Book 2

Phaëton, insulted by Epaphus, goes to the Palace of Apollo, to beseech him to give some token that he is his son. Apollo, having sworn, by the river Styx, to refuse him nothing that he should desire, he immediately asks to guide his chariot for one day. He is unsuccessful in the attempt, and, the horses running away, the world is in danger of being consumed.

After Epaphus insults him, Phaëton goes to the Palace of Apollo. He begs Apollo for a sign that he is his son. Apollo swears by the river Styx to grant him anything he asks. Phaëton immediately asks to drive Apollo’s chariot for one day. He fails, and the horses run away, putting the world in danger of being consumed by fire.

The palace of the Sun was raised high, on stately columns, bright with radiant gold, and carbuncle that rivals the flames; polished ivory covered its highest top, and double folding doors shone with the brightness of silver. The workmanship even exceeded the material; for there Mulciber had carved the sea circling round the encompassed Earth; and the orb of the Earth, and the Heavens which hang over that orb. There the waves have in them the azure Deities, both Triton, sounding with his shell, and the changing Proteus, and Ægeon,¹²⁰ pressing the huge backs of whales with his arms; Doris,¹²¹ too, and her daughters, part of whom appear to be swimming, part, sitting on the bank, to be drying their green hair; some are seen borne upon fishes. The features in all are not the same, nor, however, remarkably different: they are such as those of sisters ought to be. The Earth has upon it men and cities, and woods, and wild beasts, and rivers, and Nymphs, and other Deities of the country. Over these is placed the figure of the shining Heaven, and there are six Signs of the Zodiac on the right door, and as many on the left.

The palace of the Sun stood high on stately columns, bright with radiant gold and carbuncle that rivaled flames. Polished ivory covered its highest roof, and its double doors shone with silver. The workmanship even surpassed the materials. For there Mulciber had carved the sea circling the Earth, the Earth itself, and the heavens hanging above it. There the waves hold in them the blue sea gods. Triton sounds his shell, and Proteus changes shape. Ægeon,¹²⁰ presses his arms against the huge backs of whales. Doris,¹²¹ is there too, with her daughters. Some appear to be swimming, while others sit on the shore, drying their green hair. Some are seen riding on fish. Their features are not all the same, but they are not remarkably different either. They are just as sisters’ features should be. On the Earth are people and cities, woods and wild beasts, rivers and Nymphs, and other gods of the countryside. Above them is the image of the shining heavens. Six Signs of the Zodiac are on the right door, and six more are on the left.

Soon as the son of Clymene had arrived thither by an ascending path, and entered the house of his parent, thus doubted of; he immediately turned his steps to the presence of his father, and stood at a distance, for he could not bear the refulgence nearer. Arrayed in a purple garment, Phœbus was seated on a throne sparkling with brilliant emeralds. On his right hand, and on his left, the Days, the Months, the Years, the Ages, and the Hours were arranged, at corresponding distances, and the fresh Spring was standing, crowned with a chaplet of blossoms; Summer was standing naked, and wearing garlands made of ears of corn; Autumn, too, was standing besmeared with the trodden-out grapes; and icy Winter, rough with his hoary hair.

As soon as the son of Clymene had climbed the path, he entered the house of his father, whose paternity he thus doubted. He went straight to his father but stood at a distance. He could not bear the brilliance any closer. Phœbus wore a purple robe and sat on a throne sparkling with brilliant emeralds. The Days, Months, Years, Ages, and Hours stood at equal distances on either side of him. Fresh Spring stood there, crowned with a wreath of blossoms. Summer stood naked, wearing garlands of ears of corn. Autumn stood smeared with the juice of trodden grapes. Icy Winter stood there too, his white hair unkempt.

Then the Sun, from the midst of this place, with those eyes with which he beholds all things, sees the young man struck with fear at the novelty of these things, and says, “What is the occasion of thy journey hither? What dost thou seek, Phaëton, in this my palace, a son not to be denied by his parent?”

Then the Sun, from the middle of this place, saw the young man with the eyes that see all things. The young man was frightened by the unfamiliar sight of these things. The Sun said, “Why have you come here? What do you seek, Phaëton, in my palace? Your father cannot deny that you are his son.”

He answers, “O thou universal Light of the unbounded World, Phœbus, my father, if thou grantest me the use of that name; and if Clymene is not concealing an error under a false pretext, give me, my parent, some token, by which I may be believed to be really thy progeny; and remove this uncertainty from my mind.” Thus he spoke; but his parent took off the rays shining all around his head, and commanded him to come nearer; and, having embraced him, he says, “And neither art thou deserving to be denied to be mine, and Clymene has told thee thy true origin; and that thou mayst have the less doubt, ask any gift thou mayst please, that thou mayst receive it from me bestowing it. Let the lake, by which the Gods are wont to swear, and which is unseen, even by my eyes, be as a witness of my promise.”

He answers, “O Phœbus, universal Light of the boundless World, my father, if you allow me to call you that. If Clymene is not hiding a mistake under a false pretext, give me a sign, my father. Let it convince others that I am truly your son and remove this uncertainty from my mind.” So he spoke, but his father removed the rays shining around his head and told him to come closer. He embraced him and said, “And you deserve to be acknowledged as my son, and Clymene has told you your true origin. To ease your doubt, ask for any gift you please, and I will give it to you. Let the lake by which the Gods swear bear witness to my promise. It is unseen, even by my eyes.”

Hardly had he well finished, when he asks for his father’s chariot, and for the command and guidance of the wing-footed horses for one day. His father repented that he had so sworn, and shaking his splendid head three or four times, he said, “By thine have my words been made rash. I wish I were allowed not to grant what I have promised! I confess, my son, that this alone I would deny thee. Still, I may dissuade thee: thy desire is not attended with safety. Thou desirest, Phaëton, a gift too great, and one which is suited neither to thy strength, nor to such youthful years. Thy lot is that of a mortal; that which thou desirest, belongs not to mortals. Nay, thou aimest, in thy ignorance, at even more than it is allowed the Gods above to obtain. Let every one be self-satisfied, if he likes; still, with the exception of myself, no one is able to take his stand upon the fire-bearing axle-tree. Even the Ruler of vast Olympus, who hurls the ruthless bolts with his terrific right hand, cannot guide this chariot; and yet, what have we greater than Jupiter? The first part of the road is steep, and such as the horses, though fresh in the morning, can hardly climb. In the middle of the heavens it is high aloft, from whence it is often a source of fear, even to myself, to look down upon the sea and the earth, and my breast trembles with fearful apprehensions. The last stage is a steep descent, and requires a sure command of the horses. Then, too, Tethys¹²² herself, who receives me in her waves, extended below, is often wont to fear, lest I should be borne headlong from above. Besides, the heavens are carried round¹²³ with a constant rotation, and carry with them the lofty stars, and whirl them with rapid revolution. Against this I have to contend; and that force which overcomes all other things, does not overcome me; and I am carried in a contrary direction to the rapid world. Suppose the chariot given to thee; what couldst thou do? Couldst thou proceed, opposed to the whirling poles, so that the rapid heavens should not carry thee away? Perhaps, too, thou dost fancy in thy mind that there are groves, and cities of the Gods, and temples enriched with gifts: whereas, the way is through dangers, and the forms of wild beasts;¹²⁴ and though thou shouldst keep on thy road, and be drawn aside by no wanderings, still thou must pass amid the horns of the threatening Bull, and the Hæmonian¹²⁵ bow, and before the visage of the raging Lion, and the Scorpion, bending his cruel claws with a wide compass, and the Crab, that bends his claws in a different manner; nor is it easy for thee to govern the steeds spirited by those fires which they have in their breasts, and which they breathe forth from their mouths and their nostrils. Hardly are they restrained by me, when their high-mettled spirit is once heated, and their necks struggle against the reins. But do thou have a care, my son, that I be not the occasion of a gift fatal to thee, and while the matter still permits, alter thy intentions. Thou askest, forsooth, a sure proof that thou mayst believe thyself sprung from my blood? I give thee a sure proof in thus being alarmed for thee; and by my paternal apprehensions, I am shown to be thy father. Lo, behold my countenance! I wish, too, that thou couldst direct thy eyes into my breast, and discover my fatherly concern within! Finally, look around thee, upon whatever the rich world contains, and ask for anything out of the blessings, so many and so great, of heaven, of earth, and of sea; and thou shalt suffer no denial. In this one thing alone I beg to be excused, which, called by its right name, is a penalty, and not an honor; thou art asking, Phaëton, a punishment instead of a gift. Why, in thy ignorance, art thou embracing my neck with caressing arms? Doubt not; whatever thou shalt desire shall be granted thee (by the Stygian waves I have sworn it); but do thou make thy desire more considerately.”

He had barely finished speaking when Phaëton asked for his father’s chariot. He wanted to command and guide the wing-footed horses for one day. His father regretted that he had so sworn. Shaking his splendid head three or four times, he said, “Your words have made my promise rash. I wish I were allowed not to grant what I have promised! I confess, my son, that this is the one thing I would deny you. Still, I can try to dissuade you. What you desire is not safe. Phaëton, you desire a gift too great for your strength and your young age. Your lot is mortal, and what you desire does not belong to mortals. Indeed, in your ignorance, you aim for more than even the gods above are allowed to have. Anyone may be as pleased with himself as he likes. Yet no one but me can stand on the axle of the chariot that carries fire. Even the ruler of vast Olympus cannot guide this chariot. He hurls ruthless bolts with his terrifying right hand, and yet, who is greater than Jupiter? “The first part of the road is steep. Even in the morning, when the horses are fresh, they can hardly climb it. In the middle of the heavens, the road is high above everything. From there, even I am often afraid to look down at the sea and the earth. My heart trembles with fear. The last stage is a steep descent, and it requires firm control of the horses. Then Tethys¹²² herself, who receives me in her waves spread out below, is often afraid. She fears that I may be carried headlong from above. “Besides, the heavens turn¹²³ constantly, carrying the lofty stars with them in a rapid revolution. I must struggle against this motion. That force, which overcomes all other things, does not overcome me. I travel in the opposite direction from the rapidly turning world. Suppose the chariot were given to you. What could you do? Could you travel against the whirling poles without being swept away by the swiftly turning heavens? “Perhaps, too, you imagine groves, cities of the gods, and temples filled with gifts. But the road leads through dangers and past the shapes of wild beasts.¹²⁴ Even if you stay on course and do not stray, you must still pass among them. You must go between the horns of the threatening Bull and past the Hæmonian¹²⁵ bow. You must pass before the face of the raging Lion and the Scorpion, whose cruel claws curve widely. You must also pass the Crab, whose claws curve differently. Nor is it easy for you to control the horses. They are driven by the fires in their hearts, which they breathe from their mouths and nostrils. Even I can hardly restrain them once their fierce spirits are fully aroused and they strain against the reins. “But take care, my son, that I do not give you a fatal gift. Change your mind while there is still time. You ask for a sure sign that you are of my blood? I give you a sure sign by being so afraid for you. My fatherly fears show that I am your father. Look at my face! I wish you could look into my heart, too, and see my fatherly concern within it. Finally, look around you at everything the rich world contains. Ask for any of the many great blessings of heaven, earth, or sea, and you will not be denied. I beg to be excused from this one thing alone. Call it by its right name: it is a penalty, not an honor. Phaëton, you are asking for a punishment instead of a gift. Why do you ignorantly put your arms around my neck and caress me? Have no doubt. Whatever you desire will be granted to you, for I have sworn it by the Stygian waves. But choose more carefully what you desire.”

He had finished his admonitions; and yet Phaëton resists his advice, and presses his point, and burns with eagerness for the chariot. Wherefore, his parent having delayed as long as he could, leads the young man to the lofty chariot, the gift of Vulcan. The axle-tree was of gold, the poles were of gold; the circumference of the exterior of the wheel was of gold; the range of the spokes was of silver. Chrysolites and gems placed along the yoke in order, gave a bright light from the reflected sun. And while the aspiring Phaëton is admiring these things, and is examining the workmanship, behold! the watchful Aurora opened her purple doors in the ruddy east, and her halls filled with roses. The stars disappear, the troops whereof Lucifer gathers, and moves the last from his station in the heavens. But the father Titan, when he beheld the earth and the universe growing red, and the horns of the far-distant Moon, as if about to vanish, orders the swift Hours to yoke the horses. The Goddesses speedily perform his commands, and lead forth the steeds from the lofty stalls, snorting forth flames, and filled with the juice of Ambrosia; and then they put on the sounding bits.

