the savage Erinnys⁴⁷ reigns. You would suppose that men had conspired to be wicked; let all men speedily feel that vengeance which they deserve to endure, for such is my determination.”

“So one house fell, but it was not the only house that deserved destruction. Everywhere on earth, the savage Erinnys⁴⁷ reigns. You would think that men had conspired to be wicked. Let all men quickly suffer the punishment they deserve, for that is my decision.”

Jupiter, not thinking the punishment of Lycaon sufficient to strike terror into the rest of mankind, resolves, on account of the universal corruption, to extirpate them by a universal deluge.

Jupiter thought Lycaon's punishment was not enough to frighten the rest of humanity. Because everyone was corrupt, he decided to wipe them out with a flood that would cover the whole world.

Some, by their words approve the speech of Jupiter, and give spur to him, indignantly exclaiming; others, by silent assent fulfil their parts. Yet the entire destruction of the human race is a cause of grief to them all, and they inquire what is to be the form of the earth in future, when destitute of mankind? who is to place frankincense⁴⁸ on the altars? and whether it is his design to give up the nations for a prey to the wild beasts? The ruler of the Gods forbids them making these enquiries, to be alarmed (for that the rest should be his care); and he promises, that from a wondrous source he will raise a generation unlike the preceding race.

Some approve of Jupiter’s speech and urge him on, crying out indignantly. Others do their part through silent agreement. Yet the complete destruction of the human race grieves them all. They ask what the earth will be like without people. Who will place frankincense⁴⁸ on the altars? Does Jupiter intend to leave the nations as prey for wild beasts? The ruler of the Gods tells them not to worry about these questions (he will take care of everything else). He promises that from a wondrous source he will raise a generation unlike the one before it.

And now he was about to scatter his thunder over all lands; but he was afraid lest, perchance, the sacred æther might catch fire, from so many flames, and the extended sky might become inflamed. He remembers, too, that it was in the decrees of Fate, that a time should come,⁴⁹ at which the sea, the earth, and the palace of heaven, seized by the flames, should be burned, and the laboriously-wrought fabric of the universe should be in danger of perishing. The weapons forged by the hands of the Cyclops are laid aside; a different mode of punishment pleases him: to destroy mankind beneath the waves, and to let loose the rains from the whole tract of Heaven. At once he shuts the North Wind in the caverns of Æolus, and all those blasts which dispel the clouds drawn over the Earth; and then he sends forth the South Wind. With soaking wings the South Wind flies abroad, having his terrible face covered with pitchy darkness; his beard is loaded with showers, the water streams down from his hoary locks, clouds gather upon his forehead, his wings and the folds of his robe⁵⁰ drip with wet; and, as with his broad hand he squeezes the hanging clouds, a crash arises, and thence showers are poured in torrents from the sky. Iris,⁵¹ the messenger of Juno, clothed in various colors, collects the waters, and bears a supply upwards to the clouds.

He was now about to scatter his thunder across all lands. But he feared that so many flames might set the sacred ether and the vast sky on fire. He also remembered that the decrees of Fate foretold a time⁴⁹ when fire would seize the sea, the earth, and the palace of heaven. All would burn, and the carefully crafted fabric of the universe would be in danger of destruction. He set aside the weapons forged by the Cyclops and chose a different kind of punishment. He would destroy mankind beneath the waves and release rain from every part of Heaven. At once, he shut the North Wind in the caverns of Æolus. He also shut away all the winds that scattered the clouds drawn over the Earth. Then he sent out the South Wind. The South Wind flew out on soaked wings, his terrible face covered in pitch darkness. His beard was heavy with rain, and water streamed from his white hair. Clouds gathered on his forehead, and his wings and the folds of his robe⁵⁰ dripped with water. When he squeezed the hanging clouds with his broad hand, a crash sounded, and rain poured from the sky. Iris,⁵¹ Juno's messenger, wore many colors. She gathered water and carried a supply upward to the clouds.

The standing corn is beaten down, and the expectations of the husbandman, now lamented by him, are ruined, and the labors of a long year prematurely perish. Nor is the wrath of Jove satisfied with his own heaven; but Neptune, his azure brother, aids him with his auxiliary waves. He calls together the rivers, which, soon as they had entered the abode of their ruler, he says, “I must not now employ a lengthened exhortation; pour forth all your might, so the occasion requires. Open your abodes, and, each obstacle removed, give full rein to your streams.” Thus he commanded; they return, and open the mouths of their fountains,⁵² and roll on into the ocean with unobstructed course. He himself struck the Earth with his trident, on which it shook, and with a tremor laid open the sources of its waters. The rivers, breaking out, rush through the open plains, and bear away, together with the standing corn, the groves, flocks, men, houses, and temples, together with their sacred utensils. If any house remained, and, not thrown down, was able to resist ruin so vast, yet the waves, rising aloft, covered the roof of that house, and the towers tottered, overwhelmed beneath the stream. And now sea and land had no mark of distinction; everything now was ocean; and to that ocean shores were wanting. One man takes possession of a hill, another sits in a curved boat, and plies the oars there where he had lately ploughed; another sails over the standing corn, or the roof of his country-house under water; another catches a fish on the top of an elm-tree. An anchor (if chance so directs) is fastened in a green meadow, or the curving keels come in contact with the vineyards, now below them; and where of late the slender goats had cropped the grass, there unsightly sea-calves are now reposing their bodies.

The standing grain is beaten down. The farmer mourns his ruined hopes, and a long year’s work is destroyed before its time. But Jove’s anger is not satisfied with his own heaven. Neptune, his blue brother, helps him with his waves. Neptune calls the rivers together. As soon as they enter their ruler’s home, he says, “I must not give a long speech now. Pour out all your strength, for the occasion demands it. Open your homes, remove every obstacle, and let your streams flow freely.” So he commanded them. They return and open the mouths of their springs,⁵² and flow unhindered into the ocean. Neptune himself strikes the Earth with his trident. At the blow it shakes, and the tremor opens its springs. The rivers burst out and rush across the open plains. They carry away the standing grain, groves, flocks, people, houses, and temples, along with their sacred vessels. Some houses remain standing, able to resist such vast destruction. Yet the waves rise high enough to cover their roofs, and their towers totter, submerged beneath the water. Now there is no distinction between sea and land. Everything is ocean, and the ocean has no shores. One man takes refuge on a hill. Another sits in a curved boat, rowing where he recently ploughed. Another sails over standing grain or the submerged roof of his country house. Another catches a fish in the top of an elm tree. An anchor may happen to catch in a green meadow, or curved hulls may strike the vineyards now beneath them. Unsightly seals now rest where slender goats recently grazed.

The Nereids wonder at the groves, the cities, and the houses under water; dolphins get into the woods, and run against the lofty branches, and beat against the tossed oaks. The wolf swims⁵³ among the sheep; the wave carries along the tawny lions; the wave carries along the tigers. Neither does the powers of his lightning-shock avail the wild boar, nor his swift legs the stag, now borne away. The wandering bird, too, having long sought for land, where it may be allowed to light, its wings failing, falls down into the sea. The boundless range of the sea had overwhelmed the hills, and the stranger waves beat against the heights of the mountains. The greatest part is carried off by the water: those whom the water spares, long fastings overcome, through scantiness of food.

The Nereids marvel at the groves, cities, and houses under the water. Dolphins enter the woods, bumping into tall branches and striking the tossing oaks. The wolf swims⁵³ among the sheep. The waves carry along tawny lions and tigers. The wild boar's powerful charge cannot save him, nor can the stag's swift legs save him as he is now swept away. A wandering bird searches long for land where it can rest. Its wings give out, and it falls into the sea. The vast sea has covered the hills, and waves beat against the mountain peaks where they have never reached before. The water sweeps away most living creatures. Those it spares die of hunger after going a long time without enough food.

