Book 9

Deïanira, the daughter of Œneus, having been wooed by several suitors, her father gives his consent that she shall marry him who proves to be the bravest of them. Her other suitors, having given way to Hercules and Acheloüs, they engage in single combat. Acheloüs, to gain the advantage over his rival, transforms himself into various shapes, and, at length, into that of a bull. These attempts are in vain, and Hercules overcomes him, and breaks off one of his horns. The Naiads, the daughters of Acheloüs, take it up, and fill it with the variety of fruits which Autumn affords; on which it obtains the name of the Horn of Plenty.

Several suitors sought to marry Deïanira, the daughter of Œneus. Her father agreed that she would marry the bravest of them. The other suitors withdrew, leaving Hercules and Acheloüs to fight each other. To gain an advantage over Hercules, Acheloüs changed himself into various shapes, finally becoming a bull. But these attempts failed. Hercules defeated Acheloüs and broke off one of his horns. The Naiads, the daughters of Acheloüs, picked up the horn and filled it with the variety of fruits that autumn provides. The horn became known as the Horn of Plenty.

Theseus, the Neptunian hero,⁷⁸² inquires what is the cause of his sighing, and of his forehead being mutilated; when thus begins the Calydonian river, having his unadorned hair crowned with reeds:

Theseus, the Neptunian hero,⁷⁸² asks why he is sighing and how his forehead was mutilated. The Calydonian river, his plain hair crowned with reeds, begins to speak:

“A mournful task thou art exacting; for who, when overcome, is desirous to relate his own battles? yet I will relate them in order; nor was it so disgraceful to be overcome, as it is glorious to have engaged; and a conqueror so mighty affords me a great consolation. If, perchance, Deïanira,⁷⁸³ by her name, has at last reached thy ears, once she was a most beautiful maiden, and the envied hope of many a wooer; together with these, when the house of him, whom I desired as my father-in-law, was entered by me, I said, ‘Receive me, O son of Parthaon,⁷⁸⁴ for thy son-in-law.’ Alcides, too, said the same; the others yielded to us two. He alleged that he was offering to the damsel both Jupiter as a father-in-law, and the glory of his labours; the orders, too, of his step-mother, successfully executed. On the other hand (I thought it disgraceful for a God to give way to a mortal, for then he was not a God), I said, ‘Thou beholdest me, a king of the waters, flowing amid thy realms,⁷⁸⁵ with my winding course; nor am I some stranger sent thee for a son-in-law, from foreign lands, but I shall be one of thy people, and a part of thy state. Only let it not be to my prejudice, that the royal Juno does not hate me, and that all punishment, by labours enjoined, is afar from me. For, since thou, Hercules, dost boast thyself born of Alcmena for thy mother; Jupiter is either thy pretended sire, or thy real one through a criminal deed: by the adultery of thy mother art thou claiming a father. Choose, then, whether thou wouldst rather have Jupiter for thy pretended father, or that thou art sprung from him through a disgraceful deed?’

“You ask a painful thing of me. Who, after being defeated, wants to tell the story of his own battles? Yet I will tell them in order. It was not so disgraceful to be defeated as it was glorious to have fought. And it is a great consolation to have been beaten by so mighty a conqueror. “Perhaps the name of Deïanira,⁷⁸³ has finally reached your ears. She was once a beautiful maiden, the coveted hope of many suitors. I went with them to the house of the man I wished to make my father-in-law. I said, ‘Accept me, son of Parthaon,⁷⁸⁴ as your son-in-law.’ Alcides, too, said the same. The others gave way to us two. “He claimed that he could offer the maiden Jupiter as a father-in-law and the glory of his labors. He had also successfully carried out his stepmother’s commands. I, on the other hand, thought it disgraceful for a god to give way to a mortal. For Alcides was not yet a god. I said, ‘You see before you a king of the waters. My winding river flows through your kingdom.⁷⁸⁵ Nor am I some stranger sent to you from foreign lands as a son-in-law. I will be one of your people and part of your state. “‘Only do not hold it against me that royal Juno does not hate me. Nor should you hold it against me that I am spared the punishment of labors imposed on me. For you, Hercules, boast that Alcmena is your mother. So Jupiter is either your supposed father, or your real father through a wrongful act. You claim a father through your mother’s adultery. Choose, then, whether you would rather have Jupiter as your supposed father, or be born of him through a disgraceful act?’”

“While I was saying such things as these, for some time he looked at me with a scowling eye, and did not very successfully check his inflamed wrath; and he returned me just as many words as these: ‘My right hand is better than my tongue. If only I do but prevail in fighting, do thou get the better in talking;’ and then he fiercely attacked me. I was ashamed, after having so lately spoken big words, to yield. I threw on one side my green garment from off my body, and opposed my arms to his, and I held my hands bent inwards,⁷⁸⁶ from before my breast, on their guard, and I prepared my limbs for the combat. He sprinkled me with dust, taken up in the hollow of his hands, and, in his turn, grew yellow with the casting of yellow sand⁷⁸⁷ upon himself. And at one moment he aimed at my neck, at another my legs, as they shifted about, or you would suppose he was aiming at them; and he assaulted me on every side. My bulk defended me, and I was attacked in vain; no otherwise than a mole, which the waves beat against with loud noise: it remains unshaken, and by its own weight is secure.

“While I was saying these things, he scowled at me for some time, barely holding back his blazing anger. Then he replied with just as many words as these: ‘My right hand is better than my tongue. If only I win the fight, you can win the argument.’ And then he fiercely attacked me. I had just spoken so boldly that I was ashamed to give way. I threw off my green garment and raised my arms against his. I held my hands bent inward,⁷⁸⁶ guarding my chest, and prepared my body for the fight. He scooped up dust in his hands and sprinkled it over me. Then he turned yellow as he threw yellow sand⁷⁸⁷ over himself. At one moment he aimed for my neck, and at another for my moving legs, or so it seemed. He attacked me from every side. My bulk protected me, and his attacks were in vain. I was like a breakwater battered by waves with a loud roar. It remains unshaken, held secure by its own weight.

“We retire a little, and then again we rush together in conflict, and we stand firm, determined not to yield; foot, too, is joined to foot; and then I, bending forward full with my breast, press upon his fingers with my fingers, and his forehead with my forehead. In no different manner have I beheld the strong bulls engage, when the most beauteous mate⁷⁸⁸ in all the pasture is sought as the reward of the combat; the herds look on and tremble, uncertain which the mastery of so great a domain awaits. Thrice without effect did Alcides attempt to hurl away from him my breast, as it bore hard against him; the fourth time, he shook off my hold, and loosened my arms clasped around him; and, striking me with his hand, (I am resolved to confess the truth) he turned me quite round, and clung, a mighty load, to my back. If any credit is to be given me, (and, indeed, no glory is sought by me through an untrue narration) I seemed to myself as though weighed down with a mountain placed upon me. Yet, with great difficulty, I disengaged my arms streaming with much perspiration, and, with great exertion, I unlocked his firm grasp from my body. He pressed on me as I panted for breath, and prevented me from recovering my strength, and then seized hold of my neck. Then, at last, was the earth pressed by my knee, and with my mouth I bit the sand. Inferior in strength, I had recourse to my arts,⁷⁸⁹ and transformed into a long serpent, I escaped from the hero.

“We pull back a little, and then we rush together again. We stand firm, each determined not to yield, foot braced against foot. Then I lean forward with my whole chest, pressing my fingers against his and my forehead against his. I have seen strong bulls fight in just the same way, seeking the most beautiful mate⁷⁸⁸ in the pasture as their prize. The herds watch and tremble, uncertain which bull will rule so great a domain. Three times Alcides tried in vain to push my chest away as I pressed hard against him. The fourth time, he shook off my grip and freed himself from my arms. He struck me with his hand and, I must confess the truth, turned me completely around. Then he clung to my back, a mighty weight. If you will believe me (and I seek no glory by telling lies), I felt as if a mountain had been placed on me. Yet, with great difficulty, I freed my arms, which were streaming with sweat. With great effort, I broke his firm grip on my body. As I panted for breath, he pressed on me and kept me from recovering my strength. Then he seized my neck. At last, my knee pressed into the earth, and I bit the sand. Weaker than he was, I turned to my arts.⁷⁸⁹ I changed into a long serpent and escaped from the hero.

“After I had twisted my body into winding folds, and darted my forked tongue with dreadful hissings, the Tirynthian laughed, and deriding my arts, he said, ‘It was the labour of my cradle to conquer serpents;⁷⁹⁰ and although, Acheloüs, thou shouldst excel other snakes, how large a part wilt thou, but one serpent, be of the Lernæan Echidna? By her very wounds was she multiplied, and not one head of her hundred in number⁷⁹¹ was cut off by me without danger to myself; but rather so that her neck became stronger, with two successors to the former head. Yet her I subdued, branching with serpents springing from each wound, and growing stronger by her disasters; and, so subdued, I slew her. What canst thou think will become of thee, who, changed into a fictitious serpent, art wielding arms that belong to another, and whom a form, obtained as a favour, is now disguising?’ Thus he spoke; and he planted the grip of his fingers on the upper part of my neck. I was tortured, just as though my throat was squeezed with pincers; and I struggled hard to disengage my jaws from his fingers.

“After I twisted my body into coils and flicked my forked tongue, hissing terribly, the Tirynthian laughed. Mocking my skills, he said, ‘I conquered serpents while I was still in my cradle.⁷⁹⁰ And even if you surpass other snakes, Acheloüs, how do you, just one serpent, compare with the Lernæan Echidna? Her very wounds made her multiply. I could not cut off one of her hundred heads⁷⁹¹ without putting myself in danger. Instead, her neck grew stronger, with two heads replacing the one I cut off. Yet I overcame her, even as serpents sprang from every wound and made her stronger with each injury. Once I had overcome her, I killed her. What do you think will happen to you? You have taken a false serpent’s shape and are using weapons that belong to another creature. Now you are disguised by a form granted to you as a favor.’ Then he seized the upper part of my neck with his fingers. I felt terrible pain, as if pincers were squeezing my throat. I struggled hard to pull my jaws free from his fingers.

“Thus vanquished, too, there still remained for me my third form, that of a furious bull; with my limbs changed into those of a bull I renewed the fight. He threw his arms over my brawny neck, on the left side, and, dragging at me, followed me in my onward course; and seizing my horns, he fastened them in the hard ground, and felled me upon the deep sand. And that was not enough; while his relentless right hand was holding my stubborn horn, he broke it, and tore it away from my mutilated forehead. This, heaped with fruit and odoriferous flowers, the Naiads have consecrated, and the bounteous Goddess, Plenty, is enriched by my horn.” Thus he said; but a Nymph, girt up after the manner of Diana, one of his handmaids, with her hair hanging loose on either side, came in, and brought the whole of the produce of Autumn in the most plentiful horn, and choice fruit for a second course.

“Defeated in that form too, I still had my third form, that of a furious bull. I changed my limbs into those of a bull and renewed the fight. He threw his arms over the left side of my powerful neck. Pulling at me, he followed as I charged forward. He seized my horns, drove them into the hard ground, and threw me down on the deep sand. But that was not enough. His relentless right hand gripped my stubborn horn, broke it, and tore it from my wounded forehead. The Naiads have filled the horn with fruit and fragrant flowers and consecrated it. The generous Goddess Plenty is enriched by my horn.” Thus he spoke. Then one of his attendants, a Nymph, came in. She was dressed like Diana, with her hair hanging loose on either side. She carried a horn overflowing with all of the produce of Autumn, and choice fruit for a second course.

Day comes on, and the rising sun striking the tops of the hills, the young men depart; nor do they stay till the stream has quiet restored to it, and a smooth course, and till the troubled waters subside. Acheloüs conceals his rustic features, and his mutilated horn, in the midst of the waves; yet the loss of this honour, taken from him, alone affects him; in other respects, he is unhurt. The injury, too, which has befallen his head, is now concealed with willow branches, or with reeds placed upon it.

