Book 4

The daughters of Minyas, instead of celebrating the festival of Bacchus, apply themselves to other pursuits during the ceremonies; and among several narratives which they relate to pass away the time, they divert themselves with the story of the adventures of Pyramus and Thisbe. These lovers having made an appointment to meet without the walls of Babylon, Thisbe arrives first; but at the sight of a lioness, she runs to hide herself in a cave, and in her alarm, drops her veil. Pyramus, arriving soon after, finds the veil of his mistress stained with blood; and believing her to be dead, kills himself with his own sword. Thisbe returns from the cave; and finding Pyramus weltering in his blood, she plunges the same fatal weapon into her own breast.

Instead of celebrating the festival of Bacchus, the daughters of Minyas occupy themselves with other activities during the ceremonies. To pass the time, they tell several stories, including the adventures of Pyramus and Thisbe. The lovers agree to meet outside the walls of Babylon, and Thisbe arrives first. But when she sees a lioness, she runs to hide in a cave, dropping her veil in her fright. Pyramus arrives soon afterward and finds his beloved's veil stained with blood. Believing that Thisbe is dead, he kills himself with his own sword. Thisbe returns from the cave and finds Pyramus lying in his blood. She plunges the same fatal weapon into her own breast.

But Alcithoë, the daughter of Minyas,³⁰⁹ does not think that the rites³¹⁰ of the God ought to be received; but still, in her rashness, denies that Bacchus is the progeny of Jupiter; and she has her sisters³¹¹ as partners in her impiety.

But Alcithoë, the daughter of Minyas,³⁰⁹ does not believe the rites³¹⁰ of the god should be accepted. In her rashness, she still denies that Bacchus is the son of Jupiter. Her sisters³¹¹ join her in her impiety.

The priest had ordered both mistresses and maids, laying aside their employments, to have their breasts covered with skins, and to loosen the fillets of their hair, and to put garlands on their locks, and to take the verdant thyrsi in their hands; and had prophesied that severe would be the resentment of the Deity, if affronted. Both matrons and new-married women obey, and lay aside their webs and work-baskets,³¹² and their tasks unfinished; and offer frankincense, and invoke both Bacchus and Bromius,³¹³ and Lyæus,³¹⁴ and the son of the Flames, and the Twice-Born, and the only one that had two mothers.³¹⁵ To these is added the name of Nyseus, and the unshorn Thyoneus,³¹⁶ and with Lenæus,³¹⁷ the planter of the genial grape, and Nyctelius,³¹⁸ and father Eleleus, and Iacchus,³¹⁹ and Evan,³²⁰ and a great many other names, which thou, Liber, hast besides, throughout the nations of Greece. For thine is youth everlasting; thou art a boy to all time, thou art beheld as the most beauteous of all in high heaven; thou hast the features of a virgin, when thou standest without thy horns. By thee the East was conquered, as far as where swarthy India is bounded by the remote Ganges. Thou God, worthy of our veneration, didst smite Pentheus, and the axe-bearing Lycurgus,³²¹ sacrilegious mortals; thou didst hurl the bodies of the Etrurians into the sea. Thou controllest the neck of the lynxes yoked to thy chariot, graced with the painted reins. The Bacchanals and the Satyrs follow thee; the drunken old man, too, Silenus, who supports his reeling limbs with a staff, and sticks by no means very fast to his bending ass. And wherever thou goest, the shouts of youths, and together the voices of women, and tambourines beaten with the hands, and hollow cymbals resound, and the box-wood pipe, with its long bore. The Ismenian matrons ask thee to show thyself mild and propitious, and celebrate thy sacred rites as prescribed.

The priest had ordered mistresses and maids alike to set aside their work. They were to cover their breasts with animal skins, loosen their hair ribbons, put garlands on their hair, and take green thyrsi in their hands. He had warned that the deity would be deeply offended if insulted. Both matrons and newly married women obeyed. They set aside their weaving and work baskets,³¹² leaving their tasks unfinished. They offered frankincense and called upon Bacchus, Bromius,³¹³ Lyæus,³¹⁴ the son of the Flames, the Twice-Born, and the only one who had two mothers.³¹⁵ They added the names of Nyseus, the unshorn Thyoneus,³¹⁶ Lenæus,³¹⁷ who planted the joyous grape, Nyctelius,³¹⁸ father Eleleus, Iacchus,³¹⁹ and Evan.³²⁰ They called on many other names, too, which you, Liber, have throughout the nations of Greece. For yours is everlasting youth. You are a boy for all time, and you are seen as the most beautiful of all in high heaven. When you stand without your horns, your features are those of a maiden. You conquered the East as far as the distant Ganges, where swarthy India ends. You, god worthy of our worship, struck down Pentheus and the axe-bearing Lycurgus,³²¹ sacrilegious mortals. You hurled the bodies of the Etrurians into the sea. You guide the lynxes yoked to your chariot with decorated reins. The Bacchanals and the Satyrs follow you, as does the drunken old man, Silenus. He supports his unsteady limbs with a staff and sits far from securely on his stooping ass. Wherever you go, the shouts of youths and the voices of women ring out together. So do hand-beaten tambourines, hollow cymbals, and the long-bored boxwood pipe. The Ismenian matrons ask you to show yourself gentle and favorable, and they perform your sacred rites as prescribed.

The daughters of Minyas alone, within doors, interrupting the festival with unseasonable labor,³²² are either carding wool, or twirling the threads with their fingers, or are plying at the web, and keeping the handmaids to their work. One of them, as she is drawing the thread with her smooth thumb, says, “While others are idling, and thronging to these fanciful rites, let us, whom Pallas, a better Deity, occupies, alleviate the useful toil of our hands with varying discourse; and let us relate by turns to our disengaged ears, for the general amusement, something each in our turn, that will not permit the time to seem long.” They approve of what she says, and her sisters bid her to be the first to tell her story.

Only the daughters of Minyas stay indoors, disrupting the festival with their ill-timed work.³²² They are carding wool, spinning thread with their fingers, or weaving at the loom. They also keep their handmaids at work. One of them, as she draws the thread with her smooth thumb, says, “While others are idle and crowding to these fanciful rites, let us ease our useful work with varied conversation. Pallas, a better Deity, keeps us busy. Let us take turns telling stories for everyone’s amusement, so our free ears can listen and the time will not seem long.” Her sisters agree and ask her to tell the first story.

She considers which of many she shall tell (for she knows many a one), and she is in doubt whether she shall tell of thee, Babylonian Dercetis,³²³ whom the people of Palestine³²⁴ believe to inhabit the pools, with thy changed form, scales covering thy limbs; or rather how her daughter, taking wings, passed her latter years in whitened turrets; or how a Naiad,³²⁵ by charms and too potent herbs, changed the bodies of the young men into silent fishes, until she suffered the same herself. Or how the tree which bore white fruit formerly, now bears it of purple hue, from the contact of blood. This story pleases her; this, because it was no common tale, she began in manner such as this, while the wool followed the thread:—

She considers which of her many stories to tell (for she knows many). She wonders whether to tell of you, Babylonian Dercetis,³²³ whom the people of Palestine³²⁴ believe lives in pools. They believe your form has changed, and scales cover your limbs. Or perhaps she will tell how your daughter grew wings and spent her later years in white towers. Or how a Naiad,³²⁵ using charms and powerful herbs, turned young men into silent fish, until she suffered the same fate herself. Or how a tree that once bore white fruit now bears purple fruit after being touched by blood. This story pleases her. Because it was no common tale, she began it like this, while she spun the wool into thread:

“Pyramus and Thisbe, the one the most beauteous of youths,³²⁶ the other preferred before all the damsels that the East contained, lived in adjoining houses; where Semiramis is said to have surrounded her lofty city³²⁷ with walls of brick.³²⁸ The nearness caused their first acquaintance, and their first advances in love; with time their affection increased. They would have united themselves, too, by the tie of marriage, but their fathers forbade it. A thing which they could not forbid, they were both inflamed, with minds equally captivated. There is no one acquainted with it; by nods and signs, they hold converse. And the more the fire is smothered, the more, when so smothered, does it burn. The party-wall, common to the two houses, was cleft by a small chink, which it had got formerly, when it was built. This defect, remarked by no one for so many ages, you lovers (what does not love perceive?) first found one, and you made it a passage for your voices, and the accents of love used to pass through it in safety, with the gentlest murmur. Oftentimes, after they had taken their stations, Thisbe on one side, and Pyramus on the other, and the breath of their mouths had been mutually caught by turns, they used to say, ‘Envious wall, why dost thou stand in the way of lovers? what great matter were it, for thee to suffer us to be joined with our entire bodies? Or if that is too much, that, at least, thou shouldst open, for the exchange of kisses. Nor are we ungrateful; we confess that we are indebted to thee, that a passage has been given for our words to our loving ears.’ Having said this much, in vain, on their respective sides, about night they said, ‘Farewell’; and gave those kisses each on their own side, which did not reach the other side.

“Pyramus, the most handsome of young men,³²⁶ and Thisbe, more beautiful than all the young women in the East, lived in neighboring houses. They lived in the great city that Semiramis is said to have surrounded with brick walls.^{327 328} Living so close, they met and first began to fall in love. Their affection grew with time. They would have married, but their fathers forbade it. Yet their fathers could not forbid their love, and both burned with equal passion. No one knew about it. They communicated by nods and signs. And the more their passion was suppressed, the more fiercely it burned. The wall between their houses had a small crack, which had formed when it was built. No one had noticed the flaw for so many years. But you lovers discovered it first. What does love not notice? You made it a passage for your voices, and your words of love passed safely through it in the gentlest whispers. Often, Thisbe would stand on one side and Pyramus on the other. Each would feel the other’s breath in turn, and they would say, ‘Jealous wall, why do you stand between two lovers? How much would it cost you to let our whole bodies come together? Or, if that is too much, could you at least open enough for us to exchange kisses? We are not ungrateful. We admit that we owe you for letting our words pass through to our loving ears.’ After saying these things in vain from their separate sides, they would say, ‘Farewell,’ as night fell. Each would kiss the wall on their own side, but those kisses never reached the other.”

”The following morning had removed the fires of the night, and the Sun, with its rays, had dried the grass wet with rime, when they met together at the wonted spot. Then, first complaining much in low murmurs, they determine, in the silent night, to try to deceive their keepers, and to steal out of doors; and when they have left the house, to quit the buildings of the city as well: but that they may not have to wander, roaming in the open fields, to meet at the tomb of Ninus,³²⁹ and to conceal themselves beneath the shade of a tree. There was there a lofty mulberry tree, very full of snow-white fruit, quite close to a cold spring. The arrangement suits them; and the light, seeming to depart but slowly, is buried in the waters, and from the same waters the night arises. The clever Thisbe, turning the hinge, gets out in the dark, and deceives her attendants, and, having covered her face, arrives at the tomb, and sits down under the tree agreed upon; love made her bold. Lo! a lioness approaches, having her foaming jaws besmeared with the recent slaughter of oxen, about to quench her thirst with the water of the neighboring spring. The Babylonian Thisbe sees her at a distance, by the rays of the moon, and with a trembling foot she flies to a dark cave; and, while she flies, her veil falling from her back, she leaves it behind. When the savage lioness has quenched her thirst with plenteous water, as she is returning into the woods, she tears the thin covering, found by chance without Thisbe herself, with her blood-stained mouth.