He had finished warning Phaëton, but the young man still resisted his advice. He pressed his request, burning with eagerness to drive the chariot. His father delayed as long as he could. Then he led Phaëton to the magnificent chariot, a gift from Vulcan. Its axle, poles, and wheel rims were gold. Its spokes were silver. Chrysolites and other gems lined the yoke, shining brightly in the reflected sunlight. As the ambitious Phaëton admired the chariot and examined its workmanship, watchful Aurora opened her purple doors in the rosy east. She opened her halls, filled with roses. The stars disappeared, their ranks gathered by Lucifer, who was the last to leave his place in the heavens. Father Titan saw the earth and the universe growing red. He also saw the horns of the distant Moon, as if about to vanish. So he ordered the swift Hours to harness the horses. The Goddesses quickly obeyed. They led the horses from their lofty stalls, snorting flames and filled with the juice of Ambrosia. Then they put the ringing bits in the horses’ mouths.

Then the father touched the face of his son with a hallowed drug, and made it able to endure the burning flames, and placed the rays upon his locks, and fetching from his troubled heart sighs presaging his sorrow, he said: “If thou canst here at least, my boy, obey the advice of thy father, be sparing of the whip, and use the bridle with nerve. Of their own accord they are wont to hasten on; the difficulty is to check them in their full career. And let not the way attract thee through the five direct circles.¹²⁶ There is a track cut obliquely, with a broad curvature, and bounded by the extremities of three zones, and so it shuns the South pole, and the Bear united to the North. Let thy way be here; thou wilt perceive distinct traces of the wheels. And that heaven and earth may endure equal heat, neither drive too low, nor urge the chariot along the summit of the sky. Going forth too high, thou wilt set on fire the signs of the heavens; too low, the earth; in the middle course thou will go most safely. Neither let the right wheel bear thee off towards the twisted Serpent, nor let the left lead thee to the low Altar; hold thy course between them. The rest I leave to Fortune, who, I pray, may aid thee, and take more care of thee, than thou dost of thyself. Whilst I am speaking, the moist Night has touched the goals placed on the Western shores; delay is not allowed me. I am required; the Morning is shining forth, the darkness being dispersed. Seize the reins with thy hands; or if thou hast a mind capable of change, make use of my advice, and not my chariot, while thou art still able, and art even yet standing upon solid ground; and while thou art not yet in thy ignorance filling the chariot that thou didst so unfortunately covet.”

Then the father touched his son’s face with a sacred drug, making it able to withstand the burning flames. He placed the rays on his son’s hair and sighed from his troubled heart, foreseeing his sorrow. Then he said: “If you can at least follow your father’s advice here, my boy, use the whip sparingly and hold the reins firmly. The horses are inclined to hurry on their own. The difficulty is in checking them at full speed. “Do not be tempted to take a path along the five straight circles.¹²⁶ There is a track that runs diagonally in a broad curve, between the outer limits of three zones. And so it avoids the South pole and the Bear joined to the North. Take this path. You will see clear traces of the wheels. So that heaven and earth receive equal heat, do not drive too low or urge the chariot along the top of the sky. If you go too high, you will set the signs of the heavens on fire. If you go too low, you will set the earth on fire. You will be safest on the middle course. Do not let the right wheel carry you toward the twisted Serpent, or the left lead you toward the low Altar. Keep your course between them. “I leave the rest to Fortune. I pray that she may help you and take better care of you than you do of yourself. Even as I speak, moist Night has reached the finish line on the Western shores. I cannot delay. I am needed. Morning is shining forth, and the darkness has scattered. Take the reins in your hands. Or, if you can change your mind, take my advice and not my chariot. You can still do so while you stand on solid ground and have not yet, in your ignorance, climbed into the chariot you were so unfortunate to desire.”

The other leaps into the light chariot with his youthful body, and stands aloft, and rejoices to take in his hand the reins presented to him, and then gives thanks to his reluctant parent. In the meantime the swift Pyroeis, and Eoüs and Æthon, the horses of the sun, and Phlegon, making the fourth, fill the air with neighings, sending forth flames, and beat the barriers with their feet. After Tethys, ignorant of the destiny of her grandson, had removed these, and the scope of the boundless universe was given them, they take the road, and moving their feet through the air, they cleave the resisting clouds, and raised aloft by their wings, they pass by the East winds that had arisen from the same parts. But the weight was light; and such as the horses of the sun could not feel; and the yoke was deficient of its wonted weight. And as the curving ships, without proper ballast, are tossed about, and unsteady, through their too great lightness, are borne through the sea, so does the chariot give bounds¹²⁷ in the air, unimpeded by its usual burden, and is tossed on high, and is just like an empty one.

The other climbs into the light chariot, standing tall in his youthful body. He rejoices as he takes the reins offered to him, then thanks his reluctant father. Meanwhile, the sun’s swift horses, Pyroeis, Eoüs, Æthon, and Phlegon, the fourth, fill the air with neighing. They breathe out flames and strike the barriers with their feet. Tethys, unaware of her grandson’s fate, removes the barriers. With the boundless universe open before them, the horses set out. They move their feet through the air and cut through the clouds that resist them. Raised by their wings, they pass the East winds that had risen from the same place. But the load is so light that the sun’s horses cannot feel it. The yoke lacks its usual weight. Curved ships without enough ballast are tossed about, unsteady as they sail because they are too light. In the same way, the chariot bounces¹²⁷ through the air, free of its usual burden. It is tossed high, just like an empty chariot.

Soon as the steeds have perceived this, they rush on, and leave the beaten track, and run not in the order in which they did before. He himself becomes alarmed; and knows not which way to turn the reins entrusted to him, nor does he know where the way is, nor, if he did know, could he control them. Then, for the first time, did the cold Triones grow warm with sunbeams, and attempt, in vain, to be dipped in the sea that was forbidden to them. And the Serpent which is situate next to the icy pole, being before torpid with cold, and formidable to no one, grew warm, and regained new rage from the heat. They say, too,¹²⁸ that thou, Boötes, being disturbed, took to flight; although thou wast but slow, and thy wain impeded thee. But when, from the height of the skies, the unhappy Phaëton looked down upon the earth, lying far, very far beneath, he grew pale, and his knees shook with a sudden terror; and in a light so great, darkness overspread his eyes. And now he could wish that he had never touched the horses of his father; and now he is sorry that he knew his descent, and that he prevailed in his request; now desiring to be called the son of Merops. He is borne along, just as a ship driven by the furious Boreas, to which its pilot has given up the overpowered helm, and which he has resigned to the Gods and the effect of his supplications. What can he do? much of heaven is left behind his back; still more is before his eyes. Either space he measures in his mind; and at one moment he is looking forward to the West, which it is not allowed him by fate to reach; and sometimes he looks back upon the East. Ignorant what to do, he is stupeified; and he neither lets go the reins, nor is he able to retain them; nor does he know the names of the horses. In his fright, too, he sees strange objects scattered everywhere in various parts of the heavens, and the forms of huge wild beasts. There is a spot where the Scorpion bends his arms into two curves, and with his tail and claws bending on either side, he extends his limbs through the space of two signs of the Zodiac. As soon as the youth beheld him wet with the sweat of black venom, and threatening wounds with the barbed point of his tail, bereft of sense, he let go the reins, in a chill of horror. Soon as they, falling down, have touched the top of their backs, the horses range at large: and no one restraining them, they go through the air of an unknown region; and where their fury drives them thither, without check, do they hurry along, and they rush on to the stars fixed in the sky, and drag the chariot through pathless places. One while they are mounting aloft, and now they are borne through steep places, and along headlong paths in a tract nearer to the earth.

As soon as the horses perceive this, they rush off the beaten track and no longer run in their usual formation. Phaëton panics. He does not know which way to turn the reins entrusted to him, or where the path lies. Even if he knew, he could not control the horses. Then, for the first time, the cold Triones grew warm in the sunbeams. They tried in vain to dip into the sea that was forbidden to them. The Serpent near the icy pole had been sluggish with cold and threatened no one. Now it grew warm, and the heat gave it new rage. They say, too,¹²⁸ that you, Boötes, were frightened and fled, although you were slow and your wagon held you back. But when unhappy Phaëton looked down from the heights of the sky, he saw the earth far, far below. He turned pale, and his knees shook with sudden terror. Even in that brilliant light, darkness clouded his eyes. Now he wished he had never touched his father’s horses. Now he regretted learning who his father was and winning his request. He wished to be called the son of Merops. He was carried along like a ship driven by the furious Boreas. Its pilot has given up the helm, unable to control it, and entrusted the ship to the Gods and his prayers. What could he do? Much of heaven lay behind him, and still more stretched before him. He measured both distances in his mind. At one moment he looked ahead to the West, which fate would not allow him to reach. At another he looked back toward the East. Not knowing what to do, he was stunned. He neither let go of the reins nor could hold on to them. He did not even know the horses’ names. In his fear, he also saw strange things scattered across the heavens, including the shapes of huge wild beasts. In one place, the Scorpion bends his arms into two curves. With his tail and claws curving to either side, he stretches across two signs of the Zodiac. The youth saw him wet with the sweat of black venom, threatening to wound him with his barbed tail. Numb with horror, he let go of the reins. As soon as the reins fell and touched their backs, the horses ran free. With no one to restrain them, they raced through the air of an unknown region. They rushed unchecked wherever their fury drove them, charging toward the stars fixed in the sky. They dragged the chariot through places with no path. At one moment they climbed high. At another they plunged down steep, headlong paths closer to the earth.

The Moon, too, wonders that her brother’s horses run lower than her own, and the scorched clouds send forth smoke. As each region is most elevated, it is caught by the flames, and cleft, it makes vast chasms, and becomes dry, its moisture being carried away. The grass grows pale; the trees, with their foliage, are burnt up; and the dry standing corn affords fuel for its own destruction. But I am complaining of trifling ills. Great cities perish, together with their fortifications, and the flames turn whole nations, with their populations, into ashes; woods, together with mountains, are on fire. Athos¹²⁹ burns, and the Cilician Taurus,¹³⁰ and Tmolus,¹³¹ and Œta,¹³² and Ida,¹³³ now dry, but once most famed for its springs; and Helicon,¹³⁴ the resort of the Virgin Muses, and Hæmus,¹³⁵ not yet called Œagrian. Ætna¹³⁶ burns intensely with redoubled flames, and Parnassus, with its two summits, and Eryx,¹³⁷ and Cynthus,¹³⁸ and Othrys, and Rhodope,¹³⁹ at length to be despoiled of its snows, and Mimas,¹⁴⁰ and Dindyma,¹⁴¹ and Mycale,¹⁴² and Cithæron,¹⁴³ created for the performance of sacred rites. Nor does its cold avail even Scythia; Caucasus¹⁴⁴ is on fire, and Ossa with Pindus, and Olympus, greater than them both, and the lofty Alps,¹⁴⁵ and the cloud-bearing Apennines.¹⁴⁶

The Moon, too, wonders why her brother’s horses run lower than her own. The scorched clouds pour out smoke. The highest regions catch fire first. The land cracks open into vast chasms and dries out as its moisture is carried away. The grass turns pale, and the trees and their leaves burn. The dry standing grain fuels its own destruction. But I am complaining about minor troubles. Great cities perish along with their fortifications, and the flames turn whole nations and their people to ashes. Forests and mountains burn. Athos¹²⁹ burns, as do the Cilician Taurus,¹³⁰ Tmolus,¹³¹ Œta,¹³² and Ida,¹³³ now dry, but once famous for its springs. Helicon,¹³⁴ the home of the Virgin Muses, burns too, as does Hæmus,¹³⁵ not yet called Œagrian. Ætna¹³⁶ burns fiercely with twice its usual flames. Parnassus, with its two peaks, burns, along with Eryx,¹³⁷ Cynthus,¹³⁸ and Othrys. Rhodope,¹³⁹ destined to lose its snow at last, burns too. So do Mimas,¹⁴⁰ Dindyma,¹⁴¹ Mycale,¹⁴² and Cithæron,¹⁴³ created for the performance of sacred rites. Even Scythia’s cold offers no protection. Caucasus¹⁴⁴ is on fire, as are Ossa and Pindus, and Olympus, greater than both. The lofty Alps¹⁴⁵ and the cloud-bearing Apennines¹⁴⁶ burn too.