Day breaks, and the rising sun strikes the hilltops. The young men leave, but not until the stream has been restored to calm and flows smoothly, and until the troubled waters subside. Acheloüs hides his rustic features and his broken horn beneath the waves. Yet only the loss of this honour troubles him. Otherwise, he is unhurt. The injury to his head is now hidden by willow branches or reeds.

Hercules, returning with Deïanira, as the prize of his victory, entrusts her to the Centaur Nessus, to carry her over the river Evenus. Nessus seizes the opportunity of Hercules being on the other side of the river, and attempts to carry her off; on which Hercules, perceiving his design, shoots him with an arrow, and thus prevents its execution. The Centaur, when expiring, in order to gratify his revenge, gives Deïanira his tunic dipped in his blood, assuring her that it contains an effectual charm against all infidelity on the part of her husband. Afterwards, on hearing that Hercules is in love with Iole, Deïanira sends him the tunic, that it may have the supposed effect. As soon as he puts it on, he is affected with excruciating torments, and is seized with such violent fits of madness, that he throws Lychas, the bearer of the garment, into the sea, where he is changed into a rock. Hercules, then, in obedience to a response of the oracle, which he consults, prepares a funeral pile, and laying himself upon it, his friend Philoctetes applies the torch to it, on which the hero, having first recounted his labours, expires in the flames. After his body is consumed, Jupiter translates him to the heavens, and he is placed in the number of the Gods.

Hercules returns with Deïanira, the prize of his victory. He entrusts her to the Centaur Nessus to carry her across the river Evenus. Once Hercules has reached the other side, Nessus seizes the chance to carry her off. Hercules sees what Nessus intends and shoots him with an arrow, preventing the abduction. As the Centaur lies dying, he gives Deïanira his bloodstained tunic to satisfy his desire for revenge. He assures her that it holds a powerful charm against any infidelity by her husband. Later, Deïanira hears that Hercules is in love with Iole. She sends him the tunic, hoping it will have the effect Nessus promised. As soon as Hercules puts it on, he suffers excruciating pain and is seized by violent fits of madness. He throws Lychas, who brought the garment, into the sea, where Lychas is turned into a rock. Hercules then consults an oracle and, following its answer, builds a funeral pyre. He lies down on it, and his friend Philoctetes sets it alight. The hero recounts his labors and then dies in the flames. After his body is consumed, Jupiter takes him to the heavens, where he joins the Gods.

But a passion for this same maiden proved fatal to thee, fierce Nessus,⁷⁹² pierced through the back with a swift arrow. For the son of Jupiter, as he was returning to his native city with his new-made wife, had now come to the rapid waters of the river Evenus.⁷⁹³ The stream was swollen to a greater extent than usual with the winter rains, and was full of whirlpools, and impassable. Nessus came up to him, regardless of himself, but feeling anxiety for his wife, both strong of limb,⁷⁹⁴ and well acquainted with the fords, and said, “Alcides, she shall be landed on yonder bank through my services, do thou employ thy strength in swimming;” and the Aonian hero entrusted to Nessus the Calydonian damsel full of alarm, and pale with apprehension, and equally dreading both the river and Nessus himself. Immediately, just as he was, loaded both with his quiver and the spoil of the lion, (for he had thrown his club and his crooked bow to the opposite side), he said, “Since I have undertaken it, the stream must be passed.”

But your passion for this same young woman proved fatal to you, fierce Nessus.⁷⁹² A swift arrow pierced you through the back. The son of Jupiter was returning to his native city with his new wife. He had now reached the swift waters of the river Evenus.⁷⁹³ Winter rains had swollen the river beyond its usual height. It was full of whirlpools and impossible to cross. Nessus came up to him as he stood unconcerned for himself, but anxious for his wife. Nessus was strong of limb⁷⁹⁴ and knew the fords well. He said, “Alcides, I will carry her to the far bank. Use your strength to swim across.” So the Aonian hero entrusted the Calydonian maiden to Nessus. She was terrified and pale with fear, dreading both the river and Nessus himself equally. He had thrown his club and curved bow to the opposite bank, but still carried his quiver and the lion’s skin. Without setting them down, he immediately said, “Since I have undertaken it, I must cross the river.”

And he does not hesitate; nor does he seek out where the stream is the smoothest, and he spurns to be borne over by the compliance of the river. And now having reached the bank, and as he is taking up the bow which he had thrown over, he recognizes the voice of his wife; and as Nessus is preparing to rob him of what he has entrusted to his care, he cries out, “Whither, thou ravisher, does thy vain confidence in thy feet hurry thee? to thee am I speaking, Nessus, thou two-shaped monster. Listen; and do not carry off my property. If no regard for myself influences thee, still the wheel of thy father⁷⁹⁵ might have restrained thee from forbidden embraces. Thou shall not escape, however, although thou dost confide⁷⁹⁶ in thy powers of a horse; with a wound, and not with my feet, will I overtake thee.” These last words he confirms by deeds, and pierces him through the back, as he is flying, with an arrow discharged at him. The barbed steel stands out from his breast; soon as it is wrenched out, the blood gushes forth from both wounds, mingled with the venom of the Lernæan poison. Nessus takes it out, and says to himself, “And yet I shall not die unrevenged;” and gives his garment, dyed in the warm blood, as a present to her whom he is carrying off, as though an incentive to love.

He does not hesitate or look for the smoothest part of the stream. He scorns the river’s help in carrying him across. When he reaches the bank, he picks up the bow he had thrown across. Then he recognizes his wife’s voice. As Nessus prepares to steal what was entrusted to his care, he cries out, “Where are you running, ravisher, so vainly confident in your speed? I’m speaking to you, Nessus, you two-shaped monster. Listen, and do not carry off my property. Even if you have no regard for me, your father’s wheel⁷⁹⁵ might have kept you from forbidden embraces. But you will not escape, though you trust⁷⁹⁶ in your horse’s speed. I will overtake you with a wound, and not with my feet.” He backs up these last words with action. As Nessus flees, he shoots an arrow through his back. The barbed steel comes out through his chest. As soon as it is pulled out, blood gushes from both wounds, mixed with the Lernæan poison. Nessus takes it out and says to himself, “I will not die without revenge.” He gives his garment, soaked in the warm blood, to the woman he is carrying off. He presents it as though it could inspire love.

Long was the space of intervening time, and the feats of the mighty Hercules and the hatred of his step-mother had filled the earth. Returning victorious from Œchalia, he is preparing a sacrifice which he had vowed to Cenæan Jupiter,⁷⁹⁷ when tattling Rumour (who takes pleasure in adding false things to the truth, and from a very little beginning, swells to a great bulk by her lies) runs before to thy ears, Deïanira, to the effect that the son of Amphitryon is seized with a passion for Iole. As she loves him, she believes it; and being alarmed with the report of this new amour, at first she indulges in tears and in her misery gives vent to her grief in weeping. Soon, however, she says, “But why do I weep? My rival will be delighted with these tears; and since she is coming I must make haste, and some contrivance must be resolved on while it is still possible, and while, as yet, another has not taken possession of my bed. Shall I complain, or shall I be silent? Shall I return to Calydon, or shall I stay here? Shall I depart from this abode? or, if nothing more, shall I oppose their entrance? What if, O Meleager, remembering that I am thy sister, I resolve on a desperate deed, and testify, by murdering my rival, how much, injury and a woman’s grief can effect?”

A long time had passed. The deeds of mighty Hercules and his stepmother’s hatred had become known throughout the earth. Returning victorious from Œchalia, he was preparing a sacrifice he had vowed to Cenæan Jupiter.⁷⁹⁷ But tattling Rumour ran ahead to tell you, Deïanira, that the son of Amphitryon was in love with Iole. Rumour delights in adding falsehoods to the truth. From a very small beginning, she grows enormous through her lies. Because Deïanira loved Hercules, she believed the report. Alarmed by this news of a new affair, she at first gave way to tears, weeping in her misery. Soon, however, she said, “But why am I crying? My rival will be delighted by these tears. Since she is coming, I must hurry. I must think of a plan while it is still possible, before another woman has taken my place in his bed. Should I complain, or keep silent? Should I return to Calydon, or stay here? Should I leave this house? Or, if nothing else, should I try to stop them from entering? What if, O Meleager, remembering that I am your sister, I decide on a desperate deed? What if I murder my rival to show how much injury and a woman’s grief can drive her to do?”

Her mind wavers, amid various resolves. Before them all, she prefers to send the garment dyed in the blood of Nessus, to restore strength to his declining love. Not knowing herself what she is giving, she delivers the cause of her own sorrows to the unsuspecting Lichas,⁷⁹⁸ and bids him, in gentle words, to deliver this most fatal gift to her husband. In his ignorance, the hero receives it, and places upon his shoulders the venom of the Lernæan Echidna. He is placing frankincense on the rising flames, and is offering the words of prayer, and pouring wine from the bowl upon the marble altars. The virulence of the bane waxes warm, and, melted by the flames, it runs, widely diffused over the limbs of Hercules. So long as he is able, he suppresses his groans with his wonted fortitude. After his endurance is overcome by his anguish, he pushes down the altars, and fills the woody Œta with his cries. There is no further delay; he attempts to tear off the deadly garment; but where it is torn off, it tears away the skin, and, shocking to relate, it either sticks to his limbs, being tried in vain to be pulled off, or it lays bare his mangled limbs, and his huge bones. The blood itself hisses, just as when a red hot plate of metal is dipped in cold water; and it boils with the burning poison. There is no limit to his misery; the devouring flames prey upon his entrails, and a livid perspiration flows from his whole body; his half-burnt sinews also crack; and his marrow being now dissolved by the subtle poison, lifting his hands towards the stars of heaven, he exclaims, “Daughter of Saturn, satiate thyself with my anguish; satiate thyself, and look down from on high, O cruel Goddess, at this my destruction, and glut thy relentless heart. Or, if I am to be pitied even by an enemy (for an enemy I am to thee), take away a life insupportable through these dreadful agonies, hateful, too, to myself, and only destined to trouble. Death will be a gain to me. It becomes a stepmother to grant such a favour.

Her mind shifts among several plans. In the end, she decides to send the garment dyed in Nessus’s blood, hoping to restore his fading love. Not knowing what she is giving him, she hands the cause of her own sorrows to the unsuspecting Lichas.⁷⁹⁸ In gentle words, she asks him to deliver this most fatal gift to her husband. The hero accepts it without knowing its nature and puts the venom of the Lernæan Echidna on his shoulders. He places frankincense on the rising flames, offers prayers, and pours wine from a bowl onto the marble altars. The heat awakens the poison. It melts and spreads over Hercules’s limbs. As long as he can, he holds back his groans with his usual courage. When the pain becomes unbearable, he pushes over the altars and fills wooded Œta with his cries. Without further delay, he tries to tear off the deadly garment. But wherever he pulls it away, it tears off his skin. Horrible to tell, it either sticks to his limbs despite his efforts to remove it, or exposes his mangled flesh and huge bones. His blood hisses like a red-hot plate of metal dipped in cold water, and it boils with the burning poison. There is no end to his misery. Devouring flames consume his insides, and a deathly sweat pours from his whole body. His half-burned sinews crack, and the penetrating poison has now dissolved his marrow. He raises his hands toward the stars of heaven and cries, “Daughter of Saturn, satisfy yourself with my anguish. Satisfy yourself, cruel Goddess, and look down from on high at this my destruction. Feast your merciless heart on it. Or, if even an enemy can pity me, and I am your enemy, take away my life. These dreadful agonies make it unbearable and hateful to me, and it is only destined for suffering. Death will be a blessing to me. Such a favor is fitting for a stepmother to grant.

