Book 7

Jason, after having met with various adventures, arrives with the Argonauts in Colchis, and demands the Golden Fleece. Medea falls in love with Jason, and by the power of her enchantments preserves him from the dangers he has to encounter in obtaining it. He obtains the prize, and carrying off Medea, returns in triumph to Thessaly.

After many adventures, Jason arrives in Colchis with the Argonauts and demands the Golden Fleece. Medea falls in love with Jason. She uses her magic to protect him from the dangers he faces in obtaining the fleece. Jason wins the prize, carries Medea away, and returns in triumph to Thessaly.

And now the Minyæ⁵⁶² were ploughing the sea in the Pagasæan ship;⁵⁶³ and Phineus prolonging a needy old age under perpetual night, had been visited, and the youthful sons of the North wind had driven the birds with the faces of virgins from before the mouth of the distressed old man;⁵⁶⁴ and having suffered many things under the famous Jason, had reached at length the rapid waters of the muddy Phasis.

Now the Minyæ⁵⁶² were sailing across the sea in the Pagasæan ship.⁵⁶³ They had visited Phineus, who lived in poverty and perpetual darkness in his old age. The young sons of the North wind had driven the birds with virgins' faces away from before the distressed old man's mouth.⁵⁶⁴ After suffering many hardships under the famous Jason, the Minyæ finally reached the swift waters of the muddy Phasis.

And while they go to the king, and ask the fleece that once belonged to Phryxus, and conditions are offered them, dreadful for the number of mighty labors; in the meantime, the daughter of Æetes⁵⁶⁵ conceives a violent flame; and having long struggled against it, after she is unable to conquer her frenzy by reason, she says: “In vain, Medea, dost thou resist; some God, who, I know not, is opposing thee. It is a wonder too, if it is not this, or at least something like this, which is called ‘love.’ For why do the commands of my father appear too rigid for me? and yet too rigid they are. Why am I in dread, lest he whom I have seen but so lately, should perish? What is the cause of alarm so great? Banish the flames conceived in thy virgin breast, if thou canst, unhappy creature. If I could, I would be more rational. But a new power draws me on, against my will; and Cupid persuades one thing, reason another. I see which is the more proper course, and I approve of it, while I follow the wrong one. Why, royal maiden, art thou burning for a stranger, and why coveting the nuptial ties of a strange country? This land, too, may give thee something which thou mayst love. Whether he shall live, or whether die, is in the disposal of the Gods. Yet he may survive; and that I may pray for, even without love. For what fault has Jason committed? Whom, but one of hard heart, would not the youthful age of Jason affect? his descent too, and his valor? Whom, though these other points were wanting, would not his beauty move? at least, he has moved my breast. But unless I shall give him aid, he will be breathed upon by the mouths of the bulls; and will engage with his own kindred crops, an enemy sprung from the earth; or he will be given as a cruel prey to the ravenous dragon. If I allow this, then I will confess that I was born of a tigress; then, too, that I carry steel and stone in my heart. Why do I not as well behold him perish? Why not, too, profane my eyes by seeing it? Why do I not stimulate the bulls against him, and the fierce sons of the earth, and the never-sleeping dragon? May the Gods award better things. And yet these things are not to be prayed for, but must be effected by myself. Shall I then betray the kingdom of my father? and by my aid shall some stranger, I know not who, be saved; that being delivered by my means, he may spread his sails to the winds without me, and be the husband of another; and I, Medea, be left for punishment? If he can do this, and if he is capable of preferring another to me, let him perish in his ingratitude. But not such is his countenance, not such that nobleness of soul, that gracefulness of person, that I should fear treachery, and forgetfulness of what I deserve. Besides, he shall first pledge his faith, and I will oblige the Gods to be witnesses of our compact. What then dost thou dread, thus secure? Haste then,⁵⁶⁶ and banish all delay. Jason will ever be indebted to thee for his preservation; thee will he unite to himself in the rites of marriage, and throughout the Pelasgian cities⁵⁶⁷ thou wilt be celebrated by crowds of matrons, as the preserver of their sons. And shall I then, borne away by the winds, leave my sister⁵⁶⁸ and my brother,⁵⁶⁹ and my father, and my Gods, and my native soil? My father is cruel, forsooth; my country, too, is barbarous;⁵⁷⁰ my brother is still but an infant; the wishes of my sister are in my favor. The greatest of the Gods is in possession of me. I shall not be relinquishing anything great; I shall be pursuing what is great; the credit of saving the youth of Greece,⁵⁷¹ acquaintance with a better country, and cities, whose fame is flourishing even here, and the politeness and the arts of their inhabitants; and the son of Æson, whom I could be ready to take in exchange for all the things that the whole world contains; with whom for my husband I shall both be deemed dear to the Gods, and shall reach the stars with my head. Why say that I know not what mountains⁵⁷² are reported to arise in the midst of the waves, and that Charybdis, an enemy to ships, one while sucks in the sea, at another discharges it; and how that Scylla, begirt with furious dogs, is said to bark in the Sicilian deep? Yet holding him whom I love, and clinging to the bosom of Jason, I shall be borne over the wide seas; embracing him, naught will I dread; or if I fear anything, for my husband alone will I fear. And dost thou, Medea, call this a marriage, and dost thou give a plausible name to thy criminality? Do but consider how great an offence thou art meditating, and, while still thou mayst, fly from guilt.”

While they go to the king and ask for the fleece that once belonged to Phryxus, he offers them terms involving a terrifying number of mighty labors. Meanwhile, the daughter of Æetes⁵⁶⁵ is consumed by a fierce passion. She struggles against it for a long time, but cannot overcome her frenzy through reason. At last she says: “Medea, you resist in vain. Some god is working against you, though I do not know which one. It would be strange if this were not love, or at least something like it. Why else do my father’s demands seem too harsh to me? And yet they are too harsh. Why am I afraid that this man I met so recently will die? What makes me so afraid? If you can, unhappy girl, put out the flames burning in your virgin breast. If I could, I would be more sensible. But a new power draws me on against my will. Cupid urges me one way, reason another. I see the right course and approve it, yet I follow the wrong one. “Why are you burning with love for a stranger, royal maiden? Why do you long to marry a man from a foreign land? This land, too, may offer you someone to love. Whether he lives or dies is up to the gods. Yet he may survive, and I can pray for that even without loving him. What wrong has Jason done? Who but someone hardhearted would not be moved by Jason’s youth, his noble birth, and his courage? Even without those qualities, who would not be moved by his beauty? At least, he has moved my heart. “But unless I help him, the bulls will breathe fire on him. He will fight his own kin, an enemy grown from the earth like a crop. Or he will be given as cruel prey to the ravenous dragon. If I allow that, I will admit that a tigress bore me. I will admit, too, that my heart is made of steel and stone. Why not watch him die as well? Why not defile my eyes with the sight? Why not urge the bulls against him, and the fierce sons of the earth, and the dragon that never sleeps? May the gods grant something better. And yet I must do more than pray for it. I must bring it about myself. “Shall I then betray my father’s kingdom? Shall I save some stranger I hardly know, only for him to sail away without me? Will he marry another woman and leave me, Medea, to be punished? If he can do that, if he can prefer another to me, let him die for his ingratitude. But his face, his noble spirit, and his graceful form do not suggest such a man. I need not fear that he will betray me or forget what I deserve. Besides, he will first pledge his faith, and I will make the gods witnesses to our agreement. What do you fear, Medea, when you are so secure? Hurry then,⁵⁶⁶ and waste no more time. Jason will always owe you his life. He will marry you, and crowds of matrons throughout the Pelasgian cities⁵⁶⁷ will praise you for saving their sons. “And shall I then sail away, leaving my sister⁵⁶⁸ and my brother,⁵⁶⁹ my father, my gods, and my native land? My father is cruel, after all. My country is barbarous⁵⁷⁰ too. My brother is still only a baby, and my sister wishes me well. The greatest of the gods has taken possession of me. I will be leaving nothing great behind. I will be seeking great things: the honor of saving the youth of Greece,⁵⁷¹ and knowledge of a better country. I will see cities whose fame has spread even here, and the refinement and arts of their people. And there is the son of Æson, whom I would gladly take in exchange for all the world contains. With him as my husband, I will be considered dear to the gods, and my head will reach the stars. “Why mention the mountains⁵⁷² said to rise from the waves? Or Charybdis, the enemy of ships, who now swallows the sea and now pours it out again? Or Scylla, surrounded by furious dogs, who is said to bark in the Sicilian deep? If I hold the man I love and cling to Jason’s breast, I can sail across the wide seas. In his arms I will fear nothing. Or, if I fear anything, I will fear only for my husband. “Medea, do you call this marriage? Do you give your crime a respectable name? Consider how great an offense you are planning. While you still can, flee from guilt.”

Thus she said, and before her eyes stood Virtue, Affection, and Modesty; and now Cupid turned his vanquished back. She was going to the ancient altars of Hecate,⁵⁷³ the daughter of Perses, which a shady grove and the recesses of a wood concealed. And now she was resolved, and her passion being checked, had subsided; when she beheld the son of Æson, and the extinguished flame revived. Her cheeks were covered with blushes, and her whole face was suffused with a glow. As a spark is wont to derive nourishment from the winds, which, but small when it lay concealed beneath the ashes cast over it, is wont to increase, and aroused, to rise again to its original strength, so her love, now declining, which you would suppose was now growing languid, when she beheld the youth, was rekindled with the appearance of him before her eyes. And by chance, on that day, the son of Æson was more beauteous than usual. You might forgive her loving him. She gazes; and keeps her eyes fixed upon his countenance, as though but now seen for the first time; and in her frenzy she thinks she does not behold the face of a mortal; nor does she turn away from him. But when the stranger began to speak, and seized her right hand, and begged her assistance with a humble voice, and promised her marriage; she said, with tears running down, “I see what I ought to do; and it will not be ignorance of the truth, but love that beguiles me. By my agency thou shalt be saved; when saved, grant what thou hast promised.”

Thus she spoke, and Virtue, Affection, and Modesty stood before her eyes. Cupid now turned his defeated back. She was going to the ancient altars of Hecate,⁵⁷³ the daughter of Perses. A shady grove and the depths of a wood concealed them. Her mind was made up, and her passion had been checked and had subsided. But then she saw the son of Æson, and the extinguished flame sprang to life again. Her cheeks blushed, and her whole face glowed. A spark can lie small and hidden beneath a covering of ashes. But when the winds feed it, it will grow and rise again to its former strength. So it was with her love. It was fading, and you might have thought it was growing weak. But when she saw the young man before her, her love flared up again. By chance, the son of Æson was more beautiful than usual that day. You could forgive her for loving him. She stared at his face, as though she had never seen it before. In her frenzy, she thought the face she saw could not belong to a mortal. Nor did she look away from him. But then the stranger began to speak. He took her right hand and humbly begged for her help, promising to marry her. With tears streaming down her face, she said, “I see what I ought to do. It is not ignorance of the truth, but love that leads me astray. I will save you. When you are safe, keep your promise.”