Neptune appeases the angry waves; and he commands Triton to sound his shell, that the sea may retire within its shores, and the rivers within their banks. Deucalion and Pyrrha are the only persons saved from the deluge.

Neptune calms the angry waves. He commands Triton to sound his shell so that the sea and rivers will return to their shores and banks. Deucalion and Pyrrha are the only people saved from the flood.

Phocis separates the Aonian⁵⁴ from the Actæan region; a fruitful land while it was a land; but at that time it had become a part of the sea, and a wide plain of sudden waters. There a lofty mountain rises towards the stars, with two tops, by name Parnassus,⁵⁵ and advances beyond the clouds with its summit. When here Deucalion (for the sea had covered all other places), borne in a little ship, with the partner of his couch, first rested; they adored the Corycian Nymphs,⁵⁶ and the Deities of the mountain, and the prophetic Themis,⁵⁷ who at that time used to give out oracular responses. No man was there more upright than he, nor a greater lover of justice, nor was any woman more regardful of the Deities than she.

Phocis separates the Aonian⁵⁴ region from the Actæan region. It was a fertile land while it remained land. But at that time, it had become part of the sea, a wide plain suddenly covered by water. There, a high mountain named Parnassus⁵⁵ rises toward the stars. Its two peaks reach above the clouds. Deucalion and his wife came to rest here first, carried in a small boat. The sea had covered every other place. They worshipped the Corycian Nymphs,⁵⁶ the gods of the mountain, and the prophetic Themis,⁵⁷ who gave oracles at that time. No man was more upright than Deucalion or loved justice more. No woman was more devoted to the gods than his wife.

Soon as Jupiter beholds the world overflowed by liquid waters, and sees that but one man remains out of so many thousands of late, and sees that but one woman remains out of so many thousands of late, both guiltless, and both worshippers of the Gods, he disperses the clouds; and the showers being removed by the North Wind, he both lays open the earth to the heavens, and the heavens to the earth. The rage, too, of the sea does not continue; and his three-forked trident now laid aside, the ruler of the deep assuages the waters, and calls upon the azure Triton standing above the deep, and having his shoulders covered with the native purple shells;⁵⁸ and he bids him blow⁵⁹ his resounding trumpet, and, the signal being given, to call back the waves and the streams. The hollow-wreathed trumpet⁶⁰ is taken up by him, which grows to a great width from its lowest twist; the trumpet, which, soon as it receives the air in the middle of the sea, fills with its notes the shores lying under either sun. Then, too, as soon as it touched the lips of the God dripping with his wet beard, and being blown, sounded the bidden retreat;⁶¹ it was heard by all the waters both of earth and sea, and stopped all those waters by which it was heard. Now the sea⁶² again has a shore; their channels receive the full rivers; the rivers subside; the hills are seen to come forth. The ground rises, places increase in extent as the waters decrease; and after a length of time, the woods show their naked tops, and retain the mud left upon their branches.

As soon as Jupiter sees the world flooded with water, he sees that only one man and one woman remain. Until recently, there had been many thousands of each. Both survivors are innocent, and both worship the Gods. Jupiter scatters the clouds, and the North Wind drives away the rain. Earth and sky are once again open to each other. The sea’s fury does not last either. The ruler of the deep sets aside his three-pronged trident and calms the waters. He calls to the blue Triton, who stands above the deep with his shoulders covered in their native purple shells.⁵⁸ He orders him to blow⁵⁹ his sounding trumpet, signaling the waves and streams to retreat. Triton takes up the hollow, spiraled trumpet,⁶⁰ which grows wide from its narrowest coil. When blown in the middle of the sea, its notes fill the shores under both the rising and setting sun. The trumpet touches the God’s lips, dripping from his wet beard, and sounds the ordered retreat.⁶¹ All the waters of earth and sea hear it, and all the waters that hear it stop. Now the sea⁶² again has a shore. The full rivers return to their channels and subside. The hills emerge. The land rises, and as the waters recede, more of it appears. After a long time, the woods show their bare tops, with mud still clinging to their branches.

The world was restored; which when Deucalion beheld to be empty, and how the desolate Earth kept a profound silence, he thus addressed Pyrrha, with tears bursting forth:—“O sister, O wife, O thou, the only woman surviving, whom a common origin,⁶³ and a kindred descent, and afterwards the marriage tie has united to me, and whom now dangers themselves unite to me; we two are the whole people of the earth, whatever both the East and the West behold; of all the rest, the sea has taken possession. And even now there is no certain assurance of our lives; even yet do the clouds terrify my mind. What would now have been thy feelings, if without me thou hadst been rescued from destruction, O thou deserving of compassion? In what manner couldst thou have been able alone to support this terror? With whom for a consoler, to endure these sorrows? For I, believe me, my wife, if the sea had only carried thee off, should have followed thee, and the sea should have carried me off as well. Oh that I could replace the people that are lost by the arts of my father,⁶⁴ and infuse the soul into the moulded earth! Now the mortal race exists in us two alone. Thus it has seemed good to the Gods, and we remain as mere samples of mankind.”

The world was restored. When Deucalion saw that it was empty and that the desolate Earth lay in deep silence, he spoke to Pyrrha, bursting into tears: “Oh, my sister, my wife, the only woman left alive. We are united by our common origin,⁶³ our shared ancestry, and then by marriage. Now the dangers we have faced unite us too. We two are all the people left on earth, as far as the East and the West can see. The sea has claimed all the rest. Even now, our lives are not assured. The clouds still fill me with fear. You deserve such pity. What would you feel now if you had been rescued from destruction without me? How could you have borne this terror alone? Who could have comforted you through these sorrows? Believe me, my wife, if the sea had carried you off, I would have followed you. The sea would have carried me off too. If only I could replace the people who were lost through my father’s arts,⁶⁴ and breathe life into molded earth! Now the mortal race exists in us two alone. The Gods have willed it so, and we remain as mere examples of mankind.”

Deucalion and Pyrrha re-people the earth by casting stones behind them, in the manner prescribed by the Goddess Themis, whose oracle they had consulted.

Deucalion and Pyrrha repopulate the earth by throwing stones behind them. They follow the instructions of the Goddess Themis, whose oracle they had consulted.

He thus spoke, and they wept. They resolved to pray to the Deities of Heaven, and to seek relief through the sacred oracles. There is no delay; together they repair to the waters of Cephisus,⁶⁵ though not yet clear, yet now cutting their wonted channel. Then, when they have sprinkled the waters poured on their clothes⁶⁶ and their heads, they turn their steps to the temple of the sacred Goddess, the roof of which was defiled with foul moss, and whose altars were standing without fires. Soon as they reached the steps of the temple, each of them fell prostrate on the ground, and, trembling, gave kisses to the cold pavement. And thus they said:

He spoke thus, and they wept. They decided to pray to the gods of heaven and seek help from the sacred oracles. Without delay, they went together to the waters of Cephisus.⁶⁵ The waters were not yet clear, but they were flowing through their usual channel again. They sprinkled water on their clothes⁶⁶ and heads. Then they went to the temple of the sacred Goddess. Its roof was covered with foul moss, and its altars had no fires burning. As soon as they reached the temple steps, they both fell to the ground. Trembling, they kissed the cold pavement. Then they said:

“If the Deities, prevailed upon by just prayers, are to be mollified, if the wrath of the Gods is to be averted; tell us, O Themis, by what art the loss of our race is to be repaired, and give thy assistance, O most gentle Goddess to our ruined fortunes.” The Goddess was moved, and gave this response: “Depart from my temple, and cover your heads,⁶⁷ and loosen the garments girt around you, and throw behind your backs the bones of your great mother.” For a long time they are amazed; and Pyrrha is the first by her words to break the silence, and then refuses to obey the commands of the Goddess; and begs her, with trembling lips, to grant her pardon, and dreads to offend the shades of her mother by casting her bones. In the meantime they reconsider the words of the response given, but involved in dark obscurity, and they ponder them among themselves. Upon that, the son of Prometheus soothes the daughter of Epimetheus with these gentle words, and says, “Either is my discernment fallacious, or the oracles are just, and advise no sacrilege. The earth is the great mother; I suspect that the stones in the body of the earth are the bones meant; these we are ordered to throw behind our backs.” Although she, descended from Titan,⁶⁸ is moved by this interpretation of her husband, still her hope is involved in doubt; so much do they both distrust the advice of heaven; but what harm will it do to try?