“And was it for this that I subdued Busiris, who polluted the temples of the Gods with the blood of strangers? And did I for this, withdraw from the savage Antæus⁷⁹⁹ the support given him by his mother? Did neither the triple shape of the Iberian shepherd⁸⁰⁰, nor thy triple form, O Cerberus, alarm me? And did you, my hands, seize the horns of the mighty bull? Does Elis, too, possess the result of your labours, and the Stymphalian waters, and the Parthenian⁸⁰¹ grove as well? By your valour was it that the belt, inlaid with the gold of Thermodon⁸⁰², was gained, the apples too, guarded in vain by the wakeful dragon? And could neither the Centaurs resist me, nor yet the boar, the ravager of Arcadia? And was it not of no avail to the Hydra to grow through its own loss, and to recover double strength? And what besides? When I beheld the Thracian steeds fattened with human blood, and the mangers filled with mangled bodies, did I throw them down when thus beheld, and slay both the master and the horses themselves? And does the carcass of the Nemean lion lie crushed by these arms? With this neck did I support the heavens?⁸⁰³ The unrelenting wife of Jupiter⁸⁰⁴ was weary of commanding, but I was still unwearied with doing. But now a new calamity is come upon me, to which resistance can be made neither by valour, nor by weapons, nor by arms. A consuming flame is pervading the inmost recesses of my lungs, and is preying on all my limbs. But Eurystheus still survives. And are there,” says he, “any who can believe that the Deities exist?”

“Was it for this that I defeated Busiris, who polluted the temples of the Gods with strangers’ blood? Was it for this that I deprived the savage Antæus⁷⁹⁹ of the support his mother gave him? Did neither the three-bodied Iberian shepherd⁸⁰⁰ nor your triple form, Cerberus, frighten me? And did you, my hands, seize the mighty bull by the horns? Do Elis, too, the Stymphalian waters, and the Parthenian⁸⁰¹ grove all bear the results of your labors? Was it through your courage that I won the belt inlaid with gold from Thermodon⁸⁰²? And the apples the sleepless dragon guarded in vain? Could neither the Centaurs nor the boar that ravaged Arcadia resist me? Did the Hydra gain nothing by growing when it lost a part and regaining double its strength? What else? I saw the Thracian horses fattened on human blood, their mangers filled with mangled bodies. Did I not throw them down and kill both their master and the horses? And does the crushed carcass of the Nemean lion lie here because of these arms? Did I not hold up the heavens on this neck?⁸⁰³ Jupiter’s relentless wife⁸⁰⁴ grew tired of giving orders, but I never tired of carrying them out. But now a new disaster has struck me. Neither courage, weapons, nor arms can resist it. A consuming fire is spreading deep into my lungs and devouring every limb. But Eurystheus still lives. And are there,” he says, “any who can believe that the Gods exist?”

And then, racked with pain, he ranges along the lofty Œta, no otherwise than if a tiger should chance to carry the hunting spears fixed in his body, and the perpetrator of the deed should be taking to flight. Often might you have beheld him uttering groans, often shrieking aloud, often striving to tear away the whole of his garments, and levelling trees, and venting his fury against mountains, or stretching out his arms towards the heaven of his father. Lo! he espies Lichas, trembling and lying concealed in a hollow rock, and, as his pain has summoned together all his fury, he says, “Didst thou, Lichas, bring this fatal present; and shalt thou be the cause of my death?” He trembles, and turning pale, is alarmed, and timorously utters some words of excuse. As he is speaking, and endeavouring to clasp his knees with his hands, Alcides seizes hold of him, and whirling him round three or four times, he hurls him into the Eubœan waves, with greater force than if sent from an engine of war. As he soars aloft in the aerial breeze he grows hard; and as they say that showers freeze with the cold winds, and that thence snow is formed, and that from the snow, revolving in its descent, the soft body is compressed, and is then made round in many a hailstone,⁸⁰⁵ so have former ages declared, that, hurled through the air by the strong arms of Hercules, and bereft of blood through fear, and having no moisture left in him, he was transformed into hard stone. Even to this day, in the Eubœan sea, a small rock projects to a height, and retains the traces of the human form. This, the sailors are afraid to tread upon, as though it could feel it; and they call it Lichas.

And then, racked with pain, he roamed along the heights of Œta. He was like a tiger with hunting spears stuck in its body, whose attacker was fleeing. Often you might have seen him groaning or shrieking aloud. Often he tried to tear off all his clothes, felled trees, raged against mountains, or stretched his arms toward his father’s heaven. Then he spotted Lichas, trembling and hidden in a hollow rock. Pain had stirred up all his fury, and he said, “Did you, Lichas, bring this fatal gift? Will you be the cause of my death?” Lichas trembled and turned pale with fear, and timidly offered some excuse. As he spoke and tried to clasp Alcides’ knees, Alcides seized him and whirled him around three or four times. Then he hurled him into the Eubœan waves, with greater force than if launched from an engine of war. As Lichas soared through the air, he grew hard. People say that rain freezes in cold winds, and that snow forms from it. As the snow spins on its way down, its soft substance is compressed, and it then becomes rounded into hailstones.⁸⁰⁵ So people in former ages said that Lichas was transformed into hard stone. He had been hurled through the air by the strong arms of Hercules, drained of blood by fear, and left without any moisture. Even today, a small rock rises from the Eubœan sea, still bearing traces of a human form. Sailors are afraid to step on it, as though it could feel them, and they call it Lichas.

But thou, the famous offspring of Jupiter, having cut down, trees which lofty Œta bore, and having raised them for a pile, dost order the son of Pœas⁸⁰⁶ to take the bow and the capacious quiver, and the arrows which are again to visit⁸⁰⁷ the Trojan realms; by whose assistance flames are put beneath the pile; and while the structure is being seized by the devouring fires, thou dost cover the summit of the heap of wood with the skin of the Nemean lion, and dost lie down with thy neck resting on thy club, with no other countenance than if thou art lying as a guest crowned with garlands, amid the full cups of wine.

But you, the famous son of Jupiter, cut down trees from lofty Œta and stacked them in a funeral pile. You ordered the son of Pœas⁸⁰⁶ to take the bow, the large quiver, and the arrows that would return⁸⁰⁷ to the Trojan realms. With his help, you lit a fire beneath the pile. As the flames consumed it, you spread the skin of the Nemean lion over the top. You lay down with your neck resting on your club. Your expression was no different than if you were a guest wearing a garland, surrounded by full cups of wine.

And now, the flames, prevailing and spreading on every side, roared,⁸⁰⁸ and reached the limbs thus undismayed, and him who despised them. The Gods were alarmed for this protector of the earth;⁸⁰⁹ Saturnian Jupiter (for he perceived it) thus addressed them with joyful voice: “This fear of yours is my own delight, O ye Gods of heaven, and, with all my heart, I gladly congratulate myself that I am called the governor and the father of a grateful people, and that my progeny, too, is secure in your esteem. For, although this concern is given in return for his mighty exploits, still I myself am obliged by it. But, however, that your affectionate breasts may not be alarmed with vain fears, despise these flames of Œta. He who has conquered all things, shall conquer the fires which you behold; nor shall he be sensible of the potency of the flame, but in the part of him which he derived from his mother. That part of him, which he derived from me, is immortal, and exempt and secure from death, and to be subdued by no flames. This, too, when disengaged from earth, I will receive into the celestial regions, and I trust that this act of mine will be agreeable to all the Deities. Yet if any one, if any one, I say, perchance should grieve at Hercules being a Divinity, and should be unwilling that this honour should be conferred on him; still he shall know that he deserves it to be bestowed on him, and even against his will, shall approve of it.”

Now the flames gained strength and spread on every side. They roared,⁸⁰⁸ reaching his limbs, but he was still undismayed and despised them. The Gods feared for this protector of the earth.⁸⁰⁹ Saturnian Jupiter saw their fear and spoke to them in a joyful voice: “Your fear delights me, Gods of heaven. With all my heart, I rejoice to be called the ruler and father of a grateful people. I am glad, too, that my son is safe in your esteem. Although you show this concern in return for his mighty deeds, I am still grateful for it. But do not let your loving hearts be troubled by needless fears. Think nothing of these flames of Œta. He who has conquered all things will conquer the fires you see. He will feel the power of the flames only in the part of him that came from his mother. The part of him that came from me is immortal, safe from death and beyond the power of any flames. When that part leaves the earth, I will welcome it into the heavens. I trust that all the Deities will approve of my act. Yet if anyone, if anyone, I say, should perhaps grieve that Hercules is a God, and should oppose this honor for him, that person will still know Hercules deserves it. Even against his will, he will approve of it.”

To this the Gods assented; his royal spouse, too, seemed to bear the rest of his remarks with no discontented air, but only the last words with a countenance of discontent, and to take it amiss that she was so plainly pointed at. In the mean time, whatever was liable to be destroyed by flame, Mulciber consumed; and the figure of Hercules remained, not to be recognized; nor did he have anything derived from the form of his mother, and he only retained the traces of immortal Jupiter. And as when a serpent revived, by throwing off old age with his slough, is wont to be instinct with fresh life, and to glisten in his new-made scales; so, when the Tirynthian hero has put off his mortal limbs, he flourishes in his more æthereal part, and begins to appear more majestic, and to become venerable in his august dignity. Him the omnipotent Father, taking up among encircling clouds, bears aloft amid the glittering stars, in his chariot drawn by its four steeds.

The gods agreed to this. His royal wife, too, seemed to accept the rest of his remarks without displeasure. Only at his last words did her face show displeasure. She resented being so plainly singled out. Meanwhile, Mulciber consumed everything that fire could destroy. Hercules was left unrecognizable. Nothing of his mother’s form remained in him. He retained only the traces of immortal Jupiter. A snake sheds its old skin and, renewed, gleams with fresh life in its new scales. So, when the Tirynthian hero sheds his mortal limbs, he flourishes in his more heavenly part. He begins to appear more majestic, inspiring awe with his exalted dignity. The all-powerful Father lifts him into the surrounding clouds. In his chariot drawn by four horses, he carries him up among the glittering stars.

Juno, to be revenged on Alcmena for her amour with Jupiter, desires Ilithyïa, the Goddess who presides over births, not to assist her on the occasion of the birth of Hercules. Lucina complies with her request, and places herself on an altar at the gate of Alcmena’s abode, where, by a magic spell, she increases her pains and impedes her delivery. Galanthis, one of her maids, seeing the Goddess at the door, imagines that she may possibly exercise some bad influence on her mistress’s labour, and, to make her retire, declares that Alcmena is already delivered. Upon Ilithyïa withdrawing, Alcmena’s pains are assuaged, and Hercules is born. The Goddess, to punish Galanthis for her officiousness, transforms her into a weazel, a creature which was supposed to bring forth its young through its mouth.

Juno wants revenge on Alcmena for her affair with Jupiter. She asks Ilithyïa, the goddess who presides over births, not to help Alcmena give birth to Hercules. Lucina agrees and sits on an altar at the gate of Alcmena’s home. There, she casts a spell that increases Alcmena’s pain and prevents her from giving birth. Galanthis, one of Alcmena’s maids, sees the goddess at the door. She suspects that the goddess may be interfering with her mistress’s labor. To make her leave, Galanthis declares that Alcmena has already given birth. When Ilithyïa leaves, Alcmena’s pain eases, and Hercules is born. To punish Galanthis for interfering, the goddess turns her into a weasel, a creature believed to give birth through its mouth.