He swears by the rites of the Goddess of the triple form, and the Deity which is in that grove, and by the sire⁵⁷⁴ of his future father-in-law, who beholds all things, and by his own adventures, and by dangers so great. Being believed by her, he immediately received some enchanted herbs, and thoroughly learned the use of them, and went away rejoicing to his abode. The next morning had now dispersed the twinkling stars, when the people repaired to the sacred field of Mavors, and ranged themselves on the hills. In the midst of the assembly sat the king himself, arrayed in purple, and distinguished by a sceptre of ivory. Behold! the brazen-footed bulls breathe forth flames⁵⁷⁵ from their adamantine nostrils; and the grass touched by the vapors is on fire. And as the forges filled with fire are wont to roar, or when flints⁵⁷⁶ dissolved in an earthen furnace receive intense heat by the sprinkling of flowing water; so do their breasts rolling forth the flames enclosed within, and their scorched throats, resound. Yet the son of Æson goes forth to meet them. The fierce bulls turn their terrible features, and their horns pointed with iron, towards his face as he advances, and with cloven hoofs they spurn the dusty ground, and fill the place with lowings, that send forth clouds of smoke. The Minyæ are frozen with horror. He comes up, and feels not the flames breathed forth by them, so great is the power of the incantations. He even strokes their hanging dewlaps with a bold right hand, and, subjected to the yoke, he obliges them to draw the heavy weight of a plough, and to turn up with the share the plain till now unused to it.⁵⁷⁷

He swears by the rites of the three-formed Goddess and by the Deity in that grove. He also swears by the father⁵⁷⁴ of his future father-in-law, who sees all things, and by his own adventures and great dangers. She believes him and immediately gives him some enchanted herbs. He learns exactly how to use them and returns to his dwelling, rejoicing. By the next morning, the twinkling stars had already disappeared. Then the people gathered in the sacred field of Mavors and took their places on the hills. The king himself sat in the middle of the assembly, dressed in purple and holding an ivory scepter. Look! The bronze-footed bulls breathe flames⁵⁷⁵ from their adamantine nostrils. The grass touched by their fumes catches fire. Their chests rumble with the flames trapped inside them, and their scorched throats roar. They sound like furnaces filled with fire, or like flints⁵⁷⁶ melting in an earthen furnace when sprinkled with water, which makes them burn fiercely. Yet the son of Æson goes out to meet them. As he approaches, the fierce bulls turn their terrible faces and iron-tipped horns toward him. They stamp the dusty ground with their cloven hooves and fill the air with lowing and clouds of smoke. The Minyæ are frozen with horror. He comes closer and does not feel the flames they breathe, so great is the power of the spells. With his right hand, he boldly strokes the loose skin hanging from their necks. He puts them under the yoke and makes them pull a heavy plow. With its blade, they turn up the plain, which had never been plowed before.⁵⁷⁷

The Colchians are astonished; the Minyæ fill the air with their shouts, and give him fresh courage. Then in a brazen helmet he takes the dragon’s teeth,⁵⁷⁸ and strews them over the ploughed up fields. The ground, impregnated beforehand with a potent drug, softens the seed; and the teeth that were sown grow up, and become new bodies. And as the infant receives the human form in the womb of the mother, and is there formed in all its parts, and comes not forth into the common air until at maturity, so when the figure of man is ripened in the bowels of the pregnant earth, it arises in the fruitful plain; and, what is still more surprising, it brandishes arms produced at the same time. When the Pelasgians saw them preparing to hurl their spears with sharp points at the head of the Hæmonian youth, they lowered their countenances and their courage, quailing with fear. She, too, became alarmed, who had rendered him secure; and when she saw the youth, being but one, attacked by so many enemies, she turned pale, and suddenly chilled with fear, sat down without blood in her cheeks. And, lest the herbs that had been given by her, should avail him but little, she repeats an auxiliary charm, and summons to her aid her secret arts. He, hurling a heavy stone into the midst of his enemies, turns the warfare, now averted from himself, upon themselves. The Earth-born brothers perish by mutual wounds, and fall in civil fight. The Greeks congratulate him, and caress the conqueror, and cling to him in hearty embraces. And thou too, barbarian maiden, wouldst fain have embraced him; ’twas modesty that opposed the design; otherwise thou wouldst have embraced him; but regard for thy reputation restrained thee from doing so. What thou mayst do, thou dost do; thou rejoicest with a silent affection, and thou givest thanks to thy charms, and to the Gods, the authors of them.

The Colchians are astonished. The Minyæ fill the air with their shouts and give him fresh courage. Then he takes the dragon’s teeth⁵⁷⁸ in a bronze helmet and scatters them over the plowed fields. The ground, already soaked with a powerful drug, softens the seed. The sown teeth grow into new bodies. A baby takes human form in its mother’s womb, where all its parts develop. It does not emerge into the open air until it is fully formed. Just so, the figure of a man matures in the depths of the pregnant earth. Then it rises in the fertile plain. More surprising still, it brandishes weapons that have grown with it. When the Pelasgians see the men preparing to hurl sharp-pointed spears at the Hæmonian youth’s head, their faces fall. Their courage fails, and they shrink with fear. The woman who had made him safe is afraid too. She sees the youth facing so many enemies alone. She turns pale and suddenly sits down, chilled with fear and with no blood in her cheeks. She fears that the herbs she gave him may not help him enough. So she repeats a charm to aid him and calls on to help her her secret arts. He hurls a heavy stone among his enemies. This turns the battle away from himself and sets them against one another. The Earth-born brothers wound one another and die, falling in battle among themselves. The Greeks congratulate the victor and embrace him warmly. You too, barbarian maiden, would gladly have embraced him. Modesty stood in your way. Otherwise, you would have embraced him, but concern for your reputation held you back. You do what you can. You rejoice with silent affection and give thanks to your charms and to the Gods who created them.

It still remains to lay asleep with herbs the watchful dragon, who, distinguished by his crest and his three tongues, and terrible with his hooked teeth, is the keeper of the Golden Fleece. After he has sprinkled him with herbs of Lethæan juice,⁵⁷⁹ and has thrice repeated words that cause placid slumbers, which would even calm the boisterous ocean, and which would stop the rapid rivers, sleep creeps upon the eyes that were strangers to it, and the hero, the son of Æson, gains the gold; and proud of the spoil and bearing with him the giver of the prize as a second spoil, he arrives victorious, with his wife, at the port of Iolcos.⁵⁸⁰

It still remains to put the watchful dragon to sleep with herbs. The dragon guards the Golden Fleece. He has a crest and three tongues, and his hooked teeth make him terrifying. The hero sprinkles him with herbs bearing Lethæan juice,⁵⁷⁹ and repeats words that bring peaceful sleep three times. Those words would even calm the stormy ocean, and would stop swift rivers. Sleep creeps over the dragon’s eyes, which have never known it, and the hero, the son of Æson, wins the gold. Proud of his prize, he takes the woman who gave it to him as a second prize. Victorious, he arrives with his wife at the port of Iolcos.⁵⁸⁰

Jason, after his return home, requests Medea to restore his father Æson to youth, which she performs; then, going to the court of Pelias, she avenges the injuries which he had done to the family of Jason, by making him the victim of the credulity of his own daughters, who, in compliance with her pretended regard for them, stab him to death. Medea, having executed her design, makes her escape in her chariot.

After Jason returns home, he asks Medea to restore his father Æson to youth, and she does so. She then goes to the court of Pelias to avenge the wrongs he has done to Jason’s family. Pretending to care for Pelias’s daughters, she takes advantage of their trust and persuades them to stab their father to death. After carrying out her plan, Medea escapes in her chariot.

The Hæmonian mothers and aged fathers bring presents, for receiving their sons safe home; and frankincense dissolves, piled on the flames, and the devoted victim falls, having its horns gilded. But Æson is not among those congratulating, being now near death, and worn out with the years of old age; when thus the son of Æson addresses Medea: “O wife, to whom I confess that I owe my safety, although thou hast granted me everything, and the sum of thy favors exceeds all belief; still, if thy enchantments can effect this (and what can enchantments not effect?), take away from my own years, and, when taken, add them to those of my father.”

The Hæmonian mothers and elderly fathers bring gifts in thanks for their sons’ return safe home. Frankincense burns in heaps on the flames, and the sacrificial victim is slain, its horns covered in gold. But Æson is not among those offering congratulations. He is near death, worn out by old age. Then Æson’s son speaks to Medea: “My wife, I confess that I owe you my safety. Though you have granted me everything, and the sum of your favors exceeds all belief, I ask one thing more. Still, if your enchantments can do this (and what can enchantments not do?), take years from my life and add them to those of my father.”

And thus saying, he could not check his tears. She was moved with the affection of the petitioner; and her father, Æetes, left behind, recurred to her mind, unlike that of Jason; yet she did not confess any such feelings. “What a piece of wickedness, husband,” said she, “has escaped thy affectionate lips! Can I, then, seem capable of transferring to any one a portion of thy life? May Hecate not allow of this; nor dost thou ask what is reasonable; but, Jason, I will endeavor to grant thee a favor still greater than that which thou art asking. By my arts we will endeavor to bring back the long years of my father-in-law, and not by means of thy years; if the Goddess of the triple form⁵⁸¹ do but assist, and propitiously aid so vast an undertaking.” Three nights were now wanting that the horns of the Moon might meet entirely, and might form a perfect orb. After the Moon shone in her full, and looked down upon the Earth, with her disk complete, Medea went forth from the house, clothed in garments flowing loose, with bare feet,⁵⁸² and having her unadorned hair hanging over her shoulders, and unattended, directed her wandering steps through the still silence of midnight. Sound sleep has now relaxed the nerves of both men, and birds, and beasts; the hedges and the motionless foliage are still, without any noise, the dewy air is still; the stars alone are twinkling; towards which, holding up her arms, three times she turns herself about, three times she besprinkles her hair with water taken from the stream; with three yells she opens her mouth, and, her knee bending upon the hard ground, she says, “O Night, most faithful to these my mysteries, and ye golden Stars, who, with the Moon, succeed the fires of the day, and thou, three-faced Hecate,⁵⁸³ who comest conscious of my design, and ye charms and arts of the enchanters, and thou, too, Earth, that dost furnish the enchanters with powerful herbs; ye breezes, too, and winds, mountains, rivers, and lakes, and all ye Deities of the groves, and all ye Gods of night, attend here; through whose aid, whenever I will, the rivers run back from their astonished banks to their sources, and by my charms I calm the troubled sea, and rouse it when calm; I disperse the clouds, and I bring clouds upon the Earth; I both allay the winds, and I raise them; and I break the jaws of serpents with my words and my spells; I move, too, the solid rocks, and the oaks torn up with their own native earth, and the forests as well. I command the mountains, too, to quake, and the Earth to groan, and the ghosts to come forth from their tombs. Thee, too, O Moon, do I draw down, although the Temesæan⁵⁸⁴ brass relieves thy pangs. By my spells, also, the chariot of my grandsire is rendered pale; Aurora, too, is pale through my enchantments. For me did ye blunt the flames of the bulls, and with the curving plough you pressed the necks that never before bore the yoke. You raised a cruel warfare for those born of the dragon among themselves, and you lulled to sleep the keeper of the golden fleece, that had never known sleep; and thus, deceiving the guardian, you sent the treasure into the Grecian cities. Now there is need of juices, by means of which, old age, being renewed, may return to the bloom of life, and may receive back again its early years; and this ye will give me; for not in vain did the stars just now sparkle; nor yet in vain is the chariot come, drawn by the necks of winged dragons.”

And as he said this, he could not hold back his tears. She was moved by the love behind his plea. She thought of her own father, Æetes, whom she had left behind, unlike Jason. Yet she did not admit to any such feelings. “Husband,” she said, “what a wicked thing has escaped your loving lips! Can you really think me capable of giving part of your life to anyone else? May Hecate never allow it! What you ask is not reasonable. But, Jason, I will try to grant you an even greater favor than the one you ask. By my arts, I will try to restore my father-in-law’s many years without taking any of yours. I can do this if the three-formed goddess⁵⁸¹ will help me and look favorably on so great a task.” There were now three nights left before the horns of the Moon would meet and form a perfect circle. When the Moon shone full and looked down on the Earth with her complete disk, Medea left the house. She wore loose, flowing clothes and was barefoot.⁵⁸² Her unadorned hair hung over her shoulders. Alone, she wandered through the still silence of midnight. Deep sleep had now relaxed the limbs of men, birds, and beasts alike. The hedges and motionless leaves were silent. The dewy air was still. Only the stars twinkled. Holding her arms up toward them, she turned around three times. Three times she sprinkled her hair with water from the stream. Then she gave three cries, bent her knee on the hard ground, and said: “O Night, most faithful to these mysteries of mine, hear me. Hear me, golden Stars, who follow the fires of day along with the Moon. Hear me, three-faced Hecate,⁵⁸³ who come knowing my purpose. Hear me, charms and arts of enchanters, and Earth, who supplies enchanters with powerful herbs. Hear me, breezes and winds, mountains, rivers, and lakes. Hear me, all you Deities of the groves, and all you Gods of night. “With your help, whenever I wish, rivers run back from their astonished banks to their sources. With my charms I calm the troubled sea and stir it up when it is calm. I scatter the clouds and bring clouds over the Earth. I calm the winds and raise them. With my words and spells, I break the jaws of serpents. I move solid rocks, oaks torn up with their own native soil, and whole forests too. I command the mountains to shake, the Earth to groan, and ghosts to rise from their tombs. I draw you down too, O Moon, although the Temesæan⁵⁸⁴ brass relieves your suffering. My spells also make my grandfather’s chariot grow pale. Aurora, too, grows pale through my enchantments. “For me, you dulled the bulls’ flames. You pressed the curved plough onto necks that had never before borne the yoke. You made those born from the dragon fight a cruel war against one another. You put the guardian of the golden fleece, who had never known sleep, to sleep. So, by deceiving the guardian, you sent the treasure to the Grecian cities. “Now I need juices that can renew old age, restore the bloom of life, and bring back its early years. You will give them to me. The stars did not sparkle just now for nothing. Nor has the chariot come for nothing, drawn by winged dragons.”