”The next morning put out the fires of the night, and the Sun dried the frosted grass with its rays. Then they met at their usual spot. After complaining at length in whispers, they made a plan. They would try to slip past their keepers and out of their doors in the silent night. Once outside, they would also leave the city’s buildings behind. But so they would not have to wander through the open fields, they would meet at the tomb of Ninus³²⁹ and hide in the shade of a tree. A tall mulberry tree stood there, heavy with snow-white fruit, close to a cool spring. The plan suited them. The daylight seemed to fade only slowly. At last it sank into the waters, and night rose from those same waters. Clever Thisbe opened the door in the dark and slipped past her attendants. With her face covered, she reached the tomb and sat beneath the tree they had chosen. Love had made her bold. Look! A lioness approached, her foaming jaws smeared with blood from oxen she had just killed. She was on her way to quench her thirst at the nearby spring. By moonlight, the Babylonian Thisbe saw her in the distance and fled on trembling feet to a dark cave. As she ran, her veil fell from her back, and she left it behind. The savage lioness drank her fill. Then, on her way back to the woods, she happened upon the thin veil, with no Thisbe beside it, and tore it with her bloodstained mouth.

“Pyramus, going out later than Thisbe, saw the evident footmarks of a wild beast, in the deep dust, and grew pale all over his face. But, as soon as he found her veil, as well, dyed with blood, he said: ‘One night will be the ruin of two lovers, of whom she was the most deserving of a long life. My soul is guilty; ’tis I that have destroyed thee, much to be lamented; who bade thee to come by night to places full of terror, and came not hither first. O, whatever lions are lurking beneath this rock, tear my body in pieces, and devour my accursed entrails with ruthless jaws. But it is the part of a coward to wish for death.’ He takes up the veil of Thisbe, and he takes it with himself to the shade of the tree agreed on, and, after he has bestowed tears on the well-known garment, he gives kisses to the same, and he says, ‘Receive, now, a draught of my blood as well!’ and then plunges the sword, with which he is girt, into his bowels; and without delay, as he is dying, he draws it out of the warm wound. As he falls on his back upon the ground, the blood spurts forth on high, not otherwise than as when a pipe is burst on the lead decaying,³³⁰ and shoots out afar the liquid water from the hissing flaw, and cleaves the air with its jet. The fruit of the tree, by the sprinkling of the blood, are changed to a dark tint, and the root, soaked with the gore, tints the hanging mulberries with a purple hue. Behold! not yet having banished her fear, Thisbe returns, that she may not disappoint her lover, and seeks for the youth both with her eyes and her affection, and longs to tell him how great dangers she has escaped. And when she observes the spot, and the altered appearance of the tree, she doubts if it is the same, so uncertain does the color of the fruit make her. While she is in doubt, she sees palpitating limbs throbbing upon the bloody ground; she draws back her foot, and having her face paler than box-wood,³³¹ she shudders like the sea, which trembles³³² when its surface is skimmed by a gentle breeze. But, after pausing a time, she had recognized her own lover, she smote her arms, undeserving of such usage, and tearing her hair, and embracing the much-loved body, she filled the gashes with her tears, and mingled her tokens of sorrow with his blood; and imprinting kisses on his cold features, she exclaimed, ‘Pyramus! what disaster has taken thee away from me? Pyramus! answer me; ’tis thy own Thisbe, dearest, that calls thee; hear me, and raise thy prostrate features.’

“Pyramus went out later than Thisbe. In the deep dust, he saw the unmistakable tracks of a wild beast, and his face turned pale. But when he also found her veil stained with blood, he said: ‘One night will destroy two lovers. Of the two of us, she deserved a long life more. The guilt is mine. I have destroyed you, and I must mourn you deeply. I told you to come at night to this terrifying place, and I did not come here first. Oh, lions, wherever you are lurking beneath this rock, tear my body apart. Devour my accursed insides with your merciless jaws. But only a coward wishes for death.’ He picked up Thisbe’s veil and took it to the shade of the tree where they had agreed to meet. He wept over the familiar garment and kissed it. Then he said, ‘Now drink my blood too!’ He plunged the sword at his side into his belly. As he lay dying, he immediately pulled it out of the warm wound. He fell on his back, and his blood spurted high into the air. It was like water shooting from a burst pipe whose lead has corroded.³³⁰ The water streams far through the hissing crack, cutting through the air. Sprinkled with blood, the fruit of the tree turned dark. The root, soaked in blood, colored the hanging mulberries purple. Look! Thisbe returned, though she was still afraid, so she would not disappoint her lover. She searched for the young man with her eyes and her heart. She longed to tell him how great the dangers were that she had escaped. But when she saw the place and the changed appearance of the tree, she doubted whether it was the same spot. The color of the fruit made her uncertain. As she hesitated, she saw limbs twitching on the bloody ground. She stepped back, her face paler than boxwood,³³¹ and shuddered like the sea. Its surface trembles³³² when a gentle breeze skims across it. But after a moment, she recognized her lover. She struck her arms, though they had done nothing to deserve it, and tore her hair. She embraced the body she loved so dearly. She filled his wounds with her tears, mingling her signs of grief with his blood. Kissing his cold face, she cried, ‘Pyramus! What disaster has taken you from me? Pyramus! Answer me. Dearest, it is your own Thisbe calling you. Hear me and lift your face from the ground.’

“At the name of Thisbe, Pyramus raised his eyes, now heavy with death, and, after he had seen her, he closed them again. After she had perceived her own garment, and beheld, too, the ivory sheath³³³ without its sword, she said, ‘’Tis thy own hand, and love, that has destroyed thee, ill-fated youth! I, too, have a hand bold enough for this one purpose; I have love as well; this shall give me strength for the wound. I will follow thee in thy death, and I shall be called the most unhappy cause and companion of thy fate, and thou who, alas! couldst be torn from me by death alone, shalt not be able, even by death, to be torn from me. And you, O most wretched parents of mine and his, be but prevailed upon, in this one thing, by the entreaties of us both, that you will not deny those whom their constant love and whom their last moments have joined, to be buried in the same tomb. But thou, O tree, which now with thy boughs dost overshadow the luckless body of but one, art fated soon to cover those of two. Retain a token of this our fate, and ever bear fruit black and suited for mourning, as a memorial of the blood of us two.’ Thus she said; and having fixed the point under the lower part of her breast, she fell upon the sword, which still was reeking with his blood.

“At the sound of Thisbe’s name, Pyramus opened his eyes, heavy with death. After seeing her, he closed them again. She recognized her own garment and saw the ivory sheath³³³ without its sword. She said, ‘Your own hand and your love have destroyed you, ill-fated youth! I, too, have a hand bold enough for this one purpose. I have love as well, and it will give me strength to wound myself. I will follow you in death. I will be called both the most unhappy cause of your fate and your companion in it. Alas, only death could tear you from me, but now even death will not be able to part us. And you, our most wretched parents, listen to the pleas of us both in this one thing. Do not deny us burial in the same tomb. Our constant love and our final moments have joined us. And you, O tree, now shelter the unfortunate body of only one with your branches. Soon you are destined to shelter the bodies of two. Keep a sign of our fate. Always bear black fruit, suited to mourning, in memory of the blood we both shed.’ With these words, she placed the sword’s point beneath her breast. Then she fell on it, while it was still wet with his blood.

“Her prayers, however, moved the Gods, and moved their parents. For the color of the fruit, when it has fully ripened, is black;³³⁴ and what was left of them, from the funeral pile, reposed in the same urn.”

“Her prayers, however, moved the gods and their parents. For the fruit turns black when fully ripe,³³⁴ and their remains from the funeral pyre were placed in the same urn.”

The Sun discovers to Vulcan the intrigue between Mars and Venus, and then, himself, falls in love with Leucothoë. Venus, in revenge for the discovery, resolves to make his amours unfortunate.

The Sun tells Vulcan about the affair between Mars and Venus. Then the Sun himself falls in love with Leucothoë. To punish him for exposing her affair, Venus decides to make his love affairs unhappy.

Here she ended; and there was but a short time betwixt, and then Leuconoë began³³⁵ to speak. Her sisters held their peace. “Love has captivated even this Sun, who rules all things by his æthereal light. I will relate the loves of the Sun. This God is supposed to have been the first to see the adultery of Venus with Mars; this God is the first to see everything. He was grieved at what was done, and showed to the husband, the son of Juno,³³⁶ the wrong done to his bed, and the place of the intrigue. Both his senses, and the work which his skilful right hand was then holding, quitted him on the instant. Immediately, he files out some slender chains of brass, and nets, and meshes, which can escape the eye. The finest threads cannot surpass that work, nor yet the cobweb that hangs from the top of the beam. He makes it so, too, as to yield to a slight touch, and a gentle movement, and skilfully arranges it drawn around the bed. When the wife and the gallant come into the same bed, being both caught through the artifice of the husband, and chains prepared by this new contrivance, they are held fast in the very midst of their embraces.

Here she ended. After only a short time, Leuconoë began³³⁵ to speak. Her sisters fell silent. “Love has captivated even the Sun, who rules all things with his heavenly light. I will tell you about the Sun’s loves. This god is believed to have been the first to see Venus and Mars commit adultery. This god is the first to see everything. He was grieved by what they had done. He showed the husband, the son of Juno,³³⁶ how his marriage had been betrayed and where the affair took place. At once, the husband lost his senses and dropped the work his skillful right hand was holding. Immediately, he files slender brass chains, nets, and meshes, so fine that the eye cannot see them. Not even the finest threads or the cobweb hanging from a beam can surpass his work. He makes the trap give way at the slightest touch or movement, and skillfully arranges it around the bed. When the wife and her lover come to the same bed, the husband’s trick catches them both. The chains, made by this new method, hold them fast in the very midst of their embrace.