“If the gods can be moved by just prayers, and if their anger can be turned away, tell us, Themis, how our race can be restored. Help us in our ruin, most gentle Goddess.” The Goddess was moved and gave this answer: “Leave my temple and cover your heads.⁶⁷ Loosen the garments tied around you, and throw the bones of your great mother behind your backs.” For a long time, they were astonished. Pyrrha was the first to break the silence, and then she refused to obey the Goddess’s command. With trembling lips, she begged the Goddess to pardon her. She feared offending her mother’s spirit by throwing her bones. Meanwhile, they reconsidered the words of the answer, but their meaning was deeply obscure, and they pondered them together. Then the son of Prometheus spoke gently to the daughter of Epimetheus to reassure her. He said, “Either I am mistaken, or the oracle is right and calls for no sacrilege. The earth is our great mother. I suspect that the stones in the earth’s body are the bones meant. These are what we are ordered to throw behind our backs.” Though she was moved by her husband’s interpretation, the descendant of Titan⁶⁸ still doubted it could give them hope. They both distrusted the advice from heaven so deeply. But what harm could it do to try?

They go down, and they veil their heads, and ungird their garments, and cast stones, as ordered, behind their footsteps. The stones (who could have believed it, but that antiquity is a witness of the thing?) began to lay aside their hardness and their stiffness, and by degrees to become soft; and when softened, to assume a new form. Presently after, when they were grown larger, a milder nature, too, was conferred on them, so that some shape of man might be seen in them, yet though but imperfect; and as if from the marble commenced to be wrought, not sufficiently distinct, and very like to rough statues. Yet that part of them which was humid with any moisture, and earthy, was turned into portions adapted for the use of the body. That which is solid, and cannot be bent, is changed into bones; that which was just now a vein, still remains under the same name.⁶⁹ And in a little time, by the interposition of the Gods above, the stones thrown by the hands of the man, took the shape of a man, and the female race was renewed by the throwing of the woman. Thence are we a hardy generation, and able to endure fatigue, and we give proofs from what original we are sprung.

They go down, cover their heads, loosen their garments, and throw stones behind them, as ordered. The stones began to lose their hardness and stiffness. Who could have believed it, if antiquity did not bear witness? Gradually, the stones softened and took on a new form. Soon they grew larger and acquired a gentler nature. A human shape could be seen in them, though it was imperfect. They looked like marble just beginning to be carved, not yet clearly defined, much like rough statues. The damp, earthy parts of the stones became parts suited to the body's needs. The solid parts, which could not bend, became bones. What had been a vein kept the same name.⁶⁹ Soon, through the intervention of the Gods above, the stones thrown by the man took the shape of a man. Those thrown by the woman renewed the female race. That is why we are a hardy people, able to endure hard work. We show proof of the origins from which we sprang.

The Earth, being warmed by the heat of the sun, produces many monsters: among others, the serpent Python, which Apollo kills with his arrows. To establish a memorial of this event, he institutes the Pythian games, and adopts the surname of Pythius.

Warmed by the sun, the Earth produces many monsters, including the serpent Python. Apollo kills Python with his arrows. To commemorate the event, he establishes the Pythian games and takes the name Pythius.

The Earth of her own accord brought forth other animals of different forms; after that the former moisture was thoroughly heated by the rays of the sun, and the mud and the wet fens fermented with the heat; and the fruitful seeds of things nourished by the enlivening soil, as in the womb of a mother, grew, and, in lapse of time, assumed some regular shape. Thus, when the seven-streamed Nile⁷⁰ has forsaken the oozy fields, and has returned its waters to their ancient channel, and the fresh mud has been heated with the æthereal sun, the laborers, on turning up the clods, meet with very many animals, and among them, some just begun at the very moment of their formation, and some they see still imperfect, and as yet destitute of some of their limbs; and often, in the same body, is one part animated, the other part is coarse earth. For when moisture and heat have been subjected to a due mixture, they conceive; and all things arise from these two.

The Earth brought forth other animals of different forms on its own. The sun’s rays had thoroughly warmed the remaining moisture, and the mud and wet marshes had fermented in the heat. The fertile seeds of things were nourished by the life-giving soil, as if in a mother’s womb. They grew and, in time, took on a regular shape. In the same way, the seven-streamed Nile⁷⁰ leaves the muddy fields and returns to its old channel. The sun then warms the fresh mud. As laborers turn over the clods, they find many animals. Some are only just beginning to form. They see others that are still incomplete and as yet missing some of their limbs. Often, one part of the same body is alive, while the other is rough earth. For when moisture and heat are mixed in the right amounts, they produce life. All things arise from these two.

And although fire is the antagonist of heat, yet a moist vapor creates all things, and this discordant concord is suited for generation; when, therefore, the Earth, covered with mud by the late deluge, was thoroughly heated by the æthereal sunshine and a penetrating warmth, it produced species of creatures innumerable; and partly restored the former shapes, and partly gave birth to new monsters. She, indeed, might have been unwilling, but then she produced thee as well, thou enormous Python; and thou, unheard-of serpent, wast a source of terror to this new race of men, so vast a part of a mountain didst thou occupy.

Although fire is the enemy of heat, yet moist vapor creates all things. This harmony of opposites is suited to creation. The recent flood had covered the Earth in mud. Then the sunshine from the heavens and its penetrating warmth thoroughly heated the Earth. As a result, the Earth produced countless species of creatures. She brought back some of the old forms and gave birth to new monsters. She may have been unwilling, but she also produced you, enormous Python. You, serpent unlike any ever known, terrified this new race of humans. You occupied such a vast part of a mountain.

The God that bears the bow, and that had never before used such arms, but against the deer and the timorous goats, destroyed him, overwhelmed with a thousand arrows, his quiver being well-nigh exhausted, as the venom oozed forth through the black wounds; and that length of time might not efface the fame of the deed, he instituted sacred games,⁷¹ with contests famed in story, called “Pythia,” from the name of the serpent so conquered. In these, whosoever of the young men conquered in boxing, in running, or in chariot-racing, received the honor of a crown of beechen leaves.⁷² As yet the laurel existed not, and Phœbus used to bind his temples, graceful with long hair, with garlands from any tree.

The god who bore the bow had never before used such weapons against anything but deer and timid goats. He killed the serpent with a thousand arrows, nearly emptying his quiver as venom oozed from its black wounds. So that time would not erase the fame of his deed, he established sacred games,⁷¹ with contests celebrated in stories. They were called “Pythia,” after the serpent he had defeated. In these games, any young man who won at boxing, running, or chariot racing was honored with a crown of beech leaves.⁷² The laurel did not yet exist, so Phœbus used to adorn his temples and graceful long hair with garlands from any tree.

Apollo, falling in love with Daphne, the daughter of the river Peneus, she flies from him. He pursues her; on which, the Nymph, imploring the aid of her father, is changed into a laurel.

Apollo falls in love with Daphne, the daughter of the river Peneus, but she flees from him. He pursues her, and the nymph begs her father for help. She is then turned into a laurel.

Daphne, the daughter of Peneus, was the first love of Phœbus; whom, not blind chance, but the vengeful anger of Cupid assigned to him.