A chariot sent down from heaven was come; which, soon as she had mounted, and had stroked the harnessed necks of the dragons, and had shaken the light reins with her hands, she was borne aloft, and looked down upon Thessalian Tempe below her, and guided her dragons towards the chalky regions;⁵⁸⁵ and observed the herbs which Ossa, and which the lofty Pelion bore, Othrys, too, and Pindus, and Olympus still greater than Pindus; and part she tore up by the root gently worked, part she cut down with the bend of a brazen sickle.⁵⁸⁶ Many a herb, too, that grew on the banks of Apidanus⁵⁸⁷ pleased her; many, too, on the banks of Amphrysus; nor, Enipeus, didst thou escape. The Peneian waters, and the Spercheian as well, contributed something, and the rushy shores of Bœbe.⁵⁸⁸ She plucks, too, enlivening herbs by the Eubœan Anthedon,⁵⁸⁹ not yet commonly known by the change of the body of Glaucus.⁵⁹⁰ And now the ninth day,⁵⁹¹ and the ninth night had seen her visiting all the fields in her chariot, and upon the wings of the dragons, when she returned; nor had the dragons been fed, but with the odors of the plants: and yet they cast the skin of old age full of years. On her arrival she stood without the threshold and the gates, and was canopied by the heavens alone, and avoided the contact of her husband, and erected two altars of turf; on the right hand, one to Hecate, but on the left side one to Youth.⁵⁹² After she had hung them round with vervain and forest boughs, throwing up the earth from two trenches not far off, she performed the rites, and plunged a knife into the throat of a black ram, and besprinkled the wide trenches with blood. Then pouring thereon goblets⁵⁹³ of flowing wine, and pouring brazen goblets of warm milk; she at the same time utters words, and calls upon the Deities of the earth, and entreats the king of the shades⁵⁹⁴ below, together with his ravished wife, that they will not hasten to deprive the aged limbs of life. When she had rendered them propitious both by prayers and prolonged mutterings, she commanded the exhausted body of Æson to be brought out to the altars, and stretched it cast into a deep sleep by her charms, and resembling one dead, upon the herbs laid beneath him.

A chariot had come down from heaven. She climbed aboard, stroked the harnessed necks of the dragons, and shook the light reins in her hands. She was carried into the air and looked down on Thessalian Tempe. Then she guided her dragons toward the chalky regions.⁵⁸⁵ She examined the herbs that grew on Ossa, lofty Pelion, Othrys, Pindus, and Olympus, still greater than Pindus. She gently loosened the roots of some and pulled them up. Others she cut with the curved blade of a bronze sickle.⁵⁸⁶ Many herbs growing on the banks of Apidanus⁵⁸⁷ pleased her, and many on the banks of Amphrysus. Nor, Enipeus, did you escape her notice. The waters of Peneus and Spercheus also contributed something, as did the rushy shores of Bœbe.⁵⁸⁸ She also picked life-giving herbs near Eubœan Anthedon.⁵⁸⁹ The place was not yet widely known for the transformation of Glaucus’s body.⁵⁹⁰ For nine days⁵⁹¹ and nine nights, she visited every field in her chariot, borne on the dragons’ wings. Then she returned. The dragons had fed on nothing but the scents of the plants. Yet they shed their aged, timeworn skin. When she arrived, she stood outside the threshold and gates, with only the heavens above her. She avoided touching her husband and built two altars of turf, one to Hecate on the right, one to Youth on the left.⁵⁹² She hung vervain and forest branches around them and dug two trenches nearby. Then she performed the rites, plunged a knife into the throat of a black ram, and sprinkled its blood over the wide trenches. She poured goblets⁵⁹³ of flowing wine and bronze goblets of warm milk into them. As she did so, she spoke and called on the Deities of the earth. She begged the king of the shades⁵⁹⁴ below and his abducted wife not to hasten to take the life from the old man’s limbs. When she had won their favor with prayers and long mutterings, she ordered Æson’s exhausted body brought out to the altars. Her charms had cast him into a deep sleep, and he looked like a dead man. She laid him on the herbs.

She orders the son of Æson to go far thence, and the attendants, too, to go afar; and warns them to withdraw their profane eyes from her mysteries. At her order, they retire. Medea, with dishevelled hair, goes round the blazing altars like a worshipper of Bacchus, and dips her torches, split into many parts, in the trench, black with blood, and lights them, thus dipt, at the two altars. And thrice does she⁵⁹⁵ purify the aged man with flames, thrice with water, and thrice with sulphur. In the meantime the potent mixture⁵⁹⁶ is boiling and heaving in the brazen cauldron, placed on the flames, and whitens with swelling froth. There she boils roots cut up in the Hæmonian valleys, and seeds and flowers and acrid juices. She adds stones fetched from the most distant East, and sand, which the ebbing tide of the ocean has washed. She adds, too, hoar-frost gathered at night by the light of the moon, and the ill-boding wings of a screech owl,⁵⁹⁷ together with its flesh; and the entrails of an ambiguous wolf, that was wont to change its appearance of a wild beast into that of a man. Nor is there wanting there the thin scaly slough of the Cinyphian water-snake,⁵⁹⁸ and the liver of the long-lived stag;⁵⁹⁹ to which, besides, she adds the bill and head of a crow that had sustained an existence of nine ages. When, with these and a thousand other things without a name, the barbarian princess has completed the medicine prepared for the mortal body, with a branch of the peaceful olive long since dried up, she stirs them all up, and blends the lowest ingredients with the highest. Behold! the old branch, turned about in the heated cauldron, at first becomes green; and after no long time assumes foliage, and is suddenly loaded with heavy olives. Besides, wherever the fire throws the froth from out of the hollow cauldron, and the boiling drops fall upon the earth, the ground becomes green, and flowers and soft grass spring up.

She orders the son of Æson and the attendants to go far away. She warns them to turn their profane eyes away from her mysteries. They leave as she commands. With her hair disheveled, Medea circles the blazing altars like a worshipper of Bacchus. She dips her torches, split into many parts, in the trench black with blood. Then she lights them, thus dipped, at the two altars. Three times she⁵⁹⁵ purifies the old man with fire, three times with water, and three times with sulfur. Meanwhile, the powerful mixture⁵⁹⁶ boils and heaves in the bronze cauldron, set over the flames, and turns white with swelling foam. In it she boils roots cut from the Hæmonian valleys, along with seeds, flowers, and bitter juices. She adds stones brought from the distant East and sand washed by the ocean's ebbing tide. She also adds frost gathered at night by moonlight, and the ominous wings of a screech owl,⁵⁹⁷ along with its flesh. She adds the entrails of an ambiguous wolf that used to change from a wild beast into a man. She also includes the thin, scaly shed skin of the Cinyphian water-snake,⁵⁹⁸ and the liver of the long-lived stag.⁵⁹⁹ To these she adds the bill and head of a crow that had lived for nine ages. With these and a thousand other nameless things, the barbarian princess completes the medicine prepared for the mortal body. She stirs everything with a long-dried branch of the peaceful olive, mixing the bottom ingredients with those at the top. Look! As the old branch turns in the hot cauldron, it begins to turn green. Soon it grows leaves and is suddenly laden with heavy olives. Wherever the fire throws foam from the hollow cauldron and the boiling drops fall, the ground turns green. Flowers and soft grass spring up.

Soon as Medea sees this, she opens the throat⁶⁰⁰ of the old man with a drawn sword; and allowing the former blood to escape, replenishes his veins with juices. Soon as Æson has drunk them in, either received in his mouth or in his wound, his beard and his hair⁶⁰¹ laying aside their hoariness, assume a black hue. His leanness flies, being expelled; his paleness and squalor are gone. His hollow veins are supplied with additional blood, and his limbs become instinct with vigor. Æson is astonished, and calls to recollection that he was such four times ten years before.

As soon as Medea sees this, she draws her sword and cuts the old man's throat⁶⁰⁰. She lets his old blood flow out and fills his veins with juices. Æson takes them in, either through his mouth or through his wound. At once, his beard and hair⁶⁰¹ turn from gray to black. His thinness disappears, and his paleness and frailty are gone. His hollow veins fill with fresh blood, and his limbs regain their strength. Æson is amazed and remembers that he was like this forty years before.

Liber had beheld from on high the miraculous operations of so great a prodigy; and taught thereby that youthful years can be restored to his nurses,⁶⁰² he requests this present from the daughter of Æetes.⁶⁰³

Liber had watched the miraculous effects of this great wonder from above. It taught him that his nurses could be made young again,⁶⁰² so he asked the daughter of Æetes for this gift.⁶⁰³

And that her arts⁶⁰⁴ may not cease, the Phasian feigns a counterfeit quarrel with her husband, and flies as a suppliant to the threshold of Pelias⁶⁰⁵ and (as he himself is oppressed with old age) his daughters receive her; whom, after a short time, the crafty Colchian engages to herself by the appearance of a pretended friendship. And while among the greatest of her merits, she relates that the infirmities of Æson have been removed, and is dwelling upon that part of the story, a hope is suggested to the damsels, the daughters of Pelias, that by the like art their parent may become young again; and this they request of her, and repeatedly entreat her to name her own price. For a short time she is silent, and appears to be hesitating, and keeps their mind in suspense, as they ask, with an affected gravity.

So that her arts⁶⁰⁴ may continue, the Phasian pretends to quarrel with her husband. She flees to the door of Pelias⁶⁰⁵ as a supplicant. Since Pelias himself is burdened by old age, his daughters take her in. Before long, the crafty Colchian wins them over by pretending to be their friend. Among her greatest achievements, she tells them, she has cured Æson of the infirmities of old age. As she dwells on that part of the story, the daughters of Pelias begin to hope. Perhaps the same art can make their father young again. They ask her to do it and repeatedly beg her to name her price. For a short time, she says nothing and pretends to hesitate. As they plead, she keeps them in suspense, putting on an air of seriousness.

Afterwards, when she has promised them, she says, “That there may be the greater confidence in this my skill, the leader of the flock among your sheep, which is the most advanced in age, shall become a lamb by this preparation.” Immediately, a fleecy ram, enfeebled by innumerable years, is brought, with his horns bending around his hollow temples; whose withered throat, when she has cut with the Hæmonian knife, and stained the steel with its scanty blood, the enchantress plunges the limbs of the sheep, and her potent juices together, into the hollow copper. The limbs of his body are lessened, and he puts off his horns, and his years together with his horns; and in the midst of the kettle a low bleating is heard. And without any delay, while they are wondering at the bleating, a lamb springs forth, and gambols in its course, and seeks the suckling dugs. The daughters of Pelias are amazed; and after her promises have obtained her credit, then, indeed, they urge her still more strongly. Phœbus had thrice taken the yoke off his horses sinking in the Iberian sea;⁶⁰⁶ and upon the fourth night the radiant stars were twinkling, when the deceitful daughter of Æetes set pure water upon a blazing fire, and herbs without any virtue. And now sleep like to death, their bodies being relaxed, had seized the king, and the guards together with their king, which her charms and the influence of her enchanting tongue had caused. The daughters of the king, as ordered, had entered the threshold, together with the Colchian, and had surrounded the bed; “Why do you hesitate now, in your indolence? Unsheathe your swords,” says she, “and exhaust the ancient gore, that I may replenish his empty veins with youthful blood. The life and the age of your father is now in your power. If you have any affection and cherish not vain hopes, perform your duty to your father, and drive away old age with your weapons, and, thrusting in the steel, let out his corrupted blood.”