“The Lemnian God immediately threw open the folding doors³³⁷ of ivory, and admitted the Deities. There they lay disgracefully bound. And yet many a one of the Gods, not the serious ones, could fain wish thus to become disgraced. The Gods of heaven laughed, and for a long time was this the most noted story in all heaven. The Cytherean³³⁸ goddess exacts satisfaction of the Sun, in remembrance of this betrayal; and, in her turn, disturbs him with the like passion, who had disturbed her secret amours. What now, son of Hyperion,³³⁹ does thy beauty, thy heat, and thy radiant light avail thee? For thou, who dost burn all lands with thy flames, art now burnt with a new flame; and thou, who oughtst to be looking at everything, art gazing on Leucothoë, and on one maiden art fixing those eyes which thou oughtst to be fixing on the universe. At one time thou art rising earlier in the Eastern sky; at another thou art setting late in the waves; and in taking time to gaze on her, thou art lengthening the hours of mid-winter. Sometimes thou art eclipsed, and the trouble of thy mind affects thy light, and, darkened, thou fillest with terror the breasts of mortals. Nor art thou pale, because the form of the moon, nearer to the earth, stands in thy way. It is that passion which occasions this complexion. Thou lovest her alone, neither does Clymene, nor Rhodos,³⁴⁰ nor the most beauteous mother³⁴¹ of the Ææan Circe engage thee, nor yet Clytie, who, though despised, was longing for thy embraces; at that very time thou wast suffering these grievous pangs. Leucothoë occasioned the forgetting of many a damsel; she, whom Eurynome, the most beauteous of the perfume-bearing³⁴² nation produced.³⁴³ But after her daughter grew up, as much as the mother excelled all other Nymphs, so much did the daughter excel the mother. Her father, Orchamus, ruled over the Achæmenian³⁴⁴ cities, and he is reckoned the seventh in descent from the ancient Belus.³⁴⁵

“The Lemnian god immediately threw open the folding doors³³⁷ of ivory and let the gods in. There the lovers lay, bound in disgrace. Yet many of the gods, though not the serious ones, would gladly have suffered such disgrace. The gods of heaven laughed, and for a long time this was the most talked about story in heaven. The Cytherean³³⁸ goddess takes revenge on the Sun for betraying her. In turn, she troubles him with the same passion after he exposed her secret love affair. What good do your beauty, your heat, and your radiant light do you now, son of Hyperion³³⁹? You burn all lands with your flames, yet now a new flame burns you. You should be watching everything, but you gaze at Leucothoë. You fix on one maiden the eyes you should be fixing on the universe. Sometimes you rise early in the eastern sky. At other times you set late in the waves. By taking time to gaze at her, you lengthen the hours of midwinter. Sometimes you are eclipsed. Your troubled mind affects your light, and your darkness fills mortals with terror. You are not pale because the moon, closer to the earth, stands in your way. Passion is what makes you pale. You love her alone. Neither Clymene nor Rhodos³⁴⁰ holds your attention, nor does the beautiful mother³⁴¹ of Ææan Circe. Nor does Clytie, who longed for your embrace though you rejected her. At that very time, you were suffering these painful pangs of love. Leucothoë made you forget many a maiden. Her mother was Eurynome, the most beautiful woman of the perfume-bearing³⁴² nation.³⁴³ But when her daughter grew up, she surpassed her mother as much as her mother surpassed all other nymphs. Her father, Orchamus, ruled over the Achæmenian³⁴⁴ cities. He was seventh in descent from the ancient Belus.³⁴⁵”

“The pastures of the horses of the Sun are under the Western sky; instead of grass, they have ambrosia.³⁴⁶ That nourishes their limbs wearied with their daily service, and refits them for labor. And while the coursers are there eating their heavenly food, and night is taking her turn; the God enters the beloved chamber, changed into the shape of her mother Eurynome, and beholds Leucothoë among twice six handmaids, near the threshold, drawing out the smooth threads with twirling spindle. When, therefore, as though her mother, he has given kisses to her dear daughter, he says, “There is a secret matter, which I have to mention; maids, withdraw, and take not from a mother the privilege of speaking in private with her daughter.” They obey; and the God being left in the chamber without any witness, he says, ‘I am he, who measures out the long year, who beholds all things, and through whom the earth sees all things; the eye, in fact, of the universe. Believe me, thou art pleasing to me.’ She is affrighted; and in her alarm, both her distaff and her spindle fall from her relaxed fingers. Her very fear becomes her; and he, no longer delaying, returns to his true shape, and his wonted beauty. But the maiden, although startled at the unexpected sight, overcome by the beauty of the God,³⁴⁷ and dismissing all complaints, submits to his embrace.

“The pastures of the Sun’s horses lie under the western sky. Instead of grass, they have ambrosia.³⁴⁶ It nourishes their bodies, tired from their daily work, and makes them ready to work again. While the horses eat their heavenly food and night takes its turn, the god enters his beloved’s chamber. He has taken the shape of her mother, Eurynome. He sees Leucothoë near the doorway, drawing out smooth threads with a twirling spindle. Twelve handmaids are with her. Pretending to be her mother, he kisses his dear daughter. Then he says, “There is a secret I must tell you. Maids, leave us, and do not deny a mother the privilege of speaking privately with her daughter.” They obey. Left alone in the chamber, the god says, ‘I am the one who measures out the long year. I see all things, and through me the earth sees all things. I am, in fact, the eye of the universe. Believe me, you please me.’ She is frightened. In her alarm, her distaff and spindle fall from her loosened fingers. Her very fear makes her beautiful. He delays no longer, but returns to his true shape and his usual beauty. The maiden is startled by the unexpected sight. But she is overcome by the god’s beauty,³⁴⁷ and gives up all complaints and submits to his embrace.

Clytie, in a fit of revenge, discovers the adventure of Leucothoë to her father, who orders her to be buried alive. The Sun, grieved at her misfortune, changed her into the frankincense tree; he also despises the informer, who pines away for love of him, and is at last changed into the sunflower.

In a fit of revenge, Clytie tells Leucothoë’s father about her affair. He orders Leucothoë to be buried alive. Grieved by her fate, the Sun changes her into the frankincense tree. He also despises Clytie for telling on Leucothoë. Clytie wastes away from love for him and is finally changed into the sunflower.

Clytie envied her, (for the love of the Sun³⁴⁸ for her had not been moderate), and, urged on by resentment at a rival, she published the intrigue, and, when spread abroad, brought it to the notice of her father. He, fierce and unrelenting, cruelly buried her alive deep in the ground, as she entreated and stretched out her hands towards the light of the Sun, and cried, “’Twas he that offered violence to me against my will;” and upon her he placed a heap of heavy sand. The son of Hyperion scattered it with his rays, and gave a passage to thee, by which thou mightst be able to put forth thy buried features.

Clytie envied her, for the Sun³⁴⁸ had loved her intensely. Resentful of her rival, Clytie revealed the affair. Once word had spread, she brought it to her rival’s father. Fierce and unforgiving, he cruelly buried his daughter alive deep in the ground. She pleaded and stretched out her hands toward the sunlight, crying, “He forced himself on me against my will.” Her father piled heavy sand over her. The son of Hyperion scattered the sand with his rays, opening a passage so that you could lift your buried face.

But thou, Nymph, couldst not now raise thy head smothered with the weight of the earth; and there thou didst lie, a lifeless body. The governor of the winged steeds is said to have beheld nothing more afflicting than that, since the lightnings that caused the death of Phaëton. He, indeed, endeavors, if he can, to recall her cold limbs to an enlivening heat, by the strength of his rays. But, since fate opposes attempts so great, he sprinkles both her body and the place with odoriferous nectar, and having first uttered many a complaint he says, “Still shalt thou reach the skies.”³⁴⁹ Immediately, the body, steeped in the heavenly nectar, dissolves, and moistens the earth with its odoriferous juices; and a shoot of frankincense having taken root by degrees through the clods, rises up and bursts the hillock with its top.

But you, Nymph, could no longer lift your head, buried under the weight of the earth. There you lay, lifeless. The driver of the winged steeds is said to have seen nothing more distressing since the lightning that killed Phaëton. He tried to warm her cold limbs back to life with the power of his rays. But fate stood in the way of his great efforts. So he sprinkled fragrant nectar over her body and the ground. After many cries of grief, he said, “Still you shall reach the skies.”³⁴⁹ At once, her body, soaked in the heavenly nectar, dissolved and moistened the earth with its fragrant juices. A shoot of frankincense gradually took root among the clods. It grew upward until its tip burst through the mound.

But the author of light came no more to Clytie (although love might have excused her grief, and her grief the betrayal); and he put an end to his intercourse with her. From that time she, who had made so mad a use of her passion, pined away, loathing the other Nymphs; and in the open air, night and day, she sat on the bare ground, with her hair dishevelled and unadorned. And for nine days, without water or food, she subsisted in her fast, merely on dew and her own tears; and she did not raise herself from the ground. She only used to look towards the face of the God as he moved along, and to turn her own features towards him. They say that her limbs became rooted fast in the ground; and a livid paleness turned part of her color into that of a bloodless plant. There is a redness in some part; and a flower, very like a violet,³⁵⁰ conceals her face. Though she is held fast by a root, she turns towards the Sun, and though changed, she still retains her passion.

But the bringer of light never returned to Clytie, although love might have excused her grief, and her grief her betrayal. He ended his relationship with her. From then on, she pined away, having used her passion so recklessly. She hated the other Nymphs. Night and day, she sat outside on the bare ground, her hair disheveled and unadorned. For nine days, she went without water or food, living only on dew and her own tears. She did not rise from the ground. She only watched the face of the God as he moved along, turning her own face toward him. They say her limbs took root in the ground, and a sickly pallor turned part of her color into that of a bloodless plant. Some redness remains, and a flower, much like a violet,³⁵⁰ hides her face. Though held fast by a root, she turns toward the Sun, and though changed, she still keeps her passion.

Daphnis is turned into a stone. Scython is changed from a man into a woman. Celmus is changed into adamant. Crocus and Smilax are made into flowers. The Curetes are produced from a shower.

Daphnis is turned to stone. Scython is changed from a man into a woman. Celmus is turned into adamant. Crocus and Smilax are turned into flowers. The Curetes are born from a shower.

Thus she spoke; and the wondrous deed charms their ears. Some deny that it was possible to be done, some say that real Gods can do all things; but Bacchus is not one of them. When her sisters have become silent, Alcithoë is called upon; who running with her shuttle through the warp of the hanging web, says, “I keep silence upon the well-known amours of Daphnis, the shepherd of Ida,³⁵¹ whom the resentment of the Nymph, his paramour, turned into a stone. Such mighty grief inflames those who are in love. Nor do I relate how once Scython, the law of nature being altered, was of both sexes first a man, then a woman. Thee too, I pass by, O Celmus, now adamant, formerly most attached to Jupiter when little; and the Curetes,³⁵² sprung from a plenteous shower of rain; Crocus, too, changed, together with Smilax,³⁵³ into little flowers; and I will entertain your minds with a pleasing novelty.”

Thus she spoke, and the wonderful deed delighted her listeners. Some denied that it could have happened. Others said that real Gods can do anything, but that Bacchus was not one of them. When her sisters fell silent, they called on Alcithoë. As she passed her shuttle through the warp of the hanging cloth, she said, “I will say nothing of the well-known love affairs of Daphnis, the shepherd of Ida.³⁵¹ His lover, a Nymph, turned him to stone in her anger. Such powerful grief burns in those who are in love. Nor will I tell how nature’s law was once changed for Scython, who was first a man, then a woman. I pass over you too, Celmus, now adamant, who were once devoted to Jupiter when he was a child. I also pass over the Curetes,³⁵² born from a plentiful shower of rain, and Crocus, who was changed with Smilax³⁵³ into little flowers. Instead, I will entertain you with a pleasant new story.”

The Naiad Salmacis falls in love with the youth Hermaphroditus, who rejects her advances. While he is bathing, she leaps into the water, and seizing the youth in her arms, they become one body, retaining their different sexes.

The Naiad Salmacis falls in love with the young Hermaphroditus, but he rejects her advances. While he is bathing, she jumps into the water and grabs him. They become one body, retaining their different sexes.