Atlas was sensible⁸¹⁰ of this burden. Nor, as yet, had Eurystheus, the son of Sthenelus, laid aside his wrath against Hercules; and, in his fury, he vented his hatred for the father against his offspring. But the Argive Alcmena, disquieted with prolonged anxieties for her son has Iole, to whom to disclose the complaints of her old age, to whom to relate the achievements of her son attested by all the world, or to whom to tell her own misfortunes. At the command of Hercules, Hyllus had received her both into his bed and his affections, and had filled her womb with a noble offspring. To her, thus Alcmena began her story:—

Atlas felt⁸¹⁰ this burden. Eurystheus, the son of Sthenelus, still had not let go of his anger against Hercules. In his fury, he turned his hatred of the father against his children. But the Argive Alcmena, troubled by long anxiety for her son, had Iole to confide in. She could tell Iole of the complaints of her old age and her son's deeds, witnessed by all the world. She could also tell Iole of her own misfortunes. At Hercules' command, Hyllus had taken Iole into his bed and his heart. She was pregnant with his noble child. Alcmena began her story to Iole:

“May the Gods be propitious to thee at least; and may they shorten the tedious hours, at the hour when, having accomplished thy time, thou shalt be invoking Ilithyïa,⁸¹¹ who presides over the trembling parturient women; her whom the influence of Juno rendered inexorable to myself. For, when now the natal hour of Hercules, destined for so many toils, was at hand, and the tenth sign of the Zodiac was laden with the great luminary, the heavy weight was extending my womb; and that which I bore was so great, that you might easily pronounce Jupiter to be the father of the concealed burden. And now I was no longer able to endure my labours: even now, too, as I am speaking, a cold shudder seizes my limbs, and a part of my pain is the remembrance of it. Tormented for seven nights, and during as many days, tired out with misery, and extending my arms towards heaven, with loud cries I used to invoke Lucina and the two Nixi.⁸¹² She came, indeed, but corrupted beforehand, and she had the intention to give my life to the vengeful Juno. And when she heard my groans, she seated herself upon that altar before the door, and pressing her left knee with her right knee, her fingers being joined together in form of a comb,⁸¹³ she retarded my delivery; she uttered charms, too, in a low voice; and those charms impeded the birth now begun. I struggled hard, and, in my frenzy, I vainly uttered reproaches against the ungrateful Jupiter, and I desired to die, and complained in words that would have moved even the hard stones. The Cadmeian matrons attended me, and offered up vows, and encouraged me in my pains.

“May the Gods be kind to you, at least. And when your time comes, may they shorten the long hours as you call on Ilithyïa,⁸¹¹ who watches over trembling women in childbirth. Juno’s influence made her refuse to help me. The hour was near for Hercules to be born, Hercules who was destined for so many hardships. The tenth sign of the Zodiac held the great sun, and the heavy weight stretched my womb. The child I carried was so large that you could easily tell Jupiter was the father of the hidden burden. I could no longer endure my labor. Even now, as I speak, a cold shudder seizes my limbs. Remembering the pain brings some of it back. For seven nights and as many days, I suffered, exhausted by misery. I stretched my arms toward heaven and cried out to Lucina and the two Nixi.⁸¹² She did come, but she had already been corrupted and intended to give my life to the vengeful Juno. When she heard my groans, she sat on the altar before the door. She pressed her right knee over her left and clasped her fingers together like a comb.⁸¹³ In this way, she delayed my delivery. She also whispered spells, and those spells held back the birth that had already begun. I struggled desperately and, in my frenzy, reproached the ungrateful Jupiter in vain. I wanted to die, and my complaints would have moved even hard stones. The Cadmeian matrons attended me, made vows, and encouraged me through my pain.

“There was present one of my hand-maids of the lower class of people, Galanthis by name, with yellow hair, and active in the execution of my orders; one beloved for her good services. She perceived that something unusual⁸¹⁴ was being done by the resentful Juno; and, while she was often going in and out of the door, she saw the Goddess, sitting upon the altar, and supporting her arms upon her knees, linked by the fingers; and then she said, ‘Whoever thou art, congratulate my mistress; the Argive Alcmena is delivered, and, having brought forth, she has gained her wishes.’ The Goddess who presides⁸¹⁵ over pregnancy leaped up, and, struck with surprise, loosened her joined hands. I, myself, on the loosening of those bonds, was delivered. The story is, that Galanthis laughed, upon deceiving the Divinity. The cruel Goddess dragged her along thus laughing and seized by her very hair, and she hindered her as she attempted to raise her body from the earth, and changed her arms into fore feet.

“One of my handmaids was there. She was from the lower class of people, and her name was Galanthis. She had yellow hair and was quick to carry out my orders. I loved her for her good service. She saw that the resentful Juno was doing something unusual⁸¹⁴. As she went in and out of the door, she saw the Goddess sitting on the altar. The Goddess rested her arms on her knees, with her fingers linked. Galanthis then said, ‘Whoever you are, congratulate my mistress. The Argive Alcmena has given birth and gained her wish.’ The Goddess who presides⁸¹⁵ over pregnancy leaped up in surprise and unclasped her hands. When those bonds were loosened, I gave birth. The story is that Galanthis laughed at having deceived the Goddess. As Galanthis laughed, the cruel Goddess seized her by the hair and dragged her along. When Galanthis tried to rise from the ground, the Goddess stopped her and changed her arms into front legs.”

“Her former activity still remains, and her back has not lost its colour; but her shape is different from her former one. Because she had assisted me in labour by a lying mouth, she brings forth from the mouth,⁸¹⁶ and, just as before, she frequents my house.”

“She is still as active as before, and her back has not lost its color. But her shape has changed. Because she helped me in labor with a lying mouth, she gives birth through her mouth.⁸¹⁶ And, just as before, she often visits my house.”

The Nymph Lotis, pursued by Priapus, in her flight, is changed into a tree. Dryope, going to sacrifice to the Naiads at the same spot, and ignorant of the circumstance, breaks a branch off the tree for her child, which she is carrying with her, and is subjected to a similar transformation. While Iole is relating these circumstances to Alcmena, she is surprised to see her brother Iolaüs restored to youth. The Poet here introduces the prediction of Themis concerning the children of Calirrhoë.

The Nymph Lotis is pursued by Priapus and turns into a tree as she flees. Dryope goes to the same spot to make an offering to the Naiads. Unaware of what happened to Lotis, she breaks a branch off the tree for the child she is carrying. Dryope is then transformed in the same way. While Iole is telling Alcmena what happened, she is surprised to see her brother Iolaüs restored to youth. Here the Poet introduces Themis's prediction about the children of Calirrhoë.

Thus she said; and, moved by the remembrance of her old servant, she heaved a deep sigh. Her daughter-in-law⁸¹⁷ addressed her, thus grieving. “Even her form being taken away from one that was an alien to thy blood, affects thee, O mother. What if I were to relate to thee the wondrous fate of my own sister? although tears and sorrow hinder me, and forbid me to speak. Dryope, the most remarkable for her beauty of the Œchalian maids, was the only daughter of her mother (for my father had me by another wife). Deprived of her virginity, and having suffered violence from the God that owns Delphi and Delos, Andræmon married her, and he was esteemed fortunate in his wife.

After she spoke, she remembered her old servant and sighed deeply. As she grieved, her daughter-in-law⁸¹⁷ spoke to her. “Mother, even the loss of a woman’s form affects you, though she was not related to you. What if I told you the extraordinary fate of my own sister? But tears and sorrow hold me back and keep me from speaking. Dryope was the most beautiful of the Œchalian maidens. She was her mother’s only daughter (for my father had me by another wife). The god who rules Delphi and Delos had raped her and taken her virginity. Andræmon married her, and he was thought fortunate to have her as his wife.

“There is a lake that gives the appearance of a sloping shore, by its shelving border; groves of myrtle crown the upper part. Hither did Dryope come, unsuspecting of her fate; and, that thou mayst be the more indignant at her lot, she was about to offer garlands to the Nymphs. In her bosom, too, she was bearing her son, who had not yet completed his first year, a pleasing burden; and she was nursing him, with the help of her warm milk. Not far from the lake was blooming a watery lotus that vied with the Tyrian tints, in hope of future berries. Dryope had plucked thence some flowers, which she might give as playthings to her child; and I, too, was just on the point of doing the same; for I was present. I saw bloody drops fall from the flower, and the boughs shake with a tremulous quivering; for, as the swains say, now, at length, too late in their information, the Nymph Lotis, flying from the lust of Priapus,⁸¹⁸ had transferred her changed form into this plant, her name being still preserved.

“There is a lake with a gently sloping shore, crowned by groves of myrtle. Dryope came here, unaware of her fate. To make you all the more indignant at her fate, she had come to offer garlands to the Nymphs. She carried her son at her breast, a delightful burden, not yet a year old. She was nursing him with her warm milk. Not far from the lake, a water lotus was blooming. Its flowers rivaled the purple of Tyre, and it showed promise of future berries. Dryope picked some flowers from it as playthings for her child. I was there too, and was just about to do the same. I saw drops of blood fall from the flower and the branches tremble. For the herdsmen said, far too late to warn us, that the Nymph Lotis had fled Priapus’s lust.⁸¹⁸ She had transformed herself into this plant, but still kept her name.

“Of this my sister was ignorant. When, in her alarm, she is endeavouring to retire and to depart, having adored the Nymphs, her feet are held fast by a root. She strives hard to tear them up, but she moves nothing except her upper parts. From below, a bark slowly grows up, and, by degrees, it envelopes the whole of her groin. When she sees this, endeavouring to tear her hair with her hands, she fills her hand with leaves, for leaves are covering all her head. But the boy Amphissos (for his grandfather Eurytus gave him this name) feels his mother’s breast growing hard; nor does the milky stream follow upon his sucking. I was a spectator of thy cruel destiny, and I could give thee no help, my sister; and yet, as long as I could, I delayed the growing trunk and branches by embracing them; and, I confess it, I was desirous to be hidden beneath the same bark. Behold! her husband Andræmon and her most wretched father⁸¹⁹ appear, and inquire for Dryope: on their inquiring for Dryope, I show them the lotus. They give kisses to the wood still warm with life, and, extended on the ground, they cling to the roots of their own tree. And now, dear sister, thou hadst nothing except thy face, that was not tree. Tears drop upon the leaves made out of thy changed body; and, while she can, and while her mouth gives passage to her voice, she pours forth such complaints as these into the air:—

“My sister knew nothing of this. Alarmed, she prayed to the Nymphs and tried to leave, but a root held her feet fast. She struggled to pull them free, but only her upper body could move. Bark slowly grew up from below and gradually covered her entire groin. Seeing this, she tried to tear her hair with her hands, but her hand filled with leaves, for leaves covered her whole head. Her son Amphissos felt his mother’s breast growing hard. His grandfather Eurytus had given him that name. When he tried to nurse, no milk came. I watched your cruel fate unfold, my sister, and could do nothing to help you. Yet, for as long as I could, I held back the growing trunk and branches by embracing them. I confess that I wanted to be hidden beneath the same bark. Then her husband Andræmon and her grief-stricken father⁸¹⁹ appeared and asked for Dryope. When they asked for Dryope, I showed them the lotus. They kissed the wood, still warm with life, and lay on the ground, clinging to the roots of their tree. And now, dear sister, nothing remained of you but your face. Tears fell on the leaves that had grown from your changed body. While she could still speak, she cried out these words into the air:”

“‘If any credit is to be given to the wretched, I swear by the Deities that I merited not this cruel usage. I suffer punishment without a crime. I lived in innocence; if I am speaking false, withered away, may I lose the leaves which I bear, and, cut down with axes, may I be burnt. Yet take this infant away from the branches of his mother, and give him to his nurse; and often, beneath my tree, make him drink milk, and beneath my tree let him play; and, when he shall be able to speak, make him salute his mother, and let him in sadness say, ‘Beneath this trunk is my mother concealed.’ Yet let him dread the ponds, and let him not pluck flowers from the trees; and let him think that all shrubs are the bodies of Goddesses. Farewell, dear husband; and thou, sister; and, thou my father; in whom, if there is any affection towards me, protect my branches from the wounds of the sharp pruning-knife, and from the bite of the cattle. And since it is not allowed me to bend down towards you, stretch your limbs up hither, and come near for my kisses, while they can still be reached, and lift up my little son. More I cannot say. For the soft bark is now creeping along my white neck, and I am being enveloped at the top of my head. Remove your hands from my eyes;⁸²⁰ and, without your help, let the bark, closing over them, cover my dying eyes.’ Her mouth ceased at once to speak, at once to exist; and long after her body was changed, were her newly formed branches still warm.”