Daphne, the daughter of Peneus, was Phœbus’s first love. It was not blind chance but Cupid’s vengeful anger that made Phœbus love her.

The Delian God,⁷³ proud of having lately subdued the serpent, had seen him bending the bow and drawing the string, and had said, “What hast thou to do, wanton boy, with gallant arms? Such a burden as that better befits my shoulders; I, who am able to give unerring wounds to the wild beasts, wounds to the enemy, who lately slew with arrows innumerable the swelling Python, that covered so many acres of land with his pestilential belly. Do thou be contented to excite I know not what flames with thy torch; and do not lay claim to praises properly my own.”

The Delian God,⁷³ proud of having recently defeated the serpent, had seen him bending the bow and drawing its string. He had said, “What are you doing with weapons of war, mischievous boy? Such a burden is better suited to my shoulders. I can strike wild beasts without missing, and strike the enemy too. I recently killed the swollen Python with countless arrows. Its diseased belly covered many acres of land. Be content to stir up whatever flames you can with your torch. Do not claim praise that is rightfully mine.”

To him the son of Venus replies, “Let thy bow shoot all things, Phœbus; my bow shall shoot thee; and as much as all animals fall short of thee, so much is thy glory less than mine.” He thus said; and cleaving the air with his beating wings, with activity he stood upon the shady heights of Parnassus, and drew two weapons out of his arrow-bearing quiver, of different workmanship; the one repels, the other excites desire. That which causes love is of gold, and is brilliant, with a sharp point; that which repels it is blunt, and contains lead beneath the reed. This one the God fixed in the Nymph, the daughter of Peneus, but with the other he wounded the very marrow of Apollo, through his bones pierced by the arrow. Immediately the one is in love; the other flies from the very name of a lover, rejoicing in the recesses of the woods, and in the spoils of wild beasts taken in hunting, and becomes a rival of the virgin Phœbe. A fillet tied together⁷⁴ her hair, put up without any order. Many a one courted her; she hated all wooers; not able to endure, and quite unacquainted with man, she traverses the solitary parts of the woods, and she cares not what Hymen,⁷⁵ what love, or what marriage means. Many a time did her father say, “My daughter, thou owest me a son-in-law;” many a time did her father say, “My daughter, thou owest me grandchildren.” She, utterly abhorring the nuptial torch,⁷⁶ as though a crime, has her beauteous face covered with the blush of modesty; and clinging to her father’s neck, with caressing arms, she says, “Allow me, my dearest father, to enjoy perpetual virginity; her father, in times, bygone, granted this to Diana.”

The son of Venus replies, “Let your bow shoot all things, Phœbus. My bow shall shoot you. And just as all animals are beneath you, so your glory is beneath mine.” He thus spoke and beat his wings through the air. He quickly reached the shady heights of Parnassus and drew two arrows from his quiver. They were made differently. One drives away desire, while the other awakens it. The arrow that causes love is gold and gleams with a sharp point. The one that drives love away is blunt, with lead beneath the shaft. The God shot this arrow into the Nymph, the daughter of Peneus. With the other, he pierced Apollo’s bones and wounded his very marrow. At once Apollo falls in love, while the Nymph flees from the very name of a lover. She delights in the depths of the woods and in the spoils of wild beasts she has taken in hunting. She becomes a rival of the virgin Phœbe. A ribbon tied together⁷⁴ her loosely arranged hair. Many men courted her, but she hated all who pursued her. Unable to bear men and knowing nothing of them, she wanders through the lonely woods. She cares nothing for Hymen,⁷⁵ love, or marriage. Many times her father said, “My daughter, you owe me a son-in-law.” Many times he said, “My daughter, you owe me grandchildren.” She hates the wedding torch⁷⁶ as if it were a crime, and her beautiful face blushes with modesty. She wraps her arms lovingly around her father’s neck and says, “Dearest father, let me remain a virgin forever. Long ago, Diana’s father granted her this wish.”

He indeed complied. But that very beauty forbids thee to be what thou wishest, and the charms of thy person are an impediment to thy desires. Phœbus falls in love, and he covets an alliance with Daphne, now seen by him, and what he covets he hopes for, and his own oracles deceive him; and as the light stubble is burned, when the ears of corn are taken off, and as hedges are set on fire by the torches, which perchance a traveller has either held too near them, or has left there, now about the break of day, thus did the God burst into a flame; thus did he burn throughout his breast, and cherish a fruitless passion with his hopes. He beholds her hair hanging unadorned upon her neck, and he says, “And what would it be if it were arranged?” He sees her eyes, like stars, sparkling with fire; he sees her lips, which it is not enough to have merely seen; he praises both her fingers and her hands, and her arms and her shoulders naked, from beyond the middle; whatever is hidden from view, he thinks to be still more beauteous. Swifter than the light wind she flies, and she stops not at these words of his, as he calls her back:

He did as she asked. But your very beauty prevents you from being what you wish to be. Your charms stand in the way of your desires. Phœbus falls in love and wants to unite with Daphne, whom he has now seen. He hopes to win what he desires, and his own oracles deceive him. Dry stubble burns easily after the ears of grain have been harvested. Hedges catch fire from torches that a traveler may have held too close or left there at daybreak. Just so, the god burst into flame. His whole heart burned, and he nourished a fruitless passion with his hopes. He sees her hair hanging loose and unadorned on her neck and says, “What would it look like if it were arranged?” He sees her eyes sparkling with fire like stars. He sees her lips, and he is not satisfied with merely seeing them. He praises her fingers, her hands, and her arms and shoulders, bare for more than half their length. He imagines that whatever is hidden from view is even more beautiful. She flees faster than the light wind, and she does not stop when he calls her back with these words:

“O Nymph, daughter of Peneus, stay, I entreat thee! I am not an enemy following thee. In this way the lamb flies from the wolf; thus the deer flies from the lion; thus the dove flies from the eagle with trembling wing; in this way each creature flies from its enemy: love is the cause of my following thee. Ah! wretched me! shouldst thou fall on thy face, or should the brambles tear thy legs, that deserve not to be injured, and should I prove the cause of pain to thee. The places are rugged, through which thou art thus hastening; run more leisurely, I entreat thee, and restrain thy flight; I myself will follow more leisurely. And yet, inquire whom thou dost please; I am not an inhabitant of the mountains, I am not a shepherd; I am not here, in rude guise,⁷⁷ watching the herds or the flocks. Thou knowest not, rash girl, thou knowest not from whom thou art flying, and therefore it is that thou dost fly. The Delphian land, Claros and Tenedos,^{78 79} and the Pataræan palace pays service to me. Jupiter is my sire; by me, what shall be, what has been, and what is, is disclosed; through me, songs harmonize with the strings. My own arrow, indeed, is unerring; yet one there is still more unerring than my own, which has made this wound in my heart, before unscathed. The healing art is my discovery, and throughout the world I am honored as the bearer of help, and the properties of simples are⁸⁰ subjected to me. Ah, wretched me!⁸¹ that love is not to be cured by any herbs; and that those arts which afford relief to all, are of no avail for their master.”

“O Nymph, daughter of Peneus, stop, I beg you! I am not an enemy pursuing you. The lamb flees from the wolf this way. So the deer flees from the lion. So the dove flies from the eagle on trembling wings. In this way each creature flees from its enemy. Love is the reason I am pursuing you. Ah, how miserable I would be if you fell on your face, or if brambles tore your legs! Your legs deserve no injury, and I would be the cause of your pain. The ground you are hurrying over is rough. Please run more slowly and do not flee so fast. I will follow more slowly too. But ask who it is you have captivated. I do not live in the mountains, and I am not a shepherd. I am not here in coarse clothes,⁷⁷ watching the herds or flocks. You do not know, reckless girl, you do not know whom you are fleeing. That is why you flee. The Delphian land, Claros and Tenedos,^{78 79} and the palace at Pataræ serve me. Jupiter is my father. Through me, what will be, what has been, and what is, is revealed. Through me, songs are joined in harmony with the strings. My own arrow never misses. Yet there is one that is even more unerring than mine. It has wounded my heart, which before was untouched. I discovered the art of healing, and the whole world honors me as a bringer of help. The powers of medicinal herbs are⁸⁰ under my control. Ah, how miserable I am!⁸¹ No herbs can cure love. The arts that bring relief to all are useless to their own master.”