Learn how Salmacis became infamous, and why it enervates, with its enfeebling waters, and softens the limbs bathed in it. The cause is unknown; but the properties of the fountain are very well known. The Naiads nursed a boy, born to Mercury of the Cytherean Goddess in the caves of Ida; whose face was such that therein both mother and father could be discerned; he likewise took his name from them. As soon as he had completed thrice five years, he forsook his native mountains, and leaving Ida, the place of his nursing, he loved to wander over unknown spots, and to see unknown rivers, his curiosity lessening the fatigue. He went, too, to the Lycian³⁵⁴ cities, and the Carians, that border upon Lycia. Here he sees a pool of water, clear to the very ground at the bottom; here there are no fenny reeds, no barren sedge, no rushes with their sharp points. The water is translucent; but the edges of the pool are enclosed with green turf, and with grass ever verdant. A Nymph dwells there; but one neither skilled in hunting, nor accustomed to bend the bow, nor to contend in speed; the only one, too, of all the Naiads not known to the swift Diana. The report is, that her sisters often said to her, “Salmacis, do take either the javelin, or the painted quiver, and unite thy leisure with the toils of the chase.” She takes neither the javelin, nor the painted quiver, nor does she unite her leisure with the toils of the chase. But sometimes she is bathing her beauteous limbs in her own spring; and often is she straitening her hair with a comb of Citorian boxwood,³⁵⁵ and consulting the waters, into which she looks, what is befitting her. At other times, covering her body with a transparent garment, she reposes either on the soft leaves or on the soft grass. Ofttimes is she gathering flowers. And then, too, by chance was she gathering them when she beheld the youth, and wished to possess him, thus seen.

Learn how Salmacis became infamous, and why its weakening waters drain the strength and soften the limbs bathed in them. The cause is unknown, but the fountain’s effects are well known. The Naiads raised a boy in the caves of Ida. He was the son of Mercury and the Cytherean Goddess. His face showed the likeness of both his mother and his father, and he took his name from theirs. When he turned fifteen, he left his native mountains and Ida, where he had been raised. He loved to wander through unfamiliar places and see unfamiliar rivers. His curiosity made the journey less tiring. He also visited the Lycian³⁵⁴ cities and the Carians, who live beside Lycia. There he saw a pool so clear that he could see the bottom. No marsh reeds, barren sedge, or sharp-pointed rushes grew there. The water was clear, and green turf and ever-fresh grass surrounded the pool. A Nymph lived there, but she was not skilled in hunting. She was not used to drawing a bow or racing. She was also the only one of all the Naiads whom swift Diana did not know. Her sisters, it is said, often told her, “Salmacis, please take up a javelin or a painted quiver. Spend some of your leisure on the work of hunting.” She took up neither the javelin nor the painted quiver, and she did not spend her leisure hunting. Instead, she sometimes bathed her beautiful limbs in her own spring. And she often smoothed her hair with a comb of Citorian boxwood,³⁵⁵ looking into the water to see what suited her. At other times, she covered her body with a transparent garment and rested on soft leaves or grass. She often gathered flowers. By chance, she was gathering them when she saw the youth, and, having seen him, wanted to possess him.

But though she hastened to approach the youth, still she did not approach him before she had put herself in order, and before she had surveyed her garments, and put on her best looks, and deserved to be thought beautiful. Then thus did she begin to speak: “O youth, most worthy to be thought to be a God! if thou art a God, thou mayst well be Cupid; but, if thou art a mortal, happy are they who begot thee, and blessed is thy brother, and fortunate indeed thy sister, if thou hast one, and the nurse as well who gave thee the breast. But far, far more fortunate than all these is she; if thou hast any wife, if thou shouldst vouchsafe any one the honor of marriage. And if any one is thy wife, then let my pleasure be stolen; but, if thou hast none, let me be thy wife, and let us unite in one tie.” After these things said, the Naiad is silent; a blush tinges the face of the youth: he knows not what love is, but even to blush becomes him. Such is the color of apples, hanging on a tree exposed to the sun, or of painted ivory, or of the moon blushing beneath her brightness when the aiding cymbals³⁵⁶ of brass are resounding in vain. Upon the Nymph desiring, without ceasing, such kisses at least as he might give to his sister, and now laying her hands upon his neck, white as ivory, he says, “Wilt thou desist, or am I to fly, and to leave this place, together with thee?”

Though she hurried toward the youth, she first put herself in order and checked her clothes. She put on her best looks, so that she deserved to be thought beautiful. Then she began to speak: “Young man, you are worthy of being thought a god! If you are a god, you may well be Cupid. But if you are mortal, happy are your parents, and blessed is your brother. Your sister, if you have one, is fortunate indeed, as is the nurse who nursed you. But far, far more fortunate than all these is she who is your wife, if you have one. She is fortunate if you should grant anyone the honor of marriage. If someone is your wife, then let me steal my pleasure with you. But if you have no wife, let me be your wife, and let us join in marriage.” After saying this, the Naiad fell silent, and the youth’s face turned red. He did not know what love was, but even a blush suited him. His color was like that of apples hanging on a tree in the sun, or of painted ivory. It was also like the moon blushing beneath her brightness, when the helping cymbals³⁵⁶ of brass sound in vain. The Nymph kept begging him for at least the kind of kisses he might give his sister. Now she put her hands on his neck, which was white as ivory. He said, “Will you stop, or must I flee and leave this place and you behind?”

Salmacis is affrighted, and says, “I freely give up this spot to thee, stranger,” and, with a retiring step, she pretends to go away. But then looking back, and hid in a covert of shrubs, she lies concealed, and puts her bended knees down to the ground. But he, just like a boy, and as though unobserved on the retired sward, goes here and there, and in the sportive waves dips the soles of his feet, and then his feet as far as his ankles. Nor is there any delay; being charmed with the temperature of the pleasant waters, he throws off his soft garments from his tender body. Then, indeed, Salmacis is astonished, and burns with desire for his naked beauty. The eyes, too, of the Nymph are on fire, no otherwise than as when the Sun,³⁵⁷ most brilliant with his clear orb, is reflected from the opposite image of a mirror. With difficulty does she endure delay; hardly does she now defer her joy. Now she longs to embrace him; and now, distracted, she can hardly contain herself. He, clapping his body with his hollow palms, swiftly leaps into the stream, and throwing out his arms alternately, shines in the limpid water, as if any one were to cover statues of ivory, or white lilies, with clear glass.

Salmacis is frightened and says, “I freely give you this place, stranger,” and steps back, pretending to leave. But then she looks back and hides among the bushes, kneeling on the ground. He, like a boy who thinks no one is watching, wanders across the secluded grass. He dips the soles of his feet in the playful waves, and then his feet up to his ankles. Charmed by the pleasant warmth of the water, he immediately throws off the soft clothes covering his tender body. Salmacis is amazed and burns with desire for his naked beauty. The Nymph’s eyes blaze like the Sun,³⁵⁷ shining brightly as its clear orb is reflected in a mirror. She can hardly bear to wait and can barely put off her pleasure. She longs to embrace him, and in her excitement she can hardly contain herself. He claps his body with his cupped hands and quickly leaps into the pool. As he stretches out his arms in turn, he gleams in the clear water. He looks like an ivory statue or white lilies covered with clear glass.

“I have gained my point,” says the Naiad; “see, he is mine!” and, all her garments thrown aside, she plunges in the midst of the waters, and seizes him resisting her, and snatches reluctant kisses, and thrusts down her hands, and touches his breast against his will, and clings about the youth, now one way, and now another. Finally, as he is struggling against her, and desiring to escape, she entwines herself about him, like a serpent which the royal bird takes up and is bearing aloft; and as it hangs, it holds fast his head and feet, and enfolds his spreading wings with its tail. Or, as the ivy is wont to wind itself along the tall trunks of trees; and as the polypus³⁵⁸ holds fast its enemy, caught beneath the waves, by letting down his suckers on all sides; so does the descendant of Atlas³⁵⁹ still persist, and deny the Nymph the hoped-for joy. She presses him hard; and clinging to him with every limb, as she holds fast, she says, “Struggle as thou mayst, perverse one, still thou shalt not escape. So ordain it, ye Gods, and let no time separate him from me, nor me from him.” Her prayers find propitious Deities, for the mingled bodies of the two are united,³⁶⁰ and one human shape is put upon them; just as if any one should see branches beneath a common bark join in growing, and spring up together. So, when their bodies meet together in the firm embrace, they are no more two, and their form is twofold, so that they can neither be styled woman nor boy; they seem to be neither and both.

“I have won,” says the Naiad. “Look, he is mine!” She throws off all her clothes and plunges into the water. She seizes him as he resists, steals kisses he does not want, and reaches down with her hands. She touches his chest against his will and clings to the young man from every side. At last, as he struggles and tries to escape, she wraps herself around him. She is like a serpent caught and carried aloft by the royal bird. As the serpent hangs there, it grips the bird’s head and feet and wraps its tail around the spreading wings. Or she is like ivy winding around tall tree trunks, or a polypus³⁵⁸ gripping an enemy beneath the waves with suckers on every side. Yet the descendant of Atlas³⁵⁹ still resists and denies the Nymph the pleasure she hopes for. She presses close and clings to him with every limb. Holding him fast, she says, “Struggle all you like, stubborn boy, you will not escape. Gods, ordain it so, and let no time ever separate him from me, or me from him.” The gods favor her prayer. Their bodies merge³⁶⁰ into a single human form, as if someone saw branches join beneath a shared bark and grow together. So, as their bodies meet in that tight embrace, they are no longer two. Their form is double, so that they cannot be called either woman or boy. They seem to be neither and both.

Therefore, when Hermaphroditus sees that the limpid waters, into which he had descended as a man, have made him but half a male, and that his limbs are softened in them, holding up his hands, he says, but now no longer with the voice of a male, “O, both father and mother, grant this favor to your son, who has the name of you both, that whoever enters these streams a man, may go out thence but half a man, and that he may suddenly become effeminate in the waters when touched.” Both parents, moved, give their assent to the words of their two-shaped son, and taint the fountain with drugs of ambiguous quality.

So Hermaphroditus saw that the clear waters had changed him. He had entered them as a man, but they had made him only half male and softened his limbs. He raised his hands and spoke, though his voice was no longer a man’s. “Father and mother, grant this favor to your son, who bears both your names. Let anyone who enters these waters as a man leave them only half a man. Let him suddenly become effeminate when the waters touch him.” Both parents were moved by their two-formed son’s words and granted his wish. They tainted the spring with drugs of uncertain power.

Bacchus, to punish the daughters of Minyas for their contempt of his worship, changes them into bats, and their work into ivy and vine leaves.

Bacchus punishes the daughters of Minyas for their contempt for his worship. He turns them into bats and their work into ivy and vine leaves.

There was now an end of their stories; and still do the daughters of Minyas go on with their work, and despise the God, and desecrate his festival; when, on a sudden, tambourines unseen resound with their jarring noise; the pipe, too, with the crooked horn, and the tinkling brass, re-echo; myrrh and saffron shed their fragrant odors; and, a thing past all belief, their webs begin to grow green, and the cloth hanging in the loom to put forth foliage like ivy. Part changes into vines, and what were threads before, are now turned into vine shoots. Vine branches spring from the warp, and the purple lends its splendor to the tinted grapes.

Their stories were now over, but the daughters of Minyas continued working, despising the God and profaning his festival. Suddenly, unseen tambourines sounded with a harsh noise. Pipes, curved horns, and tinkling brass rang out too. Myrrh and saffron filled the air with their fragrance. Then, unbelievably, their woven work began to turn green, and the cloth hanging in the loom sprouted leaves like ivy. Part of it turned into vines, and the threads became vine shoots. Vine branches sprang from the warp, and the purple dye gave the ripening grapes their brilliant color.