Then, indeed, Phaëton beholds the world set on fire on all sides, and he cannot endure heat so great, and he inhales with his mouth scorching air, as though from a deep furnace, and perceives his own chariot to be on fire. And neither is he able now to bear the ashes and the emitted embers; and, on every side, he is involved in heated smoke. Covered with a pitchy darkness, he knows not whither he is going, nor where he is, and is hurried away at the pleasure of the winged steeds. They believe that it was then that the nations of the Æthiopians contracted their black hue,¹⁴⁷ the blood being attracted into the surface of the body. Then was Libya¹⁴⁸ made dry by the heat, the moisture being carried off; then, with dishevelled hair, the Nymphs lamented the springs and the lakes. Bœotia bewails Dirce,¹⁴⁹ Argos Amymone,¹⁵⁰ and Ephyre¹⁵¹ the waters of Pirene. Nor do rivers that have got banks distant in situation, remain secure; Tanais¹⁵² smokes in the midst of its waters, and the aged Peneus, and Teuthrantian Caïcus,¹⁵³ and rapid Ismenus,¹⁵⁴ with Phocean Erymanthus,¹⁵⁵ and Xanthus¹⁵⁶ again to burn, and yellow Lycormas,¹⁵⁷ and Mæander,¹⁵⁸ which sports with winding streams, and the Mygdonian Melas,¹⁵⁹ and the Tænarian Eurotas.¹⁶⁰ The Babylonian Euphrates, too, was on fire, Orontes¹⁶¹ was in flames, and the swift Thermodon¹⁶² and Ganges,¹⁶³ and Phasis,¹⁶⁴ and Ister.¹⁶⁵ Alpheus¹⁶⁶ boils; the banks of Spercheus burn; and the gold which Tagus¹⁶⁷ carries with its stream, melts in the flames. The river birds too, which made famous the Mæonian¹⁶⁸ banks of the river with their song, grew hot in the middle of Caÿster. The Nile, affrighted, fled to the remotest parts of the earth, and concealed his head, which still lies hid; his seven last mouths are empty, become seven mere channels, without any stream. The same fate dries up the Ismarian rivers, Hebrus together with Strymon,¹⁶⁹ and the Hesperian¹⁷⁰ streams, the Rhine, and the Rhone, and the Po, and the Tiber, to which was promised the sovereignty of the world.

Then Phaëton sees the world burning on all sides. He cannot bear the intense heat. He breathes in scorching air, as if from a deep furnace, and sees that his own chariot is on fire. He can no longer bear the ashes and flying embers, and hot smoke surrounds him. Wrapped in pitch-black darkness, he does not know where he is or where he is going. The winged steeds carry him wherever they please. They believe it was then that the nations of the Æthiopians acquired their black hue,¹⁴⁷ as their blood rose to the surface of their bodies. Then Libya¹⁴⁸ was dried out by the heat, which carried away its moisture. With their hair disheveled, the Nymphs mourned the springs and lakes. Bœotia mourns Dirce,¹⁴⁹ Argos mourns Amymone,¹⁵⁰ and Ephyre¹⁵¹ mourns the waters of Pirene. Even rivers whose banks lie far apart are not safe. Tanais¹⁵² smokes in the midst of its waters, as do the aged Peneus, Teuthrantian Caïcus,¹⁵³ and rapid Ismenus.¹⁵⁴ So do Phocean Erymanthus,¹⁵⁵ Xanthus,¹⁵⁶ destined to burn again, and yellow Lycormas.¹⁵⁷ Mæander,¹⁵⁸ which plays with winding streams, the Mygdonian Melas,¹⁵⁹ and the Tænarian Eurotas¹⁶⁰ smoke too. The Babylonian Euphrates was on fire, and Orontes¹⁶¹ was in flames. So were the swift Thermodon,¹⁶² Ganges,¹⁶³ Phasis,¹⁶⁴ and Ister.¹⁶⁵ Alpheus¹⁶⁶ boils, and the banks of Spercheus burn. The gold carried by Tagus¹⁶⁷ melts in the flames. The river birds whose songs made the Mæonian¹⁶⁸ banks of the river famous grew hot in the middle of Caÿster. The frightened Nile fled to the farthest parts of the earth and hid his source, which remains hidden. His seven mouths are empty, now seven mere channels without water. The same fate dries up the Ismarian rivers, Hebrus and Strymon,¹⁶⁹ and the Hesperian¹⁷⁰ streams: the Rhine, the Rhone, the Po, and the Tiber, which was promised sovereignty over the world.

All the ground bursts asunder; and through the chinks, the light penetrates into Tartarus, and startles the Infernal King with his spouse. The Ocean too, is contracted, and that which lately was sea, is a surface of parched sand; and the mountains which the deep sea had covered, start up and increase the number of the scattered Cyclades.¹⁷¹ The fishes sink to the bottom, and the crooked Dolphins do not care to raise themselves on the surface into the air, as usual. The bodies of sea calves float lifeless on their backs, on the top of the water. The story, too, is, that even Nereus himself, and Doris and their daughters, lay hid in the heated caverns. Three times had Neptune ventured, with a stern countenance, to thrust his arms out of the water; three times he was unable to endure the scorching heat of the air. However, the genial Earth, as she was surrounded with sea, amid the waters of the main, and the springs, dried up on every side, which had hidden themselves in the bowels of their cavernous parent, burnt-up, lifted up her all-productive face¹⁷² as far as her neck, and placed her hands to her forehead, and shaking all things with a vast trembling, she sank down a little, and retired below the spot where she is wont to be, and thus she spoke, with a parched voice: “O sovereign of the Gods, if thou approvest of this, if I have deserved it, why do thy lightnings linger? Let me, if doomed to perish by the force of fire, perish by thy flames; and alleviate my misfortune, by being the author of it. With difficulty, indeed, do I open my mouth for these very words;” (the vapor had oppressed her utterance.) “Behold my scorched hair, and such a quantity of ashes over my eyes, so much too, over my features. And dost thou give this as my recompense? this, as the reward of my fertility and of my duty, in that I endure wounds from the crooked plough and harrows, and am harassed all the year through? In that I supply green leaves for the cattle, and corn, a wholesome food for mankind, and frankincense for yourselves? But still, suppose that I am deserving of destruction, why have the waves deserved this? Why has thy brother deserved it? Why do the seas, delivered to him by lot, decrease, and why do they recede still further from the sky? But if regard for neither thy brother nor for myself influences thee, still have consideration for thy own skies; look around, on either side, how each pole is smoking; if the fire shall injure them, thy palace will fall in ruins. See! Atlas¹⁷³ himself is struggling, and hardly can he bear the glowing heavens on his shoulders. If the sea, if the earth perishes, if the palace of heaven, we are thrown¹⁷⁴ into the confused state of ancient chaos. Save it from the flames, if aught still survives, and provide for the preservation of the universe.”

The whole ground splits open. Light enters Tartarus through the cracks, startling the Infernal King and his wife. The Ocean shrinks too, and what was recently sea is now a stretch of dry sand. Mountains once covered by the deep sea rise up and increase the number of the scattered Cyclades.¹⁷¹ Fish sink to the bottom, and curved Dolphins no longer care to rise into the air as usual. The bodies of sea calves float lifeless on their backs at the surface. The story is that even Nereus himself, Doris, and their daughters hid in heated caves. Three times Neptune boldly raised his arms out of the water with a stern face. Three times he could not bear the scorching heat of the air. The nurturing Earth was surrounded by the sea. The springs had dried up all around her and retreated into her depths, full of caverns. Burned by the heat, she raised her all-producing face¹⁷² above the water as far as her neck and put her hands to her forehead. As everything shook with her violent trembling, she sank a little below her usual place. Then she spoke in a parched voice: “O ruler of the Gods, if you approve of this, if I deserve it, why do your thunderbolts wait? If I am doomed to perish by fire, let me perish in your flames. Ease my suffering by causing it yourself. I can hardly open my mouth to speak these words.” (The vapor had choked her voice.) “Look at my scorched hair and all the ashes covering my eyes and my face. “Is this how you repay me? Is this my reward for my fertility and my service? I bear wounds from the curved plough and harrows, and suffer through the whole year. I provide green leaves for cattle, grain to nourish mankind, and frankincense for you Gods. But suppose I deserve destruction. What have the waves done to deserve this? What has your brother done to deserve it? Why do the seas he received by lot shrink and retreat farther from the sky? “But if you have no regard for your brother or for me, think of your own skies. Look around you. Both poles are smoking. If the fire damages them, your palace will fall in ruins. Look! Atlas¹⁷³ himself is struggling and can hardly bear the burning heavens on his shoulders. If the sea, the earth, and the palace of heaven perish, we will be thrown¹⁷⁴ into the confusion of ancient chaos. If anything still survives, save it from the flames and preserve the universe.”

Thus spoke the Earth; nor, indeed, could she any longer endure the vapor, nor say more; and she withdrew her face within herself, and the caverns neighboring to the shades below.

Thus spoke the Earth. She could no longer bear the vapor or say more. She withdrew her face into herself, into the caverns near the shades below.

Jupiter, to save the universe from being consumed, hurls his thunder at Phaëton, on which he falls headlong into the river Eridanus.

To save the universe from being consumed, Jupiter hurls his thunder at Phaëton. Phaëton then falls headfirst into the river Eridanus.

But the omnipotent father, having called the Gods above to witness, and him, too, who had given the chariot to Phaëton, that unless he gives assistance, all things will perish in direful ruin, mounts aloft to the highest eminence, from which he is wont to spread the clouds over the spacious earth; from which he moves his thunders, and hurls the brandished lightnings. But then, he had neither clouds that he could draw over the earth, nor showers that he could pour down from the sky. He thundered aloud, and darted the poised lightning from his right ear against the charioteer, and at the same moment deprived him both of his life and his seat, and by his ruthless fires restrained the flames. The horses are affrighted, and, making a bound in an opposite direction, they shake the yoke from off their necks, and disengage themselves from the torn harness. In one place lie the reins; in another, the axle-tree wrenched away from the pole; in another part are the spokes of the broken wheels; and the fragments of the chariot torn in pieces are scattered far and wide. But Phaëton, the flames consuming his yellow hair, is hurled headlong, and is borne in a long tract through the air; as sometimes a star from the serene sky may appear to fall, although it really has not fallen. Him the great Eridanus receives, in a part of the world far distant from his country, and bathes his foaming face.

The almighty father called the Gods above to witness, along with the one who had given the chariot to Phaëton. Unless he helped, all things would perish in terrible ruin. He climbed to the highest point, where he usually spread clouds over the vast earth. From there he also sent thunder and hurled lightning. But now he had no clouds to draw over the earth and no rain to pour from the sky. He thundered loudly and hurled a lightning bolt from beside his right ear at the charioteer. At once, he took Phaëton’s life and knocked him from his seat. With his merciless fire, he checked the flames. The frightened horses leaped in opposite directions, shaking the yoke from their necks and freeing themselves from the torn harness. The reins lay in one place, the axle, wrenched from the pole, in another. Elsewhere lay the spokes of the broken wheels. Fragments of the shattered chariot were scattered far and wide. But Phaëton was hurled headlong, his golden hair consumed by flames. He traveled a long way through the air, like a star that sometimes seems to fall from a clear sky, although it has not really fallen. Far from Phaëton’s homeland, the great Eridanus received him and bathed his foaming face.

The sisters of Phaëton are changed into poplars, and their tears become amber distilling from those trees.

Phaëton's sisters are changed into poplar trees, and their tears become amber that drips from the trees.