The daughter of Peneus flies from him, about to say still more, with timid step, and together with him she leaves his unfinished address. Then, too, she appeared lovely; the winds exposed her form to view, and the gusts meeting her fluttered about her garments, as they came in contact, and the light breeze spread behind her⁸² her careless locks; and thus, by her flight, was her beauty increased. But the youthful God⁸³ has not patience any longer to waste his blandishments; and as love urges him on, he follows her steps with hastening pace. As when the greyhound⁸⁴ has seen the hare in the open field, and the one by the speed of his legs pursues his prey, the other seeks her safety; the one is like as if just about to fasten on the other, and now, even now, hopes to catch her, and with nose outstretched plies upon the footsteps of the hare. The other is in doubt whether she is caught already, and is delivered from his very bite, and leaves behind the mouth just touching her. And so is the God, and so is the virgin;⁸⁵ he swift with hopes, she with fear.

The daughter of Peneus flees from him with timid steps as he is about to say more. She leaves his speech unfinished. Even then, she looks lovely. The winds reveal her form and flutter her garments as they meet her. The light breeze spreads her loose hair behind her⁸², and so her flight makes her even more beautiful. But the youthful god⁸³ has no patience to waste any more words trying to charm her. Driven by love, he follows her at a quickening pace. When a greyhound⁸⁴ sees a hare in an open field, one pursues his prey with the speed of his legs, while the other runs for safety. The greyhound seems just about to seize the hare. Even now, he hopes to catch her, stretching out his nose as he follows her footsteps. The hare wonders whether she has already been caught, but she escapes his very bite and leaves his mouth just touching her behind. And so it is with the god and the virgin⁸⁵, he swift with hope, she with fear.

Yet he that follows, aided by the wings of love, is the swifter, and denies her any rest; and is now just at her back as she flies, and is breathing upon her hair scattered upon her neck. Her strength being now spent, she grows pale, and being quite faint, with the fatigue of so swift a flight, looking upon the waters of Peneus, she says, “Give me, my father, thy aid, if you rivers have divine power. Oh Earth, either yawn to swallow me, or by changing it, destroy that form, by which I have pleased too much, and which causes me to be injured.”

Yet the man pursuing her, helped by the wings of love, is faster and gives her no rest. He is now just behind her as she flees, breathing on the hair scattered across her neck. Her strength is now spent, and she grows pale and faint from running so fast. Looking at the waters of Peneus, she says, “Help me, father, if you rivers have divine power. Oh Earth, either open to swallow me, or change and destroy the beauty that has pleased too much and caused me harm.”

Hardly had she ended her prayer, when a heavy torpor seizes her limbs; and her soft breasts are covered with a thin bark. Her hair grows into green leaves, her arms into branches; her feet, the moment before so swift, adhere by sluggish roots; a leafy canopy overspreads her features; her elegance alone⁸⁶ remains in her. This, too, Phœbus admires, and placing his right hand upon the stock, he perceives that the breast still throbs beneath the new bark; and then, embracing the branches as though limbs in his arms, he gives kisses to the wood, and yet the wood shrinks from his kisses. To her the God said: “But since thou canst not be my wife, at least thou shalt be my tree; my hair, my lyre,⁸⁷ my quiver shall always have thee, oh laurel! Thou shalt be presented to the Latian chieftains, when the joyous voice of the soldiers shall sing the song of triumph,⁸⁸ and the long procession shall resort to the Capitol. Thou, the same, shalt stand as a most faithful guardian at the gate-posts of Augustus before his doors,⁸⁹ and shalt protect the oak placed in the centre; and as my head is ever youthful with unshorn locks, do thou, too, always wear the lasting honors of thy foliage.”

Hardly had she finished her prayer when a heavy numbness seized her limbs. And thin bark covered her soft breasts. Her hair turned into green leaves, and her arms into branches. Her feet, so swift a moment before, took hold with slow-growing roots. A leafy canopy covered her face. Only her grace⁸⁶ remained. Phœbus admired her even now. He placed his right hand on the trunk and felt her breast still beating beneath the new bark. Then he embraced the branches as if they were limbs and kissed the wood. And yet the wood shrank from his kisses. The God said to her: “But since you cannot be my wife, at least you will be my tree. Laurel, you will always adorn my hair, my lyre,⁸⁷ and my quiver. You will be presented to the Latian chieftains when the soldiers joyfully sing the song of triumph⁸⁸ and the long procession goes to the Capitol. You, too, will stand as a most faithful guardian on the gateposts before the doors of Augustus⁸⁹ and protect the oak between them. And just as my head remains ever young with uncut hair, you, too, will always wear the lasting honor of your leaves.”

Pæan had ended his speech; the laurel nodded assent with its new-made boughs, and seemed to shake its top just like a head.

Pæan finished his speech. The laurel nodded in agreement with its new branches and seemed to shake its top like a head.

Jupiter, pursuing Io, the daughter of Inachus, covers the earth with darkness, and ravishes the Nymph.

Jupiter pursues Io, the daughter of Inachus. He covers the earth in darkness and rapes the nymph.

There is a grove of Hæmonia,⁹⁰ which a wood, placed on a craggy rock, encloses on every side. They call it Tempe;⁹¹ through this the river Peneus, flowing from the bottom of mount Pindus,⁹² rolls along with its foaming waves, and in its mighty fall, gathers clouds that scatter a vapor like thin smoke,⁹³ and with its spray besprinkles the tops of the woods, and wearies places, far from near to it, with its noise. This is the home, this the abode, these are the retreats of the great river; residing here in a cavern formed by rocks, he gives law to the waters, and to the Nymphs that inhabit those waters. The rivers of that country first repair thither, not knowing whether they should congratulate, or whether console the parent; the poplar-bearing Spercheus,⁹⁴ and the restless Enipeus,⁹⁵ the aged Apidanus,⁹⁶ the gentle Amphrysus,⁹⁷ and Æas,⁹⁸ and, soon after, the other rivers, which, as their current leads them, carry down into the sea their waves, wearied by wanderings. Inachus⁹⁹ alone is absent, and, hidden in his deepest cavern, increases his waters with his tears, and in extreme wretchedness bewails his daughter Io as lost; he knows not whether she now enjoys life, or whether she is among the shades below; but her, whom he does not find anywhere, he believes to be nowhere, and in his mind he dreads the worst.

In Hæmonia,⁹⁰ there is a grove enclosed on every side by woods growing on a craggy rock. It is called Tempe.⁹¹ The river Peneus flows through it from the foot of Mount Pindus,⁹² rolling along in foaming waves. As it plunges down, it gathers clouds that scatter a vapor like thin smoke.⁹³ Its spray reaches the tops of the woods, and its noise wearies even distant places. This is the home, the dwelling, the retreat of the great river. Here, in a rocky cavern, he rules the waters and the Nymphs who live in them. The rivers of that land are the first to come to him. They do not know whether to congratulate or console the father. They include the poplar-bearing Spercheus,⁹⁴ the restless Enipeus,⁹⁵ the aged Apidanus,⁹⁶ the gentle Amphrysus,⁹⁷ and Æas.⁹⁸ Soon the other rivers follow. Each carries its waves, weary from wandering, down to the sea wherever its current leads. Only Inachus⁹⁹ is absent. Hidden in his deepest cavern, he swells his waters with tears. In his misery, he mourns his lost daughter Io. He does not know whether she is still alive or among the shades below. But because he cannot find her anywhere, he believes she is nowhere, and he fears the worst.