After making her promises, she says to them, “To give you greater confidence in my skill, I will use this preparation on the oldest sheep in your flock. The ram that leads the flock will become a lamb.” At once, a woolly ram is brought in, weak from countless years. His horns curve around his hollow temples. The enchantress cuts his withered throat with the Hæmonian knife, staining the blade with his scanty blood. Then she plunges the sheep's limbs and her powerful potions into the hollow copper vessel. His limbs grow smaller, and he sheds his horns and his years together. A faint bleating is heard from the middle of the kettle. As they marvel at the sound, a lamb springs out without delay. It gambols away and seeks a teat to suckle. The daughters of Pelias are amazed. Now that her promises have won their trust, they urge her even more strongly. Phœbus had three times unyoked his horses as they sank into the Iberian sea.⁶⁰⁶ On the fourth night, the bright stars were twinkling. Then the deceitful daughter of Æetes placed pure water and useless herbs over a blazing fire. By now, the king and his guards had fallen into a deathlike sleep, their bodies slack. Her spells and the power of her enchanting tongue had brought it on. The daughters of the king had entered as ordered with the Colchian and gathered around the bed. “Why do you hesitate now, doing nothing? Unsheathe your swords,” she says, “and drain his old blood, so that I can fill his empty veins with youthful blood. Your father's life and age are now in your hands. If you have any love for him and do not cling to vain hopes, do your duty to your father. Drive away old age with your weapons. Plunge in the steel and let out his corrupted blood.”

Upon this exhortation, as each of them is affectionate, she becomes especially undutiful, and that she may not be wicked, she commits wickedness. Yet not one is able to look upon her own blow; and they turn away their eyes, and turning away their faces, they deal chance blows with their cruel right hands. He, streaming with gore, yet raises his limbs on his elbows, and, half-mangled, attempts to rise from the couch; and in the midst of so many swords stretching forth his pale arms, he says, “What are you doing, my daughters? What arms you against the life of your parent?” Their courage and their hands fail them. As he is about to say more, the Colchian severs his throat, together with his words, and plunges him, thus mangled, in the boiling cauldron.

At this urging, the more loving each daughter is, the more she betrays her duty. To avoid doing wrong, she does wrong. Yet none can bear to watch her own blow. They turn their eyes and faces away and strike blindly with their cruel right hands. Streaming with blood, he still props himself up on his elbows. Half-mangled, he tries to rise from the couch. Amid so many swords, he stretches out his pale arms and says, “What are you doing, my daughters? What makes you raise your weapons against your own father’s life?” Their courage fails them, and their hands fall still. As he is about to say more, the Colchian cuts his throat, cutting off his words. Then she plunges his thus mangled body into the boiling cauldron.

Medea, after having killed Pelias, goes through several countries to Corinth, where, finding that Jason, in her absence, has married the daughter of king Creon, she sets fire to the palace, whereby the princess and her father are consumed. She then murders the two children which she had by Jason, before his face, and takes to flight.

After killing Pelias, Medea travels through several countries to Corinth. There she finds that Jason married the daughter of King Creon while she was away. She sets fire to the palace, killing the princess and her father. She then murders her two children by Jason in front of him and flees.

And unless she had mounted into the air with winged dragons, she would not have been exempt from punishment; she flies aloft, over both shady Pelion, the lofty habitation⁶⁰⁷ of the son of Phillyra, and over Othrys, and the places noted for the fate of the ancient Cerambus.⁶⁰⁸ He, by the aid of Nymphs, being lifted on wings into the air, when the ponderous earth was covered by the sea pouring over it, not being overwhelmed, escaped the flood of Deucalion. On the left side, she leaves the Æolian Pitane,⁶⁰⁹ and the image of the long Dragon⁶¹⁰ made out of stone, and the wood of Ida,⁶¹¹ in which Bacchus hid a stolen bullock beneath the appearance of a fictitious stag; the spot too, where the father of Corythus⁶¹² lies buried beneath a little sand, and the fields which Mæra⁶¹³ alarmed by her unusual barking.

If she had not risen into the air with winged dragons, she would not have escaped punishment. She flies high over shady Pelion, the lofty home⁶⁰⁷ of the son of Phillyra. She flies over Othrys and the places known for the fate of ancient Cerambus.⁶⁰⁸ With the help of Nymphs, he rose into the air on wings. When the sea poured over the heavy earth and covered it, he escaped Deucalion’s flood without being swallowed up. On her left, she passes Æolian Pitane,⁶⁰⁹ the stone image of the long Dragon,⁶¹⁰ and the woods of Ida.⁶¹¹ There Bacchus hid a stolen bullock by making it look like a stag. She also passes the spot where the father of Corythus⁶¹² lies buried beneath a little sand. And she passes the fields that Mæra⁶¹³ alarmed with her unusual barking.

The city, too, of Eurypylus,⁶¹⁴ in which the Coan matrons⁶¹⁵ wore horns, at the time when the herd of Hercules⁶¹⁶ departed thence; Phœbean Rhodes⁶¹⁷ also, and the Ialysian Telchines,⁶¹⁸ whose eyes⁶¹⁹ corrupting all things by the very looking upon them, Jupiter utterly hating, thrust beneath the waves of his brother. She passed, too, over the Cartheian walls of ancient Cea,⁶²⁰ where her father Alcidamas⁶²¹ was destined to wonder that a gentle dove could arise from the body of his daughter.

She also passed over the city of Eurypylus,⁶¹⁴ where the Coan matrons⁶¹⁵ wore horns when the herd of Hercules⁶¹⁶ departed from there. She passed over Phœbean Rhodes⁶¹⁷ and the Ialysian Telchines.⁶¹⁸ Their eyes⁶¹⁹ corrupted everything they looked at. Jupiter hated them utterly and cast them beneath his brother’s waves. She also passed over the Cartheian walls of ancient Cea.⁶²⁰ There, Alcidamas⁶²¹ was destined to marvel when a gentle dove emerged from the body of his daughter.

After that, she beholds the lakes of Hyrie,⁶²² and Cycneian Tempe,⁶²³ which the swan that had suddenly become such, frequented. For there Phyllius, at the request of the boy, had given him birds, and a fierce lion tamed; being ordered, too, to subdue a bull, he had subdued him; and being angry at his despising his love so often, he denied him, when begging the bull as his last reward. The other, indignant, said, “Thou shalt wish that thou hadst given it;” and then leaped from a high rock. All imagined he had fallen; but, transformed into a swan, he hovered in the air on snow-white wings. But his mother, Hyrie, not knowing that he was saved, dissolved in tears, and formed a lake called after her own name.

After that, she sees the lakes of Hyrie,⁶²² and Cycneian Tempe,⁶²³ where the boy who had suddenly become a swan often went. There, at the boy’s request, Phyllius had given him birds and a fierce lion he had tamed. When the boy ordered him to subdue a bull, he did that too. But Phyllius was angry because the boy had so often rejected his love. So he refused when the boy begged for the bull as his last reward. Indignant, the boy said, “You will wish you had given it to me.” Then he leaped from a high rock. All thought he had fallen, but he had been transformed into a swan. He hovered in the air on snow-white wings. His mother, Hyrie, did not know he was safe. She dissolved in tears and formed a lake named after her.

Adjacent to these places is Pleuron;⁶²⁴ in which Combe,⁶²⁵ the daughter of Ophis, escaped the wounds of her sons with trembling wings. After that, she sees the fields of Calaurea,⁶²⁶ sacred to Latona, conscious of the transformation of their king, together with his wife, into birds. Cyllene is on the right hand, on which Menephron⁶²⁷ was one day to lie with his mother, after the manner of savage beasts. Far hence she beholds Cephisus,⁶²⁸ lamenting the fate of his grandson, changed by Apollo into a bloated sea-calf; and the house of Eumelus,⁶²⁹ lamenting his son in the air.

Next to these places is Pleuron.⁶²⁴ There Combe,⁶²⁵ daughter of Ophis, escaped her sons’ blows on trembling wings. After that, she sees the fields of Calaurea,⁶²⁶ sacred to Latona. Those fields witnessed the transformation of their king and his wife into birds. On the right is Cyllene, where Menephron⁶²⁷ would one day lie with his mother, like a savage beast. Far away, she sees Cephisus,⁶²⁸ mourning his grandson, whom Apollo changed into a bloated sea-calf. She also sees the house of Eumelus,⁶²⁹ who mourns his son in the air.

At length, borne on the wings of her dragons, she reached the Pirenian Ephyre.⁶³⁰ Here, those of ancient times promulgated that in the early ages mortal bodies were produced from mushrooms springing from rain. But after the new-made bride was consumed, through the Colchian drugs, and both seas beheld the king’s house on fire, her wicked sword was bathed in the blood of her sons; and the mother, having thus barbarously revenged herself, fled from the arms of Jason. Being borne hence by her Titanian dragons,⁶³¹ she entered the city of Pallas, which saw thee, most righteous Phineus,⁶³² and thee, aged Periphas,⁶³³ flying together, and the granddaughter of Polypemon⁶³⁴ resting upon new-formed wings.

At last, she reached Pirenian Ephyre, carried on the wings of her dragons.⁶³⁰ The people of ancient times said that, in the early ages, mortal bodies came from mushrooms that sprang up after rain. But the new bride was consumed by the Colchian drugs, and both seas saw the king’s house on fire. Then she bathed her wicked sword in the blood of her sons. Having thus taken her barbarous revenge, the mother fled from Jason’s arms. Her Titanian dragons carried her from there to the city of Pallas.⁶³¹ That city saw you, most righteous Phineus,⁶³² and you, aged Periphas,⁶³³ flying together. It also saw the granddaughter of Polypemon⁶³⁴ resting on newly formed wings.

Hercules chains the dog Cerberus, the guardian of the gates of the Infernal Regions. Theseus, after his exploits at Corinth, arrives at Athens, where Medea prepares a cup of poison for him. The king, however, recognizing his son, just as he is about to drink, snatches away the cup from him, while Medea flies in her chariot. Ægeus then makes a festival, to celebrate the arrival and preservation of Theseus. In the mean time, Minos, the king of Crete, solicits several princes to assist him in a war against Athens, to revenge the death of his son Androgeus, who had been murdered there.

Hercules chains Cerberus, the dog who guards the gates of the Infernal Regions. After his exploits at Corinth, Theseus arrives in Athens, where Medea prepares a cup of poison for him. But just as Theseus is about to drink, the king recognizes his son and snatches the cup away. Medea flees in her chariot. Ægeus then holds a festival to celebrate Theseus’s arrival and survival. Meanwhile, Minos, the king of Crete, asks several princes to help him wage war against Athens. He wants to avenge the death of his son Androgeus, who was murdered there.

Ægeus, to be blamed for this deed alone, shelters her; and hospitality is not enough, he also joins her to himself by the ties of marriage. And now was Theseus, his son, arrived, unknown to his father, who, by his valor, had established peace in the Isthmus between the two seas. For his destruction Medea mingles the wolfsbane, which she once brought with her from the shores of Scythia. This, they say, sprang from the teeth of the Echidnean dog. There is a gloomy cave,⁶³⁵ with a dark entrance, wherein there is a descending path, along which the Tirynthian hero dragged away Cerberus resisting, and turning his eyes sideways from the day and the shining rays of the Sun, in chains formed of adamant; he, filled with furious rage, filled the air with triple barkings at the same moment, and sprinkled the verdant fields with white foam. This, they suppose, grew solid, and, receiving the nourishment of a fruitful and productive soil, acquired the power of being noxious. Because, full of life, it springs up on the hard rock, the rustics call it aconite.⁶³⁶

Ægeus, who deserves blame for this deed alone, gives her shelter. Not content with offering her hospitality, he also joins her to himself in marriage. Now his son Theseus had arrived, though his father did not recognize him. By his courage, Theseus had established peace on the Isthmus between the two seas. To kill him, Medea mixes a potion with wolfsbane, which she once brought from the shores of Scythia. The plant, they say, sprang from the teeth of the Echidnean dog. There is a gloomy cave,⁶³⁵ with a dark entrance, where a path leads downward. Along this path, the Tirynthian hero dragged Cerberus in chains of adamant. Cerberus resisted, turning his eyes sideways to avoid the daylight and the shining rays of the Sun. Wild with rage, he barked from all three heads at once, filling the air with noise. He also sprayed white foam over the green fields. They believe that the foam hardened and drew nourishment from the rich, fertile soil. It then acquired the power to poison. Because it grows vigorously on hard rock, the country people call it aconite.⁶³⁶

This, by the contrivance of his wife, the father Ægeus himself presented to his son,⁶³⁷ as though to an enemy. Theseus had received the presented cup with unsuspecting right hand, when his father perceived upon the ivory hilt of his sword the tokens of his race,⁶³⁸ and struck the guilty draught from his mouth. She escaped death, having raised clouds by her enchantments.

Through his wife’s scheme, Ægeus himself offered this to his son,⁶³⁷ as if Theseus were an enemy. Theseus took the cup in his right hand, suspecting nothing. Then his father saw the signs of his family on the ivory hilt of his sword.⁶³⁸ He knocked the deadly drink away from his mouth. She escaped death by raising clouds with her magic.