The Hesperian Naiads¹⁷⁵ commit his body, smoking from the three-forked flames, to the tomb, and inscribe these verses on the stone:—“Here is Phaëton buried, the driver of his father’s chariot, which if he did not manage, still he miscarried in a great attempt.” But his wretched father had hidden his face, overcast with bitter sorrow, and, if only we can believe it, they say that one day passed without the sun.¹⁷⁶ The flames afforded light; and so far, there was some advantage in that disaster. But Clymene, after she had said whatever things were to be said amid misfortunes so great, traversed the whole earth, full of woe, and distracted, and tearing her bosom. And first seeking his lifeless limbs, and then his bones, she found his bones, however, buried on a foreign bank. She laid herself down on the spot; and bathed with tears the name she read on the marble, and warmed it with her open breast. The daughters of the Sun mourn no less, and give tears, an unavailing gift, to his death; and beating their breasts with their hands, they call Phaëton both night and day, who is doomed not to hear their sad complaints; and they lie scattered about the tomb.

The Hesperian Naiads¹⁷⁵ buried his body, still smoking from the three-pronged flames. They inscribed these verses on the stone: “Here lies Phaëton, who drove his father’s chariot. Though he could not control it, he failed in a great attempt.” But his miserable father had hidden his face, darkened by bitter sorrow. If we can believe it, they say that one day passed without the sun.¹⁷⁶ The fires gave light, and so the disaster had some benefit. But Clymene said all that could be said amid such great misfortune. Then, grief-stricken and distraught, she wandered the whole earth, tearing at her breast. She sought first his lifeless body and then his bones. At last she found his bones buried on a foreign riverbank. She lay down on the spot, bathed the name she read on the marble with tears, and warmed it with her bare breast. The daughters of the Sun mourned no less. They shed tears for his death, a useless gift. Beating their breasts with their hands, they called to Phaëton both night and day. He was doomed never to hear their sorrowful cries. They lay scattered around the tomb.

The Moon had four times filled her disk, by joining her horns; they, according to their custom (for use had made custom), uttered lamentations; among whom Phaëthusa, the eldest of the sisters, when she was desirous to lie on the ground, complained that her feet had grown stiff; to whom the fair Lampetie attempting to come, was detained by a root suddenly formed. A third, when she is endeavoring to tear her hair with her hands, tears off leaves; one complains that her legs are held fast by the trunk of a tree, another that her arms are become long branches. And while they are wondering at these things, bark closes upon their loins; and by degrees, it encompasses their stomachs, their breasts, their shoulders, and their hands; and only their mouths are left uncovered, calling upon their mother. What is their mother to do? but run here and there, whither frenzy leads her, and join her lips with theirs, while yet she may? That is not enough; she tries to pull their bodies out of the trunks of the trees, and with her hands to tear away the tender branches; but from thence drops of blood flow as from a wound. Whichever of them is wounded, cries out, “Spare me, mother, O spare me, I pray; in the tree my body is being torn. And now farewell.” The bark came over the last words.

The Moon had filled out its disk four times, its horns joining to make it full. The sisters mourned as usual, for habit had made mourning their custom. Phaëthusa, the eldest sister, wanted to lie down on the ground, but complained that her feet had grown stiff. Fair Lampetie tried to go to her, but a root suddenly formed and held her fast. A third sister tried to tear her hair with her hands, but tore off leaves. One complained that a tree trunk held her legs fast. Another said her arms had become long branches. As they wondered at these things, bark closed over their hips. Gradually, it covered their stomachs, breasts, shoulders, and hands. Only their mouths remained uncovered, calling to their mother. What could their mother do? She ran here and there, wherever her frenzy led her. She pressed her lips to theirs while still she could. But that was not enough. She tried to pull their bodies from the tree trunks and tear away the tender branches with her hands. But drops of blood flowed from them as if from a wound. Each daughter she wounded cried out, “Spare me, mother, oh, please spare me. My body is being torn in the tree. And now farewell.” The bark closed over their last words.

Thence tears flow forth; and amber distilling from the new-formed branches, hardens in the sun; which the clear river receives and sends to be worn by the Latian matrons.

Tears flow from them, and amber drips from the newly formed branches and hardens in the sun. The clear river carries the amber away to be worn by Latian matrons.

Cycnus, king of Liguria, inconsolable for the death of Phaëton, is transformed into a swan.

Cycnus, king of Liguria, cannot be comforted after Phaëton's death. He is transformed into a swan.

Cycnus, the son of Sthenelus,¹⁷⁷ was present at this strange event; who, although he was related to thee, Phaëton, on his mother’s side, was yet more nearly allied in affection. He having left his kingdom (for he reigned over the people and the great cities of the Ligurians¹⁷⁸) was filling the verdant banks and the river Eridanus, and the wood, now augmented by the sisters, with his complaints; when the man’s voice became shrill, and gray feathers concealed his hair. A long neck, too, extends from his breast, and a membrane joins his reddening toes; feathers clothe his sides, and his mouth holds a bill without a point. Cycnus becomes a new bird; but he trusts himself not to the heavens or the air, as being mindful of the fire unjustly sent from thence. He frequents the pools and the wide lakes, and abhorring fire, he chooses the streams, the very contrary of flames.

Cycnus, the son of Sthenelus,¹⁷⁷ was present at this strange event. Though related to you, Phaëton, on his mother’s side, he was even closer to you in affection. He had left his kingdom, where he ruled the people and great cities of the Ligurians.¹⁷⁸ He filled the green banks of the river Eridanus and the woods with his cries of grief. The woods had now grown larger with the addition of Phaëton’s sisters. Then his voice grew shrill, and gray feathers covered his hair. A long neck extended from his breast, and a membrane joined his reddening toes. Feathers covered his sides, and his mouth became a blunt bill. Cycnus became a new bird. But he would not trust himself to the heavens or the air, remembering the fire unjustly sent from there. He frequented pools and wide lakes. Hating fire, he chose streams, the very opposite of flames.

Meanwhile, the father of Phaëton, in squalid garb, and destitute of his comeliness, just as he is wont to be when he suffers an eclipse of his disk, abhors both the light, himself, and the day; and gives his mind up to grief, and adds resentment to his sorrow, and denies his services to the world. “My lot,” says he, “has been restless enough from the very beginning of time, and I am tired of labors endured by me, without end and without honor. Let any one else drive the chariot that carries the light. If there is no one, and all the Gods confess that they cannot do it, let Jupiter himself drive it; that, at least, while he is trying my reins, he may for a time lay aside the lightnings that bereave fathers. Then he will know, having made trial of the strength of the flame-footed steeds, that he who did not successfully guide them, did not deserve death.”

Meanwhile, Phaëton’s father wore filthy clothes and had lost his beauty, as he does during an eclipse. He hated the light, himself, and the day. He gave himself over to grief, and resentment deepened his sorrow. He refused to serve the world. “My life has been restless enough from the very beginning of time,” he said. “I am tired of endless labor that brings me no honor. Let someone else drive the chariot that carries the light. If no one can, and all the Gods admit they cannot do it, let Jupiter himself drive it. At least, while he tries his hand at my reins, he may put aside the lightning that robs fathers of their children. Then, once he has tested the strength of the flame-footed horses, he will know the truth. The one who failed to guide them did not deserve death.”

All the Deities stand around the Sun, as he says such things; and they entreat him, with suppliant voice, not to determine to bring darkness over the world. Jupiter, as well, excuses the hurling of his lightnings, and imperiously adds threats to entreaties. Phœbus calls together his steeds, maddened and still trembling with terror, and, subduing them, vents his fury both with whip and lash; for he is furious, and upbraids them with his son, and charges his death upon them.

All the gods stand around the Sun as he speaks. They plead with him not to plunge the world into darkness. Jupiter also explains why he threw his lightning bolts, then adds commanding threats to his pleas. Phœbus calls his horses together. They are frantic and still trembling with fear. He brings them under control and lashes them in his fury. He is furious and scolds them over his son, blaming them for his death.

Jupiter, while taking a survey of the world, to extinguish the remains of the fire, falls in love with Calisto, whom he sees in Arcadia; and, in order to seduce that Nymph, he assumes the form of Diana. Her sister Nymphs disclose her misfortune before the Goddess, who drives her from her company, on account of the violation of her vow of chastity.

Jupiter surveys the world to put out the remaining fires. In Arcadia, he sees Calisto and falls in love with her. To seduce the nymph, he takes the form of Diana. Her fellow nymphs reveal her misfortune to the goddess. Diana then banishes Calisto from her company because she has broken her vow of chastity.

But the omnipotent father surveys the vast walls of heaven, and carefully searches, that no part, impaired by the violence of the fire, may fall to ruin. After he has seen them to be secure and in their own full strength, he examines the earth, and the works of man; yet a care for his own Arcadia is more particularly his object. He restores, too, the springs and the rivers, that had not yet dared to flow, he gives grass to the earth: green leaves to the trees; and orders the injured forests again to be green. While thus he often went to and fro, he stopped short on seeing a virgin of Nonacris, and the fires engendered within his bones received fresh heat. It was not her employment to soften the wool by teasing, nor to vary her tresses in their arrangement; while a buckle fastened her garment, and a white fillet her hair, carelessly flowing; and at one time she bore in her hand a light javelin, at another, a bow. She was a warrior of Phœbe; nor did any Nymph frequent Mænalus, more beloved by Trivia,¹⁷⁹ than she; but no influence is of long duration. The lofty Sun had now obtained a position beyond the mid course, when she enters a grove which no generation had ever cut. Here she puts her quiver off from her shoulders, and unbends her pliant bow, and lies down on the ground, which the grass had covered, and presses her painted quiver, with her neck laid on it. When Jupiter saw her thus weary, and without a protector, he said, “For certain, my wife will know nothing of this stolen embrace; or, if she should chance to know, is her scolding, is it, I say, of such great consequence?”

But the all-powerful father surveys the vast walls of heaven. He carefully checks that no part, damaged by the violent fire, may collapse. Once he sees that the walls are secure and at their full strength, he examines the earth and the works of man. He is especially concerned for his own Arcadia. He restores the springs and rivers, which had not yet dared to flow. He gives grass to the earth and green leaves to the trees, and orders the damaged forests to turn green again. As he thus goes back and forth, he suddenly stops on seeing a virgin of Nonacris. The fires born deep within him burn hotter. She did not spend her time teasing wool to soften it or arranging her hair in different styles. A clasp fastened her garment, and a white band held her loosely flowing hair. Sometimes she carried a light javelin, and sometimes a bow. She was a warrior of Phœbe. No Nymph who frequented Mænalus was more beloved by Trivia,¹⁷⁹ than she was. But no favor lasts long. The lofty Sun had now passed the midpoint of its course when she entered a grove no generation had ever cut down. There she took the quiver from her shoulders and unstrung her flexible bow. She lay down on the grass-covered ground, resting her neck on her painted quiver. When Jupiter saw her weary and unprotected, he said, “Surely my wife will know nothing of this stolen embrace. Or, if she happens to find out, is her scolding, I ask, really so important?”

Immediately he puts on the form and dress of Diana, and says, “O Virgin! one portion of my train, upon what mountains hast thou been hunting?” The virgin raises herself from the turf, and says, “Hail, Goddess! that art, in my opinion, greater than Jove, even if he himself should hear it.” He both smiles and he hears it, and is pleased at being preferred to himself; and he gives her kisses, not very moderate, nor such as would be given by a virgin. He stops her as she is preparing to tell him in what wood she has been hunting, by an embrace, and he does not betray himself without the commission of violence. She, indeed, on the other hand, as far as a woman could do (would that thou hadst seen her, daughter of Saturn, then thou wouldst have been more merciful), she, indeed, I say, resists; but what damsel, or who besides, could prevail against Jupiter? Jove, now the conqueror, seeks the heavens above; the grove and the conscious wood is now her aversion. Making her retreat thence, she is almost forgetting to take away her quiver with her arrows, and the bow which she had hung up.

Immediately he takes on Diana’s form and dress. He says, “O Virgin, one of my followers, what mountains have you been hunting on?” The virgin rises from the grass and says, “Hail, Goddess! In my opinion, you are greater than Jove, even if he himself hears me say it.” He smiles when he hears this, pleased to be preferred to himself. Then he kisses her, too passionately for a virgin. As she prepares to tell him which wood she has been hunting in, he stops her with an embrace. He reveals himself only by committing violence. She resists as much as a woman can. If only you had seen her, daughter of Saturn, then you would have been more merciful. She resists, I say, but what girl, or anyone else, could prevail against Jupiter? Jove, now the conqueror, returns to the heavens. The grove and the wood that witnessed the act are now hateful to her. As she leaves, she almost forgets to take her quiver and arrows, and the bow she had hung up.

