Book 10

Eurydice, the wife of Orpheus, while sporting in the fields, with other Nymphs, is bitten by a serpent, which causes her death. After having mourned for her, Orpheus resolves to go down to the Infernal Regions in quest of her. Pluto and the Fates consent to her return, on condition that Orpheus shall not look on her till he is out of their dominions. His curiosity prevailing, he neglects this injunction, on which she is immediately snatched away from him, beyond the possibility of recovery. Upon this occasion, the Poet relates the story of a shepherd, who was turned into a rock by a look of Cerberus; and that of Olenus and Lethæa, who were transformed into stones.

Eurydice, the wife of Orpheus, is playing in the fields with other Nymphs when a serpent bites and kills her. After mourning her, Orpheus decides to descend into the Infernal Regions to seek her. Pluto and the Fates agree to let her return, on condition that Orpheus does not look at her until he leaves their realm. But his curiosity gets the better of him, and he disobeys. Eurydice is immediately snatched away from him, beyond any hope of recovery. At this point, the Poet tells of a shepherd who was turned into a rock by a look from Cerberus. He also tells of Olenus and Lethæa, who were transformed into stones.

Thence Hymenæus, clad in a saffron-coloured⁸⁶² robe, passed through the unmeasured tract of air, and directed his course to the regions of the Ciconians⁸⁶³, and, in vain, was invoked by the voice of Orpheus. He presented himself indeed, but he brought with him neither auspicious words, nor joyful looks, nor yet a happy omen. The torch, too, which he held, was hissing with a smoke that brought tears to the eyes, and as it was, it found no flames amid its waving. The issue was more disastrous than the omens; for the newmade bride, while she was strolling along the grass, attended by a train of Naiads, was killed, having received the sting of a serpent on her ancle.

From there, Hymenæus, dressed in a saffron-colored⁸⁶² robe, traveled through the vast expanse of air. He made his way to the lands of the Ciconians⁸⁶³, where Orpheus called on him in vain. Hymenæus did appear, but he brought no auspicious words, joyful looks, or even a happy omen. The torch he held hissed with smoke that brought tears to the eyes. Though he waved it, the torch would not catch fire. What followed was worse than the omens. The new bride was walking on the grass, accompanied by a group of Naiads. A serpent bit her ankle, and she died.

After the Rhodopeïan bard had sufficiently bewailed her in the upper realms of air, that he might try the shades below as well, he dared to descend to Styx by the Tænarian gate, and amid the phantom inhabitants and ghosts that had enjoyed the tomb, he went to Persephone, and him that held these unpleasing realms, the Ruler of the shades; and touching his strings in concert with his words, he thus said, “O ye Deities of the world that lies beneath the earth, to which we all come at last, each that is born to mortality; if I may be allowed, and you suffer me to speak the truth, laying aside⁸⁶⁴ the artful expressions of a deceitful tongue; I have not descended hither from curiosity to see dark Tartarus, nor to bind the threefold throat of the Medusæan monster, bristling with serpents. But my wife was the cause of my coming; into whom a serpent, trodden upon by her, diffused its poison, and cut short her growing years. I was wishful to be able to endure this, and I will not deny that I have endeavoured to do so. Love has proved the stronger. That God is well known in the regions above. Whether he be so here, too, I am uncertain; but yet I imagine that even here he is; and if the story of the rape of former days is not untrue, ’twas love that united you two together. By these places filled with horrors, by this vast Chaos, and by the silence of these boundless realms, I entreat you, weave over again the quick-spun thread of the life of Eurydice.

After the Rhodopeïan bard had mourned her enough in the upper realms of air, he decided to try the shades below as well. He dared to descend to Styx through the Tænarian gate. Among the phantom inhabitants and the ghosts of those who had been buried, he went to Persephone and the Ruler of the shades, who held those grim realms. Playing his strings to accompany his words, he said, “O gods of the world beneath the earth, where all who are born mortal come at last, let me speak the truth, if you will allow it. I will lay aside⁸⁶⁴ the clever words of a deceitful tongue. I have not come down here out of curiosity to see dark Tartarus. Nor have I come to bind the three throats of the Medusæan monster, bristling with serpents. But I came because of my wife. She stepped on a serpent, which injected its poison into her and cut short her young life. I wanted to be able to bear this loss, and I will not deny that I have tried to do so. Love has proved stronger. That god is well known in the world above. I do not know whether he is known here, too, but I imagine that he is. And if the story of the abduction long ago is true, it was love that brought you two together. By these places filled with horrors, by this vast Chaos, and by the silence of these boundless realms, I beg you to weave again the swiftly spun thread of the life of Eurydice.