And now the day was past, and the time came on, which you could neither call darkness nor light, but yet the very commencement of the dubious night along with the light. The house seemed suddenly to shake, and unctuous torches to burn, and the building to shine with glowing fires, and the fictitious phantoms of savage wild beasts to howl. Presently, the sisters are hiding themselves throughout the smoking house, and in different places are avoiding the fires and the light. While they are seeking a hiding-place, a membrane is stretched over their small limbs, and covers their arms with light wings; nor does the darkness suffer them to know by what means they have lost their former shape. No feathers bear them up; yet they support themselves on pellucid wings; and, endeavoring to speak, they utter a voice very diminutive even in proportion to their bodies, and express their low complaints with a squeaking sound. They frequent houses, not woods; and, abhorring the light, they fly abroad by night. And from the late evening do they derive their name.³⁶¹

The day had passed, and the time came that was neither dark nor light. It was the very beginning of the uncertain night, with daylight still lingering. Suddenly, the house seemed to shake, oil-soaked torches seemed to burn, and the building seemed to glow with fire. The ghostly forms of savage wild beasts seemed to howl. Soon, the sisters hid throughout the smoke-filled house, seeking different places away from the fire and light. As they searched for hiding places, a membrane stretched over their small limbs and covered their arms with light wings. The darkness kept them from seeing how they lost their former shape. No feathers carried them, yet their transparent wings held them up. When they tried to speak, their voices were tiny, even for their bodies. They voiced their faint complaints in squeaks. They live in houses, not woods, and, hating the light, they fly out at night. They take their name from the late evening.³⁶¹

Tisiphone, being sent by Juno to the Palace of Athamas, causes him to become mad; on which he dashes his son Learchus to pieces against a wall. He then pursues his wife Ino, who throws herself headlong from the top of a rock into the sea, with her other son Melicerta in her arms: when Neptune, at the intercession of Venus, changes them into Sea Deities. The attendants of Ino, who have followed her in her flight, are changed, some into stone, and others into birds, as they are about to throw themselves into the sea after their mistress.

Juno sends Tisiphone to the palace of Athamas, where she drives him mad. Athamas then dashes his son Learchus to pieces against a wall. He pursues his wife Ino, who leaps from a rock into the sea with their other son, Melicerta, in her arms. At Venus’s request, Neptune changes Ino and Melicerta into sea deities. Ino’s attendants have followed her in her flight and are about to leap into the sea after her. Some are changed into stone, and others into birds.

But then the Divine power of Bacchus is famed throughout all Thebes; and his aunt is everywhere telling of the great might of the new Divinity; she alone,³⁶² out of so many sisters, is free from sorrow, except that which her sisters have occasioned. Juno beholds her, having her soul elevated with her children, and her alliance with Athamas, and the God her foster-child. She cannot brook this, and says to herself, “Was the child of a concubine able to transform the Mæonian sailors, and to overwhelm them in the sea, and to give the entrails of the son to be torn to pieces by his mother, and to cover the three daughters of Minyas with newly formed wings? Shall Juno be able to do nothing but lament these griefs unrevenged? And is that sufficient for me? Is this my only power? He himself instructs me what to do. It is right to be taught even by an enemy. And what madness can do,³⁶³ he shows enough, and more than enough, by the slaughter of Pentheus. Why should not Ino, too, be goaded by madness, and submit to an example kindred to those of her sisters?”

But now the divine power of Bacchus is famous throughout all Thebes. His aunt tells everyone of the great might of the new God. She alone,³⁶² among so many sisters, is free from sorrow, except for the sorrow her sisters have caused her. Juno sees how proud she is of her children, her marriage to Athamas, and the God she has raised. Juno cannot bear it and says to herself, “Could the son of a concubine transform the Mæonian sailors and overwhelm them in the sea? Could he have a mother tear her son’s entrails to pieces and cover the three daughters of Minyas with newly formed wings? Can Juno do nothing but mourn these sorrows without avenging them? Is that enough for me? Is that my only power? Bacchus himself shows me what to do. It is right to learn even from an enemy. Through the slaughter of Pentheus, he shows clearly, more than clearly, what madness can do.³⁶³ Why should Ino not too be driven mad and suffer a fate like that of her sisters?”

There is a shelving path, shaded with dismal yew, which leads through profound silence to the infernal abodes. Here languid Styx exhales vapors; and the new-made ghosts descend this way, and phantoms when they have enjoyed³⁶⁴ funeral rites. Horror and winter possess these dreary regions far and wide, and the ghosts newly arrived know not where the way is that leads to the Stygian city, or where is the dismal palace of the black Pluto. The wide city has a thousand passages, and gates open on every side. And as the sea receives the rivers for the whole earth, so does that spot³⁶⁵ receive all the souls; nor is it too little for any amount of people, nor does it perceive the crowd to increase. The shades wander about, bloodless, without body and bones; and some throng the place of judgment; some the abode of the infernal prince. Some pursue various callings, in imitation of their former life; their own punishment confines others.

A sloping path, shaded by gloomy yew trees, leads through deep silence to the dwellings of the underworld. Here the sluggish Styx gives off vapors. Newly made ghosts and spirits descend this path after receiving³⁶⁴ funeral rites. Horror and winter reign throughout these bleak regions. The newly arrived ghosts do not know the way to the Stygian city or to the gloomy palace of black Pluto. The vast city has a thousand passages and gates open on every side. Just as the sea receives rivers from the whole earth, that place³⁶⁵ receives all souls. It is never too small for any number of people, and it does not notice the crowd growing. The shades wander about without blood, bodies, or bones. Some crowd around the place of judgment, and some around the home of the ruler of the underworld. Some follow various occupations, imitating their former lives. Others are confined by their own punishments.

Juno, the daughter of Saturn, leaving her celestial habitation, submits to go thither, so much does she give way to hatred and to anger. Soon as she has entered there, and the threshold groans, pressed by her sacred body, Cerberus raises his threefold mouth, and utters triple barkings at the same moment. She summons the Sisters,³⁶⁶ begotten of Night, terrible and implacable Goddesses. They are sitting before the doors of the prison shut close with adamant, and are combing black vipers from their hair. Soon as they recognize her amid the shades of darkness, these Deities arise. This place is called “the accursed.” Tityus³⁶⁷ is giving his entrails to be mangled, and is stretched over nine acres. By thee, Tantalus,³⁶⁸ no waters are reached, and the tree which overhangs thee, starts away. Sisyphus,³⁶⁹ thou art either catching or thou art pushing on the stone destined to fall again. Ixion³⁷⁰ is whirled round, and both follows and flies from himself. The granddaughters, too, of Belus, who dared to plot the destruction of their cousins, are everlastingly taking up the water which they lose. After the daughter of Saturn has beheld all these with a stern look, and Ixion before all; again, after him, looking upon Sisyphus, she says,

Juno, the daughter of Saturn, left her home in heaven and went there. So strong were her hatred and anger. As she entered, the threshold groaned beneath her divine body. Cerberus raised his three heads and barked with all three mouths at once. She summoned the Sisters,³⁶⁶ born of Night, terrifying and merciless Goddesses. They sat before the doors of a prison sealed with adamant, combing black vipers from their hair. As soon as they recognized her in the darkness, these Goddesses rose. This place is called “the accursed.” Tityus³⁶⁷ lies stretched over nine acres, while his entrails are torn apart. Tantalus,³⁶⁸ you cannot reach the water, and the tree hanging over you springs away. Sisyphus,³⁶⁹ you are either catching the stone or pushing it upward, only for it to fall again. Ixion³⁷⁰ spins around, both chasing and fleeing himself. The granddaughters of Belus also are there. They dared to plot the destruction of their cousins, and now they endlessly draw water that they keep losing. The daughter of Saturn looked sternly at them all, but especially at Ixion. Then she looked again at Sisyphus and said,

“Why does he alone, of all the brothers, suffer eternal punishment? and why does a rich palace contain the proud Athamas, who, with his wife, has ever despised me?” And then she explains the cause of her hatred and of her coming, and what it is she desires. What she desires is, that the palace of Cadmus shall not stand, and that the Sister Furies shall involve Athamas in crime. She mingles together promises, commands, and entreaties, and solicits the Goddesses. When Juno has thus spoken, Tisiphone, with her locks dishevelled as they are, shakes them, and throws back from her face the snakes crawling over it; and thus she says: “There is no need of a long preamble; whatever thou commandest, consider it as done: leave these hateful realms, and betake thyself to the air of a better heaven.”

“Why is he alone, of all the brothers, punished forever? Why does proud Athamas live in a rich palace when he and his wife have always despised me?” And then she explains why she hates them, why she has come, and what she wants. She wants the palace of Cadmus destroyed and the Sister Furies to drive Athamas to commit a crime. She pleads with the Goddesses, mixing promises, commands, and appeals. When Juno has finished speaking, Tisiphone shakes her disheveled hair and throws back the snakes crawling over her face. She says: “There is no need for a long explanation. Whatever you command, consider it done. Leave these hateful realms and return to the air of a better heaven.”

Juno returns, overjoyed; and, preparing to enter heaven, Iris,³⁷¹ the daughter of Thaumas, purifies her by sprinkling water. Nor is there any delay; the persecuting Tisiphone³⁷² takes a torch reeking with gore, and puts on a cloak red with fluid blood, and is girt with twisted snakes, and then goes forth from her abode. Mourning attends her as she goes, and Fright, and Terror, and Madness with quivering features. She now reaches the threshold; the Æolian door-posts are said to have shaken, and paleness tints the maple door; the Sun, too, flies from the place. His wife is terrified at these prodigies; Athamas, too, is alarmed, and they are both preparing to leave the house. The baneful Erinnys stands in the way, and blocks up the passage; and extending her arms twisted round with folds of vipers, she shakes her locks; the snakes thus moved, emit a sound. Some lying about her shoulders, some gliding around her temples, send forth hissings and vomit forth corruption, and dart forth their tongues. Then she tears away two snakes from the middle of her hair, which, with pestilential hand, she throws against them. But these creep along the breasts of Ino and Athamas, and inspire them with direful intent. Nor do they inflict any wounds upon their limbs; it is the mind that feels the direful stroke. She had brought, too, with her a monstrous composition of liquid poison, the foam of the mouth of Cerberus, and the venom of Echidna;³⁷³ and purposeless aberrations, and the forgetfulness of a darkened understanding, and crime, and tears, and rage, and the love of murder. All these were blended together; and, mingled with fresh blood she had boiled them in a hollow vessel of brass, stirred about with a stalk of green hemlock. And while they are trembling, she throws the maddening poison into the breasts of them both, and moves their inmost vitals. Then repeatedly waving her torch in the same circle, she swiftly follows up the flames thus excited with fresh flames. Thus triumphant, and having executed her commands, she returns to the empty realms of the great Pluto; and she ungirds the snakes which she had put on. Immediately the son of Æolus, filled with rage, cries out, in the midst of his palace, “Ho! companions, spread your nets in this wood; for here a lioness was just now beheld by me with two young ones.” And, in his madness, he follows the footsteps of his wife, as though of a wild beast; and he snatches Learchus, smiling and stretching forth his little arms from the bosom of his mother, and three or four times he whirls him round in the air like a sling, and, frenzied, he dashes in pieces³⁷⁴ the bones of the infant against the hard stones. Then, at last, the mother being roused (whether it was grief that caused it, or whether the power of the poison spread over her), yells aloud, and runs away distracted, with dishevelled hair; and carrying thee, Melicerta, a little child, in her bare arms, she cries aloud “Evoë, Bacche.” At the name of Bacchus, Juno smiles, and says, “May thy foster-child³⁷⁵ do thee this service.”