Behold, Dictynna,¹⁸⁰ attended by her train, as she goes along the lofty Mænalus, and exulting in the slaughter of the wild beasts, beholds her, and calls her, thus seen. Being so called, she drew back, and at first was afraid lest Jupiter might be under her shape; but after she saw the Nymphs walking along with her, she perceived that there was no deceit,¹⁸¹ and she approached their train. Alas! how difficult it is not to betray a crime by one’s looks! She scarce raises her eyes from the ground, nor, as she used to do, does she walk by the side of the Goddess, nor is she the foremost in the whole company; but she is silent, and by her blushes she gives signs of her injured honor. And Diana, but for the fact, that she is a virgin, might have perceived her fault by a thousand indications; the Nymphs are said to have perceived it.

Dictynna,¹⁸⁰ accompanied by her followers, was walking along the heights of Mænalus, rejoicing in the wild beasts she had killed. She saw her and called to her. At the call, she drew back, afraid at first that Jupiter might be hiding under her shape. But then she saw the Nymphs walking with Dictynna. She realized there was no deception,¹⁸¹ and joined their company. Alas! How hard it is to keep a crime from showing on one’s face! She barely lifts her eyes from the ground. She no longer walks beside the Goddess, as she used to, or leads the whole company. Instead, she is silent, and her blushes reveal her injured honor. And Diana might have noticed her fault from a thousand signs, but for the fact that she is a virgin. The Nymphs are said to have noticed it.

The horns of the Moon were now rising again in her ninth course, when the hunting Goddess, faint from her brother’s flames, lighted on a cool grove, out of which a stream ran, flowing with its murmuring noise, and borne along the sand worn fine by its action. When she had approved of the spot, she touched the surface of the water with her foot; and commending it as well, she says, “All overlookers are far off; let us bathe our bodies, with the stream poured over them.” She of Parrhasia¹⁸² blushed; they all put off their clothes; she alone sought an excuse for delay. Her garment was removed as she hesitated, which being put off, her fault was exposed with her naked body. Cynthia said to her, in confusion, and endeavoring to conceal her stomach with her hands, “Begone afar hence! and pollute not the sacred springs;” and she ordered her to leave her train.

The Moon’s crescent was now rising again for the ninth time. The hunting Goddess, faint from her brother’s heat, came upon a cool grove. A stream flowed from it, murmuring over sand worn fine by its flow. Pleased with the spot, she touched the water with her foot. She liked the water too and said, “Everyone who might watch us is far away. Let us bathe and let the stream flow over our bodies.” The woman from Parrhasia¹⁸² blushed. All the others took off their clothes, but she alone looked for an excuse to delay. As she hesitated, her garment was removed, exposing her fault along with her naked body. Confused, she tried to hide her stomach with her hands. Cynthia said to her, “Go far away from here! Do not pollute the sacred springs.” And she ordered her to leave her company.

Juno, being jealous that Calisto has attracted Jupiter, transforms her into a Bear. Her son, Arcas, not recognizing his mother in that shape, is about to kill her; but Jupiter removes them both to the skies, where they form the Constellations of the Great and the Little Bear. The raven, as a punishment for his garrulity, is changed from white to black.

Juno is jealous that Calisto has attracted Jupiter, so she turns her into a bear. Calisto's son Arcas does not recognize his mother in that form and is about to kill her. But Jupiter carries them both into the sky, where they become the constellations of the Great and the Little Bear. The raven is changed from white to black as punishment for talking too much.

The spouse of the great Thunderer had perceived this some time before, and had put off the severe punishment designed for her, to a proper time. There is now no reason for delay; and now the boy Arcas (that, too, was a grief to Juno) was born of the mistress of her husband. Wherefore, she turned her thoughts, full of resentment, and her eyes upon her, and said, “This thing, forsooth, alone was wanting, thou adulteress, that thou shouldst be pregnant, and that my injury should become notorious by thy labors, and that thereby the disgraceful conduct of my husband, Jupiter, should be openly declared. Thou shalt not go unpunished; for I will spoil that shape of thine, on which thou pridest thyself, and by which thou, mischievous one,¹⁸³ dost charm my husband.”

The wife of the great Thunderer had learned of this some time before. She had put off the severe punishment she planned for her until the right time. There was now no reason to wait. The boy Arcas had now been born to her husband’s mistress. That, too, grieved Juno. So, full of resentment, she turned her thoughts and her eyes on her and said, “Of course, this was all that was missing, you adulteress. You had to become pregnant and make the wrong done to me known through your childbirth. You had to make my husband Jupiter’s shameful behavior public. You will not go unpunished. I will ruin that form you are so proud of, the form you use, you wicked creature,¹⁸³ to charm my husband.”

Thus she spoke; and seizing her straight in front by the hair,¹⁸⁴ threw her on her face to the ground. She suppliantly stretched forth her arms; those arms began to grow rough with black hair,¹⁸⁵ and her hands to be bent, and to increase to hooked claws, and to do the duty of feet, and the mouth, that was once admired by Jupiter, to become deformed with a wide opening; and lest her prayers, and words not needed, should influence her feelings, the power of speech is taken from her; an angry and threatening voice, and full of terror, is uttered from her hoarse throat. Still, her former understanding remains in her, even thus become a bear; and expressing her sorrows by her repeated groans, she lifts up her hands, such as they are, to heaven and to the stars, and she deems Jove ungrateful, though she cannot call him so. Ah! how often, not daring to rest in the lonely wood, did she wander about before her own house, and in the fields once her own. Ah! how often was she driven over the crags by the cry of the hounds; and, a huntress herself, she fled in alarm, through fear of the hunters! Often, seeing the wild beasts, did she lie concealed, forgetting what she was; and, a bear herself, dreaded the he-bears seen on the mountains, and was alarmed at the wolves, though her father was among them.

Thus she spoke. She seized her by the hair at the front of her head¹⁸⁴ and threw her face down. The woman stretched out her arms in supplication. Her arms began to grow rough with black hair,¹⁸⁵ and her hands bent and grew into hooked claws. They began to serve as feet. Her mouth, once admired by Jupiter, became distorted into a wide opening. To keep her prayers and unnecessary words from moving her, she was robbed of speech. From her hoarse throat came an angry, threatening, terrifying voice. Even as a bear, she kept her human understanding. She groaned again and again in sorrow and lifted her hands, such as they were, to heaven and the stars. She thought Jove ungrateful, though she could not say so. Ah, how often she wandered outside her own house and through the fields that had once been hers. She did not dare rest in the lonely woods. Ah, how often the cries of hounds drove her over the crags. Though she had been a huntress herself, she fled in terror from the hunters. Often she hid from wild beasts, forgetting what she was. Though she was a bear, she feared the male bears she saw on the mountains. She was frightened by wolves, too, though her father was among them.

Behold! Arcas, the offspring of the daughter of Lycaon, ignorant of who is his parent, approaches her, thrice five birthdays being now nearly past; and while he is following the wild beasts, while he is choosing the proper woods, and is enclosing the Erymanthian forests¹⁸⁶ with his platted nets, he meets with his mother. She stood still, upon seeing Arcas, and was like one recognizing another. He drew back, and, in his ignorance, was alarmed at her keeping her eyes fixed upon him without ceasing; and, as she was desirous to approach still nearer, he would have pierced her breast with the wounding spear. Omnipotent Jove averted this, and removed both them and such wickedness; and placed them, carried through vacant space with a rapid wind, in the heavens, and made them neighboring Constellations.

Look! Arcas, the son of Lycaon’s daughter, approached her, not knowing she was his mother. He was nearly fifteen years old. He was hunting wild animals, choosing suitable woods and surrounding the Erymanthian forests¹⁸⁶ with his woven nets, when he met his mother. She stood still when she saw Arcas and seemed to recognize him. He drew back, alarmed because she kept staring at him. He did not know who she was. When she tried to come closer, he would have driven his spear into her breast. Almighty Jove prevented this, taking them both away and preventing such a crime. He carried them through empty space on a swift wind and placed them in the heavens, making them neighboring constellations.

Juno swelled with rage after the mistress shone amid the stars, and descended on the sea to the hoary Tethys, and the aged Ocean, a regard for whom has often influenced the Gods; and said to them, inquiring the reason of her coming, “Do you inquire why I, the queen of the Gods, am come hither from the æthereal abodes? Another has possession of heaven in my stead. May I be deemed untruthful, if, when the night has made the world dark, you see not in the highest part of heaven stars but lately thus honored to my affliction; there, where the last and most limited circle surrounds the extreme part of the axis of the world. Is there, then, any ground why one should hesitate to affront Juno, and dread my being offended, who only benefit them by my resentment? See what a great thing I have done! How vast is my power! I forbade her to be of human shape; she has been made a Goddess; ’tis thus that I inflict punishment on offenders; such is my mighty power! Let him obtain for her her former shape, and let him remove this form of a wild beast; as he formerly did for the Argive Phoronis. Why does he not marry her as well, divorcing Juno, and place her in my couch, and take Lycaon for his father-in-law? But if the wrong done to your injured foster-child affects you, drive the seven Triones away from your azure waters, and expel the stars received into heaven as the reward of adultery, that a concubine may not be received into your pure waves.”

Juno was filled with rage after the mistress appeared among the stars. She descended to the sea, visiting gray-haired Tethys and aged Ocean, whom the Gods had often respected. They asked why she had come, and she said, “Do you ask why I, the queen of the Gods, have come here from the heavenly realms? Another has taken my place in heaven. May I be called a liar if, when night darkens the world, you do not see those stars high in heaven. They have only lately been honored in this way, to my distress. They are where the last and smallest circle surrounds the far end of the world’s axis. “Is there, then, any reason to hesitate to insult Juno or fear offending me? My anger only benefits those who offend me. See what a great thing I have done! How vast my power is! I forbade her to have human form, and she has been made a Goddess. This is how I punish offenders. Such is my mighty power! Let him give her back her former shape and take away this wild beast’s form, as he once did for Phoronis of Argos. Why does he not divorce Juno and marry her too? Why not put her in my bed and take Lycaon as his father-in-law? “But if the wrong done to your injured foster-child moves you, drive the seven Triones away from your blue waters. Keep out the stars welcomed into heaven as a reward for adultery, so that a concubine may not be welcomed into your pure waves.”

The Gods of the sea granted her request. The daughter of Saturn enters the liquid air in her graceful chariot,¹⁸⁷ with her variegated peacocks; peacocks just as lately tinted, upon the killing of Argus, as thou, garrulous raven, hadst been suddenly transformed into a bird having black wings, whereas thou hadst been white before. For this bird was formerly of a silver hue, with snow-white feathers, so that he equalled the doves entirely without spot; nor would he give place to the geese that were to save the Capitol by their watchful voice, nor to the swan haunting the streams. His tongue was the cause of his disgrace; his chattering tongue being the cause, that the color which was white is now the reverse of white.

The gods of the sea granted her request. The daughter of Saturn enters the air in her graceful chariot,¹⁸⁷ drawn by her multicolored peacocks. The peacocks had only recently gained their colors, after Argus was killed. Just as recently, you, talkative raven, had suddenly been transformed into a bird with black wings, though you had been white before. For the raven was once silver in color, with snow-white feathers. He was as white as doves without a single spot. He was no less white than the geese whose watchful cries would save the Capitol, or the swan that frequents streams. His tongue caused his disgrace. Because of his chattering tongue, his once white color is now the opposite of white.

There was no one more beauteous in all Hæmonia than Larissæan¹⁸⁸ Coronis. At least, she pleased thee, Delphian God, as long as she continued chaste, or was not the object of remark. But the bird of Phœbus found out her infidelity;¹⁸⁹ and the inexorable informer winged his way to his master, that he might disclose the hidden offence. Him the prattling crow follows, with flapping wings, to make all inquiries of him. And having heard the occasion of his journey, she says, “Thou art going on a fruitless errand; do not despise the presages of my voice.”