“‘If the words of the miserable can be believed, I swear by the gods that I did not deserve this cruel treatment. I am being punished for no crime. I lived innocently. If I am lying, may I wither and lose my leaves. May I be cut down with axes and burned. But take this infant away from his mother’s branches and give him to his nurse. Often let him drink milk beneath my tree, and let him play there. When he can speak, teach him to greet his mother. Let him say sadly, ‘My mother is hidden beneath this trunk.’ But let him fear the ponds and not pluck flowers from trees. Let him think that all shrubs are the bodies of goddesses. Farewell, dear husband, and you, my sister, and you, my father. If you have any love for me, protect my branches from sharp pruning knives and biting cattle. I cannot bend down to you, so reach up and come close enough to kiss me while you still can. Lift up my little son, too. I can say no more. The soft bark is already creeping up my white neck and covering the top of my head. Take your hands away from my eyes.⁸²⁰ And let the bark close over my dying eyes without your help.’ Her mouth stopped speaking and ceased to exist at the same moment. Long after her body had changed, her newly formed branches were still warm.”

And now, while Iole was relating the wretched fate of her sister, and while Alcmena was drying away the tears of the daughter of Eurytus, with her fingers applied to her face, and still she herself was weeping, a novel event hushed all their sorrow; for Iolaüs⁸²¹ stood at the lofty threshold, almost a boy again, and covering his cheeks with a down almost imperceptible, having his visage changed to that of the first years of manhood. Hebe, the daughter of Juno had granted him this favour, overcome by the solicitations of her husband. When she was about to swear that she would hereafter grant such favours to no one, Themis did not allow her. “For now,” said she, “Thebes is commencing civil warfare,⁸²² and Capaneus will not be able to be overcome, except by Jupiter, and the two brothers will engage in bloody combat, and the earth dividing, the prophet Amphiaraüs will see his destined shades, while he still lives;⁸²³ and the son avenging one parent, by the death of the other parent, will be dutiful and wicked in the same action; and confounded by his misfortunes, deprived both of his reason and of his home, he will be persecuted both by the features of the Eumenides, and by the ghost of his mother; until his wife shall call upon him for the fatal gold, and the Phegeïan sword shall stab the side of their kinsman. Then, at last, shall Calirrhoë, the daughter of Acheloüs, suppliantly ask of mighty Jupiter these years of youth for her infant sons. Jupiter, concerned for them, will prescribe for them the peculiar gift of her who is both his step-daughter and his daughter-in-law,⁸²⁴ and will make them men in their years of childhood.”

And now, as Iole told of her sister’s wretched fate, Alcmena wiped tears from the face of Eurytus’s daughter. Alcmena was still weeping herself, but a strange event silenced all their sorrow. Iolaüs⁸²¹ stood at the lofty threshold, almost a boy again. A barely visible down covered his cheeks, and his face had changed to that of his early manhood. Hebe, Juno’s daughter, had granted him this favor, persuaded by her husband’s pleas. She was about to swear that she would grant no one such favors again, but Themis stopped her. “For now,” she said, “civil war is beginning in Thebes,⁸²² and only Jupiter will be able to overcome Capaneus. The two brothers will fight a bloody battle. The earth will split open, and the prophet Amphiaraüs will see his destined shades while still alive.⁸²³ A son will avenge one parent by killing the other parent. In the same act, he will be both dutiful and wicked. Distraught by his misfortunes, he will lose both his reason and his home. He will be pursued by the faces of the Eumenides and by his mother’s ghost. Then his wife will demand the fatal gold from him, and the Phegeïan sword will stab their kinsman in the side. At last, Calirrhoë, the daughter of Acheloüs, will beg mighty Jupiter to grant these years of youth to her infant sons. Jupiter, concerned for them, will grant them the peculiar gift of his stepdaughter and daughter-in-law.⁸²⁴ He will make them men while they are still children.”

When Themis, foreseeing the future, had said these words with prophetic voice, the Gods above murmured in varying discourse; and the complaint was,⁸²⁵ why it might not be allowed others to grant the same gifts. Aurora, the daughter of Pallas, complained of the aged years of her husband; the gentle Ceres complained that Iäsion⁸²⁶ was growing grey; Mulciber demanded for Ericthonius a life to live over again; a concern for the future influenced Venus, too, and she made an offer to renew the years of Anchises.

When Themis spoke these prophetic words, foreseeing the future, the Gods above murmured among themselves. They complained,⁸²⁵ asking why others could not grant the same gifts. Aurora, the daughter of Pallas, complained that her husband was old. Gentle Ceres complained that Iäsion⁸²⁶ was going grey. Mulciber demanded that Ericthonius be allowed to live his life again. Venus, too, was concerned about the future and offered to renew the years of Anchises.

Byblis falls in love with her brother Caunus, and her passion is inflamed to such a degree, that he is obliged to leave his native country, to avoid any encouragement of her incestuous flame. On this, she follows him; and, in her way through Caria, she is changed into a fountain.

Byblis falls in love with her brother Caunus. Her passion grows so intense that he must leave his homeland to avoid encouraging her incestuous desire. She follows him, and on her way through Caria, she is transformed into a fountain.

Every God has⁸²⁷ some one to favour; and their jarring discord is increasing by their various interests, until Jupiter opens his mouth, and says, “O, if you have any regard for me, to what rash steps are you proceeding? Does any one of you seem to himself so powerful as to overcome even the Fates? By the Fates has Iolaüs returned to those years which he has spent; by the Fates ought the sons of Calirrhoë to become young men, and not by ambition or by dint of arms. And do you, too, endure this as well with more contented mind, for even me do the Fates govern; could I but change them, declining years should not be making my son Æacus to bend beneath them; and Rhadamanthus should have the everlasting flower of age, together with my son, Minos, who is now looked down upon on account of the grievous weight of old age, and does not reign with the dignity with which once he did.”

Every God has⁸²⁷ someone to favor, and their conflicting interests are making their quarrel worse. Then Jupiter speaks: “Oh, if you have any regard for me, what rash acts are you contemplating? Does any of you think himself powerful enough to overcome even the Fates? The Fates have restored Iolaüs to his youth. The sons of Calirrhoë must become young men through the Fates, and not through ambition or force of arms. You too must accept this more willingly, for even I am ruled by the Fates. If I could change them, old age would not be bending my son Æacus. Rhadamanthus would enjoy everlasting youth, as would my son Minos. Minos is now looked down on because of the heavy burden of old age. He no longer rules with the dignity he once had.”

The words of Jupiter influenced the Divinities; and no one continued to complain when they saw Rhadamanthus and Æacus, and Minos, weary with years; Minos, who, when he was in the prime of life, had alarmed great nations with his very name. Then, however, he was enfeebled by age, and was alarmed by Miletus, the son of Deione,⁸²⁸ exulting in the strength of youth, and in Phœbus as his sire; and though believing that he was aiming at his kingdom, still he did not dare to drive him away from his native home. Of thy own accord, Miletus, thou didst fly, and in the swift ship thou didst pass over the Ægean waters, and in the land of Asia didst build a city, bearing the name of its founder. Here Cyane, the daughter of the river Mæander, that so often returns to the same place, while she was following the windings of her father’s bank, of a body excelling in beauty, being known by thee, brought forth a double offspring, Byblis, with Caunus, her brother.

Jupiter’s words persuaded the Divinities. No one complained any longer when they saw Rhadamanthus, Æacus, and Minos, all worn down by age. In his prime, Minos had frightened great nations by his name alone. But now age had weakened him, and he feared Miletus, the son of Deione,⁸²⁸ who delighted in his youthful strength and in having Phœbus as his father. Though Minos believed that Miletus was trying to take his kingdom, he did not dare drive him from his native land. Miletus, you fled of your own accord. You crossed the Ægean waters in a swift ship and built a city in Asia, naming it after yourself. There you met the beautiful Cyane, daughter of the river Mæander, which so often winds back to the same place. She was following the curves of her father’s bank. You slept with her, and she bore twins, Byblis and Caunus, her brother.

Byblis is an example that damsels only ought to love what it is allowed them to love; Byblis, seized with a passion for her brother, the descendant of Apollo, loved him not as a sister loves a brother, nor in such manner as she ought. At first, indeed, she understands nothing of the flame, and she does not think⁸²⁹ that she is doing wrong in so often giving him kisses, and in throwing her arms round the neck of her brother; and for a long time she herself is deceived, by this resemblance of natural affection. By degrees this affection degenerates, and decked out, she comes to see her brother, and is too anxious to appear beautiful; and if there is any woman there more beautiful, she envies her. But, as yet she is not fully discovered to herself, and under that flame conceives no wishes; but still, inwardly she is agitated. At one moment she calls him sweetheart,⁸³⁰ at another, she hates the mention of his relationship; and now she prefers that he should call her Byblis, rather than sister. Still, while awake, she does not dare admit any criminal hopes into her mind; but when dissolved in soft sleep, she often sees the object which she is in love with. She seems to be even embracing her brother, and she blushes, though she is lying buried in sleep. Slumber departs; for a long time she is silent, and she recalls to memory the appearance of her dream, and thus she speaks with wavering mind:

Byblis is an example that young women ought to love only what they are allowed to love. She was seized with passion for her brother, a descendant of Apollo. She loved him not as a sister loves a brother, nor as she should. At first, she does not understand her passion at all. She does not think⁸²⁹ she is doing wrong when she kisses him so often and throws her arms around his neck. For a long time, she herself is deceived because her feelings resemble natural affection. Gradually, her affection turns into something worse. She dresses up to visit her brother and is too eager to look beautiful. If a more beautiful woman is there, she envies her. But she still does not fully understand her own feelings. Her passion has not yet given rise to desires, though she is inwardly troubled. At one moment she calls him sweetheart,⁸³⁰ and at another she hates any mention of their relationship. Now she prefers him to call her Byblis rather than sister. While awake, she still does not dare admit any forbidden hopes into her mind. But when she falls into a gentle sleep, she often sees the person she loves. She even dreams that she is embracing her brother, and blushes, though she is still fast asleep. When she wakes, she remains silent for a long time. She recalls what she saw in her dream, and speaks with an uncertain mind:

“Ah, wretched me! What means this vision of the silent night? How far am I from wishing it real. Why have I seen this dream? He is, indeed, beautiful, even to envious eyes. He pleases me, too; and were he not my brother, I could love him, and he would be worthy of me. But it is my misfortune that I am his sister. So long as I strive, while awake, to commit no such attempt, let sleep often return with the like appearance. No witness is there in sleep; and yet there is the resemblance of the delight. O Venus and winged Cupid, together with thy voluptuous mother, how great the joys I experienced! how substantial the transport which affected me! How I lay dissolved in delight throughout my whole marrow! How pleasing to remember it; although short-lived was that pleasure, and the night sped onward rapidly, and was envious of my attempts at bliss. Oh, could I only be united to thee, by changing my name, how happily, Caunus, could I become the daughter-in-law of thy father! how happily, Caunus, couldst thou become the son-in-law of my father! O, that the Gods would grant that all things were in common with us, except our ancestors. Would that thou wast more nobly born than myself. For this reason then, most beauteous one, thou wilt make some stranger, whom I know not, a mother; but to me, who have unhappily got the same parents as thyself, thou wilt be nothing more than a brother. That tie alone we shall have, which bars all else. What, then, do my visions avail me? And what weight have dreams? And do dreams have any weight? The Gods fare better; for the Gods have their own sisters in marriage. Thus Saturn married Ops,⁸³¹ related to him by blood; Ocean Tethys, the ruler of Olympus Juno. The Gods above have their privileges. Why do I attempt to reduce human customs to the rule of divine ordinances, and those so different? Either this forbidden flame shall be expelled from my heart, or if I cannot effect that, I pray that I may first perish, and that when dead I may be laid out on my bed, and that my brother may give me kisses as I lie. And besides, this matter requires the inclination of us both; suppose it pleases me; to him it will seem to be a crime. But the sons of Æolus⁸³² did not shun the embraces of their sisters. But whence have I known of these? Why have I furnished myself with these precedents? Whither am I hurried onward? Far hence begone, ye lawless flames! and let not my brother be loved by me, but as it is lawful for a sister to love him. But yet, if he had been first seized with a passion for me, perhaps I might have indulged his desires. Am I then, myself, to court him, whom I would not have rejected, had he courted me? And canst thou speak out? And canst thou confess it? Love will compel me. I can. Or if shame shall restrain my lips, a private letter shall confess the latent flame.”