Juno returns, overjoyed. As she prepares to enter heaven, Iris,³⁷¹ the daughter of Thaumas, purifies her by sprinkling her with water. Meanwhile, the relentless Tisiphone³⁷² wastes no time. She takes a torch reeking of blood and puts on a cloak red with flowing blood. She belts herself with twisted snakes and then leaves her home. Mourning follows her, along with Fright, Terror, and Madness, whose face quivers. She now reaches the threshold. The Æolian doorposts are said to shake, and the maple door turns pale. Even the Sun flees from the place. Athamas and his wife are frightened by these signs, and both prepare to leave the house. The deadly Erinnys stands in their way, blocking the passage. She stretches out her arms, wrapped in coils of vipers, and shakes her hair. The snakes, thus disturbed, make a noise. Some lie on her shoulders, while others glide around her temples. They hiss, spew venom, and dart their tongues. Then she tears two snakes from the middle of her hair and throws them at the couple with her deadly hand. They creep over Ino’s and Athamas’s breasts and fill them with terrible intentions. They do not wound their bodies. It is their minds that feel the terrible blow. Tisiphone has also brought a monstrous brew of liquid poison. It contains foam from Cerberus’s mouth and the venom of Echidna,³⁷³ as well as aimless wandering, the forgetfulness of a clouded mind, crime, tears, rage, and the love of murder. She has mixed all these things with fresh blood and boiled them in a hollow bronze vessel. She stirred the mixture with a stalk of green hemlock. As Ino and Athamas tremble, she throws the maddening poison into their breasts, stirring them to their depths. Then she waves her torch again and again in the same circle, quickly feeding the flames thus kindled with fresh flames. Triumphant and having carried out her orders, she returns to the empty realms of the great Pluto. There she takes off the snakes she wore as a belt. At once, the son of Æolus flies into a rage and cries out in the middle of his palace, “Ho! Companions, spread your nets in this wood. I have just seen a lioness here with two cubs.” In his madness, he pursues his wife as though she were a wild beast. He snatches Learchus from his mother’s arms, while the child smiles and stretches out his little arms. Three or four times, he swings the child through the air like a sling. Then, in a frenzy, he smashes³⁷⁴ the infant’s bones against the hard stones. At last the mother is roused, whether by grief or by the poison spreading through her. She cries out and runs away, frantic, with her hair disheveled. Carrying you, Melicerta, a little child, in her bare arms, she cries, “Evoë, Bacche.” At the name of Bacchus, Juno smiles and says, “May your foster-child³⁷⁵ do you this service.”

There is a rock³⁷⁶ that hangs over the sea; the lowest part is worn hollow by the waves, and defends the waters covered thereby from the rain. The summit is rugged, and stretches out its brow over the open sea. This Ino climbs (madness gives her strength), and, restrained by no fear, she casts herself and her burden³⁷⁷ into the deep; the water, struck by her fall, is white with foam. But Venus, pitying the misfortunes of her guiltless granddaughter,³⁷⁸ in soothing words thus addresses her uncle: “O Neptune, thou God of the waters, to whom fell a power next after the empire of heaven, great things indeed do I request; but do thou take compassion on my kindred, whom thou seest being tossed upon the boundless Ionian sea;³⁷⁹ and add them to thy Deities. I have surely some interest with the sea, if, indeed, I once was foam formed in the hollowed³⁸⁰ deep, and my Grecian name is derived³⁸¹ from that.” Neptune yields to her request; and takes away from them all that is mortal, and gives them a venerable majesty; and alters both their name and their shape, and calls Palæmon a Divinity,³⁸² together with his mother Leucothoë.

A rock³⁷⁶ hangs over the sea. Waves have worn a hollow in its lower part, sheltering the water beneath it from rain. Its summit is rugged, and its brow stretches out over the open sea. Ino climbs the rock, given strength by madness. Without fear to restrain her, she throws herself and her burden³⁷⁷ into the deep. The water turns white with foam as she strikes it. But Venus pities the misfortunes of her innocent granddaughter.³⁷⁸ She speaks soothingly to her uncle: “Neptune, God of the waters, your power is second only to the rule of heaven. What I ask is great, but please take pity on my kin. You see them being tossed about on the boundless Ionian Sea.³⁷⁹ Make them gods among your own. I surely have some claim on the sea, if I was indeed once foam formed in the hollowed³⁸⁰ deep, and my Greek name comes³⁸¹ from that.” Neptune grants her request. He takes away all that is mortal from them and gives them a venerable majesty. He changes both their names and their forms. He calls Palæmon a god,³⁸² along with his mother, Leucothoë.

Her Sidonian attendants,³⁸³ so far as they could, tracing the prints of their feet, saw the last of them on the edge of the rock; and thinking that there was no doubt of their death, they lamented the house of Cadmus, with their hands tearing their hair and their garments; and they threw the odium on the Goddess, as being unjust and too severe against the concubine. Juno could not endure their reproaches, and said, “I will make you yourselves tremendous memorials of my displeasure.” Confirmation followed her words. For the one who had been especially attached, said, “I will follow the queen into the sea;” and about to give the leap, she could not be moved any way, and adhering to the rock, there she stuck fast. Another, while she was attempting to beat her breast with the accustomed blows, perceived in the attempt that her arms had become stiff. One, as by chance she had extended her hands over the waters of the sea, becoming a rock, held out her hands in those same waters. You might see the fingers of another suddenly hardened in her hair, as she was tearing her locks seized on the top of her head. In whatever posture each was found at the beginning of the change, in the same she remained. Some became birds; which, sprung from Ismenus, skim along the surface of the waves in those seas, with the wings which they have assumed.

Her Sidonian attendants,³⁸³ followed their footprints as far as they could. They saw the last footprints at the edge of the rock. Certain that the two had died, they mourned the house of Cadmus, tearing their hair and clothes. They blamed the Goddess, saying she had been unjust and too harsh toward the concubine. Juno could not bear their reproaches. She said, “I will make you yourselves terrible reminders of my displeasure.” What happened next confirmed her words. The attendant who had been especially devoted said, “I will follow the queen into the sea.” But as she was about to leap, she could not move at all. She clung to the rock and remained stuck there. Another tried to beat her breast as mourners did, but found that her arms had gone stiff. One had stretched her hands out over the sea when she turned to rock. Her hands remained outstretched over the water. Another was tearing hair from the top of her head when her fingers suddenly hardened in it. Each woman remained in the posture she had held when the change began. Some became birds. These birds, descended from Ismenus, skim the surface of the waves in those seas on their new wings.

The misfortunes of his family oblige Cadmus to leave Thebes, and to retire with his wife Hermione to Illyria, where they are changed into serpents.

His family's misfortunes force Cadmus to leave Thebes and withdraw to Illyria with his wife Hermione. There, they are turned into serpents.

The son of Agenor knows not that his daughter and his little grandson are now Deities of the sea. Forced by sorrow, and a succession of calamities, and the prodigies which, many in number, he had beheld, the founder flies from his city, as though the ill-luck of the spot, and not his own, pressed hard upon him, and driven, in a long series of wandering, he reaches the coast of Illyria, with his exiled wife. And now, loaded with woes and with years, while they are reflecting on the first disasters of their house, and in their discourse are recounting their misfortunes, Cadmus says, “Was that dragon a sacred one, that was pierced by my spear, at the time when, setting out from Sidon, I sowed the teeth of the dragon in the ground, a seed till then unknown? If the care of the Gods avenges this with resentment so unerring, I pray that I myself, as a serpent, may be lengthened out into an extended belly.” Thus he says; and, as a serpent, he is lengthened out into an extended belly, and perceives scales growing on his hardened skin, and his black body become speckled with azure spots; and he falls flat on his breast, and his legs, joined into one, taper out by degrees into a thin round point. His arms are still remaining; those arms which remain he stretches out; and, as the tears are flowing down his face, still that of a man, he says, “Come hither, wife, come hither, most unhappy one, and, while something of me yet remains, touch me; and take my hand, while it is still a hand, and while I am not a serpent all over.” He, indeed, desires to say more, but, on a sudden, his tongue is divided into two parts. Nor are words in his power when he offers to speak; and as often as he attempts to utter any complaints, he makes a hissing: this is the voice that Nature leaves him. His wife, smiting her naked breast with her hand, cries aloud, “Stay, Cadmus! and deliver thyself, unhappy one, from this monstrous form. Cadmus, what means this? Where are thy feet? where are both thy shoulders and thy hands? where is thy color and thy form, and, while I speak, where all else besides? Why do ye not, celestial Gods, turn me as well into a similar serpent?” Thus she spoke; he licked the face of his wife, and crept into her dear bosom, as though he recognized her; and gave her embraces, and reached her well-known neck.

The son of Agenor does not know that his daughter and his little grandson are now gods of the sea. Driven by sorrow, one disaster after another, and the many omens he has witnessed, the city's founder flees. He acts as though the bad luck of the place, rather than his own, weighs heavily on him. After a long journey, he reaches the coast of Illyria with his exiled wife. Now burdened by grief and age, they reflect on the first disasters that struck their family and recount their misfortunes. Cadmus says, “Was the dragon sacred when I pierced it with my spear? I had set out from Sidon, and I sowed its teeth in the ground, a seed until then unknown. If the gods have punished this deed with such unfailing anger, I pray that I may become a long-bodied serpent myself.” Thus he speaks, and his body lengthens like a serpent's. He sees scales growing on his hardened skin and blue spots appearing on his black body. He falls flat on his chest. His legs join together and gradually taper to a thin, rounded point. His arms still remain, and he stretches them out. Tears flow down his still-human face as he says, “Come here, wife, come here, most unhappy one. While something of me remains, touch me. Take my hand while it is still a hand, and while I am not yet a serpent all over.” He wants to say more, but suddenly his tongue splits in two. When he tries to speak, he cannot form words. Whenever he tries to voice his grief, he hisses. This is the voice Nature leaves him. His wife beats her bare breast and cries out, “Stop, Cadmus! Free yourself, unhappy one, from this monstrous form. Cadmus, what does this mean? Where are your feet? Where are your shoulders and hands? Where are your color and your shape? And even as I speak, where is everything else? Why do you not turn me into a serpent too, gods of heaven?” Thus she spoke. He licked his wife's face and crept into her dear embrace, as though he recognized her. He wrapped himself around her and reached her familiar neck.

Whoever is by, (some attendants are present), is alarmed; but the crested snakes soothe them with their slippery necks, and suddenly they are two serpents, and in joined folds they creep along, until they enter the covert of an adjacent grove. Now, too, do they neither shun mankind, nor hurt them with wounds, and the gentle serpents keep in mind what once they were.

Everyone nearby is alarmed (some attendants are present). But the crested snakes soothe them with their slippery necks. Suddenly, the two are serpents, and they crawl along with their coils entwined until they enter the shelter of a nearby grove. Now they neither avoid people nor hurt them. The gentle serpents remember what they once were.