No one in all Hæmonia was more beautiful than Coronis of Larissa.¹⁸⁸ At least, she pleased you, Delphian God, as long as she remained faithful, or no one spoke of her infidelity. But Phœbus’s bird discovered her unfaithfulness.¹⁸⁹ The relentless informer flew to his master to reveal her secret offense. The chattering crow followed him, flapping her wings, and questioned him about everything. When she heard why he was traveling, she said, “You are going on a pointless errand. Do not ignore my warning.”

A virgin, the favorite of Apollo, of the same name with Coronis, is changed into a crow, for a story which she tells Minerva, concerning the basket in which Ericthonius was enclosed.

A virgin named Coronis is a favorite of Apollo. She is turned into a crow because she tells Minerva a story about the basket in which Ericthonius was enclosed.

“Consider what I was, and what I am, and inquire into my deserts. Thou wilt find that my fidelity was my ruin. For once upon a time, Pallas had enclosed Ericthonius, an offspring born without a mother, in a basket made of Actæan twigs; and had given it to keep to the three virgins born of the two-shaped¹⁹⁰ Cecrops, and had given them this injunction, that they should not inquire into her secrets. I, being hidden among the light foliage, was watching from a thick elm what they were doing. Two of them, Pandrosos and Herse, observe their charge without any treachery; Aglauros alone calls her sisters cowards, and unties the knots with her hand; but within they behold a child, and a dragon extended by him. I told the Goddess what was done; for which such a return as this is made to me, that I am said to have been banished from the protection of Minerva, and am placed after the bird of the night. My punishment may warn birds not to incur dangers, by their chattering. But I consider that she courted me with no inclination of my own, nor asking for any such favors. This thou mayst ask of Pallas thyself; although she is angry, she will not, with all her anger, deny this. For Coroneus, one famous in the land of Phocis (I mention what is well known) begot me: and so I was a virgin of royal birth, and was courted by rich suitors (so despise me not). My beauty was the cause of my misfortune; for while I was passing with slow steps along the sea-shore, on the surface of the sand, as I was wont to do, the God of the Ocean beheld me, and was inflamed; and when he had consumed his time to no purpose, in entreating me with soft words, he prepared to use violence, and followed me. I fled, and I left the firm shore, and wearied myself in vain on the yielding sand. Then I invoked both Gods and men; but my voice did not reach any mortal. A virgin was moved for a virgin, and gave me assistance. I was extending my arms toward heaven; when those arms began to grow black with light feathers. I struggled to throw my garments from off my shoulders, but they were feathers, and had taken deep root in my skin. I tried to beat my naked breast with my hands, but I had now neither hands nor naked breast. I ran; and the sand did not retard my feet as before, and I was lifted up from the surface of the ground. After that, being lifted up, I was carried through the air, and was assigned, as a faultless companion, to Minerva. Yet what does this avail me, if Nyctimene, made a bird for a horrid crime, has succeeded me in my honor?”

“Consider what I was and what I am now, and ask what I did to deserve it. You will find that my loyalty was my ruin. Once, Pallas placed Ericthonius, a child born without a mother, in a basket woven from Actæan twigs. She gave the basket to the three virgin daughters of the two-shaped¹⁹⁰ Cecrops for safekeeping. She ordered them not to pry into her secrets. Hidden among the light leaves of a thick elm, I watched what they did. Two of them, Pandrosos and Herse, obeyed her command without any betrayal. Aglauros alone called her sisters cowards and untied the knots. Inside, they saw a child with a dragon stretched out beside him. I told the Goddess what had happened. This was my reward: I was banished from Minerva’s protection and given a place below the bird of the night. My punishment may warn birds not to put themselves in danger by chattering. But I believe that she sought me out when I had no wish for her company and had asked for no such favors. You can ask Pallas yourself. Though she is angry, she will not deny it, even in her anger. Coroneus, who was famous in the land of Phocis, was my father. I mention what everyone knows. So I was a virgin of royal birth, and rich suitors courted me. So do not despise me. My beauty caused my misfortune. As I usually did, I was walking slowly along the sandy seashore. The God of the Ocean saw me and was overcome with desire. He spent time pleading with me in gentle words, but to no purpose. Then he prepared to use violence and pursued me. I fled, leaving the firm shore, but exhausted myself in vain on the shifting sand. Then I called on gods and men, but no mortal heard my voice. One virgin took pity on another and came to my aid. I was stretching my arms toward heaven when those arms began to darken with light feathers. I struggled to throw my clothes off my shoulders, but they were feathers rooted deep in my skin. I tried to beat my bare breast with my hands, but I no longer had hands or a bare breast. I ran, and the sand no longer held back my feet as it had before. I rose from the ground and was carried through the air. Then I was given to Minerva as a blameless companion. But what good is that to me, if Nyctimene, who was turned into a bird for a horrid crime, has taken my place of honor?”

Nyctimene having entertained a criminal passion for her father, Nycteus, the Gods, to punish her incest, transform her into an owl. Apollo pierces the breast of Coronis with an arrow, on the raven informing him of the infidelity of his mistress.

Nyctimene felt a forbidden passion for her father, Nycteus. To punish her incest, the gods turn her into an owl. After the raven tells Apollo that his lover Coronis has been unfaithful, Apollo shoots her in the breast with an arrow.

“Has not the thing, which is very well known throughout the whole of Lesbos,¹⁹¹ been heard of by thee, that Nyctimene defiled the bed of her father? She is a bird indeed; but being conscious of her crime, she avoids the human gaze and the light, and conceals her shame in the darkness; and by all the birds she is expelled entirely from the sky.”

“Have you not heard what is well known throughout Lesbos,¹⁹¹ that Nyctimene defiled her father’s bed? She is a bird now, but she knows her crime. She avoids human gaze and light, and hides her shame in the darkness. And all the birds drive her completely from the sky.”

The raven says to him, saying such things, “May this, thy calling of me back, prove a mischief to thee, I pray; I despise the worthless omen.” Nor does he drop his intended journey; and he tells his master, that he has seen Coronis lying down with a youth of Hæmonia. On hearing the crime of his mistress, his laurel fell down; and at the same moment his usual looks, his plectrum,¹⁹² and his color, forsook the God. And as his mind was now burning with swelling rage, he took up his wonted arms, and levelled his bow bent from the extremities, and pierced, with an unerring shaft, that bosom, that had been so oft pressed to his own breast. Wounded, she uttered a groan, and, drawing the steel from out of the wound, she bathed her white limbs with purple blood; and she said, “I might justly, Phœbus, have been punished by thee, but still I might have first brought forth; now we two shall die in one.” Thus far she spoke; and she poured forth her life, together with her blood. A deadly coldness took possession of her body deprived of life.

The raven replies to him, “May your attempt to call me back bring you harm, I pray. I despise your worthless omen.” He continues on his intended journey and tells his master he has seen Coronis lying with a young man from Hæmonia. When the God hears of his mistress’s crime, his laurel falls. At the same moment, his usual expression and color leave him, and he drops his plectrum.¹⁹² His mind is now burning with rising rage. He takes up his usual weapons, draws his bow, and shoots an unerring arrow into her breast. He had so often held her close against his own. Wounded, she groans and pulls the steel from the wound. Purple blood covers her white limbs. She says, “Phœbus, you might justly have punished me, but still I might have given birth first. Now two of us will die together.” With these words, she speaks her last, and her life pours out with her blood. A deadly coldness takes hold of her lifeless body.

The lover, too late, alas! repents of his cruel vengeance, and blames himself that he listened to the bird, and that he was so infuriated. He hates the bird, through which he was forced to know of the crime and the cause of his sorrow; he hates, too, the string, the bow, and his hand; and together with his hand, those rash weapons, the arrows. He cherishes her fallen to the ground, and by late resources endeavors to conquer her destiny; and in vain he practices his physical arts.

Alas, too late, the lover regrets his cruel revenge. He blames himself for listening to the bird and becoming so enraged. He hates the bird for forcing him to learn of the crime and the cause of his sorrow. He also hates the bowstring, the bow, and his own hand. Along with his hand, he hates those rash weapons, the arrows. He holds her as she lies fallen on the ground. Too late, he tries to save her from her fate, using his medical skills in vain.

When he found that these attempts were made in vain, and that the funeral pile was being prepared, and that her limbs were about to be burnt in the closing flames, then, in truth, he gave utterance to sighs fetched from the bottom of his heart (for it is not allowed the celestial features to be bathed with tears). No otherwise than, as when an axe, poised from the right ear of the butcher, dashes to pieces, with a clean stroke, the hollow temples of the sucking calf, while the dam looks on. Yet after Phœbus had poured the unavailing perfumes on her breast, when he had given the last embrace and had performed the due obsequies prematurely hastened, he did not suffer his own offspring to sink into the same ashes; but he snatched the child from the flames and from the womb of his mother, and carried him into the cave of the two-formed Chiron. And he forbade the raven, expecting for himself the reward of his tongue that told no untruth, to perch any longer among the white birds.

When he saw that these attempts had failed, the funeral pyre was already being prepared. Her body was about to be consumed by the flames. Then he sighed from the bottom of his heart. For the faces of the gods are not allowed to be wet with tears. He sighed just as a mother cow does when she watches her nursing calf killed. The butcher raises his axe beside his right ear and smashes the calf’s hollow temples with one clean stroke. Yet after Phœbus poured the useless perfumes on her breast, he gave her a last embrace. He performed the funeral rites, hastened before their time. But he would not let his own child be reduced to ashes with her. He snatched the child from his mother’s womb and from the flames. Then he carried him to the cave of Chiron, who had two forms. The raven expected a reward for telling the truth. But Phœbus forbade him to perch among the white birds any longer.

Ocyrrhoë, the daughter of the Centaur Chiron, attempting to predict future events, tells her father the fate of the child Æsculapius, on which the Gods transform her into a mare.

Ocyrrhoë is the daughter of the Centaur Chiron. As she tries to predict the future, she tells her father the fate of the child Æsculapius. The Gods then turn her into a mare.

In the meantime the half-beast Chiron was proud of a pupil of Divine origin, and rejoiced in the honor annexed to the responsibility. Behold! the daughter of the Centaur comes, having her shoulders covered with her yellow hair; whom once the nymph Chariclo,¹⁹³ having borne her on the banks of a rapid stream, called Ocyrrhoë. She was not contented to learn her father’s arts only; but she sang the secrets of the Fates. Therefore, when she had conceived in her mind the prophetic transports, and grew warm with the God, whom she held confined within her breast, she beheld the infant, and she said, “Grow on, child, the giver of health to the whole world; the bodies of mortals shall often owe their own existence to thee. To thee will it be allowed to restore life when taken away; and daring to do that once against the will of the Gods, thou wilt be hindered by the bolts of thy grandsire from being able any more to grant that boon. And from a God thou shalt become a lifeless carcase; and a God again, who lately wast a carcase; and twice shalt thou renew thy destiny. Thou likewise, dear father, now immortal, and produced at thy nativity, on the condition of enduring for ever, wilt then wish that thou couldst die, when thou shalt be tormented on receiving the blood of a baneful serpent¹⁹⁴ in thy wounded limbs; and the Gods shall make thee from an immortal being, subject to death, and the three Goddesses¹⁹⁵ shall cut thy threads.”

Meanwhile, the half-beast Chiron was proud to have a pupil of divine origin. He rejoiced in the honor that came with the responsibility. Then the Centaur’s daughter appeared, her yellow hair covering her shoulders. The nymph Chariclo¹⁹³ had given birth to her beside a swift stream and named her Ocyrrhoë. She was not content to learn only her father’s arts; she also sang of the secrets of the Fates. A prophetic frenzy took hold of her, and she grew warm with the god within her. She looked at the infant and said, “Grow, child, healer of the whole world. Mortals will often owe their very lives to you. You will be allowed to restore life to the dead. But once you dare to do this against the will of the gods, your grandfather’s bolts will prevent you from ever granting that gift again. You will change from a god into a lifeless corpse. Then you will become a god again, though you were a corpse so recently. Twice you will renew your destiny. “You too, dear father, though immortal now and born to live forever, will someday wish you could die. You will wish it when the blood of a deadly serpent¹⁹⁴ enters your wounded limbs and torments you. The gods will make you, once immortal, subject to death. Then the three Goddesses¹⁹⁵ will cut your threads.”