Jupiter had seen Io as she was returning from her father’s stream, and had said, “O maid, worthy of Jove, and destined to make I know not whom happy in thy marriage, repair to the shades of this lofty grove (and he pointed at the shade of the grove) while it is warm, and while the Sun is at his height, in the midst of his course. But if thou art afraid to enter the lonely abodes of the wild beasts alone, thou shalt enter the recesses of the groves, safe under the protection of a God, and that a God of no common sort; but with me, who hold the sceptre of heaven in my powerful hand; me, who hurl the wandering lightnings—Do not fly from me;” for now she was flying. And now she had left behind the pastures of Lerna,¹⁰⁰ and the Lircæan plains planted with trees, when the God covered the earth far and wide with darkness overspreading, and arrested her flight, and forced her modesty.

Jupiter saw Io returning from her father’s stream and said, “O maiden, you are worthy of Jove. You are destined to make some man happy in marriage. Go to the shade of this tall grove,” and he pointed to its shade, “while it is warm and while the Sun is at its highest, midway through its course. But perhaps you are afraid to enter the wild beasts’ lonely haunts alone. If so, you can enter the depths of the grove safely under a god’s protection. That god is no ordinary god, but me, the one who holds heaven’s scepter in his powerful hand. Me, the one who hurls the wandering lightning. Do not run from me.” For she was already running. She had left the pastures of Lerna¹⁰⁰ and the wooded Lircæan plains behind her. Then the god spread darkness over the earth far and wide, stopped her flight, and raped her.

Jupiter, having changed Io into a cow, to conceal her from the jealousy of Juno, is obliged to give her to that Goddess, who commits her to the charge of the watchful Argus. Jupiter sends Mercury with an injunction to cast Argus into a deep sleep, and to take away his life.

Jupiter turns Io into a cow to hide her from Juno's jealousy, but he is forced to give her to Juno. The goddess puts Io in the care of the watchful Argus. Jupiter sends Mercury to put Argus into a deep sleep and kill him.

In the meantime Juno looked down upon the midst of the fields, and wondering that the fleeting clouds had made the appearance of night under bright day, she perceived that they were not the vapors from a river, nor were they raised from the moist earth, and then she looked around to see where her husband was, as being one who by this time was full well acquainted with the intrigues of a husband who had been so often detected.¹⁰¹ After she had found him not in heaven, she said, “I am either deceived, or I am injured;” and having descended from the height of heaven, she alighted upon the earth, and commanded the mists to retire. He had foreseen the approach of his wife, and had changed the features of the daughter of Inachus into a sleek heifer.¹⁰² As a cow, too, she is beautiful. The daughter of Saturn, though unwillingly, extols the appearance of the cow; and likewise inquires, whose it is, and whence, or of what herd it is, as though ignorant of the truth. Jupiter falsely asserts that it was produced out of the earth, that the owner may cease to be inquired after. The daughter of Saturn begs her of him as a gift. What can he do? It is a cruel thing to deliver up his own mistress, and not to give her up is a cause of suspicion. It is shame which persuades him on the one hand, love dissuades him on the other. His shame would have been subdued by his love; but if so trifling a gift as a cow should be refused to the sharer of his descent and his couch, she might well seem not to be a cow.

Meanwhile, Juno looked down at the fields. She wondered why passing clouds had made it look like night in broad daylight. She saw that they were not mist from a river, nor had they risen from the damp earth. Then she looked around to see where her husband was. By now, she knew all too well about his affairs, since he had been caught so often.¹⁰¹ When she could not find him in heaven, she said, “Either I am mistaken, or I have been wronged.” She descended from the heights of heaven, landed on earth, and ordered the mists to clear. Jupiter had foreseen his wife’s approach and changed the daughter of Inachus into a sleek young cow.¹⁰² Even as a cow, she was beautiful. Saturn’s daughter praised the cow’s beauty, though unwillingly. Pretending not to know the truth, she asked whose cow it was, where it came from, and what herd it belonged to. Jupiter falsely claimed that it had sprung from the earth, so that she would stop asking who owned it. Saturn’s daughter begged him to give her the cow. What could he do? It would be cruel to give up his own lover, and refusing would raise suspicion. Shame urged him to give her up, but love urged him not to. His love would have overcome his shame. But if he refused so small a gift as a cow to the woman who shared his birth and his bed, the cow might well seem not to be a cow at all.

The rival now being given up to her, the Goddess did not immediately lay aside all apprehension; and she was still afraid of Jupiter, and was fearful of her being stolen, until she gave her to Argus, the son of Aristor, to be kept by him. Argus had his head encircled with a hundred eyes. Two of them used to take rest in their turns, the rest watched, and used to keep on duty.¹⁰³ In whatever manner he stood, he looked towards Io; although turned away, he still used to have Io before his eyes. In the daytime he suffers her to feed; but when the sun is below the deep earth, he shuts her up, and ties a cord round her neck undeserving of such treatment. She feeds upon the leaves of the arbute tree, and bitter herbs, and instead of a bed the unfortunate animal lies upon the earth, that does not always have grass on it, and drinks of muddy streams. And when, too, she was desirous, as a suppliant, to stretch out her arms to Argus, she had no arms to stretch out to Argus; and she uttered lowings from her mouth, when endeavoring to complain. And at this sound she was terrified, and was affrighted at her own voice.

Now that her rival had been given up to her, the Goddess did not immediately put aside all her fears. She was still afraid of Jupiter and feared that Io might be stolen. So she gave Io to Argus, the son of Aristor, to guard her. Argus had a hundred eyes encircling his head. Two rested at a time, while the rest watched and kept guard.¹⁰³ However he stood, he looked toward Io. Even when he turned away, he still had Io before his eyes. During the day, he lets her graze. But when the sun sinks beneath the deep earth, he shuts her up. He ties a cord around her neck, though she does not deserve such treatment. She feeds on arbute leaves and bitter herbs. Instead of a bed, the unfortunate animal lies on the ground, which is not always covered with grass. She drinks from muddy streams. When she wants to stretch out her arms to beg Argus for mercy, she has no arms to stretch out. When she tries to complain, she can only moo. She is terrified by the sound and frightened by her own voice.

She came, too, to the banks, where she was often wont to sport, the banks of her father, Inachus; and soon as she beheld her new horns in the water, she was terrified, and, astonished, she recoiled from herself. The Naiads knew her not, and Inachus himself knew her not, who she was; but she follows her father, and follows her sisters, and suffers herself to be touched, and presents herself to them, as they admire her. The aged Inachus held her some grass he had plucked; she licks his hand, and gives kisses to the palms of her father. Nor does she restrain her tears; and if only words would follow, she would implore his aid, and would declare her name and misfortunes. Instead of words, letters, which her foot traced in the dust, completed the sad discovery of the transformation of her body. “Ah, wretched me!” exclaims her father Inachus; and clinging to the horns and the neck of the snow-white cow, as she wept, he repeats, “Ah, wretched me! and art thou my daughter, that hast been sought for by me throughout all lands? While undiscovered, thou wast a lighter grief to me, than now, when thou art found. Thou art silent, and no words dost thou return in answer to mine; thou only heavest sighs from the depth of thy breast, and what alone thou art able to do, thou answerest in lowings to my words. But I, in ignorance of this, was preparing the bridal chamber, and the nuptial torches for thee; and my chief hope was that of a son-in-law, my next was that of grandchildren. But now must thou have a mate from the herd, now, too, an offspring of the herd. Nor is it possible for me to end grief so great by death; but it is a detriment to be a God; and the gate of death being shut against me, extends my grief to eternal ages.”