Perseus, the son of Jupiter and Danaë, having killed Medusa, carries her head into Africa, where the blood that runs from it produces serpents. Atlas, king of that country, terrified at the remembrance of an oracle, which had foretold that his golden fruit should be taken by one of the sons of Jupiter, not only orders him to depart, but even resorts to violence to drive him away, on which Perseus shows him the Gorgon’s head, and changes him into a mountain.

After killing Medusa, Perseus, the son of Jupiter and Danaë, carries her head into Africa. Blood drips from the head and produces serpents. Atlas, the king of that country, remembers an oracle that terrifies him. It foretold that one of Jupiter’s sons would take his golden fruit. Atlas not only orders Perseus to leave but also tries to drive him away by force. In response, Perseus shows him the Gorgon’s head and turns him into a mountain.

But yet their grandson, Bacchus gave them both a great consolation, under this change of form; whom India, subdued by him, worshipped as a God, and whom Achaia honored with erected temples. Acrisius the son of Abas,³⁸⁴ descended of the same race,³⁸⁵ alone remained, to drive him from the walls of the Argive city, and to bear arms against the God, and to believe him not to be the offspring of Jove. Neither did he think Perseus to be the offspring of Jupiter, whom Danaë had conceived in a shower of gold; but soon (so great is the power of truth) Acrisius was sorry, both that he had insulted the God, and that he had not acknowledged his grandson. The one was now placed in heaven, while the other, bearing the memorable spoil of the viperous monster, cut the yielding air with hissing wings; and while the conqueror was hovering over the Libyan sands, bloody drops, from the Gorgon’s head, fell down, upon receiving which, the ground quickened them into various serpents. For this cause, that region is filled and infested with snakes.

Yet their grandson, Bacchus, gave them both great comfort after their change of form. India, which he had conquered himself, worshipped him as a god, and Achaia honored him with temples. Only Acrisius, son of Abas,³⁸⁴ who was of the same family,³⁸⁵ still drove him from the walls of the Argive city. Acrisius took up arms against the god and refused to believe he was Jove’s son. He also refused to believe that Perseus was Jupiter’s son, whom Danaë had conceived in a shower of gold. But soon Acrisius regretted insulting the god and refusing to acknowledge his grandson. Such is the power of truth. Bacchus had now been placed in heaven. Meanwhile, Perseus carried his famous prize, the head of the snake-haired monster, through the yielding air on hissing wings. As the conqueror flew over the Libyan sands, drops of blood fell from the Gorgon’s head. When they reached the ground, it brought them to life as various serpents. For this reason, that region is filled and infested with snakes.

Carried thence, by the fitful winds, through boundless space, he is borne now here, now there, just like a watery cloud, and, from the lofty sky, looks down upon the earth, removed afar; and he flies over the whole world. Three times he saw the cold Bears, thrice did he see the claws of the Crab; ofttimes he was borne to the West, many a time to the East. And now, the day declining, afraid to trust himself to the night, he stopped in the Western part of the world, in the kingdom of Atlas; and there he sought a little rest, until Lucifer should usher forth the fires of Aurora, Aurora, the chariot of the day. Here was Atlas, the son of Iapetus, surpassing all men in the vastness of his body. Under this king was the extremity of the earth, and the sea which holds its waters under the panting horses of the Sun, and receives the wearied chariot. For him, a thousand flocks, and as many herds, wandered over the pastures, and no neighboring places disturbed the land. Leaves of the trees, shining with radiant gold, covered branches of gold, and apples of gold. “My friend,” said Perseus to him, “if the glory of a noble race influences thee, Jupiter is the author of my descent; or if thou art an admirer of exploits, thou wilt admire mine. I beg of thee hospitality, and a resting place.” The other was mindful of an ancient oracle. The Parnassian Themis had given this response: “A time will come, Atlas, when thy tree shall be stripped of its gold, and a son of Jove shall have the honor of the prize.” Dreading this, Atlas had enclosed his orchard with solid walls, and had given it to be kept by a huge dragon;³⁸⁶ and expelled all strangers from his territories. To Perseus, too, he says, “Far hence begone, lest the glory of the exploits, to which thou falsely pretendest, and Jupiter as well, be far from protecting thee.” He adds violence as well to his threats, and tries to drive him from his doors, as he hesitates and mingles resolute words with persuasive ones. Inferior in strength (for who could be a match for Atlas in strength?), he says “Since my friendship is of so little value to thee, accept this present;” and then, turning his face away, he exposes on the left side the horrible features of Medusa. Atlas, great as he is, becomes a mountain. Now his beard and his hair are changed into woods; his shoulders and his hands become mountain ridges, and what was formerly his head, is the summit on the top of the mountain. His bones become stones; then, enlarged on every side, he grows to an immense height (so you willed it, ye Gods), and the whole heaven, with so many stars, rests upon him.

From there, the shifting winds carried him through boundless space, now here, now there, like a cloud of mist. From high in the sky, he looked down at the distant earth as he flew over the whole world. Three times he saw the cold Bears, and three times he saw the claws of the Crab. Often he was carried west, and many times east. As the day waned, he was afraid to trust himself to the night. So he stopped in the western part of the world, in the kingdom of Atlas. There he sought a little rest, until Lucifer brought forth the fires of Aurora, and Aurora brought forth the chariot of the day. Atlas, the son of Iapetus, was there. He was larger than any other man. His kingdom lay at the edge of the earth, beside the sea beneath the Sun’s panting horses. There the sea receives the Sun’s weary chariot. A thousand flocks and as many herds wandered through Atlas’s pastures, and no neighbors disturbed his land. Trees with shining golden leaves bore golden branches and golden apples. “My friend,” Perseus said to him, “if the glory of noble ancestry matters to you, I am descended from Jupiter. Or if you admire great deeds, you will admire mine. I ask you for hospitality and a place to rest.” But Atlas remembered an ancient oracle. Themis of Parnassus had given this prophecy: “A time will come, Atlas, when your tree will be stripped of its gold. A son of Jove will have the honor of taking the prize.” Fearing this, Atlas had surrounded his orchard with solid walls and set a huge dragon to guard it.³⁸⁶ He had also driven all strangers from his lands. To Perseus, too, he said, “Get away from here. Otherwise, neither the glory of the deeds you falsely claim nor Jupiter will protect you.” He followed his threats with violence and tried to drive Perseus from his doors. Perseus hesitated, answering him with both firm and persuasive words. Perseus was weaker, for who could match Atlas in strength? So he said, “Since my friendship means so little to you, accept this gift.” Then he turned his face away and held out Medusa’s horrible face on his left side. Great as he was, Atlas became a mountain. His beard and hair changed into forests. His shoulders and hands became mountain ridges, and his head became the mountain’s summit. His bones turned to stone. Then he grew in every direction to an immense height, as you gods willed it. And the whole sky, with all its stars, rests upon him.

Perseus, after his victory over Atlas, and his change into a mountain, arrives in Æthiopia, at the time when Andromeda is exposed to be devoured by a monster. He kills it, and hides the Gorgon’s head under the sand, covered with sea-weed and plants; which are immediately turned into coral. He then renders thanks to the Gods for his victory, and marries Andromeda. At the marriage feast he relates the manner in which he had killed Medusa; and the reason why Minerva had changed her hair into serpents.

After defeating Atlas and turning him into a mountain, Perseus arrives in Æthiopia. There, Andromeda has been left exposed to be devoured by a monster. Perseus kills the monster and hides the Gorgon’s head under the sand, covering it with seaweed and plants. The seaweed and plants immediately turn into coral. He then thanks the gods for his victory and marries Andromeda. At the wedding feast, he tells how he killed Medusa and why Minerva changed her hair into serpents.

The grandson of Hippotas³⁸⁷ had shut up the winds in their eternal prison; and Lucifer, who reminds men of their work, was risen in the lofty sky, in all his splendor. Resuming his wings, Perseus binds his feet with them on either side, and is girt with his crooked weapon, and cleaves the liquid air with his winged ankles. Nations innumerable being left behind, around and below, he beholds the people of the Æthiopians and the lands of Cepheus. There the unjust Ammon³⁸⁸ had ordered the innocent Andromeda to suffer punishment for her mother’s tongue.³⁸⁹

The grandson of Hippotas³⁸⁷ had locked the winds in their eternal prison. Lucifer, who reminds men of their work, had risen in all his splendor high in the sky. Taking up his wings again, Perseus fastens them to his feet and straps on his curved weapon. He cuts through the air with his winged ankles. Leaving countless nations behind, around and below him, he sees the people of the Æthiopians and the lands of Cepheus. There, the unjust Ammon³⁸⁸ had ordered the innocent Andromeda to be punished for her mother’s words.³⁸⁹

Soon as the descendant of Abas beheld her, with her arms bound to the hard rock, but that the light breeze was moving her hair, and her eyes were running with warm³⁹⁰ tears, he would have thought her to be a work of marble. Unconsciously he takes fire, and is astonished; captivated with the appearance of her beauty, thus beheld, he almost forgets to wave his wings in the air. When he has lighted on the ground, he says, “O thou, undeserving of these chains, but rather of those by which anxious lovers are mutually united, disclose to me, inquiring both the name of this land and of thyself, and why thou wearest these chains.” At first she is silent, and, a virgin, she does not dare address³⁹¹ a man; and with her hands she would have concealed her blushing features, if she had not been bound; her eyes, ’twas all she could do, she filled with gushing tears. Upon his often urging her, lest she should seem unwilling to confess her offence, she told the name both of her country and herself, and how great had been the confidence of her mother in her beauty. All not yet being told, the waves roared, and a monster approaching,³⁹² appeared with its head raised out of the boundless ocean, and covered the wide expanse with its breast. The virgin shrieks aloud; her mournful father, and her distracted mother, are there, both wretched, but the latter more justly so. Nor do they bring her any help with them, but tears suitable to the occasion, and lamentations, and they cling round her body, bound to the rock.

As soon as the descendant of Abas saw her, he would have thought her a marble statue. Her arms were bound to the hard rock, but a light breeze moved her hair, and warm³⁹⁰ tears ran from her eyes. Without realizing it, he fell in love and was amazed. Captivated by the sight of her beauty, as he saw her, he almost forgot to beat his wings. When he landed on the ground, he said, “You do not deserve these chains. You deserve the chains that bind anxious lovers to each other. Please tell me your name and the name of this land, and why you wear these chains.” At first she was silent. As a virgin, she did not dare speak³⁹¹ to a man. She would have covered her blushing face with her hands if she had not been bound. All she could do was fill her eyes with flowing tears. He kept urging her to answer. So, to avoid seeming unwilling to confess her offense, she told him her name and her country’s name. She also told him how confident her mother had been in her beauty. Before she had told him everything, the waves roared. A monster approached,³⁹² raising its head out of the boundless ocean. Its chest covered the wide expanse. The young woman shrieked. Her grieving father and distraught mother were there, both miserable, though her mother had more reason to be. They brought her no help, only tears and cries of grief suited to the occasion. They clung to her body as she remained bound to the rock.