But the father, although he rejoices at his son’s being safe, astonished that so great a wickedness can be committed with so narrow an escape from death, heats the altars with fires, and loads the Gods with gifts; and the axes strike the muscular necks of the oxen having their horns bound with wreaths. No day is said ever to have shone upon the people of Erectheus more famous than that—the senators and the common people keep up the festivity; songs, too, they sing, wine inspiring wit. “Thee, greatest Theseus,” said they, “Marathon⁶³⁹ admired for shedding the blood of the Cretan bull; and that the husbandman ploughs Cromyon⁶⁴⁰ in safety from the boar, is thy procurement and thy work. By thy means the country of Epidaurus saw the club-bearing son of Vulcan⁶⁴¹ fall; and the banks of the river Cephisus⁶⁴² saw the cruel Procrustes fall by thee. Eleusis, sacred to Ceres, beheld the death of Cercyon.⁶⁴³ Sinnis⁶⁴⁴ fell too, who barbarously used his great powers; who was able to bend huge beams, and used to pull pine trees from aloft to the earth, destined to scatter human bodies far and wide. The road to Alcathoë,⁶⁴⁵ the Lelegeïan city, is now open in safety, Scyron⁶⁴⁶ being laid low in death: and the earth denies a resting-place, the water, too, denies a resting-place to the bones of the robber scattered piecemeal; these, long tossed about, length of time is reported to have hardened into rocks. To these rocks the name of Scyron adheres. If we should reckon up thy glorious deeds, and thy years, thy actions would exceed thy years in number. For thee, bravest hero, we make public vows: in thy honor do we quaff the draughts of wine.” The palace rings with the acclamations of the populace, and the prayers of those applauding; and there is no place sorrowing throughout the whole city.

The father rejoices that his son is safe. Yet he is astonished that such wickedness could be committed, bringing his son so close to death. He lights fires on the altars and heaps gifts upon the Gods. Axes strike the muscular necks of oxen, their horns bound with wreaths. No day is said ever to have been more glorious for the people of Erectheus. Senators and common people alike celebrate. They sing songs, too, their wit inspired by wine. “Greatest Theseus,” they said, “Marathon⁶³⁹ admired you for shedding the blood of the Cretan bull. Thanks to your efforts, farmers can plow Cromyon⁶⁴⁰ without fear of the boar. Through you, the land of Epidaurus saw the club-bearing son of Vulcan⁶⁴¹ fall. And the banks of the river Cephisus⁶⁴² saw the cruel Procrustes fall by your hand. Eleusis, sacred to Ceres, witnessed the death of Cercyon.⁶⁴³ Sinnis⁶⁴⁴ fell too. He used his great strength cruelly, bending huge beams and pulling tall pine trees down to the ground. The trees were meant to tear human bodies apart and scatter them far and wide. “The road to Alcathoë,⁶⁴⁵ the Lelegeïan city, is now safe to travel, for Scyron⁶⁴⁶ has been struck down in death. And neither earth nor water gives a resting place to the robber’s scattered bones. After they had been tossed about for a long time, time is said to have hardened them into rocks. These rocks still bear the name of Scyron. If we counted your glorious deeds and your years, your deeds would outnumber your years. For you, bravest hero, we make public vows. In your honor we drink wine.” The palace rings with the people’s cheers and the prayers of those praising him. Nowhere in the whole city is there sorrow.

And yet (so surely is the pleasure of no one unalloyed, and some anxiety is ever interposing amid joyous circumstances), Ægeus does not have his joy undisturbed, on receiving back his son. Minos prepares for war; who, though he is strong in soldiers, strong in shipping, is still strongest of all in the resentment of a parent, and, with retributive arms, avenges the death of his son Androgeus. Yet, before the war, he obtains auxiliary forces, and crosses the sea with a swift fleet, in which he is accounted strong. On the one side, he joins Anaphe⁶⁴⁷ to himself; and the realms of Astypale; Anaphe by treaty, the realms of Astypale by conquest; on the other side, the low Myconos, and the chalky lands of Cimolus,⁶⁴⁸ and the flourishing Cythnos, Scyros, and the level Seriphos;⁶⁴⁹ Paros, too, abounding in marble, and the island wherein the treacherous Sithonian⁶⁵⁰ betrayed the citadel, on receiving the gold, which, in her covetousness, she had demanded. She was changed into a bird, which even now has a passion for gold, the jackdaw namely, black-footed, and covered with black feathers.

And yet, no one's pleasure is ever pure. Some anxiety is always intruding on happy moments. So Ægeus's joy at getting his son back is not undisturbed. Minos prepares for war. Though he has many soldiers and ships, his greatest strength is a father's resentment. He takes up arms to avenge the death of his son Androgeus. Before the war, he gathers allied forces. He crosses the sea with a swift fleet, one of his great strengths. On one side, he gains Anaphe⁶⁴⁷ and the lands of Astypale. He gains Anaphe by treaty and Astypale by conquest. On the other side, he gains low-lying Myconos, the chalky lands of Cimolus,⁶⁴⁸ flourishing Cythnos, Scyros, and flat Seriphos.⁶⁴⁹ He also gains Paros, rich in marble, and the island where the treacherous Sithonian⁶⁵⁰ betrayed the citadel. She did it for the gold she had greedily demanded. She was changed into a bird that still has a passion for gold: the jackdaw, with black feet and black feathers.

Minos, having engaged several powers in his interest, and having been refused by others, goes to the island of Ægina, where Æacus reigns, to endeavor to secure an alliance with that prince; but without success. Upon his departure, Cephalus arrives, as ambassador, from Athens, and obtains succors from the king; who gives him an account of the desolation which a pestilence had formerly made in his country, and of the surprising manner in which it had been re-peopled.

Minos won the support of several powers, but others refused him. He then went to the island of Ægina, where Æacus ruled, to seek an alliance with him. But he failed. After Minos left, Cephalus arrived as an ambassador from Athens and obtained aid from the king. Æacus told him how a plague had once devastated his country and how it had been repopulated in a remarkable way.

But Oliaros,⁶⁵¹ and Didyme, and Tenos,⁶⁵² and Andros,⁶⁵³ and Gyaros,⁶⁵⁴ and Peparethos, fruitful in the smooth olive,⁶⁵⁵ do not aid the Gnossian ships. Then Minos makes for Œnopia,⁶⁵⁶ the kingdom of Æacus, lying to the left. The ancients called it Œnopia, but Æacus himself called it Ægina, from the name of his mother. The multitude rushes forth, and desires greatly to know a man of so great celebrity. Both Telamon,⁶⁵⁷ and Peleus, younger than Telamon, and Phocus, the king’s third son, go to meet him. Æacus himself, too, though slow through the infirmity of old age, goes forth, and asks him what is the reason of his coming? The ruler of a hundred cities, being put in mind of his fatherly sorrow for his son, sighs, and gives him this answer: “I beg thee to assist arms taken up on account of my son; and be a party in a war of affection. For his shades do I demand satisfaction.” To him the grandson of Asopus says, “Thou askest in vain, and for a thing not to be done by my city; for, indeed, there is no land more closely allied to the people of Cecropia. Such are the terms of our compact.” Minos goes away in sadness, and says, “This compact of thine will cost thee a dear price;” and he thinks it more expedient to threaten war than to wage it, and to waste his forces there prematurely.

But Oliaros,⁶⁵¹ Didyme, Tenos,⁶⁵² Andros,⁶⁵³ Gyaros,⁶⁵⁴ and Peparethos, rich in smooth olives,⁶⁵⁵ do not aid the Gnossian ships. Then Minos sails to Œnopia,⁶⁵⁶ the kingdom of Æacus, which lies to the left. The ancients called it Œnopia, but Æacus himself named it Ægina, after his mother. The people rush out, eager to see so famous a man. Telamon,⁶⁵⁷ his younger brother Peleus, and Phocus, the king’s third son, go to meet him. Æacus himself also comes out, though the infirmities of age slow him. He asks Minos why he has come. The ruler of a hundred cities is reminded of his grief for his son. He sighs and answers: “I ask you to help me fight the war I have begun for my son. Join me in a war fought out of love. I demand justice for his shade.” The grandson of Asopus replies, “You ask in vain. My city cannot do this. No land is more closely allied to the people of Cecropia. Those are the terms of our agreement.” Minos leaves in sorrow and says, “Your agreement will cost you dearly.” He thinks it better to threaten war than to wage it and waste his forces there too soon.

Even yet may the Lyctian⁶⁵⁸ fleet be beheld from the Œnopian walls, when an Attic ship, speeding onward with full sail, appears, and enters the friendly harbor, which is carrying Cephalus, and together with him the request of his native country. The youthful sons of Æacus recognize Cephalus, although seen but after a long period, and give their right hands, and lead him into the house of their father. The graceful hero, even still retaining some traces of his former beauty, enters; and, holding a branch of his country’s olive, being the elder, he has on his right and left hand the two younger in age, Clytus and Butes, the sons of Pallas.⁶⁵⁹ After their first meeting has had words suitable thereto, Cephalus relates the request of the people of Cecrops, and begs assistance, and recounts the treaties and alliances of their forefathers; and he adds, that the subjection of the whole of Achaia is aimed at. After the eloquence of Cephalus has thus promoted the cause entrusted to him, Æacus, leaning with his left hand on the handle of his sceptre, says—

The Lyctian⁶⁵⁸ fleet can still be seen from the Œnopian walls when an Attic ship appears under full sail. It enters the friendly harbor, carrying Cephalus and a request from his native country. The young sons of Æacus recognize Cephalus, although they have not seen him for a long time. They shake his hand and lead him into their father’s house. The graceful hero enters, still bearing traces of his former beauty. He carries a branch of his country’s olive tree. On either side of him walk Clytus and Butes, the sons of Pallas,⁶⁵⁹ both younger than he. After they exchange suitable greetings, Cephalus explains the request of the people of Cecrops and asks for help. He recalls the treaties and alliances of their forefathers. He adds that the enemy aims to bring all of Achaia under its control. After Cephalus has eloquently pleaded the cause entrusted to him, Æacus leans his left hand on his sceptre and says:

“Ask not for assistance, O Athens, but take it, and consider, beyond doubt, the resources which this island possesses, as thy own, and let all the forces of my kingdom go along with thee. Strength is not wanting. I have soldiers enough both for my defence, and for opposing the enemy. Thanks to the Gods; this is a prosperous time, and one that can excuse no refusal of mine.” “Yes, and be it so,” says Cephalus:⁶⁶⁰ “and I pray that thy power may increase along with thy citizens. Indeed, as I came along just now, I received much pleasure, when a number of youths, so comely and so equal in their ages, came forward to meet me. Yet I miss many from among them, whom I once saw when I was formerly entertained in this city.” Æacus heaves a sigh, and thus he says, with mournful voice: “A better fortune will be following a lamentable beginning; I only wish I could relate this to you. I will now tell it you without any order, that I may not be detaining you by any long preamble.⁶⁶¹ They are now lying as bones and ashes, for whom thou art inquiring with tenacious memory. And how great a part were they of my resources that perished! A dreadful pestilence fell upon my people, through the anger of the vengeful Juno, who hated a country named⁶⁶² from her rival. While the calamity seemed natural, and the baneful cause of so great destruction was unknown, it was opposed by the resources of medicine. But the havoc exceeded all help, which now lay baffled. At first the heaven encompassed the earth with a thick darkness, and enclosed within its clouds a drowsy heat. And while the Moon was four times filling her orb by joining her horns, and, four times decreasing, was diminishing her full orb, the hot South winds were blowing with their deadly blasts. It is known for a fact that the infection came even into fountains and lakes, and that many thousands of serpents were wandering over the uncultivated fields, and were tainting the rivers with their venom. The violence of this sudden distemper was first discovered by the destruction of dogs, and birds, and sheep, and oxen, and among the wild beasts. The unfortunate ploughman wonders that strong oxen fall down at their work, and lie stretched in the middle of the furrow. And while the wool-bearing flocks utter weakly bleatings, both their wool falls off spontaneously, and their bodies pine away. The horse, once of high mettle, and of great fame on the course, degenerates for the purposes of victory; and, forgetting his ancient honors, he groans at the manger, doomed to perish by an inglorious distemper. The boar remembers not to be angry, nor the hind to trust to her speed, nor the bears to rush upon the powerful herds.