“To you we all belong; and having staid but a little while above, sooner or later we all hasten to one abode. Hither are we all hastening. This is our last home; and you possess the most lasting dominion over the human race. She, too, when, in due season she shall have completed her allotted number of years, will be under your sway. The enjoyment of her I beg as a favour. But if the Fates deny me this privilege in behalf of my wife, I have determined that I will not return. Triumph in the death of us both.”

“We all belong to you. After a short time above, sooner or later we all hurry to the same place. We are all hurrying here. This is our final home, and your rule over the human race lasts the longest. She, too, will come under your rule when she has lived her allotted number of years. I beg you to let me enjoy her as a favor. But if the Fates deny my wife and me this favor, I have decided not to return. Triumph in the death of us both.”

As he said such things, and touched the strings to his words, the bloodless spirits wept. Tantalus did not catch at the retreating water, and the wheel of Ixion stood still, as though in amazement; the birds did not tear the liver of Tityus; and the granddaughters of Belus paused at their urns; thou, too, Sisyphus, didst seat thyself on thy stone. The story is, that then, for the first time, the cheeks of the Eumenides, overcome by his music, were wet with tears; nor could the royal consort, nor he who rules the infernal regions, endure to deny him his request; and they called for Eurydice. She was among the shades newly arrived, and she advanced with a slow pace, by reason of her wound.

As he spoke and played the strings, the bloodless spirits wept. Tantalus did not reach for the receding water. Ixion’s wheel stood still, as if in amazement. The birds did not tear Tityus’s liver, and the granddaughters of Belus paused at their urns. You, too, Sisyphus, sat down on your stone. The story goes that the Eumenides were overcome by his music, and their cheeks were wet with tears for the first time. Neither the royal consort nor the ruler of the underworld could bear to deny his request. So they called for Eurydice. She was among the newly arrived shades, and she came forward slowly because of her wound.

The Rhodopeïan hero receives her, and, at the same time, this condition, that he turn not back his eyes until he has passed the Avernian vallies, or else that the grant will be revoked. The ascending path is mounted in deep silence, steep, dark, and enveloped in deepening gloom. And now they were not far from the verge of the upper earth. He, enamoured, fearing lest she should flag, and impatient to behold her, turned his eyes; and immediately she sank back again. She, hapless one! both stretching out her arms, and struggling to be grasped, and to grasp him, caught nothing but the fleeting air. And now, dying a second time, she did not at all complain of her husband; for why should she complain of being beloved? And now she pronounced the last farewell, which scarcely did he catch with his ears; and again was she hurried back to the same place.

The Rhodopeïan hero received her on this condition: he must not look back until he had passed the Avernian valleys. Otherwise, the grant would be revoked. They climbed the steep, dark path in deep silence, surrounded by thickening gloom. And now they were not far from the edge of the upper world. In his love, he feared she might falter and longed to see her. He looked back, and she immediately began to sink again. The poor woman stretched out her arms, struggling to hold him and be held. But she caught nothing except the fleeting air. As she died a second time, she did not complain at all about her husband. Why should she complain of being loved? At last she said farewell, but he could scarcely hear her. Then she was hurried back to the same place.

No otherwise was Orpheus amazed at this twofold death of his wife, than he who, trembling, beheld the three necks⁸⁶⁵ of the dog, the middle one supporting chains; whom fear did not forsake, before his former nature deserted him, as stone gathered over his body: and than Olenus,⁸⁶⁶ who took on himself the crime of another, and was willing to appear guilty; and than thou, unhappy Lethæa, confiding in thy beauty; breasts, once most united, now rocks, which the watery Ida supports. The ferryman drove him away entreating, and, in vain, desiring again to cross the stream. Still, for seven days, in squalid guise⁸⁶⁷ did he sit on the banks without the gifts of Ceres. Vexation, and sorrow of mind, and tears were his sustenance. Complaining that the Deities of Erebus⁸⁶⁸ were cruel, he betook himself to lofty Rhodope, and Hæmus,⁸⁶⁹ buffeted by the North winds. The third Titan had now ended the year bounded by the Fishes of the ocean;⁸⁷⁰ and Orpheus had avoided all intercourse with woman, either because it had ended in misfortune to him, or because he had given a promise to that effect. Yet a passion possessed many a female to unite herself to the bard, and many a one grieved when repulsed. He also was the first adviser of the people of Thrace to transfer their affections to tender youths; and, on this side of manhood, to enjoy the short spring of life, and its early flowers.