Then thus the stranger says: “Plenty of time will be left for your tears hereafter, the season for giving aid is but short. If I were to demand her in marriage, I, Perseus, the son of Jove, and of her whom, in prison, Jove embraced in the impregnating shower of gold, Perseus, the conqueror of the Gorgon with her serpent locks, and who has dared, on waving wings, to move through the ætherial air, I should surely be preferred before all as your son-in-law. To so many recommendations I endeavor to add merit (if only the Deities favor me). I only stipulate that she may be mine, if preserved by my valor.” Her parents embrace the condition, (for who could hesitate?) and they entreat his aid, and promise as well, the kingdom as a dowry. Behold! as a ship onward speeding, with the beak fixed in its prow, plows the waters, impelled by the perspiring arms³⁹³ of youths; so the monster, moving the waves by the impulse of its breast, was as far distant from the rocks, as that distance in the mid space of air, which a Balearic string can pass with the whirled plummet of lead; when suddenly the youth, spurning the earth with his feet, rose on high into the clouds. As the shadow of the hero was seen on the surface of the sea, the monster vented its fury on the shadow so beheld. And as the bird of Jupiter,³⁹⁴ when he has espied on the silent plain a serpent exposing its livid back to the sun, seizes it behind; and lest it should turn upon him its raging mouth, fixes his greedy talons in its scaly neck; so did the winged hero, in his rapid flight through the yielding air, press the back of the monster, and the descendant of Inachus thrust his sword up to the very hilt in its right shoulder, as it roared aloud.

Then the stranger said: “There will be plenty of time for tears later, but the time to help is only short. If I asked for her in marriage, I should surely be your first choice as a son-in-law. I am Perseus, son of Jove and the woman he embraced in prison in a fertilizing shower of gold. I conquered the Gorgon with her serpent locks, and I have dared to fly through the heavenly air on beating wings. To all these claims, I seek to add a worthy deed, if only the gods favor me. I only ask that she be mine, if my courage saves her.” Her parents accepted the condition, for who could hesitate? They begged for his help and also promised him the kingdom as a dowry. A ship speeds forward, its beak cutting through the water, driven by the sweating arms³⁹³ of young men. So the monster drove through the waves with its breast. It was as far from the rocks as a lead weight hurled through the air by a Balearic sling could travel. Suddenly, the young man pushed off from the earth and rose high into the clouds. The monster saw the hero’s shadow on the surface of the sea and attacked it in fury. The bird of Jupiter³⁹⁴ may spot a serpent on a quiet plain, its dark back exposed to the sun. The bird seizes it from behind and sinks its hungry talons into the serpent’s scaly neck. This keeps the serpent from turning its raging jaws on the bird. In the same way, the winged hero flew swiftly through the yielding air and pressed down on the monster’s back. As it roared, the descendant of Inachus drove his sword into its right shoulder, all the way to the hilt.

Tortured by the grievous wound, it sometimes raises itself aloft in the air, sometimes it plunges beneath the waves, sometimes it wheels about, just like a savage boar, which a pack of hounds in full cry around him affrights. With swift wings he avoids the eager bites³⁹⁵ of the monster, and, with his crooked sword, one while wounds its back covered with hollow shells, where it is exposed, at another time the ribs of its sides, and now, where its tapering tail terminates in that of a fish. The monster vomits forth from its mouth streams mingled with red blood; its wings, made heavy by it, are wet with the spray. Perseus, not daring any longer to trust himself on his dripping pinions,³⁹⁶ beholds a rock, which with its highest top projects from the waters when becalmed, but is now covered by the troubled sea. Resting on that, and clinging to the upper ridge³⁹⁷ of the rock with his left hand, three or four times he thrusts his sword through its entrails aimed at by him. A shout, with applause, fills the shores and the lofty abodes of the Gods. Cassiope and Cepheus, the father, rejoice, and salute him as their son-in-law, and confess that he is the support and the preserver of their house.

In agony from the terrible wound, the monster rises into the air, then plunges beneath the waves. At times it wheels around like a savage boar frightened by a pack of barking hounds. With swift wings, Perseus avoids the eager bites³⁹⁵ of the monster. With his curved sword, he wounds its exposed back, covered with hollow shells. Then he strikes its ribs and the end of its tapering tail, where it becomes that of a fish. The monster spews streams of water mixed with red blood from its mouth. His wings, made heavy by it, are soaked by the spray. Perseus no longer dares trust his dripping wings.³⁹⁶ He sees a rock whose highest point rises above the water when the sea is calm, but is now covered by the rough sea. He rests on the rock and clings to its upper ridge³⁹⁷ with his left hand. Three or four times he aims and drives his sword into the monster's insides. Shouts and applause fill the shores and the lofty homes of the Gods. Cassiope and the father, Cepheus, rejoice and welcome him as their son-in-law. They acknowledge that he is the support and savior of their house.

Released from her chains, the virgin walks along, both the reward and the cause of his labors. He himself washes his victorious hands in water taken from the sea; and that it may not injure the snake-bearing head with the bare sand, he softens the ground with leaves; and strews some weeds produced beneath the sea, and lays upon them the face of Medusa, the daughter of Phorcys. The fresh weeds, being still alive, imbibed the poison of the monster in their spongy pith, and hardened by its touch; and felt an unwonted stiffness in their branches and their leaves. But the Nymphs of the sea attempt the wondrous feat on many other weeds, and are pleased at the same result; and raise seed again from them scattered on the waves. Even now the same nature remains in the coral, that it receives hardness from contact with the air; and what was a plant in the sea, out of the sea becomes stone.

Freed from her chains, the maiden walks along, both the reward and the cause of his labors. He washes his victorious hands in water taken from the sea. To keep the bare sand from damaging the snake-covered head, he softens the ground with leaves. He scatters some seaweed over them and lays the face of Medusa, daughter of Phorcys, on top. The fresh seaweed is still alive, and its spongy core absorbs the monster's poison. Her touch hardens it, giving its branches and leaves an unfamiliar stiffness. But the sea Nymphs try this marvel with many other weeds and are pleased to get the same result. They scatter seeds from the weeds on the waves, and more grow. Even now, coral has the same nature: it hardens when it comes into contact with air. What was a plant in the sea becomes stone out of the water.

To three Deities he erects as many altars of turf; the left one to Mercury; the right to thee, warlike Virgin; the altar of Jove is in the middle. A cow is sacrificed to Minerva; a calf to the wing-footed God, and a bull to thee, greatest of the Deities. Forthwith he takes Andromeda, and the reward of an achievement so great, without any dowry. Hymenæus and Cupid wave their torches before them; the fires are heaped with abundant perfumes. Garlands, too, are hanging from the houses: flageolets and lyres, and pipes, and songs resound, the happy tokens of a joyous mind. The folding-doors thrown open, the entire gilded halls are displayed, and the nobles of king Cepheus sit down at a feast furnished with splendid preparations. After they have done the feast, and have cheered their minds with the gifts of the generous Bacchus, the grandson of Abas inquires the customs and habits of the country. Immediately one of them, Lyncides, tells him, on his inquiring, the manners and habits of the inhabitants. Soon as he had told him these things, he said, “Now, most valiant Perseus, tell us, I beseech thee, with how great valor and by what arts thou didst cut off the head all hairy with serpents.” The descendant of Abas tells them that there is a spot situate beneath cold Atlas, safe in its bulwark of a solid mass; that, in the entrance of this, dwelt the two sisters, the daughters of Phorcys, who shared the use of a single eye; that he stealthily, by sly craft, while it was being handed over,³⁹⁸ obtained possession of this by putting his hand in the way; and that through rocks far remote, and pathless, and bristling with woods on their craggy sides, he had arrived at the abodes of the Gorgons, and saw everywhere, along the fields and the roads, statues of men and wild beasts turned into stone, from their natural form, at the sight of Medusa; yet that he himself, from the reflection on the brass of the shield³⁹⁹ which his left hand bore, beheld the visage of the horrible Medusa; and that, while a sound sleep held her and her serpents entranced, he took the head from off the neck; and that Pegasus and his brother,⁴⁰⁰ fleet with wings, were produced from the blood of her, their mother. He added, too, the dangers of his lengthened journey, themselves no fiction;⁴⁰¹ what seas, what lands he had seen beneath him from on high, and what stars he had reached with his waving wings.

He builds three turf altars for three deities. The one on the left is for Mercury, the one on the right for you, warlike Virgin. Jove’s altar is in the middle. A cow is sacrificed to Minerva, a calf to the wing-footed God, and a bull to you, greatest of the deities. At once, he takes Andromeda as his bride, the reward for his great deed, without a dowry. Hymenæus and Cupid wave their torches before them. The fires are heaped with fragrant offerings, and garlands hang from the houses. Flageolets, lyres, pipes, and songs resound, happy signs of joyful hearts. The folding doors are thrown open, revealing the entire gilded halls. King Cepheus’s nobles sit down to a splendidly prepared feast. After the feast, they cheer their spirits with the gifts of generous Bacchus. Then the grandson of Abas asks about the customs and habits of the country. At once, one of them, Lyncides, answers his questions about the inhabitants’ ways. When he finishes, he says, “Now, most valiant Perseus, please tell us how bravely and by what skill you cut off the head covered with snakes.” The descendant of Abas tells them of a place beneath cold Atlas, protected by a solid mass of rock. At its entrance lived two sisters, the daughters of Phorcys, who shared a single eye. As they passed the eye between them,³⁹⁸ he cunningly slipped his hand in the way and stole it. He then traveled through remote, pathless rocks, with woods bristling on their craggy sides, until he reached the Gorgons’ home. Everywhere along the fields and roads, he saw statues of men and wild beasts. The sight of Medusa had turned them from their natural forms into stone. Perseus himself saw horrible Medusa’s face reflected in the bronze shield³⁹⁹ he carried in his left hand. While she and her snakes lay entranced in deep sleep, he cut the head from her neck. Pegasus and his brother,⁴⁰⁰ swift on their wings, sprang from their mother’s blood. He also told them of the dangers of his long journey, which were themselves no fiction.⁴⁰¹ He described the seas and lands he had seen far below him and the stars he had reached on his beating wings.

Yet, before it was expected,⁴⁰² he was silent; whereupon one of the nobles rejoined, inquiring why she alone, of the sisters, wore snakes mingled alternately with her hair. “Stranger,” said he, “since thou inquirest on a matter worthy to be related, hear the cause of the thing thou inquirest after. She was the most famed for her beauty, and the coveted hope of many wooers; nor, in the whole of her person, was any part more worthy of notice than her hair: I have met with some who said they had seen it. The sovereign of the sea is said to have deflowered her in the Temple of Minerva. The daughter of Jove turned away, and covered her chaste eyes with her shield. And that this might not be unpunished, she changed the hair of the Gorgon into hideous snakes. Now, too, that she may alarm her surprised foes with terror, she bears in front upon her breast, those snakes which she thus produced.”

Yet he fell silent sooner than expected.⁴⁰² Then one of the nobles asked why she alone among the sisters had snakes woven through her hair. “Stranger,” he said, “you ask about something worth telling, so hear how it happened. She was famous for her beauty and desired by many suitors. No part of her was more remarkable than her hair. I have met some who said they had seen it. The ruler of the sea is said to have violated her in the Temple of Minerva. The daughter of Jove turned away and covered her chaste eyes with her shield. To punish the act, she changed the Gorgon’s hair into hideous snakes. Even now, to terrify her startled enemies, she wears on her breast the snakes she thus created.”