“Do not ask for help, O Athens. Take it, and know without doubt that this island’s resources are yours. Let all the forces of my kingdom go with you. We do not lack strength. I have enough soldiers both to defend my kingdom and to oppose the enemy. Thanks to the Gods, these are prosperous times, and I have no excuse to refuse.” “Yes, and let it be so,” says Cephalus.⁶⁶⁰ “I pray that your power may grow along with your people. As I came here just now, I was delighted by the young men who came out to meet me. They were all handsome and about the same age. Yet I miss many people I saw when I was a guest in this city before.” Æacus sighs and speaks in a mournful voice: “If only I could tell you that better fortune followed a tragic beginning. I will tell you the story without putting it in order. I do not want to delay you with a long introduction.⁶⁶¹ The people you remember so well and ask about are now bones and ashes. What a great part of my strength was lost with them! A dreadful plague struck my people through the anger of vengeful Juno. She hated this land because it was named⁶⁶² after her rival. At first the disaster seemed natural, and the deadly cause of so much destruction was unknown. So we fought it with medicine. But the destruction overwhelmed every remedy, and all help failed. “At first the sky covered the earth in thick darkness, trapping a stifling heat beneath its clouds. Four times the Moon grew full, its horns joining to complete its circle. Four times it waned again. All the while, hot South winds blew their deadly blasts. We know that the infection reached even the springs and lakes. Thousands upon thousands of serpents wandered over the uncultivated fields and poisoned the rivers with their venom. “The sudden disease first showed its force by killing dogs, birds, sheep, oxen, and wild beasts. The unfortunate ploughman watches in amazement as his strong oxen collapse at work. They lie stretched out in the middle of the furrow. And the sheep bleat weakly. Their wool falls off on its own, and their bodies waste away. The horse, once spirited and famous on the racecourse, is no longer fit for victory. Forgetting his former honors, he groans at the manger, doomed to die of a shameful disease. The boar forgets his rage, the hind no longer trusts her speed, and bears no longer charge at the powerful herds.

“A faintness seizes all animals; both in the woods, in the fields, and in the roads, loathsome carcases lie strewed. The air is corrupted with the smell of them. I am relating strange events. The dogs, and the ravenous birds, and the hoary wolves, touch them not; falling away, they rot, and, by their exhalations, produce baneful effects, and spread the contagion far and wide. With more dreadful destruction the pestilence reaches the wretched husbandmen, and riots within the walls of the extensive city. At first, the bowels are scorched,⁶⁶³ and a redness, and the breath drawn with difficulty, is a sign of the latent flame. The tongue, grown rough, swells; and the parched mouth gapes, with its throbbing veins; the noxious air, too, is inhaled by the breathing. The infected cannot endure a bed, or any coverings; but they lay their hardened breasts upon the earth, and their bodies are not made cool by the ground, but the ground is made hot by their bodies. There is no physician at hand; the cruel malady breaks out upon even those who administer remedies; and their own arts become an injury to their owners. The nearer at hand any one is, and the more faithfully he attends on the sick, the sooner does he come in for his share of the fatality. And when the hope of recovery is departed, and they see the end of their malady only in death, they indulge their humors, and there is no concern as to what is to their advantage; for, indeed, nothing is to their advantage. All sense, too, of shame being banished, they lie promiscuously close to the fountains and rivers, and deep wells; and their thirst is not extinguished by drinking, before their life is. Many, overpowered with the disease, are unable to arise thence, and die amid the very water; and yet another even drinks that water. So great, too, is the irksomeness for the wretched creatures of their hated beds, that they leap out, or, if their strength forbids them standing, they roll their bodies upon the ground, and every man flies from his own dwelling; each one’s house seems fatal to him: and since the cause of the calamity is unknown, the place that is known is blamed. You might see persons, half dead, wandering about the roads, as long as they were able to stand; others, weeping and lying about on the ground, and rolling their wearied eyes with the dying movement. They stretch, too, their limbs towards the stars of the overhanging heavens, breathing forth their lives here and there, where death has overtaken them.

“Faintness seizes all animals. Foul carcasses lie scattered in the woods, fields, and roads. Their smell poisons the air. I am telling of strange events. Dogs, birds of prey, and gray wolves will not touch the carcasses. They decay and rot, giving off deadly fumes that spread the disease far and wide. The plague strikes the wretched farmers with even greater force and rages within the walls of the vast city. At first, the insides burn.⁶⁶³ Flushed skin and difficulty breathing signal the hidden fire. The tongue becomes rough and swollen, and the dry mouth gapes, its veins throbbing. With each breath, the sufferer draws in the poisonous air. The infected cannot bear a bed or any covers. Instead, they lay their hardened chests on the earth. But the ground does not cool their bodies. Their bodies heat the ground. No physician is at hand. The cruel disease strikes even those who offer remedies, and their own skills bring harm upon them. The closer someone stays to the sick, and the more faithfully he cares for them, the sooner he shares their fate. When the sick lose hope of recovery and see that only death will end their illness, they give in to their desires. They no longer care what might help them, for indeed nothing can help them. All shame gone, they lie together without distinction beside fountains, rivers, and deep wells. Their thirst is not quenched by drinking before their lives are extinguished. Many, overcome by the disease, cannot get up and die in the water itself. Yet someone else drinks that very water. The wretched creatures hate their beds so much that they leap out of them. Or, if they are too weak to stand, they roll onto the ground. Everyone flees his own home, which seems deadly to him. And because the cause of the disaster is unknown, they blame the place they know. You could see half-dead people wandering the roads as long as they could stand. Others lay weeping on the ground, rolling their weary eyes as they died. They stretched their limbs toward the stars overhead, breathing their last wherever death overtook them.

“What were my feelings then? Were they not such as they ought to be, to hate life, and to desire to be a sharer with my people? On whichever side my eyes were turned, there was the multitude strewed on the earth, just as when rotten apples fall from the moved branches, and acorns from the shaken holm-oak. Thou seest⁶⁶⁴ a lofty temple, opposite thee, raised on high with long steps: Jupiter has it as his own. Who did not offer incense at those altars in vain? how often did the husband, while he was uttering words of entreaty for his wife, or the father for his son, end his life at the altars without prevailing? in his hand, too, was part of the frankincense found unconsumed! How often did the bulls, when brought to the temples, while the priest was making his supplications, and pouring the pure wine between their horns, fall without waiting for the wound! While I myself was offering sacrifice to Jupiter, for myself, and my country, and my three sons, the victim sent forth dismal lowings, and suddenly falling down without any blow, stained the knives thrust into it, with its scanty blood; the diseased entrails, too, had lost all marks of truth, and the warnings of the Gods. The baneful malady penetrated to the entrails. I have seen the carcases lying, thrown out before the sacred doors; before the very altars, too, that death might become more odious⁶⁶⁵ to the Gods. Some finish their lives with the halter, and by death dispel the apprehension of death, and voluntarily invite approaching fate. The bodies of the dead are not borne out with any funeral rites, according to the custom; for the city gates cannot receive the multitude of the processions. Either unburied they lie upon the ground, or they are laid on the lofty pyres without the usual honors. And now there is no distinction, and they struggle for the piles; and they are burnt on fires that belong to others. They who should weep are wanting; and the souls of sons, and of husbands, of old and of young, wander about unlamented: there is not room sufficient for the tombs, nor trees for the fires.”

“What did I feel then? Was it not natural to hate life and want to share my people’s fate? Wherever I looked, crowds lay scattered on the ground. They were like rotten apples falling from shaken branches, or acorns from a shaken holm-oak. You see⁶⁶⁴ a tall temple opposite you, raised high above a long flight of steps. It belongs to Jupiter. Who did not offer incense at those altars in vain? How often did a husband beg for his wife, or a father for his son? And how often did he die at the altar without having his prayer answered? Part of the frankincense was even found unburned in his hand! How often were bulls brought to the temples, only to fall before they could be wounded? They fell while the priest was praying and pouring pure wine between their horns. I myself offered a sacrifice to Jupiter for myself, my country, and my three sons. The animal gave dreadful lowing cries and suddenly fell without being struck. Its scanty blood stained the knives thrust into it. The diseased entrails had lost all signs that could reveal the truth and the gods’ warnings. The deadly disease had reached the entrails. I have seen corpses thrown down before the sacred doors and even before the altars. They were put there to make death more hateful⁶⁶⁵ to the gods. Some end their lives with a noose. By dying, they escape the fear of death and willingly invite the fate that is approaching. The dead are not carried out with the customary funeral rites. The city gates cannot accommodate the crowds in the processions. The bodies either lie unburied on the ground or are placed on high funeral pyres without the usual honors. Now there is no distinction. People fight over the pyres, and their dead are burned on fires meant for others. There is no one left to weep. The souls of sons and husbands, old and young, wander without anyone to mourn them. There is not enough room for tombs or enough wood for the fires.”

Jupiter, at the prayer of his son Æacus, transforms the ants that are in the hollow of an old oak into men; these, from the Greek name of those insects, are called Myrmidons.

At the request of his son Æacus, Jupiter turns the ants in the hollow of an old oak into men. These men are called Myrmidons, after the Greek word for ants.

“Stupefied by so great an outburst of misery, I said, ‘O Jupiter! if stories do not falsely say that thou didst come into the embraces of Ægina, the daughter of Asopus, and thou art not ashamed, great Father, to be the parent of myself; either restore my people to me, or else bury me, as well, in the sepulchre.’ He gave a signal by lightnings, and by propitious thunders. I accepted the omen, and I said, ‘I pray that these may be happy signs of thy intentions: the omen which thou givest me, I accept as a pledge.’ By chance there was close by, an oak sacred to Jupiter, of seed from Dodona,⁶⁶⁶ but thinly covered with wide-spreading boughs. Here we beheld some ants, the gatherers of corn, in a long train, carrying a heavy burden in their little mouths, and keeping their track in the wrinkled bark. While I was wondering at their numbers, I said, ‘Do thou, most gracious Father, give me citizens as many in number, and replenish my empty walls.’ The lofty oak trembled, and made a noise in its boughs, moving without a breeze. My limbs quivered, with trembling fear, and my hair stood on an end; yet I gave kisses to the earth and to the oak, nor did I confess that I had any hopes; and yet I did hope, and I cherished my own wishes in my mind. Night came on, and sleep seized my body wearied with anxiety. Before my eyes the same oak seemed to be present, and to bear as many branches, and as many animals in its branches, and to be trembling with a similar motion, and to be scattering the grain-bearing troop on the fields below. These suddenly grew, and seemed greater and greater, and raised themselves from the ground, and stood with their bodies upright; and laid aside their leanness, and the former number of their feet, and their sable hue, and assumed in their limbs the human shape.

“Stunned by such an overwhelming disaster, I said, ‘O Jupiter! Stories say that you came into the arms of Ægina, the daughter of Asopus. If those stories are true, and you are not ashamed, great Father, to be my father, grant my prayer. Either restore my people to me, or bury me with them in the tomb.’ He gave me a sign with lightning and favorable thunder. I accepted the omen and said, ‘I pray that these are happy signs of your intentions. I accept the omen you give me as a pledge.’ By chance, an oak sacred to Jupiter stood nearby. It had grown from a seed from Dodona,⁶⁶⁶ and its wide-spreading branches had sparse foliage. There we saw a long line of ants gathering grain. They carried heavy loads in their little mouths and followed a path along the wrinkled bark. As I marveled at their numbers, I said, ‘Most gracious Father, give me as many citizens as these ants. Fill my empty city.’ The tall oak trembled, and its branches rustled, though there was no breeze. My limbs shook with fear, and my hair stood on end. Yet I kissed the earth and the oak. I did not admit that I had any hope, and yet I did hope, and I cherished my wishes in my heart. Night came, and sleep overtook my body, worn out by worry. In my dream, I saw the same oak, with as many branches and as many creatures on them. It seemed to tremble in the same way and scatter the grain-bearing troop on the fields below. The ants suddenly grew larger and larger. They rose from the ground and stood upright. They lost their thinness, their former number of legs, and their black color. Their bodies took on human form.