Orpheus was as stunned by his wife's second death as the man who trembled at the sight of the dog's three necks,⁸⁶⁵ with chains around the middle one. Fear did not leave that man until his former nature left him, as stone covered his body. Orpheus was also as stunned as Olenus,⁸⁶⁶ who took the blame for another's crime and was willing to appear guilty. He was as stunned as you, unhappy Lethæa, so confident in your beauty. Once, your hearts were closely united. Now you are rocks, resting on watery Ida. The ferryman drove Orpheus away, though he begged to cross the stream again. For seven days, he sat on the bank in filthy clothes,⁸⁶⁷ without the gifts of Ceres. Distress, sorrow, and tears were his only food. Complaining that the Deities of Erebus⁸⁶⁸ were cruel, he went to lofty Rhodope and Hæmus,⁸⁶⁹ battered by the North winds. The third Titan had now completed the year marked by the Fishes of the ocean.⁸⁷⁰ Orpheus had avoided all intimacy with women, either because it had brought him misfortune or because he had promised to do so. Yet many women longed to be with the bard, and many grieved when he rejected them. He was also the first to advise the people of Thrace to turn their affections toward tender youths. He urged them to enjoy youth's brief spring and early flowers, before the youths reached manhood.

Orpheus, retiring to Mount Rhodope, by the charms of his music, attracts to himself all kinds of creatures, rocks, and trees; among the latter is the pine tree, only known since the transformation of Attis.

Orpheus withdraws to Mount Rhodope. His enchanting music draws all kinds of creatures, rocks, and trees to him. Among the trees is the pine, which has existed only since Attis was transformed.

There was a hill, and upon the hill a most level space of a plain, which the blades of grass made green: all shade was wanting in the spot. After the bard, sprung from the Gods, had seated himself in this place, and touched his tuneful strings, a shade came over the spot. The tree of Chaonia⁸⁷¹ was not absent, nor the grove of the Heliades,⁸⁷² nor the mast-tree with its lofty branches, nor the tender lime-trees, nor yet the beech, and the virgin laurel,⁸⁷³ and the brittle hazels, and the oak, adapted for making spears, and the fir without knots, and the holm bending beneath its acorns, and the genial plane-tree,⁸⁷⁴ and the parti-coloured maple,⁸⁷⁵ and, together with them, the willows growing by the rivers, and the watery lotus, and the evergreen box, and the slender tamarisks, and the two-coloured myrtle, and the tine-tree,⁸⁷⁶ with its azure berries.

There was a hill with a level clearing at the top, green with blades of grass. The spot had no shade at all. The bard, descended from the Gods, sat down there and played his melodious strings. Then shade came over the spot. The tree of Chaonia⁸⁷¹ was there, as was the grove of the Heliades,⁸⁷² the mast-tree with its lofty branches, the tender lime-trees, the beech, and the virgin laurel.⁸⁷³ There were brittle hazels, oak suited for making spears, knotless fir, and holm bending under its acorns. There were the welcoming plane-tree,⁸⁷⁴ the multicolored maple,⁸⁷⁵ and willows growing by the rivers. With them came the water-loving lotus, evergreen box, slender tamarisks, two-colored myrtle, and tine-tree,⁸⁷⁶ with its azure berries.

You, too, the ivy-trees, with your creeping tendrils, came, and together, the branching vines, and the elms clothed with vines; the ashes, too, and the pitch-trees, and the arbute, laden with its blushing fruit, and the bending palm,⁸⁷⁷ the reward of the conqueror; the pine, too, with its tufted foliage,⁸⁷⁸ and bristling at the top, pleasing to the Mother of the Gods; since for this the Cybeleïan Attis put off the human form, and hardened into that trunk.

You came too, ivy trees with your creeping tendrils, along with branching vines and elms covered in vines. The ash trees and pitch trees came too, as did the arbute, heavy with blushing fruit. The bending palm⁸⁷⁷ came, the reward of the conqueror. So did the pine, with its tufted foliage,⁸⁷⁸ bristling at the top. The pine is dear to the Mother of the Gods. For Cybeleïan Attis gave up his human form and hardened into its trunk.

Cyparissus is about to kill himself for having slain, by accident, a favourite deer; but, before he is able to execute his design, Apollo transforms him into a Cypress.

Cyparissus is about to kill himself because he accidentally killed a favorite deer. But before he can do so, Apollo transforms him into a cypress.