“Ah, how miserable I am! What does this vision in the silent night mean? How little I wish it were real. Why did I have this dream? He is beautiful indeed, even to envious eyes. I find him pleasing, too. If he were not my brother, I could love him, and he would be worthy of me. But I am unlucky enough to be his sister. As long as I struggle not to act on such desires while awake, let sleep often bring me the same vision. No one sees what happens in sleep, and yet it feels like the real pleasure. O Venus and winged Cupid, together with your voluptuous mother, what joys I felt! How real the ecstasy seemed to me! How I lay, dissolved in delight to the very marrow of my bones! How pleasing it is to remember, though the pleasure was brief. The night passed quickly, as if it begrudged me my efforts at bliss. Oh, Caunus, if only I could change my name and be united to you! How happy I would be to become your father’s daughter-in-law! How happy you could be, Caunus, as my father’s son-in-law! I wish the Gods would grant that we shared everything except our ancestors. I wish you were more nobly born than I am. Because we share our parents, beautiful one, you will make some stranger I do not know a mother. But to me, who unhappily have the same parents as you, you will be nothing more than a brother. That bond alone will be ours, and it forbids everything else. What good, then, are my visions? What weight do dreams carry? Do dreams carry any weight? The Gods have it better, for they marry their own sisters. Saturn married Ops,⁸³¹ his blood relation. Ocean married Tethys, and the ruler of Olympus married Juno. The Gods above have their privileges. Why do I try to judge human customs by divine rules, when they are so different? Either this forbidden flame must leave my heart, or, if I cannot put it out, I pray to die first. Then let me be laid out on my bed, and let my brother kiss me as I lie there. Besides, we would both have to want this. Suppose it pleases me. To him it would seem a crime. But the sons of Æolus⁸³² did not shun their sisters’ embraces. How did I come to know of them? Why have I found these examples for myself? Where am I being carried? Begone, lawless flames! Let me love my brother only as a sister may lawfully love him. Yet if he had first fallen in love with me, perhaps I might have given in to his desires. Am I then to pursue him myself, when I would not have rejected him if he had pursued me? Can you speak out? Can you confess it? Love will force me to. I can. Or, if shame keeps me silent, a private letter will confess my hidden flame.”

This thought pleases her, this determines her wavering mind. She raises herself on her side, and leaning on her left elbow, she says, “He shall see it; let me confess my frantic passion. Ah, wretched me! How am I degrading myself! What flame is my mind now kindling!” And then, with trembling hand, she puts together the words well weighed. Her right hand holds the iron pen, the other, clean wax tablets.⁸³³ She begins, and then she hesitates; she writes, and then corrects what is written; she marks, and then scratches out; she alters, and condemns, and approves; and one while she throws them down when taken up, and at another time, she takes them up again, when thrown aside. What she would have, she knows not. Whatever she seems on the point of doing, is not to her taste. In her features are assurance mingled with shame. The word ‘sister’ is written; it seems as well to efface the word ‘sister,’ and then to write such words as these upon the smoothed wax: “Thy lover wishes thee that health which she, herself, is not to enjoy, unless thou shalt grant it. I am ashamed! Oh, I am ashamed to disclose my name! and shouldst thou inquire what it is I wish; without my name⁸³⁴ could I wish my cause to be pleaded, and that I might not be known as Byblis, until the hopes of enjoying my desires were realized. There might have been as a proof to thee of my wounded heart, my pale complexion, my falling away, my downcast looks, and my eyes often wet with tears, sighs, too, fetched without any seeming cause; frequent embraces too, and kisses, which, if perchance thou didst observe, could not be deemed to be those of a sister. Still I, myself, though I had a grievous wound in my soul, and although there was a raging fire within, have done everything, as the Gods are my witnesses, that at last I might be cured; and long, in my wretchedness, have I struggled to escape the ruthless weapon of Cupid; and I have endured more hardships than thou wouldst believe that a maiden could endure.

The thought pleases her and settles her wavering mind. She rises onto her side and leans on her left elbow. “He shall see it,” she says. “Let me confess my mad passion. Oh, wretched me! How I am degrading myself! What flame is my mind kindling now!” And then, with a trembling hand, she carefully puts her words together. Her right hand holds the iron pen, and the other holds clean wax tablets.⁸³³ She begins, and then hesitates. She writes, and then corrects what she has written. She makes marks, and then scratches them out. She changes, rejects, and approves. At one moment she picks up the tablets and throws them down. At another, she picks them up again. She does not know what she wants. Whatever she is about to do, she dislikes. Her face shows both confidence and shame. She writes the word ‘sister’. Then she decides it is best to erase the word ‘sister’ and write these words on the smoothed wax: “Your lover wishes you the health she cannot enjoy herself unless you grant it to her. I am ashamed! Oh, I am ashamed to reveal my name! If you ask what I want, I wish my case could be pleaded without my name.⁸³⁴ I wish I could remain unknown as Byblis until my hopes of fulfilling my desires came true. You might have seen proof of my wounded heart in my pale face, my weight loss, and my downcast looks. My eyes were often wet with tears, and I sighed for no apparent reason. I also embraced and kissed you often. If you noticed, you could not have thought those were a sister’s kisses. Still, my soul was deeply wounded, and a fire raged within me. Yet the Gods are my witnesses that I did everything I could to heal at last. In my misery, I struggled long to escape Cupid’s cruel weapon. I have endured more hardships than you would believe a maiden could endure.

“Vanquished at length, I am forced to own my passion; and with timorous prayers, to entreat thy aid. Thou alone canst save, thou destroy, one who loves thee. Choose which thou wilt do. She is not thy enemy who begs this; but one who, though most nearly connected with thee, desires to be still more closely connected, and to be united to thee in a nearer tie. Let aged men be acquainted with ordinances, and make inquiry what is lawful, and what is wicked, and what is proper; and let them employ themselves in considering the laws. A passion that dares all consequences is suited to our years. As yet, we know not what is lawful, and we believe that all things are lawful, and so follow the example of the great Gods. Neither a severe father, nor regard for character, nor fear, shall restrain us, if only the cause for fearing is removed. Under a brother’s name will we conceal our stolen joys so sweet. I have the liberty of conversing with thee in private; and even before others do we give embraces, and exchange kisses. How little is it that is wanting! do have pity on the love of her who confesses it, and who would not confess it, did not extreme passion compel her; and merit not to be inscribed on my tomb as the cause of my death.”

“At last, overcome, I am forced to confess my passion. I timidly beg for your help. You alone can save or destroy someone who loves you. Choose which you will do. The woman begging you is not your enemy. Though already closely related to you, she wants an even closer bond and a more intimate union. Let old men concern themselves with rules. Let them ask what is lawful, what is wicked, and what is proper. Let them spend their time studying the laws. A passion that dares to risk everything suits our age. We do not yet know what is lawful. We believe everything is lawful and so follow the example of the great Gods. Neither a strict father, nor concern for our reputations, nor fear will hold us back, if the reason for fear is removed. We will hide our sweet stolen pleasures behind your name as my brother. I am free to talk with you in private. Even in front of others, we embrace and kiss. How little stands between us and what I desire! Please have pity on me and the love I confess. I would not confess it if overwhelming passion did not compel me. Do not let your name be written on my tomb as the cause of my death.”

The filled tablets fall short for her hand, as it vainly inscribes such words as these, and the last line is placed in the margin.⁸³⁵ At once she seals up her own condemnation, with the impress of a signet, which she wets with her tears, for the moisture has deserted her tongue. Filled with shame, she then calls one of her male domestics, and gently addressing him in timorous tones, she said, “Carry these, most trusty one, to my,” and, after a long pause, she added, “brother.” While she was delivering them, the tablets, slipping from her hands, fell down. She was shocked by this omen, but still she sent them. The servant, having got a fit opportunity, goes to her brother and delivers the secret writing. The Mæandrian youth,⁸³⁶ seized with sudden anger, throws away the tablets so received, when he has read a part; and, with difficulty withholding his hands from the face of the trembling servant, he says, “Fly hence, O thou accursed pander to forbidden lust, who shouldst have given me satisfaction by thy death, if it was not that thy destruction would bring disgrace on my character.” Frightened, he hastens away, and reports to his mistress the threatening expressions of Caunus. Thou, Byblis, on hearing of his refusal, turnest pale, and thy breast, beset with an icy chill, is struck with alarm; yet when thy senses return, so, too, does thy frantic passion return, and thy tongue with difficulty utters such words as these, the air being struck by thy accents:

The tablets are full, but she keeps writing these futile words, placing the last line in the margin.⁸³⁵ She seals her own condemnation with a signet, wetting it with her tears, for her tongue has gone dry. Ashamed, she then calls one of her male servants and speaks gently, in a timid voice. “Carry these, most trusted one, to my,” she says. After a long pause, she adds, “brother.” As she hands him the tablets, they slip from her hands and fall. The omen shocks her, but she sends them anyway. When a suitable opportunity comes, the servant goes to her brother and delivers the secret message. The Mæandrian youth,⁸³⁶ suddenly furious, reads part of the tablets he has so received and throws them away. He can barely stop himself from striking the trembling servant. “Get out of here, you cursed pander to forbidden lust,” he says. “You would have paid for this with your life, if it were not that your death would disgrace me.” Frightened, the servant hurries away and reports Caunus’s threats to his mistress. Byblis, when you hear of his refusal, you turn pale. An icy chill grips your breast, and you are filled with fear. But when your senses return, your frantic passion returns too. With difficulty, your tongue speaks words like these, and the air is stirred by your voice:

“And deservedly am I thus treated; for why, in my rashness, did I make the discovery of this wound? why have I so speedily committed words to a hasty letter, which ought rather to have been concealed? The feelings of his mind ought first to have been tried beforehand by me, with ambiguous expressions. Lest he should not follow me in my course, I ought, with some part of my sail⁸³⁷ only, to have observed what kind of a breeze it was, and to have scudded over the sea in safety; whereas, now, I have filled my canvass with winds before untried. I am driven upon rocks in consequence; and sunk, I am buried beneath the whole ocean, and my sails have now no retreat. And besides, was I not forbidden, by unerring omens, to indulge my passion, at the time when the waxen tablets fell, as I ordered him to deliver them, and made my hopes sink to the ground? and ought not either the day to have been changed, or else my whole intentions; but rather, of the two,⁸³⁸ the day? Some God himself warned me, and gave me unerring signs, if I had not been deranged; and yet I ought to have spoken out myself, and not to have committed myself to writing, and personally I ought to have discovered my passion; then he would have seen my tears, then he would have seen the features of her who loved him; I might have given utterance to more than what the letter contained. I might have thrown my arms around his reluctant neck, and have embraced his feet, and lying on the ground, I might have begged for life; and if I had been repelled, I might have seemed on the point of death. All this, I say, I might then have done; if each of these things could not singly have softened his obdurate feelings, yet all of them might.