“Sleep departs. When now awake, I censured the vision, and complained that there was no help for me from the Gods above. But within my palace there was a great murmur, and I seemed to be hearing the voices of men, to which I had now become unaccustomed. While I was supposing that these, too, were a part of my dream, lo! Telamon came in haste, and, opening the door, said, ‘Father, thou wilt see things beyond thy hopes or expectations. Do come out.’ I did go out, and I beheld and recognized such men, each in his turn, as I had seemed to behold in the vision of my sleep. They approached, and saluted me as their king. I offered up vows to Jupiter, and divided the city and the lands void of their former tillers, among this new-made people, and I called them Myrmidons,⁶⁶⁷ and did not deprive their name of the marks of their origin. Thou hast beheld their persons. Even still do they retain the manners which they formerly had; and they are a thrifty race, patient of toil, tenacious of what they get, and what they get they lay up. These, alike in years and in courage, will attend thee to the war, as soon as the East wind, which brought thee prosperously hither (for the East wind had brought him), shall have changed to the South.”

“Sleep left me. Now awake, I dismissed the vision and complained that the gods above offered me no help. But a great commotion arose in my palace. I seemed to hear men’s voices, a sound I had grown unaccustomed to. I thought these voices, too, were part of my dream. Then Telamon came hurrying in. He opened the door and said, ‘Father, you will see things beyond your hopes or expectations. Come out.’ I went out and saw the men I had seen in my dream. I recognized each one in turn. They approached and greeted me as their king. I made vows to Jupiter and divided the city and the lands among this new-made people. The lands had been left empty of those who once farmed them. I called them Myrmidons,⁶⁶⁷ keeping the mark of their origin in their name. You have seen them. They still have the habits they had before. They are a thrifty race, patient in their work and careful to hold on to what they get. They put aside whatever they acquire. These men, alike in age and courage, will go with you to war. They will leave as soon as the East wind changes to the South. It was the East wind that brought you safely here.”

Cephalus, having resisted the advances of Aurora, who has become enamoured of him while hunting, returns in disguise to his wife, Procris, to try if her affection for him is sincere. She, discovering his suspicions, flies to the woods, and becomes a huntress, with the determination not to see him again. Afterwards, on becoming reconciled to him, she bestows on him a dog and a dart, which Diana had once given her. The dog is turned into stone, while hunting a wild beast, which Themis has sent to ravage the territories of Thebes, after the interpretation of the riddle of the Sphinx, by Œdipus.

While Cephalus was hunting, Aurora fell in love with him and pursued him, but he resisted her advances. He returned to his wife, Procris, in disguise to test whether her love for him was sincere. When she discovered his suspicions, she fled to the woods and became a huntress, determined never to see him again. Later, they reconciled, and she gave him a dog and a dart that Diana had once given her. After Œdipus solved the Sphinx's riddle, Themis sent a wild beast to ravage the lands of Thebes. While the dog was hunting the beast, it was turned to stone.

In these and other narratives they passed the day. The last part of the day was spent in feasting, and the night in sleep. The golden Sun had now shed his beams, when the East wind was still blowing, and detained the sails about to return. The sons of Pallas repair to Cephalus, who was stricken in years. Cephalus and the sons of Pallas, together with him, come to the king; but a sound sleep still possessed the monarch. Phocus, the son of Æacus, received them at the threshold; for Telamon and his brother were levying men for the war. Phocus conducted the citizens of Cecrops into an inner room, and a handsome apartment. Soon as he had sat down with them, he observed that the grandson of Æolus⁶⁶⁸ was holding in his hand a javelin made of an unknown wood, the point of which was of gold.

They spent the day telling these and other stories. They feasted in the evening and slept through the night. The golden Sun had now spread his rays, when the East wind was still blowing, keeping their ships from sailing home. The sons of Pallas went to Cephalus, who was advanced in years. Cephalus and the sons of Pallas, together with him, came to the king, but the king was still fast asleep. Phocus, the son of Æacus, welcomed them at the door. Telamon and his brother were raising men for the war. Phocus led the citizens of Cecrops into a handsome inner room. As soon as he sat down with them, he noticed a javelin in the hand of the grandson of Æolus⁶⁶⁸. It was made of an unfamiliar wood and had a gold point.

Having first spoken a few words in promiscuous conversation, he said, “I am fond of the forests, and of the chase of wild beasts; still, from what wood the shaft of the javelin, which thou art holding, is cut, I have been for some time in doubt; certainly, if it were of wild ash, it would be of brown color; if of cornel-wood, there would be knots in it. Whence it comes I am ignorant, but my eyes have not looked upon a weapon used for a javelin, more beautiful than this.” One of the Athenian brothers replied, and said, “In it, thou wilt admire its utility, even more than its beauty. Whatever it is aimed at, it strikes; chance does not guide it when thrown, and it flies back stained with blood, no one returning it.” Then, indeed, does the Nereian youth⁶⁶⁹ inquire into all particulars, why it was given, and whence it came? who was the author of a present of so great value? What he asks, Cephalus tells him; but as to what he is ashamed to tell, and on what condition he received it, he is silent; and, being touched with sorrow for the loss of his wife, he thus speaks, with tears bursting forth: “Son of a Goddess, this weapon (who could have believed it?) makes me weep, and long will make me do so, if the Fates shall grant me long to live. ’Twas this that proved the destruction of me and of my dear wife. Would that I had ever been without this present! Procris was (if perchance the fame of Orithyïa⁶⁷⁰ may have more probably reached thy ears) the sister of Orithyïa, the victim of violence. If you should choose to compare the face and the manners of the two, she was the more worthy to be carried off. Her father Erectheus united her to me; love, too, united her to me. I was pronounced happy, and so I was. Not thus did it seem good to the Gods; or even now, perhaps, I should be so. The second month was now passing, after the marriage rites, when the saffron-colored Aurora, dispelling the darkness in the morn, beheld me, as I was planting nets for the horned deer, from the highest summit of the ever-blooming Hymettus,⁶⁷¹ and carried me off against my will. By the permission of the Goddess, let me relate what is true; though she is comely with her rosy face, and though she possesses the confines of light, and possesses the confines of darkness, though she is nourished with the draughts of nectar, still I loved Procris; Procris was ever in my thoughts, Procris was ever on my lips. I alleged the sacred ties of marriage, our late embraces, and our recent union, and the prior engagements of my forsaken bed. The Goddess was provoked, and said, ‘Cease thy complaints, ungrateful man; keep thy Procris; but, if my mind is gifted with foresight, thou wilt wish that thou hadst not had her;’” and thus, in anger, she sent me back to her.

After a few words of casual conversation, he said, “I love the forests and hunting wild beasts. But I have been wondering what wood the shaft of your javelin is made from. If it were wild ash, it would be brown. If it were cornel wood, it would have knots. I do not know where it comes from, but I have never seen a more beautiful javelin.” One of the Athenian brothers replied, “You will admire its usefulness even more than its beauty. It strikes whatever it is aimed at. Chance does not guide it when thrown. It flies back stained with blood, with no one bringing it back.” The Nereian youth⁶⁶⁹ then asked about every detail. Why had it been given, and where had it come from? Who had given him such a valuable gift? Cephalus answered his questions, but he was ashamed to say and kept silent about the condition on which he had received it. Grieving for the loss of his wife, he burst into tears and said: “Son of a Goddess, this weapon makes me weep. Who could have believed it? And it will make me weep for a long time, if the Fates grant me a long life. It was this weapon that destroyed me and my dear wife. If only I had never received this gift! Procris was the sister of Orithyïa, the victim of violence. Perhaps the fame of Orithyïa⁶⁷⁰ is more likely to have reached your ears. If you compared their faces and manners, Procris was more worthy of being carried off. “Her father Erectheus united her with me, and love also united us. People called me happy, and I was. The Gods did not think it good for me to stay happy. Otherwise, perhaps I would be happy even now. “The second month after our wedding was passing. I was setting nets for horned deer when the saffron-colored Aurora saw me from the highest peak of ever-blooming Hymettus.⁶⁷¹ She was driving away the morning darkness, and she carried me off against my will. With the Goddess’s permission, let me tell the truth. She is beautiful, with her rosy face. She holds the borders of light, and she holds the borders of darkness. She is nourished by drinks of nectar. Yet I loved Procris. Procris was always in my thoughts, and Procris was always on my lips. “I spoke of our sacred marriage, our recent embraces, and our new union. I spoke of the earlier vows that bound me to the bed I had been forced to leave. The Goddess was angered and said, ‘Stop complaining, ungrateful man. Keep your Procris. But if I can foresee the future, you will wish you had never had her.’” And so, in anger, she sent me back to her.

“While I was returning, and was revolving the sayings of the Goddess within myself, there began to be apprehensions that my wife had not duly observed the laws of wedlock. Both her beauty and her age bade me be apprehensive of her infidelity; yet her virtue forbade me to believe it. But yet, I had been absent; and besides, she, from whom I was just returning, was an example of such criminality: but we that are in love, apprehend all mishaps. I then endeavored to discover that, by reason of which I must feel anguish, and by bribes to make attempts⁶⁷² upon her chaste constancy. Aurora encouraged this apprehension, and changed my shape, as I seemed then to perceive. I entered Athens, the city of Pallas, unknown to any one, and I went into my own house. The house itself was without fault, and gave indications of chastity, and was in concern for the carrying off of its master.

“As I returned, I turned the Goddess’s words over in my mind. I began to fear that my wife had not kept her marriage vows. Her beauty and her youth made me fear she had been unfaithful, yet her virtue kept me from believing it. But I had been away. Besides, the woman I had just left was an example of such wrongdoing. But those of us who are in love fear every possible misfortune. I then tried to uncover something that would cause me anguish. I offered bribes⁶⁷² to test my wife’s chaste fidelity. Aurora encouraged my fear and changed my appearance, as I thought then. I entered Athens, the city of Pallas, without anyone recognizing me, and went to my own house. The house itself was blameless. It showed signs of chastity and concern for its master’s abduction.”

“Having, with difficulty, made my way to the daughter of Erectheus by means of a thousand artifices, soon as I beheld her, I was amazed, and was nearly abandoning my projected trial of her constancy; with difficulty did I restrain myself from telling the truth, with difficulty from giving her the kisses which I ought. She was in sorrow; but yet no one could be more beautiful than she, even in her sadness; and she was consuming with regret for her husband, torn from her. Only think, Phocus, how great was the beauty of her, whom even sorrow did so much become. Why should I tell how often her chaste manners repulsed all my attempts? How often she said, ‘I am reserved for but one, wherever he is; for that one do I reserve my joys.’ For whom, in his senses, would not that trial of her fidelity have been sufficiently great? Yet I was not content; and I strove to wound myself, while I was promising to give vast sums for but one night, and forced her at last to waver, by increasing the reward. On this I cried out, ‘Lo! I, the gallant in disguise, to my sorrow, and lavish in promises, to my misery, am thy real husband; thou treacherous woman! thou art caught, and I the witness.’ She said nothing: only, overwhelmed with silent shame, she fled from the house of treachery, together with her wicked husband; and from her resentment against me, abhorring the whole race of men, she used to wander⁶⁷³ on the mountains, employed in the pursuits of Diana. Then, a more violent flame penetrated to my bones, thus deserted. I begged forgiveness, and owned myself in fault; and that I too might have yielded to a similar fault, on presents being made; if presents so large had been offered. Upon my confessing this, having first revenged her offended modesty, she was restored to me, and passed the pleasant years in harmony with me. She gave me, besides, as though in herself she had given me but a small present, a dog as a gift, which when her own Cynthia had presented to her, she had said, ‘He will excel all dogs in running.’ She gave her, too, a javelin, which, as thou seest, I am carrying in my hand.

“After a thousand tricks, I finally managed to reach the daughter of Erectheus. As soon as I saw her, I was amazed. I almost abandoned my plan to test her faithfulness. I could hardly keep myself from telling her the truth or giving her the kisses that were rightfully hers. She was grieving, but no one could have been more beautiful, even in her sadness. She was consumed with longing for her husband, who had been torn from her. Just think, Phocus, how beautiful she must have been, when even sorrow suited her so well. Why should I tell you how often her modest conduct repelled all my advances? How often she said, ‘I am keeping myself for one man, wherever he is. I save my joys for him alone.’ What sane man would not have been satisfied with that test of her faithfulness? Yet I was not satisfied. I tried to hurt myself by offering vast sums for just one night. At last, by increasing the reward, I made her hesitate. Then I cried, ‘Look! To my sorrow, I am the suitor in disguise. To my misery, I am the one making lavish promises. I am your real husband! You treacherous woman! You have been caught, and I am the witness.’ She said nothing. Overwhelmed with silent shame, she fled the house of deceit and her wicked husband. Resenting me and hating the whole race of men, she wandered⁶⁷³ in the mountains, following the pursuits of Diana. Deserted like this, I felt an even fiercer passion burn in my bones. I begged her forgiveness and admitted I was at fault. I also admitted that I might have given in to the same fault if such great gifts had been offered to me. After I confessed, and after she had first avenged the insult to her modesty, she returned to me. We spent pleasant years together in harmony. As if giving me herself had been too small a gift, she also gave me a dog. When her own Cynthia had given her the dog, she had said, ‘He will outrun all dogs.’ She also gave her a javelin, which, as you can see, I am carrying in my hand.