She also came to the banks of her father Inachus, where she had often played. As soon as she saw her new horns in the water, she was terrified. In shock, she recoiled from her own reflection. The Naiads did not recognize her, and Inachus himself did not know who she was. But she followed her father and her sisters, letting them touch her and presenting herself to them as they admired her. The aged Inachus held out some grass he had picked. She licked his hand and kissed her father’s palms. She could not hold back her tears. If only she could speak, she would beg for his help and tell him her name and misfortunes. Instead of words, she traced letters in the dust with her foot. They revealed the sad truth of her body’s transformation. “Ah, miserable me!” cried her father Inachus. As she wept, he clung to the horns and neck of the snow-white cow. “Ah, miserable me!” he repeated. “Are you my daughter, whom I have searched for in every land? My grief was lighter when you were missing than it is now that I have found you. You are silent and give no words in answer to mine. You only sigh from deep in your breast. You answer my words with lowing, the only thing you can do. “But I, not knowing this, was preparing the bridal chamber and wedding torches for you. My first hope was for a son-in-law, and my next was for grandchildren. But now you must take a mate from the herd and have offspring of the herd. Nor can I end such great grief by dying. Being a God is a curse. The gate of death is closed to me, and my grief will last forever.”

While thus he lamented, the starry Argus removed her away, and carried the daughter, thus taken from her father, to distant pastures. He himself, at a distance, occupies the lofty top of a mountain, whence, as he sits, he may look about on all sides.

While he lamented, starry Argus took the daughter away from her father and led her to distant pastures. Argus sat on a high mountaintop some distance away, where he could look in every direction.

Nor can the ruler of the Gods above, any longer endure so great miseries of the granddaughter of Phoroneus;¹⁰⁴ and he calls his son Mercury, whom the bright Pleiad, Maia,¹⁰⁵ brought forth, and orders him to put Argus to death. There is but little delay to take wings upon his feet, and his soporiferous wand¹⁰⁶ in his hand, and a cap for his hair.¹⁰⁷ After he had put these things in order, the son of Jupiter leaps down from his father’s high abode upon the earth, and there he takes off his cap, and lays aside his wings; his wand alone was retained. With this, as a shepherd, he drives some she-goats through the pathless country, taken up as he passed along, and plays upon oaten straws joined together.

The ruler of the Gods above can no longer bear the great suffering of Phoroneus’s granddaughter.¹⁰⁴ He calls his son Mercury, born to the bright Pleiad, Maia,¹⁰⁵ and orders him to kill Argus. Mercury wastes but little time putting wings on his feet, taking his sleep-inducing wand¹⁰⁶ in hand, and putting a cap on his head.¹⁰⁷ Once ready, the son of Jupiter leaps down from his father’s high abode to earth. There he takes off his cap and wings, keeping only his wand. Disguised as a shepherd, he uses it to drive some she-goats through the trackless countryside. He has gathered the goats along the way, and he plays on joined oat straws.

The keeper appointed by Juno, charmed by the sound of this new contrivance, says, “Whoever thou art, thou mayst be seated with me upon this stone; for, indeed, in no other place is the herbage more abundant for thy flock; and thou seest, too, that the shade is convenient for the shepherds.” The son of Atlas sat down, and with much talking he occupied the passing day with his discourse, and by playing upon his joined reeds he tried to overpower his watchful eyes. Yet the other strives hard to overcome soft sleep; and although sleep was received by a part of his eyes, yet with a part he still keeps watch. He inquires also (for the pipe had been but lately invented) by what method it had been found out.

The keeper appointed by Juno was charmed by the sound of this new invention. He said, “Whoever you are, you may sit with me on this stone. There is more grass for your flock here than in any other place. And you can see that the shade is good for shepherds too.” The son of Atlas sat down and talked at length to pass the day. He also played his joined reeds, trying to make the keeper close his watchful eyes. Yet the other struggled to resist gentle sleep. Although some of his eyes fell asleep, others kept watch. He also asked how the pipe had been invented, for it was only recently invented.

Pan, falling in love with the Nymph Syrinx, she flies from him; on which he pursues her. Syrinx, arrested in her flight by the waves of the river Ladon, invokes the aid of her sisters, the Naiads, who change her into reeds. Pan unites them into an instrument with seven pipes, which bears the name of the Nymph.

Pan falls in love with the Nymph Syrinx, but she flees from him, and he pursues her. The waters of the river Ladon block her escape. She calls on her sisters, the Naiads, for help, and they turn her into reeds. Pan joins the reeds to make an instrument with seven pipes, which bears the Nymph’s name.

Then the God says, “In the cold mountains of Arcadia, among the Hamadryads of Nonacris,¹⁰⁸ there was one Naiad very famous; the Nymphs called her Syrinx. And not once alone had she escaped the Satyrs as they pursued, and whatever Gods either the shady grove or the fruitful fields have in them. In her pursuits and her virginity itself she used to devote herself to the Ortygian Goddess;¹⁰⁹ and being clothed after the fashion of Diana, she might have deceived one, and might have been supposed to be the daughter of Latona, if she had not had a bow of cornel wood, the other, a bow of gold; and even then did she sometimes deceive people. Pan spies her as she is returning from the hill of Lycæus, and having his head crowned with sharp pine leaves, he utters such words as these;” it remained for Mercury to repeat the words, and how that the Nymph, slighting his suit, fled through pathless spots, until she came to the gentle stream of sandy Ladon;¹¹⁰ and that here, the waters stopping her course, she prayed to her watery sisters, that they would change her; and how that Pan, when he was thinking that Syrinx was now caught by him, had seized hold of some reeds of the marsh, instead of the body of the Nymph; and how, while he was sighing there, the winds moving amid the reeds had made a murmuring noise, and like one complaining; and how that, charmed by this new discovery and the sweetness of the sound, he had said, “This mode of converse with thee shall ever remain with me;” and that accordingly, unequal reeds being stuck together among themselves by a cement of wax, had since retained the name of the damsel.

Then the god says, “In the cold mountains of Arcadia, among the Hamadryads of Nonacris,¹⁰⁸ there was a famous Naiad. The Nymphs called her Syrinx. More than once alone she had escaped pursuing Satyrs and any gods who lived in the shady groves or fruitful fields. In her pursuits and her virginity itself, she devoted herself to the Ortygian Goddess.¹⁰⁹ She dressed like Diana and might have been mistaken for the daughter of Latona. But Syrinx carried a bow of cornel wood, while Diana carried a bow of gold. Even so, she sometimes fooled people. Pan spotted her returning from the hill of Lycæus. With sharp pine leaves crowning his head, he spoke words like these.” It remained for Mercury to repeat Pan’s words. He also had to tell how the Nymph rejected Pan’s advances and fled through trackless places. She came at last to the gentle stream of sandy Ladon.¹¹⁰ There the water blocked her way, and she begged her watery sisters to change her form. He had to tell how Pan thought he had caught Syrinx, but found himself holding marsh reeds instead of her body. And how, as he sighed, the wind stirred the reeds and made a murmuring sound, like someone grieving. And how, delighted by this discovery and the sweetness of the sound, he said, “This way of speaking with you will always remain with me.” And so reeds of unequal lengths were joined with wax and have since kept the maiden’s name.

Mercury, having lulled Argus to sleep, cuts off his head, and Juno places his eyes in the peacock’s tail.

Mercury lulls Argus to sleep and cuts off his head. Juno places Argus’s eyes in the peacock’s tail.

The Cyllenian God¹¹¹ being about to say such things, perceived that all his eyes were sunk in sleep, and that his sight was wrapped¹¹² in slumber. At once he puts an end to his song, and strengthens his slumbers, stroking his languid eyes with his magic wand. There is no delay; he wounds him, as he nods, with his crooked sword, where the head is joined to the neck; and casts him, all blood-stained, from the rock, and stains the craggy cliff with his gore.