Something still remained in addition to what she had said. She heaved a sigh from the bottom of her breast, and the tears bursting forth, trickled down her cheeks, and thus she said: “The Fates prevent me, and I am forbidden to say any more, and the use of my voice is precluded. My arts, which have brought the wrath of a Divinity upon me, were not of so much value; I wish that I had not been acquainted with the future. Now the human shape seems to be withdrawing from me; now grass pleases me for my food; now I have a desire to range over the extended plains; I am turned into a mare, and into a shape kindred to that of my father. But yet, why entirely? For my father partakes of both forms.”

She still had more to say. She sighed deeply, and tears burst forth and ran down her cheeks. Then she said: “The Fates stop me. I am forbidden to say more, and my voice is failing me. My arts were not worth the wrath they brought upon me from a Divinity. I wish I had never known the future. Now my human form seems to be leaving me. Now I enjoy eating grass. Now I long to roam the wide plains. I am turning into a mare, taking a shape like my father’s. But why am I changing completely? My father has both forms.”

As she was uttering such words as these, the last part of her complaint was but little understood; and her words were confused. And presently neither were they words indeed, nor did it appear to be the voice of a mare, but of one imitating a mare. And in a little time she uttered perfect neighing, and stretched her arms upon the grass. Then did her fingers grow together, and a smooth hoof united five nails in one continued piece of horn. The length of her face and of her neck increased; the greatest part of her long hair became a tail. And as the hairs lay scattered about her neck, they were transformed into a mane lying upon the right side; at once both her voice and her shape were changed. And this wondrous change gave her the new name of Enippe.

As she spoke, the last part of her complaint was hard to understand, and her words became confused. Soon they were no longer words at all. The sound was not a mare's voice, but that of someone imitating a mare. Before long, she was neighing perfectly and stretched her arms across the grass. Then her fingers grew together, and a smooth hoof joined her five nails into one solid piece of horn. Her face and neck grew longer, and most of her long hair became a tail. The hair scattered around her neck turned into a mane lying on her right side. Her voice and her shape changed at the same time. This wondrous transformation gave her the new name of Enippe.

Mercury, having stolen the oxen of Apollo, and Battus having perceived the theft, he engages him, by a present, to keep the matter secret. Mistrusting, however, his fidelity, he assumes another shape, and tempting him with presents, he succeeds in corrupting him. To punish his treachery, the God changes him into a touchstone.

Mercury stole Apollo's oxen, and Battus saw the theft. Mercury gave Battus a gift to persuade him to keep it secret. But Mercury doubted Battus's loyalty. He took another form and tempted Battus with gifts, persuading him to reveal the theft. To punish his treachery, the god turned him into a touchstone.

The Philyrean¹⁹⁶ hero wept, and in vain, God of Delphi, implored thy assistance; but neither couldst thou reverse the orders of great Jupiter, nor, if thou couldst have reversed them wast thou then present; for then thou wast dwelling in Elis and the Messenian¹⁹⁷ fields. This was the time when a shepherd’s skin garment was covering thee, and a stick cut out of the wood was the burden of thy left hand, and of the other, a pipe unequal with its seven reeds. And while love is thy concern, while thy pipe is soothing thee, some cows are said to have strayed unobserved into the plains of Pylos.¹⁹⁸ The son of Maia the daughter of Atlas, observes them, and with his usual skill hides them, driven off, in the woods. Nobody but an old man, well-known in that country, had noticed the theft: all the neighborhood called him Battus. He was keeping the forests and the grassy pastures, and the set of fine-bred mares of the rich Neleus.¹⁹⁹

The Philyrean¹⁹⁶ hero wept and begged in vain for your help, God of Delphi. But you could not overturn great Jupiter’s orders. And even if you could have, you were not there. For then you were living in Elis and the Messenian¹⁹⁷ fields. At that time, you wore a shepherd’s skin garment. In your left hand you carried a stick cut from the woods, and in the other, a pipe with seven reeds of unequal length. While you were occupied with love and soothed by your pipe, some cows are said to have wandered unnoticed into the plains of Pylos.¹⁹⁸ The son of Maia, the daughter of Atlas, saw them and, with his usual skill, drove them away and hid them in the woods. Only an old man, well known in that country, had seen the theft. Everyone in the neighborhood called him Battus. He looked after the forests, the grassy pastures, and the fine-bred mares of the rich Neleus.¹⁹⁹

Mercury was afraid of him, and took him aside with a gentle hand, and said to him, “Come, stranger, whoever thou art, if, perchance any one should ask after these herds, deny that thou hast seen them; and, lest no requital be paid thee for so doing, take a handsome cow as thy reward;” and thereupon he gave him one. On receiving it, the stranger returned this answer: “Thou mayst go in safety. May that stone first make mention of thy theft;” and he pointed to a stone. The son of Jupiter feigned to go away. But soon he returned, and changing his form, together with his voice, he said, “Countryman, if thou hast seen any cows pass along this way, give me thy help, and break silence about the theft; a female, coupled together with its bull shall be presented thee as a reward.” But the old man,²⁰⁰ after his reward was thus doubled, said, “They will be beneath those hills;” and beneath those hills they really were. The son of Atlas laughed and said, “Dost thou, treacherous man, betray me to my own self? Dost betray me to myself?” and then he turned his perjured breast into a hard stone, which even now is called the “Touchstone;”²⁰¹ and this old disgrace is attached to the stone that really deserves it not.

Mercury was afraid of him. He gently took him aside and said, “Come, stranger, whoever you are, perhaps someone will ask about these herds. If so, deny that you have seen them. So that you do not go unrewarded, take a fine cow as your reward.” Then he gave him one. The stranger accepted it and replied, “You may go safely. May that stone speak of your theft before I do.” He pointed to a stone. The son of Jupiter pretended to leave. But he soon returned, changing both his appearance and his voice. He said, “Countryman, if you have seen any cows pass this way, help me. Tell me about the theft. You will receive a cow and a bull as a reward.” But the old man,²⁰⁰ now offered twice the reward, said, “They will be below those hills.” And the cows really were below those hills. The son of Atlas laughed and said, “You treacherous man, do you betray me to myself? Do you betray me to myself?” Then he turned the old man’s lying heart into hard stone. Even now, it is called the “Touchstone.”²⁰¹ The old disgrace remains attached to the stone, though it really does not deserve it.

Mercury, falling in love with Herse, the daughter of Cecrops, endeavors to engage Aglauros in his interest, and by her means, to obtain access to her sister. She refuses to assist him, unless he promises to present her with a large sum of money.

Mercury falls in love with Herse, the daughter of Cecrops. He tries to enlist Aglauros to help him gain access to her sister. Aglauros refuses to help unless he promises to give her a large sum of money.

Hence, the bearer of the caduceus raised himself upon equal wings; and as he flew, he looked down upon the fields of Munychia,²⁰² and the land pleasing to Minerva, and the groves of the well-planted Lycæus. On that day, by chance, the chaste virgins were, in their purity, carrying the sacred offerings in baskets crowned with flowers, upon their heads to the joyful citadel of Pallas. The winged God beholds them returning thence; and he does not shape his course directly forward, but wheels round in the same circle. As that bird swiftest in speed, the kite, on espying the entrails, while he is afraid, and the priests stand in numbers around the sacrifice, wings his flight in circles, and yet ventures not to go far away, and greedily hovers around the object of his hopes with waving wings, so does the active Cyllenian God bend his course over the Actæan towers, and circles round in the same air. As much as Lucifer shines more brightly than the other stars, and as much as the golden Phœbe shines more brightly than thee, O Lucifer, so much superior was Herse, as she went, to all the other virgins, and was the ornament of the solemnity and of her companions. The son of Jupiter was astonished at her beauty; and as he hung in the air, he burned no otherwise than as when the Balearic²⁰³ sling throws forth the plummet of lead; it flies and becomes red hot in its course, and finds beneath the clouds the fires which it had not before.

From there, the bearer of the caduceus rose on his two wings. As he flew, he looked down on the fields of Munychia,²⁰² the land dear to Minerva, and the groves of well-planted Lycæus. That day, by chance, the chaste virgins were carrying sacred offerings to the joyful citadel of Pallas. In their purity, they carried the offerings on their heads in baskets crowned with flowers. The winged god saw them returning from the citadel. Instead of flying straight ahead, he circled around in the same path. The kite, swiftest of birds, circles when it spots entrails at a sacrifice. It is afraid of the priests gathered around the sacrifice, yet it dares not fly far away. Instead, it greedily hovers on beating wings around the object of its hopes. Just so, the swift Cyllenian god curved his flight over the Actæan towers and circled in the same air. Lucifer shines brighter than the other stars, and golden Phœbe shines brighter than you, O Lucifer. Just as greatly did Herse surpass all the other virgins as she walked. She was the glory of the ceremony and of her companions. The son of Jupiter was amazed by her beauty. As he hung in the air, he burned just like a lead weight hurled from a Balearic²⁰³ sling. The weight flies and grows red hot as it travels, finding fire beneath the clouds that it had not before.

He alters his course, and, having left heaven, goes a different way; nor does he disguise himself; so great is his confidence in his beauty. This, though it is every way complete, still he improves by care, and smooths his hair and adjusts his mantle,²⁰⁴ that it may hang properly, so that the fringe and all the gold may be seen; and minds that his long smooth wand, with which he induces and drives away sleep, is in his right hand, and that his wings²⁰⁵ shine upon his beauteous feet.

He changes course and leaves heaven, heading another way. He does not disguise himself, so confident is he in his beauty. Though his beauty is complete in every way, he still takes care to improve it. He smooths his hair and adjusts his mantle,²⁰⁴ so it hangs properly and shows all its fringe and gold. He also makes sure his long, smooth wand is in his right hand. With it, he brings on sleep and drives it away. He makes sure, too, that the wings²⁰⁵ on his beautiful feet shine.

A private part of the house had three bed-chambers, adorned with ivory and with tortoiseshell, of which thou, Pandrosos, hadst the right-hand one, Aglauros the left-hand, and Herse had the one in the middle. She that occupied the left-hand one was the first to remark Mercury approaching, and she ventured to ask the name of the God, and the occasion of his coming. To her thus answered the grandson of Atlas and of Pleione: “I am he who carries the commands of my father through the air. Jupiter himself is my father. Nor will I invent pretences; do thou only be willing to be attached to thy sister, and to be called the aunt of my offspring. Herse is the cause of my coming; I pray thee to favor one in love.” Aglauros looks upon him with the same eyes with which she had lately looked upon the hidden mysteries of the yellow-haired Minerva, and demands for her agency gold of great weight; and, in the meantime, obliges him to go out of the house. The warlike Goddess turned upon her the orbs of her stern eyes, and drew a sigh from the bottom of her heart, with so great a motion, that she heaved both her breast and the Ægis placed before her valiant breast. It occurred to her that she had laid open her secrets with a profane hand, at the time when she beheld progeny created for the God who inhabits Lemnos,²⁰⁶ without a mother, and contrary to the assigned laws; and that she could now be agreeable both to the God and to the sister of Aglauros, and that she would be enriched by taking the gold, which she, in her avarice, had demanded. Forthwith she repairs to the abode of Envy, hideous with black gore. Her abode is concealed in the lowest recesses of a cave, wanting sun, and not pervious to any wind, dismal and filled with benumbing cold; and which is ever without fire, and ever abounding with darkness.

A private part of the house contained three bedrooms, decorated with ivory and tortoiseshell. Pandrosos, you had the room on the right, Aglauros had the one on the left, and Herse had the middle room. Aglauros was the first to notice Mercury approaching. She dared to ask the god his name and why he had come. The grandson of Atlas and Pleione answered her: “I carry my father’s commands through the air. Jupiter himself is my father. I will make no excuses. You need only be loyal to your sister and be willing to be called the aunt of my children. I have come for Herse. Please help a man in love.” Aglauros looked at him with the same eyes that had recently seen the hidden mysteries of yellow-haired Minerva. She demanded a great weight of gold for her help, and made him leave the house in the meantime. The warlike goddess turned her stern eyes on Aglauros and sighed from the depths of her heart. Her sigh was so deep that it lifted her breast and the Ægis that covered it. It occurred to her that Aglauros had uncovered her secrets with a profane hand. She had seen the child created without a mother for the God who lives on Lemnos,²⁰⁶ and had done so against the rules given to her. Now she could please both the god and the sister of Aglauros. She would also grow rich from the gold she had greedily demanded. At once Minerva went to the home of Envy, a place hideous with black gore. Her home lay hidden in the deepest recesses of a cave. No sunlight or wind entered it. It was gloomy and filled with numbing cold, always without fire and always full of darkness.