“And I deserve to be treated this way. Why did I rashly reveal this wound? Why did I rush to put into a letter feelings I should rather have concealed? First, I should have tested his feelings with words that could be read more than one way. To see whether he would follow my course, I should have raised only part of my sail⁸³⁷. Then I could have tested the breeze and sailed safely over the sea. Instead, I have filled my sails with winds I had never tested. As a result, I have been driven onto rocks. I have sunk beneath the whole ocean, and my sails can no longer take me back. And was I not forbidden by unmistakable omens to indulge my passion? When I ordered him to deliver the wax tablets, they fell, and my hopes fell with them. Should I not have changed either the day or my whole plan? Of the two, I should rather have changed⁸³⁸ the day. A god himself warned me and gave me unmistakable signs, but I was out of my mind. Even so, I should have spoken for myself instead of putting my feelings in writing. I should have revealed my passion in person. Then he would have seen my tears. Then he would have seen the face of the woman who loved him. I could have said more than the letter contained. I could have thrown my arms around his neck, though he was unwilling. I could have embraced his feet and begged for life, lying on the ground. And if he had pushed me away, I might have seemed close to death. I could have done all this then. If none of these things could have softened his stubborn heart on its own, together they might have done so.

“Perhaps, too, there may be some fault in the servant that was sent. He did not wait on him at a convenient moment; he did not choose, I suppose, a fitting time; nor did he request both the hour and his attention to be disengaged. ’Tis this that has undone me; for he was not born of a tigress, nor does he carry in his breast hard flints, or solid iron, or adamant; nor yet did he suck the milk of a lioness. He will yet be won. Again must he be attacked.⁸³⁹ And no weariness will I admit of in the accomplishment of my design, so long as this breath of mine shall remain. For the best thing (if I could only recall what has been destined) would have been, not to have made the attempt; the next best thing is, to urge the accomplishment of what is begun; for he cannot (suppose I were to relinquish my design) ever be unmindful of this my attempt; and because I have desisted, I shall appear to have desired for but an instant, or even to have been trying him, and to have solicited him with the intention to betray; or, at least, I shall be thought not to have been overcome by this God, who with such intensity now burns, and has burnt my breast, but rather by lust. In fine, I cannot now be guiltless of a wicked deed; I have both written to him, and I have solicited him; my inclination has been defiled. Though I were to add nothing more, I cannot be pronounced innocent: as to what remains, ’twill add much to the gratifying of my wishes, but little to my criminality.”

“Perhaps the servant I sent was partly to blame. He did not approach him at a convenient moment. I suppose he chose the wrong time. Nor did he make sure he had both the time and his attention. That is what has ruined me. For he was not born of a tigress. He does not have hard flint, solid iron, or adamant in his breast. Nor did he suckle a lioness. He can still be won over. I must try again.⁸³⁹ I will never tire of pursuing my plan, as long as I have breath. The best thing would have been not to try at all, if only I could undo what has been done. The next best thing is to press on with what I have begun. Even if I gave up my plan, he could never forget my attempt. And because I had stopped, he would think my desire lasted only a moment. He might even think I had been testing him, approaching him with the intention of betraying him. Or at least he would think I had been overcome by lust. He would not think it was this God, who now burns so fiercely in my breast and has burned there before. In short, I can no longer be innocent of wrongdoing. I have written to him, and I have approached him with my desire. My heart has been defiled. Even if I did nothing more, I could not be called innocent. What remains will add much to the fulfillment of my wishes, but little to my guilt.”

Thus she says; and (so great is the unsteadiness of her wavering mind) though she is loath to try him, she has a wish to try him, and she exceeds all bounds, and, to her misery, exposes herself to be often repulsed. At length, when there is now no end to this, he flies from his country and the commission of this crime, and founds a new city⁸⁴⁰ in a foreign land. But then, they say that the daughter of Miletus, in her sadness, was bereft of all understanding. Then did she tear her garments away from her breast, and in her frenzy beat her arms. And now she is openly raving, and she proclaims the unlawful hopes of unnatural lust. Deprived of these hopes, she deserts her native land, and her hated home, and follows the steps of her flying brother. And as the Ismarian⁸⁴¹ Bacchanals, son of Semele, aroused by thy thyrsus, celebrate thy triennial festivals, as they return, no otherwise did the Bubasian matrons⁸⁴² see Byblis howling over the wide fields; leaving which, she wandered through the country of the Carians, and the warlike Leleges,⁸⁴³ and Lycia.

So she speaks. Her mind is so unsteady that, though she is reluctant to test him, she wants to try. She goes beyond all limits and, to her misery, exposes herself to repeated rejection. At last, when there is no end to this, he flees his country and the commission of this crime. He founds a new city⁸⁴⁰ in a foreign land. Then, they say, the daughter of Miletus lost all reason in her grief. She tore the clothes from her breast and beat her arms in a frenzy. Now she raves openly and proclaims the unlawful hopes of her unnatural lust. Deprived of these hopes, she leaves her native land and her hated home. She follows in the footsteps of her fleeing brother. The Ismarian⁸⁴¹ Bacchanals, son of Semele, are stirred by your thyrsus and celebrate your festivals every three years, as they return. Just like them, Byblis howled across the wide fields, where the Bubasian matrons⁸⁴² saw her. Leaving the fields, she wandered through the lands of the Carians, the warlike Leleges,⁸⁴³ and Lycia.

And now she has left behind Cragos,⁸⁴⁴ and Lymira,⁸⁴⁵ and the waves of Xanthus, and the mountain in which the Chimæra had fire in its middle parts, the breast and the face of a lioness, and the tail of a serpent. The woods at length fail thee; when thou, Byblis, wearied with following him, dost fall down, and laying thy tresses upon the hard ground, art silent, and dost press the fallen leaves with thy face. Often, too, do the Lelegeïan Nymphs endeavour to raise her in their tender arms; often do they advise her to curb her passion, and they apply consolation to a mind insensible to their advice. Silent does Byblis lie, and she tears the green herbs with her nails, and waters the grass with the stream of her tears. They say that the Naiads placed beneath these tears a channel which could never become dry; and what greater gift had they to bestow? Immediately, as drops from the cut bark of the pitch tree, or as the viscid bitumen distils from the impregnated earth, or as water which has frozen with the cold, at the approach of Favonius, gently blowing, melts away in the sun, so is Byblis, the descendant of Phœbus, dissolving in her tears, changed into a fountain, which even now, in those vallies, bears the name of its mistress, and flows beneath a gloomy oak.

Now she has left behind Cragos,⁸⁴⁴ Lymira,⁸⁴⁵ the waters of Xanthus, and the mountain where the Chimæra lived. The Chimæra had fire in its middle, the breast and face of a lioness, and a serpent’s tail. At last the woods come to an end. Byblis, tired from following him, you fall down and lay your hair on the hard ground. You lie silent, your face pressed against the fallen leaves. Again and again, the Lelegeïan Nymphs try to lift her in their gentle arms. They urge her to control her passion and offer comfort, but her mind is deaf to their advice. Byblis lies silent, tearing the green plants with her nails and watering the grass with her tears. They say the Naiads made a channel beneath these tears that could never run dry. What greater gift could they have given? At once, Byblis, the descendant of Phœbus, dissolves in her tears and becomes a fountain. She melts away like drops from the cut bark of a pitch tree, or like sticky bitumen seeping from the soaked earth. She melts like frozen water in the sun when Favonius approaches, blowing gently. Even now, the fountain bears its mistress’s name in those valleys and flows beneath a gloomy oak.

Ligdus commands his wife Telethusa, who is pregnant, to destroy the infant, should it prove to be a girl; on which, the Goddess Isis appears to her in a dream, and, forbidding her to obey, promises her her protection. Telethusa is delivered of a daughter, who is called Iphis, and passes for a son. Iphis is afterwards married to Ianthe, on which, Isis, to reward her mother’s piety, transforms her into a man.

Ligdus orders his pregnant wife, Telethusa, to kill their baby if it is a girl. The goddess Isis then appears to Telethusa in a dream. She tells Telethusa not to obey and promises to protect her. Telethusa gives birth to a daughter, who is named Iphis and passes as a son. Iphis later marries Ianthe. Isis then transforms Iphis into a man to reward her mother’s devotion.

The fame of this new prodigy would, perhaps, have filled the hundred cities of Crete, if Crete had not lately produced a nearer wonder of her own, in the change of Iphis.

News of this new wonder might perhaps have spread through Crete's hundred cities. But Crete had recently seen a wonder closer to home, of her own, in the transformation of Iphis.

For once on a time the Phæstian land⁸⁴⁶ adjoining to the Gnossian kingdom produced one Ligdus, of obscure name, a man of the freeborn class of common people. Nor were his means any greater than his rank, but his life and his honour were untainted. He startled the ears of his wife in her pregnancy, with these words, when her lying-in was near at hand: “Two things there are which I wish for; that thou mayst be delivered with very little pain, and that thou mayst bring forth a male child. The other alternative is a cause of greater trouble, and providence has denied us means for bringing up a female. The thing I abominate; but if a female should, by chance, be brought forth at thy delivery, (I command it with reluctance, forgive me, natural affection) let it be put to death.” Thus he said, and they bathed their faces with tears streaming down; both he who commanded, and she to whom the commands were given. But yet Telethusa incessantly urged her husband, with fruitless entreaties, not to confine his hopes within a compass so limited. But Ligdus’s resolution was fixed.

Once upon a time, in the Phæstian land⁸⁴⁶ adjoining the kingdom of Gnossian, there lived a man named Ligdus. He was little known, a freeborn man of the common people. His means were no greater than his rank, but his life and honour were beyond reproach. His wife was pregnant and near her time. He startled her with these words: “There are two things I wish for: that you give birth with very little pain, and that the child be a boy. A girl would bring more trouble, and providence has denied us the means to raise a girl. I hate what I must say. But if you happen to give birth to a girl, she must be put to death. I give this command reluctantly. Forgive me, natural affection.” Then he and his wife both wept, the one who gave the command and the one who received it. Yet Telethusa begged her husband again and again not to limit his hopes so narrowly. Her pleas were useless. But Ligdus’s decision was firm.

And now was she hardly able to bear her womb big with the burden ripe for birth; when in the middle of the night, under the form of a vision, the daughter of Inachus, attended by a train of her votaries, either stood, or seemed to stand, before her bed. The horns of the moon were upon her forehead, with ears of corn with their bright golden colour, and the royal ornament of the diadem; with her was the barking Anubis,⁸⁴⁷ and the holy Bubastis,⁸⁴⁸ and the particoloured Apis;⁸⁴⁹ he, too, who suppresses⁸⁵⁰ his voice, and with his finger enjoins silence. There were the sistra too, and Osiris,⁸⁵¹ never enough sought for; and the foreign serpent,⁸⁵² filled with soporiferous poison. When thus the Goddess addressed her, as though roused from her sleep, and seeing all distinctly: “O Telethusa, one of my votaries, lay aside thy grievous cares, and evade the commands of thy husband; and do not hesitate, when Lucina shall have given thee ease by delivery, to bring up the child, whatever it shall be. I am a befriending Goddess,⁸⁵³ and, when invoked, I give assistance; and thou shalt not complain that thou hast worshipped an ungrateful Divinity.”