The Cyllenian God¹¹¹ was about to say these things when he saw that all the man’s eyes had closed in sleep. His sight was wrapped¹¹² in slumber. At once, the god stopped his song and deepened the man’s sleep, stroking his heavy eyes with his magic wand. Without delay, he struck the nodding man with his curved sword, where his head joined his neck. He threw the bloodstained man from the rock, staining the rugged cliff with his blood.

Argus, thou liest low, and the light which thou hadst in so many eyes is now extinguished; and one night takes possession of a whole hundred eyes. The daughter of Saturn takes them, and places them on the feathers of her own bird, and she fills its tail with starry gems.

Argus, you lie low, and the light in your many eyes is now extinguished. One night has taken possession of a whole hundred eyes. Saturn’s daughter takes the eyes and places them on the feathers of her own bird. She fills its tail with starry gems.

Io, terrified and maddened with dreadful visions, runs over many regions, and stops in Egypt, when Juno, at length, being pacified, restores her to her former shape, and permits her to be worshipped there, under the name of Isis.

Terrified and driven mad by dreadful visions, Io runs through many regions and stops in Egypt. There, Juno finally relents and restores Io to her former shape. Juno allows her to be worshipped there under the name of Isis.

Immediately, she was inflamed with rage, and deferred not the time of expressing her wrath; and she presented a dreadful Fury before the eyes and thoughts of the Argive mistress,¹¹³ and buried in her bosom invisible stings, and drove her, in her fright, a wanderer through the whole earth. Thou, O Nile, didst remain, as the utmost boundary of her long wanderings. Soon as she arrived there, she fell upon her knees, placed on the edge of the bank, and raising herself up, with her neck thrown back, and casting to Heaven those looks which then alone she could, by her groans, and her tears, and her mournful lowing, she seemed to be complaining of Jupiter, and to be begging an end of her sorrows.

Immediately, she was filled with rage and lost no time in expressing her wrath. She placed a dreadful Fury before the eyes and in the thoughts of the Argive mistress,¹¹³ and buried invisible stings in her breast. In terror, the mistress wandered over the whole earth. You, O Nile, were the final boundary of her long wanderings. As soon as she arrived there, she fell to her knees on the riverbank. She raised herself up, threw back her neck, and cast toward Heaven the only looks she could then give. Through her groans, tears, and mournful lowing, she seemed to complain of Jupiter and beg for her sorrows to end.

He, embracing the neck of his wife with his arms, entreats her, at length, to put an end to her punishment; and he says, “Lay aside thy fears for the future; she shall never more be the occasion of any trouble to thee;” and then he bids the Stygian waters to hear this oath. As soon as the Goddess is pacified, Io receives her former shape, and she becomes what she was before; the hairs flee from off of her body, her horns decrease, and the orb of her eye becomes less; the opening of her jaw is contracted; her shoulders and her hands return, and her hoof, vanishing, is disposed of into five nails; nothing of the cow remains to her, but the whiteness of her appearance; and the Nymph, contented with the service of two feet, is raised erect on them; and yet she is afraid to speak, lest she should low like a cow, and timorously tries again the words so long interrupted. Now, as a Goddess, she is worshipped by the linen-wearing throng¹¹⁴ of Egypt.

He puts his arms around his wife's neck and begs her to end Io's punishment at last. He says, “Put aside your fears for the future. She will never again cause you any trouble.” Then he calls on the Stygian waters to witness this oath. As soon as the Goddess is appeased, Io regains her former shape and becomes what she was before. The hair disappears from her body, her horns shrink, and her eyes grow smaller. Her jaws grow narrower. Her shoulders and hands return, and her hoof disappears, changing into five nails. Nothing remains of the cow except her white appearance. The Nymph, content to use two feet, stands upright on them. Yet she is afraid to speak, for fear she will moo like a cow. Timidly, she tries again to speak the words so long interrupted. Now she is worshipped as a Goddess by the linen-wearing crowd¹¹⁴ of Egypt.

To her, at length, Epaphus¹¹⁵ is believed to have been born from the seed of great Jove, and throughout the cities he possesses temples joined to those of his parent. Phaëton, sprung from the Sun, was equal to him in spirit and in years; whom formerly, as he uttered great boasts, and yielded not at all to him, and proud of his father, Phœbus, the grandson of Inachus could not endure; and said, “Thou, like a madman, believest thy mother in all things, and art puffed up with the conceit of an imaginary father.”

At last, Epaphus¹¹⁵ is believed to have been born to her, fathered by great Jove. In cities everywhere, his temples stand alongside those of his father. Phaëton, the Sun’s son, was his equal in spirit and age. Once, Phaëton boasted greatly, refusing to yield to Epaphus and taking pride in his father, Phœbus. The grandson of Inachus could not bear it. He said, “You believe everything your mother tells you, like a madman. You are puffed up by the idea of a father you have imagined.”

Phaëton blushed, and in shame repressed his resentment; and he reported to his mother, Clymene,¹¹⁶ the reproaches of Epaphus; and said, “Mother, to grieve thee still more, I, the free, the bold youth, was silent; I am ashamed both that these reproaches can be uttered against us, and that they cannot be refuted; but do thou, if only I am born of a divine race, give me some proof of so great a descent, and claim me for heaven.” Thus he spoke, and threw his arms around the neck of his mother; and besought her, by his own head and by that of Merops,¹¹⁷ and by the nuptial torches of his sisters, that she would give him some token of his real father.

Phaëton blushed and, ashamed, held back his anger. He told his mother, Clymene,¹¹⁶ about Epaphus’s insults. He said, “Mother, what will upset you even more is that I, a confident and bold youth, said nothing. I am ashamed that he can say these things about us and that I cannot disprove them. But if I really am descended from a god, give me some proof of my great ancestry. Claim me as a child of heaven.” As he spoke, he threw his arms around his mother’s neck. He begged her to give him some sign of who his real father was. He begged her by his own life, by the life of Merops,¹¹⁷ and by his sisters’ wedding torches.

It is a matter of doubt whether Clymene was more moved by the entreaties of Phaëton, or by resentment at the charge made against her; and she raised both her arms to heaven, and, looking up to the light of the Sun, she said, “Son, I swear to thee, by this beam, bright with shining rays, which both hears and sees us, that thou, that thou, I say, wast begotten by this Sun, which thou beholdest; by this Sun, which governs the world. If I utter an untruth, let him deny himself to be seen by me, and let this light prove the last for my eyes. Nor will it be any prolonged trouble for thee to visit thy father’s dwelling; the abode where he arises is contiguous to our regions.¹¹⁸ If only thy inclination disposes thee, go forth, and thou shalt inquire of himself.”

It is hard to say whether Clymene was more moved by Phaëton’s pleas or by anger at the accusation against her. She raised both arms to heaven and looked up at the sunlight. “Son, I swear to you by this bright ray, which both hears and sees us, that you, you, I say, were fathered by this Sun you see, by this Sun who rules the world. If I am lying, let him refuse to let me see him, and let this light be the last my eyes ever see. It will not take you long to visit your father’s home. The place where he rises is close to our lands.¹¹⁸ If you wish, go and ask him yourself.”

Phaëton immediately springs forth, overjoyed, upon these words of his mother, and reaches the skies in imagination; and he passes by his own Æthiopians, and the Indians situate beneath the rays of the Sun,¹¹⁹ and briskly wends his way to the rising of his sire.

Overjoyed by his mother’s words, Phaëton immediately sets out. In his imagination, he reaches the skies. He passes his own Æthiopians and the Indians who live beneath the rays of the Sun,¹¹⁹ and travels swiftly toward the place where his father rises.