“Dost thou inquire what was the fortune of the other present—hear then. Thou wilt be astonished at the novelty of the wondrous fact. The son of Laius⁶⁷⁴ had solved the verses not understood by the wit of others before him; and the mysterious propounder lay precipitated, forgetful of her riddle. But the genial Themis,⁶⁷⁵ forsooth, did not leave such things unrevenged. Immediately another plague was sent forth against Aonian Thebes; and many of the peasants fed the savage monster, both by the destruction of their cattle, and their own as well. We, the neighboring youth, came together, and enclosed the extensive fields with toils. With a light bound it leaped over the nets, and passed over the topmost barriers of the toils that were set. The couples were taken off the dogs, from which, as they followed, it fled, and eluded them, no otherwise than as a winged bird. I myself, too, was requested, with eager demands, for my dog Lælaps [Tempest]; that was the name of my wife’s present. For some time already had he been struggling to get free from the couples, and strained them with his neck, as they detained him. Scarce was he well let loose; and yet we could not now tell where he was; the warm dust had the prints of his feet, but he himself was snatched from our eyes. A spear does not fly swifter than he did, nor pellets whirled from the twisted sling, nor the light arrow from the Gortynian bow.⁶⁷⁶ The top of a hill, standing in the middle, looks down upon the plains below. Thither I mount, and I enjoy the sight of an unusual chase; wherein the wild beast⁶⁷⁷ one while seemed to be caught, at another to elude his very bite; and it does not fly in a direct course, and straight onward, but deceives his mouth, as he pursues it, and returns in circles, that its enemy may not have his full career against it. He keeps close to it, and pursues it, a match for him; and though like as if he has caught it, still he fails to catch it, and vainly snaps at the air. I was now turning to the resources of my javelin; while my right hand was poising it, and while I was attempting to insert my fingers in the thongs of it, I turned away my eyes; and again I had directed them, recalled to the same spot, when, most wondrous, I beheld two marble statues in the middle of the plain; you would think the one was flying, the other barking in pursuit. Some God undoubtedly, if any God really did attend to them, desired them both to remain unconquered in this contest of speed.”

“You ask what became of the other gift. Listen then. You will be astonished by this strange and wondrous event. The son of Laius⁶⁷⁴ had solved the riddle that no one else had been clever enough to understand. Its mysterious asker had been thrown down to her death, forgetting her riddle. But kind Themis,⁶⁷⁵ of course, did not let this go unpunished. Another plague was immediately sent against Aonian Thebes. The savage monster fed on the peasants’ cattle and on the peasants themselves. We young men from the neighborhood gathered and surrounded the vast fields with nets. With a light bound, the monster leaped over them, clearing even their highest barriers. The dogs were unleashed, but the monster fled from them like a bird in flight. I too was urged to release my dog Lælaps [Tempest]. That was the name of my wife’s gift. He had already been struggling for some time to get free, straining against the leash at his neck. He had scarcely been released when we could no longer tell where he was. The warm dust bore his footprints, but he himself had vanished from sight. No spear flies faster than he did, nor pellets hurled from a twisted sling, nor a light arrow from a Gortynian bow.⁶⁷⁶ A hill in the middle of the plain overlooks the land below. I climbed it and enjoyed the sight of an unusual chase. At one moment the wild beast⁶⁷⁷ seemed caught. At the next it escaped the dog’s very jaws. It did not flee straight ahead, but doubled back in circles to evade his jaws. That way, its enemy could not charge at it at full speed. He stayed close behind, matching it in speed. Though he seemed to catch it, still he missed, snapping uselessly at the air. I now turned to my javelin. I held it ready in my right hand and looked away as I tried to put my fingers through its straps. When I looked back at the same spot, I saw something most wondrous. Two marble statues stood in the middle of the plain. You would have thought one was fleeing and the other barking in pursuit. Some god, if any god really was watching them, surely wanted both to remain undefeated in this contest of speed.”

Procris, jealous of Cephalus, in her turn, goes to the forest, which she supposes to be the scene of his infidelity, to surprise him. Hearing the rustling noise which she makes in the thicket, where she lies concealed, he imagines it is a wild beast, and, hurling the javelin, which she has formerly given to him, he kills her.

Procris, in turn, is jealous of Cephalus. She goes to the forest, where she believes he has been unfaithful, to catch him there. She hides in a thicket, where Cephalus hears her rustling. Thinking the noise comes from a wild animal, he throws the javelin she gave him and kills her.

Thus far did he speak; and then he was silent. “But,” said Phocus, “what fault is there in that javelin?” whereupon he thus informed him of the demerits of the javelin. “Let my joys, Phocus, be the first portion of my sorrowful story. These will I first relate. O son of Æacus, I delight to remember the happy time, during which, for the first years after my marriage, I was completely blessed in my wife, and she was happy in her husband. A mutual kindness and social love possessed us both. Neither would she have preferred the bed of Jupiter before my love; nor was there any woman that could have captivated me, not even if Venus herself had come. Equal flames fired the breasts of us both. The Sun striking the tops of the mountains with his early rays, I was wont generally to go with youthful ardor into the woods, to hunt; but I neither suffered my servants, nor my horses, nor my quick-scented hounds to go with me, nor the knotty nets to attend me; I was safe with my javelin. But when my right hand was satiated with the slaughter of wild beasts, I betook myself to the cool spots and the shade, and the breeze which was breathing forth from the cool valleys. The gentle breeze was sought by me, in the midst of the heat. For the breeze was I awaiting; that was a refreshment after my toils: ‘Come, breeze,’ I was wont to sing, for I remember it full well, ‘and, most grateful, refresh me, and enter my breast; and, as thou art wont, be willing to assuage the heat with which I am parched.’ Perhaps I may have added (for so my destiny prompted me) many words of endearment, and I may have been accustomed to say, ‘Thou art my great delight; thou dost refresh and cherish me; thou makest me to love the woods and lonely haunts, and thy breath is ever courted by my face.’ I was not aware that some one was giving an ear, deceived by these ambiguous words; and thinking the name of the breeze, so often called upon by me, to be that of a Nymph, he believed some Nymph was beloved by me.

That was all he said, and then he fell silent. “But,” said Phocus, “what is wrong with that javelin?” Then he told him what was wrong with it. “Let my joys come first in my sorrowful story. I will tell you about them first, Phocus. O son of Æacus, I love to remember that happy time. In the first years after my marriage, I was completely happy with my wife, and she was happy with me. We shared a tender, loving companionship. She would not have preferred Jupiter’s bed to my love. No woman could have captivated me, not even Venus herself, if she had come to me. Our hearts burned equally with love. “When the morning sun touched the mountaintops, I usually went eagerly into the woods to hunt. I was young then. But I took no servants, horses, quick-scented hounds, or knotted nets with me. My javelin kept me safe. When my right hand had killed enough wild beasts, I would seek cool, shady places and the breeze blowing from the cool valleys. In the heat, I longed for that gentle breeze. I waited for it to refresh me after my labors. I remember well how I used to sing to it: ‘Come, breeze, and refresh me with your welcome touch. Enter my breast and, as you always do, please ease the heat that burns me.’ “Perhaps, as fate prompted me, I added many words of affection. I may have often said, ‘You are my greatest delight. You refresh and cherish me. You make me love the woods and lonely places, and my face always seeks your breath.’ I did not know that someone was listening and misunderstanding these words. He thought the name of the breeze I called so often was a Nymph’s name. He believed I was in love with a Nymph.”

“The rash informer of an imaginary crime immediately went to Procris, and with his whispering tongue related what he had heard. Love is a credulous thing. When it was told her, she fell down fainting, with sudden grief; and coming to, after a long time, she declared that she was wretched, and born to a cruel destiny; and she complained about my constancy. Excited by a groundless charge,⁶⁷⁸ she dreads that which, indeed, is nothing; and fears a name without a body; and, in her wretchedness, grieves as though about a real rival. Yet she is often in doubt, and, in her extreme wretchedness, hopes she may be deceived, and denies credit to the information; and unless she beholds it herself, will not pass sentence upon the criminality of her husband. The following light of the morning had banished the night, when I sallied forth, and sought the woods; and being victorious in the fields, I said, ‘Come, breeze, and relieve my pain;’ and suddenly I seemed to hear I know not what groans in the midst of my words; yet I said, ‘Come hither, most delightful breeze.’ Again, the falling leaves making a gentle noise, I thought it was a wild beast, and I discharged my flying weapon. It was Procris; and receiving the wound in the middle of her breast, she cried out, ‘Ah, wretched me!’ When the voice of my attached wife was heard, headlong and distracted, I ran towards that voice. I found her dying, and staining her scattered vestments with blood, and drawing her own present (ah, wretched me!) from out of her wound; I lifted up her body, dearer to me than my own, in my guilty arms, and I bound up her cruel wounds with the garments torn from my bosom; and I endeavored to stanch the blood, and besought her that she would not forsake me, thus criminal, by her death. She, wanting strength, and now expiring, forced herself to utter these few words:

“The reckless informer went straight to Procris and whispered what he had heard, reporting a crime he had imagined. Love is easily deceived. When she heard the story, she fainted from sudden grief. After a long time, she came to and declared herself miserable, born to a cruel fate. She complained that I had been unfaithful. Troubled by a groundless accusation,⁶⁷⁸ she feared something that indeed was nothing. She feared a name with no body and, in her misery, grieved as if she had a real rival. Yet she often doubted the story. In her misery, she hoped she might have been misled and refused to believe the report. Unless she saw it for herself, she would not judge her husband guilty. The next morning, when daylight had driven away the night, I set out for the woods. After a successful hunt, I said, ‘Come, breeze, and ease my pain.’ Suddenly, in the middle of my words, I seemed to hear some kind of groaning. Still, I said, ‘Come here, most delightful breeze.’ Then the falling leaves rustled softly. I thought it was a wild animal and threw my spear. It was Procris. The spear struck her in the middle of her chest, and she cried, ‘Ah, poor me!’ When I heard my loving wife’s voice, I rushed toward it, frantic with grief. I found her dying, her disordered clothes stained with blood. She was pulling her own gift to me from her wound. Ah, poor me! I lifted her in my guilty arms. Her body was dearer to me than my own. I tore the clothes from my chest and bound her terrible wound. I tried to stop the bleeding and begged her not to leave me, thus guilty, by dying. Weak and near death, she forced herself to speak these few words:

“‘I suppliantly beseech thee, by the ties of our marriage, and by the Gods above, and my own Gods, and if I have deserved anything well of thee, by that as well, and by the cause of my death, my love even now enduring, while I am perishing, do not allow the Nymph Aura [breeze] to share with thee my marriage ties.’ She thus spoke; and then, at last, I perceived the mistake of the name, and informed her of it. But what avails informing her? She sinks; and her little strength flies, together with her blood. And so long as she can look on anything, she gazes on me, and breathes out upon me, on my face,⁶⁷⁹ her unhappy life; but she seems to die free from care, and with a more contented look.”

“‘I beg you, by the bonds of our marriage, by the Gods above and my own Gods, and by any good I have done you. I also beg you by the cause of my death, my love, which still endures even as I die. Do not let the Nymph Aura [breeze] share our marriage bond with you.’ She thus spoke. At last, I understood the mistake about the name and explained it to her. But what good did that do? She sinks, and her little remaining strength flows out with her blood. As long as she can see anything, she gazes at me. She breathes out her unhappy life upon me, on my face,⁶⁷⁹ but she seems to die without care, looking more content.”

In tears, the hero is relating these things to them, as they weep, and, lo! Æacus enters, with his two sons,⁶⁸⁰ and his soldiers newly levied; which Cephalus received, furnished with valorous arms.

In tears, the hero tells them these things as they weep. Then Æacus enters with his two sons⁶⁸⁰ and his newly recruited soldiers. Cephalus receives the soldiers, equipped with formidable weapons.