She was now hardly able to bear her swollen womb, with its burden ready for birth. Then, in the middle of the night, the daughter of Inachus appeared in a vision. Attended by a train of her worshippers, she stood, or seemed to stand, before Telethusa’s bed. On her forehead were the horns of the moon, ears of bright golden corn, and a royal diadem. With her were the barking Anubis,⁸⁴⁷ the holy Bubastis,⁸⁴⁸ and the multicolored Apis.⁸⁴⁹ There was also the one who keeps⁸⁵⁰ silent and commands silence with his finger. There were the sistra too, and Osiris,⁸⁵¹ who is never sought enough. There was also the foreign serpent,⁸⁵² filled with sleep-inducing poison. The Goddess spoke to Telethusa, who seemed to have awakened from sleep and to see everything clearly: “O Telethusa, my worshipper, put aside your terrible worries and defy your husband’s commands. When Lucina has relieved you in childbirth, do not hesitate to raise the child, whatever it may be. I am a friendly Goddess,⁸⁵³ and I help those who call on me. You will not complain that you have worshipped an ungrateful Goddess.”

Thus she advises her, and then retires from her chamber. The Cretan matron arises joyful from her bed; and suppliantly raising her pure hands towards the stars of heaven, prays that her vision may be fulfilled. When her pains increased, and her burden forced itself into the light, and a girl was born to the father unaware of it, the mother ordered it to be brought up, pretending it was a boy; and the thing gained belief, nor was any one but the nurse acquainted with the fact. The father performed his vows, and gave the child the name of its grandfather. The grandfather had been called Iphis. The mother rejoiced in that name because it was common to both sexes, nor would she be deceiving⁸⁵⁴ any one by it. Her deception lay unperceived under this fraud, the result of natural affection. The child’s dress was that of a boy; the face such, that, whether you gave it to a girl or to a boy, either would be beautiful. In the meantime the third year had now succeeded the tenth, when her father, O Iphis, promised to thee, in marriage, the yellow-haired Iänthe, who was a virgin the most commended among all the women of Phæstus, for the endowments of her beauty; the daughter of the Dictæan Telestes. Equal was their age, their beauty equal; and they received their first instruction, the elements suited to their age, from the same preceptor.

Thus she advises her and then leaves her room. The Cretan woman rises joyfully from her bed. She raises her innocent hands toward the stars of heaven and prays that her vision will come true. When her labor pains grew stronger, her child came into the light. She gave birth to a girl, without the father knowing it. The mother ordered that the child be raised as a boy and pretended that it was one. People believed her, and no one but the nurse knew the truth. The father fulfilled his vows and named the child after its grandfather. The grandfather had been called Iphis. The mother was glad of the name because it was used for both sexes. She would not be deceiving⁸⁵⁴ anyone by using it. Her deception, born of a mother’s love, went unnoticed. The child’s clothes were those of a boy. Its face was so beautiful that it would have suited either a girl or a boy. Meanwhile, the thirteenth year had arrived, and your father, O Iphis, promised you in marriage to the yellow-haired Iänthe. She was a virgin, praised for her beauty above all the women of Phæstus. She was the daughter of the Dictæan Telestes. Iphis and Iänthe were equal in age and beauty. They learned their first lessons, those suited to their age, from the same teacher.

Love, in consequence, touches the inexperienced breasts of them both, and inflicts on each an equal wound; but how different are their hopes! Iänthe awaits the time of their union, and of the ceremonial agreed upon, and believes that she, whom she thinks to be a man, will be her husband. Iphis is in love with her whom she despairs to be able to enjoy, and this very thing increases her flame; and, herself a maid, she burns with passion for a maid. And, with difficulty, suppressing her tears, she says, “What issue of my love awaits me, whom the anxieties unknown to any before, and so unnatural, of an unheard-of passion, have seized upon? if the Gods would spare me, (they ought to have destroyed me, and if they would not have destroyed me), at least they should have inflicted some natural evil, and one common to the human race. Passion for a cow does not inflame a cow, nor does that for mares inflame the mares. The ram inflames the ewes; its own female follows the buck. And so do birds couple; and among all animals, no female is seized with passion for a female. Would that I did not exist.

As a result, love touches both their innocent hearts and wounds them equally. But how different their hopes are! Iänthe looks forward to their union and the wedding ceremony they have planned. She believes the person she thinks is a man will be her husband. Iphis loves someone she has no hope of being with, and this only intensifies her passion. Herself a young woman, she burns with love for another young woman. With difficulty, she holds back her tears and says, “What end awaits my love? I am gripped by the strange worries of a passion no one has known before, one so unnatural. If the Gods wished to spare me, (they should have destroyed me, and if they did not wish to destroy me), they should at least have inflicted some natural evil, one common to the human race. A cow does not burn with passion for another cow, nor a mare for another mare. The ram arouses the ewes. The female follows the buck. Birds mate in the same way, and among all animals, no female feels passion for another female. I wish I did not exist.

“Yet, lest Crete might not be the producer of all kinds of prodigies, the daughter of the Sun loved a bull; that is to say, a female loved a male. My passion, if I confess the truth, is more extravagant than that. Still she pursued the hopes of enjoyment; still, by a subtle contrivance, and under the form of a cow, did she couple with the bull, and her paramour was one that might be deceived. But though the ingenuity of the whole world were to centre here, though Dædalus himself were to fly back again with his waxen wings, what could he do? Could he, by his skilful arts, make me from a maiden into a youth? or could he transform thee, Iänthe? But why dost thou not fortify thy mind, and recover thyself, Iphis? And why not shake off this passion, void of all reason, and senseless as it is? Consider what it was thou wast born (unless thou art deceiving thyself as well), and pursue that which is allowable, and love that which, as a woman, thou oughtst to love. Hope it is that produces, Hope it is that nourishes love. This, the very case itself deprives thee of. No guard is keeping thee away from her dear embrace; no care of a watchful husband, no father’s severity; does not she herself deny thy solicitations. And yet she cannot be enjoyed by thee; nor, were everything possible done, couldst thou be blessed; not, though Gods and men were to do their utmost. And now, too, no portion of my desires is baffled, and the compliant Deities have granted me whatever they were able, and what I desire, my father wishes, she herself wishes, and so does my destined father-in-law; but nature, more powerful than all these, wills it not; she alone is an obstacle to me. Lo, the longed-for time approaches, and the wedding-day is at hand, when Iänthe should be mine; and yet she will not fall to my lot. In the midst of water, I shall be athirst. Why, Juno, guardian of the marriage rites, and why, Hymenæus, do you come to this ceremonial, where there is not the person who should marry the wife, and where both of us females, we are coupled in wedlock?”

“Yet, as if Crete had to produce all kinds of wonders, the daughter of the Sun loved a bull. That is, a female loved a male. If I confess the truth, my passion is even more extraordinary than hers. Still, she could hope to enjoy her love. By a clever trick, she took the form of a cow and coupled with the bull. Her lover, after all, could be deceived. But what if all the ingenuity in the world were gathered here? What if Dædalus himself flew back on his waxen wings? What could he do? Could his skill turn me from a maiden into a young man? Or could he transform you, Iänthe? But why don’t you strengthen your resolve and come to your senses, Iphis? Why not shake off this passion, which is entirely irrational and senseless? Remember what you were born, unless you are deceiving yourself about that too. Pursue what is permitted, and love what you, as a woman, ought to love. Hope creates love, and hope nourishes it. But the very nature of my situation leaves me no hope. No guard keeps you from her dear embrace. No watchful husband, no stern father stands in your way. She herself does not reject your advances. And yet you cannot enjoy her. Even if everything possible were done, you could not find happiness with her. Not even if gods and men did their utmost. And now, too, none of my wishes has been denied. The willing gods have granted me everything they could. My father, Iänthe herself, and my future father-in-law all want what I want. But nature, stronger than all of them, refuses. She alone stands in my way. Look, the longed-for time is approaching. The wedding day is near, when Iänthe should be mine. And yet she will not be mine. Surrounded by water, I shall thirst. Why, Juno, guardian of marriage rites, and why, Hymenæus, do you come to this ceremony? There is no one here to marry the bride. Instead, we are both women, joined in marriage.”

After saying these words, she closes her lips. And no less does the other maid burn, and she prays thee, Hymenæus, to come quickly. Telethusa, dreading the same thing that she desires, at one time puts off the time of the wedding, and then raises delays, by feigning illness. Often, by way of excuse, she pretends omens and visions. But now she has exhausted all the resources of fiction; and the time for the marriage so long delayed is now at hand, and only one day remains; whereon she takes off the fillets for the hair from her own head and from that of her daughter,⁸⁵⁵ and embracing the altar with dishevelled locks, she says, “O Isis, thou who dost inhabit Parætonium,⁸⁵⁶ and the Mareotic fields,⁸⁵⁷ and Pharos,⁸⁵⁸ and the Nile divided into its seven horns, give aid, I beseech thee, and ease me of my fears. Thee, Goddess, thee, I once beheld, and these thy symbols; and all of them I recognized; both thy attendants, and thy torches, and the sound of the sistra, and I noted thy commands with mindful care. That this girl⁸⁵⁹ now sees the light, that I, myself, am not punished, is the result of thy counsel, and thy admonition; pity us both, and aid us with thy assistance.”

After saying these words, she falls silent. The other young woman burns with just as much desire. She prays to you, Hymenæus, to come quickly. Telethusa dreads the very thing she desires. She puts off the wedding day, then causes further delays by pretending to be ill. She often makes excuses, claiming to have seen omens and visions. But now she has run out of things to invent. The wedding so long delayed is now near, and only one day remains. So she removes the hairbands from her own head and her daughter’s.⁸⁵⁵ With her hair loose, she embraces the altar and says, “O Isis, you who dwell in Parætonium,⁸⁵⁶ the Mareotic fields,⁸⁵⁷ Pharos,⁸⁵⁸ and the Nile divided into seven branches, please help me and ease my fears. Goddess, I once saw you and these symbols of yours. I recognized all of them: your attendants, your torches, and the sound of the sistra. I carefully remembered your commands. Because of your counsel and warning, this girl⁸⁵⁹ now sees the light of day, and I have escaped punishment. Pity us both and help us.”

Tears followed her words. The Goddess seemed to move, (and she really did move) her altars; and the doors of her temple shook. Her horns, too,⁸⁶⁰ shone, resembling those of the moon, and the tinkling sistrum sounded. The mother departs from the temple, not free from concern indeed, still pleased with this auspicious omen. Iphis follows her, her companion as she goes, with longer strides than she had been wont; her fairness does not continue on her face; both her strength is increased, and her features are more stern; and shorter is the length of her scattered locks. There is more vigour, also, than she had as a female. And now thou art a male, who so lately wast a female. Bring offerings to the temple, and rejoice with no hesitating confidence. They do bring their offerings to the temple. They add, too, an inscription; the inscription contains one short line: “Iphis, a male, offers the presents, which, as a female, he had vowed.”

Tears followed her words. The Goddess seemed to move her altars (and she really did move them). The doors of her temple shook. Her horns,⁸⁶⁰ too, shone like those of the moon, and the sistrum made a tinkling sound. The mother left the temple, still worried but pleased by this hopeful sign. Iphis followed her, taking longer strides than she usually did. The softness faded from her face. She grew stronger, her features became more severe, and her loose hair grew shorter. She also had more vigor than she had as a female. And now you are male, though so recently you were female. Bring offerings to the temple, and rejoice with complete confidence. They bring their offerings to the temple. They also add an inscription of one short line: “Iphis, a male, offers the gifts that he vowed to give as a female.”

The following morn has disclosed the wide world with the rays of the Sun; when Venus, and Juno, and Hymenæus, repair to the social fires⁸⁶¹; and Iphis, now a youth, gains his dear Iänthe.

The next morning, the rays of the Sun lit up the wide world. Venus, Juno, and Hymenæus came to the wedding fires⁸⁶¹, and Iphis, now a young man, won his dear Iänthe.