Pallas commands Envy to make Aglauros jealous of her sister Herse. Envy obeys the request of the Goddess; and Aglauros, stung with that passion, continues obstinate in opposing Mercury’s passage to her sister’s apartment, for which the God changes her into a statue.

Pallas orders Envy to make Aglauros jealous of her sister Herse. Envy obeys the goddess. Driven by jealousy, Aglauros stubbornly blocks Mercury’s passage to her sister’s room. Because of this, Mercury turns her into a statue.

When the female warrior, to be dreaded in battle, came hither, she stood before the abode (for she did not consider it lawful to go under the roof), and she struck the door-posts with the end of the spear. The doors, being shaken, flew open; she sees Envy within, eating the flesh of vipers, the nutriment of her own bad propensities; and when she sees her, she turns away her eyes. But the other rises sluggishly from the ground, and leaves the bodies of the serpents half devoured, and stalks along with sullen pace. And when she sees the Goddess graced with beauty and with splendid arms, she groans, and fetches a deep sigh at her appearance. A paleness rests on her face, and leanness in all her body; she never looks direct on you; her teeth are black with rust; her breast is green with gall; her tongue is dripping with venom. Smiles there are none, except such as the sight of grief has excited. Nor does she enjoy sleep, being kept awake with watchful cares; but sees with sorrow the successes of men, and pines away at seeing them. She both torments and is tormented at the same moment, and is ever her own punishment. Yet, though Tritonia²⁰⁷ hated her, she spoke to her briefly in such words as these: “Infect one of the daughters of Cecrops with thy poison; there is occasion so to do; Aglauros is she.”

When the female warrior, feared in battle, arrived, she stood outside the house. She did not believe she was allowed to enter it. She struck the doorposts with the end of her spear. The doors shook and flew open. Inside, she saw Envy eating viper flesh, which fed her own wicked desires. At the sight, the warrior turned her eyes away. But Envy rose sluggishly from the ground, leaving the serpents half eaten, and walked forward with a sullen gait. When she saw the Goddess, beautiful and wearing splendid armor, she groaned and sighed deeply at the sight. Envy’s face was pale, and her whole body was thin. She never looked anyone in the eye. Her teeth were black with rust, her breast green with gall, and her tongue dripped with venom. She smiled only at the sight of suffering. She could not sleep, for her anxious cares kept her awake. She watched people succeed with sorrow, and the sight made her waste away. She tormented others and was tormented at the same time, and was always her own punishment. Though Tritonia²⁰⁷ hated her, she spoke briefly to her: “Infect one of Cecrops’s daughters with your poison. There is reason to do so. It is Aglauros.”

Saying no more, she departed, and spurned the ground with her spear impressed on it. She, beholding the Goddess as she departed, with a look askance, uttered a few murmurs, and grieved at the success of Minerva; and took her staff, which wreaths of thorns entirely surrounded; and veiled in black clouds, wherever she goes she tramples down the blooming fields, and burns up the grass, and crops the tops of the flowers. With her breath, too, she pollutes both nations and cities, and houses; and at last she descries the Tritonian²⁰⁸ citadel, flourishing in arts and riches, and cheerful peace. Hardly does she restrain her tears, because she sees nothing to weep at. But after she has entered the chamber of the daughter of Cecrops, she executes her orders; and touches her breast with her hand stained with rust, and fills her heart with jagged thorns. She breathes into her as well the noxious venom, and spreads the poison black as pitch throughout her bones, and lodges it in the midst of her lungs.

Saying no more, she departed, pushing off from the ground with her spear. As the Goddess left, the other woman watched her with a sideways glance and muttered a few words. She resented Minerva’s success and took up her staff, which was completely wrapped in thorny vines. Hidden in black clouds, she tramples the blooming fields wherever she goes. She burns up the grass and cuts off the tops of the flowers. Her breath poisons nations, cities, and houses. At last she sees the Tritonian²⁰⁸ citadel, flourishing in arts and wealth and enjoying peaceful happiness. She can hardly hold back her tears because she sees nothing to weep over. But after entering the chamber of Cecrops’s daughter, she carries out her orders. She touches the woman’s breast with her rust-stained hand and fills her heart with sharp thorns. She also breathes harmful venom into her, spreading poison as black as pitch through her bones. She lodges it deep in her lungs.

And that these causes of mischief may not wander through too wide a space, she places her sister before her eyes, and the fortunate marriage of that sister, and the God under his beauteous appearance, and aggravates each particular. By this, the daughter of Cecrops being irritated, is gnawed by a secret grief, and groans, tormented by night, tormented by day, and wastes away in extreme wretchedness, with a slow consumption, as ice smitten upon by a sun often clouded. She burns at the good fortune of the happy Herse, no otherwise than as when fire is placed beneath thorny reeds, which do not send forth flames, and burn with a gentle heat. Often does she wish to die, that she may not be a witness to any such thing; often, to tell the matters, as criminal, to her severe father. At last, she sat herself down in the front of the threshold, in order to exclude the God when he came; to whom, as he proffered blandishments and entreaties, and words of extreme kindness, she said, “Cease all this; I shall not remove myself hence, until thou art repulsed.” “Let us stand to that agreement,” says the active Cyllenian God; and he opens the carved door with his wand. But in her, as she endeavors to arise, the parts which we bend in sitting cannot be moved, through their numbing weight. She, indeed, struggles to raise herself, with her body, upright; but the joints of her knees are stiff, and a chill runs through her nails, and her veins are pallid, through the loss of blood.

So that these causes of harm will not spread too far, she sets the daughter’s sister before her eyes. She shows her that sister’s fortunate marriage and the God in his beautiful form, making each detail seem greater. This enrages the daughter of Cecrops. Secret grief gnaws at her, and she groans, tormented night and day. In her extreme misery, she slowly wastes away, like ice struck by a sun often hidden by clouds. She burns at the good fortune of happy Herse, just as thorny reeds burn when fire is placed beneath them. They give off no flames and burn with a gentle heat. Often she wishes to die so that she will not have to witness any of it. Often she wishes to tell her stern father about it and accuse her sister of wrongdoing. At last, she sits down in front of the threshold to keep the God out when he comes. He offers her gentle words, pleas, and great kindness, but she says, “Stop all this. I will not move from here until you are turned away.” “Let us keep to that agreement,” says the swift Cyllenian God, and he opens the carved door with his wand. She tries to rise, but the limbs she bends to sit cannot move because of their numb weight. She struggles to lift her body upright, but her knee joints are stiff. A chill runs through her nails, and her veins grow pale as the blood leaves them.

And as the disease of an incurable cancer is wont to spread in all directions, and to add the uninjured parts to the tainted; so, by degrees, did a deadly chill enter her breast, and stop the passages of life, and her respiration. She did not endeavor to speak; but if she had endeavored, she had no passage for her voice. Stone had now possession of her neck; her face was grown hard, and she sat, a bloodless statue. Nor was the stone white; her mind had stained it.

Just as an incurable cancer spreads in all directions, infecting healthy tissue, a deadly chill gradually entered her chest. It stopped the flow of life and her breathing. She did not try to speak, but if she had, her voice could not have passed through. Stone had taken over her neck. Her face had hardened, and she sat like a bloodless statue. The stone was not white. Her mind had stained it.

Jupiter assumes the shape of a Bull, and carrying off Europa, swims with her on his back to the isle of Crete.

Jupiter takes the form of a bull and carries Europa away. He swims to the island of Crete with her on his back.

When the grandson of Atlas had inflicted this punishment upon her words and her profane disposition, he left the lands named after Pallas, and entered the skies with his waving wings. His father calls him on one side; and, not owning the cause of his love, he says, “My son, the trusty minister of my commands, banish delay, and swiftly descend with thy usual speed, and repair to the region which looks towards thy Constellation mother on the left side, (the natives call it Sidonis²⁰⁹ by name) and drive towards the sea-shore, the herd belonging to the king, which thou seest feeding afar upon the grass of the mountain.”

After Atlas’s grandson had punished her for her words and her irreverent nature, he left the lands named after Pallas. He flew into the sky on his beating wings. His father called him aside and, without revealing the cause of his love, said, “My son, faithful servant of my commands, do not delay. Descend quickly, with your usual speed, and go to the region that faces your Constellation mother on the left. The natives call it Sidonis²⁰⁹. Drive the king’s herd to the shore. You can see it grazing in the distance on the mountain grass.”

Thus he spoke; and already were the bullocks, driven from the mountain, making for the shore named, where the daughter of the great king, attended by Tyrian virgins, was wont to amuse herself. Majesty and love but ill accord, nor can they continue in the same abode. The father and the ruler of the Gods, whose right hand is armed with the three-forked flames, who shakes the world with his nod, laying aside the dignity of empire, assumes the appearance of a bull; and mixing with the oxen, he lows, and, in all his beauty, walks about upon the shooting grass. For his color is that of snow, which neither the soles of hard feet have trodden upon, nor the watery South wind melted. His neck swells with muscles; dewlaps hang from between his shoulders. His horns are small indeed, but such as you might maintain were made with the hand, and more transparent than a bright gem. There is nothing threatening in his forehead; nor is his eye formidable; his countenance expresses peace.

Thus he spoke. Already, the bullocks were being driven down from the mountain toward the shore he had named. There the great king's daughter often amused herself with the Tyrian maidens who attended her. Majesty and love do not go well together, nor can they live in the same place. The father and ruler of the gods laid aside his royal dignity and took the form of a bull. His right hand wields the three-pronged flames, and he shakes the world with a nod. Now he mingled with the oxen, lowing and walking in all his beauty over the fresh grass. His color was like snow, untouched by hard feet and unmelted by the wet South wind. His neck was thick with muscle, and folds of skin hung from between his shoulders. His horns were small, but they looked as if they had been shaped by hand. They were more transparent than a bright gem. His forehead was not threatening, and his eyes inspired no fear. His face was peaceful.

The daughter of Agenor is surprised that he is so beautiful, and that he threatens no attack; but although so gentle, she is at first afraid to touch him. By and by she approaches him, and holds out flowers to his white mouth. The lover rejoices, and till his hoped-for pleasure comes, he gives kisses to her hands; scarcely, oh, scarcely, does he defer the rest. And now he plays with her, and skips upon the green grass; and now he lays his snow-white side upon the yellow sand. And, her fear now removed by degrees, at one moment he gives his breast to be patted by the hand of the virgin; at another, his horns to be wreathed with new-made garlands. The virgin of royal birth even ventured to sit down upon the back of the bull, not knowing upon whom she was pressing. Then the God, by degrees moving from the land, and from the dry shore, places the fictitious hoofs of his feet in the waves near the brink. Then he goes still further, and carries his prize over the expanse of the midst of the ocean. She is affrighted, and, borne off, looks back on the shore she has left; and with her right hand she grasps his horn, while the other is placed on his back; her waving garments are ruffled by the breeze.

Agenor's daughter is amazed by how beautiful he is and how he shows no sign of aggression. But though he is so gentle, she is afraid to touch him at first. Soon she approaches him and holds out flowers to his white mouth. The lover rejoices and kisses her hands while he waits for the pleasure he hopes for. He can scarcely, oh, scarcely, put off the rest. Now he plays with her and skips over the green grass. And now he lays his snow-white side on the yellow sand. As her fear now gradually fades, he offers his chest for the maiden to pat. Then he offers his horns for her to decorate with fresh garlands. The royal maiden even dares to sit on the bull's back, not knowing who is beneath her. Then the God gradually moves away from the land and the dry shore. He places his false hooves in the waves at the water's edge. Then he goes farther, carrying his prize across the open ocean. Frightened as she is carried away, she looks back at the shore she has left. She grips his horn with her right hand while resting the other on his back. Her flowing garments flutter in the breeze.