Amid this throng was present the cypress, resembling the cone,⁸⁷⁹ now a tree, but once a youth, beloved by that God who fits the lyre with the strings, and the bow with strings. For there was a large stag, sacred to the Nymphs who inhabit the Carthæan fields; and, with his horns extending afar, he himself afforded an ample shade to his own head. His horns were shining with gold, and a necklace studded with gems,⁸⁸⁰ falling upon his shoulders, hung down from his smooth round neck; a silver ball,⁸⁸¹ fastened with little straps, played upon his forehead; and pendants of brass,⁸⁸² of equal size, shone on either ear around his hollow temples. He, too, void of fear, and laying aside his natural timorousness, used to frequent the houses, and to offer his neck to be patted by any hands, even though unknown to him.

Among the crowd was the cone-shaped cypress,⁸⁷⁹ now a tree, but once a youth. He was loved by the God who strings both the lyre and the bow. For there was a large stag, sacred to the Nymphs who live in the Carthæan fields. His horns spread so wide that they cast a broad shade over his head. His horns shone with gold, and a necklace studded with gems⁸⁸⁰ hung from his smooth, round neck onto his shoulders. A silver ball,⁸⁸¹ fastened with small straps, swung on his forehead. Brass pendants,⁸⁸² equal in size, shone on both ears beside his hollow temples. The stag had put aside his natural shyness and felt no fear. He used to visit houses and offer his neck to be patted by anyone, even strangers.

But yet, above all others, he was pleasing to thee, Cyparissus, most beauteous of the nation of Cea.⁸⁸³ Thou wast wont to lead the stag to new pastures, and to the streams of running waters; sometimes thou didst wreathe flowers of various colours about his horns, and at other times, seated on his back, like a horseman, first in this direction and then in that, thou didst guide his easy mouth with the purple bridle. ’Twas summer and the middle of the day, and the bending arms of the Crab, that loves the sea-shore, were glowing with the heat of the sun; the stag, fatigued, was reclining his body on the grassy earth, and was enjoying the coolness from the shade of a tree. By inadvertence the boy Cyparissus pierced him with a sharp javelin; and, when he saw him dying from the cruel wound, he resolved to attempt to die as well. What consolations did not Phœbus apply? and he advised him to grieve with moderation, and according to the occasion. Still did he lament, and as a last favour, he requested this of the Gods above, that he might mourn for ever. And now, his blood quite exhausted by incessant weeping, his limbs began to be changed into a green colour, and the hair, which but lately hung from his snow-white forehead, to become a rough bush, and, a stiffness being assumed, to point to the starry heavens with a tapering top. The God Phœbus lamented deeply, and in his sorrow he said, “Thou shalt be mourned by me, and shalt mourn for others, and shalt ever attend upon those who are sorrowing⁸⁸⁴ for the dead.”

Yet above all others, he was pleasing to you, Cyparissus, the most beautiful of the people of Cea.⁸⁸³ You used to lead the stag to fresh pastures and flowing streams. Sometimes you wove flowers of many colors around his horns. At other times, you sat on his back like a rider. You guided his yielding mouth with a purple bridle, first one way and then another. It was midsummer, in the middle of the day. The curving claws of the Crab, which loves the seashore, glowed in the sun’s heat. Tired, the stag lay on the grass, enjoying the cool shade of a tree. By accident, the boy Cyparissus pierced him with a sharp javelin. When he saw the stag dying from the cruel wound, he resolved to try to die too. Phœbus offered him every comfort. He advised him to grieve in moderation, as the occasion required. Still, Cyparissus mourned. As a final favor, he asked the Gods above to let him mourn forever. His constant weeping drained away his blood, and his limbs began to turn green. His hair had so recently hung from his snow-white forehead. Now it became a rough mass of foliage, growing stiff and tapering to a point toward the starry heavens. The God Phœbus mourned deeply. In his sorrow, he said, “I shall mourn for you, and you shall mourn for others. You shall always stand beside those who grieve⁸⁸⁴ for the dead.”

Jupiter, charmed with the beauty of the youth Ganymede, transforms himself into an Eagle, for the purpose of carrying him off. He is taken up into Heaven, and is made the Cup-bearer of the Divinities.

Jupiter is captivated by the beauty of the young Ganymede and turns himself into an eagle to carry him off. Ganymede is taken up to Heaven and made cupbearer to the gods.

Such a grove of trees had the bard attracted round him, and he sat in the midst of an assembly of wild beasts, and of a multitude of birds. When he had sufficiently tried the strings struck with his thumb, and perceived that the various tones, though they gave different sounds, still harmonize, in this song he raised his voice: “Begin, my parent Muse, my song from Jove, all things submit to the sway of Jove. By me, often before has the power of Jove been sung. In loftier strains have I sung of the Giants, and the victorious thunderbolts scattered over the Phlegræan plains.⁸⁸⁵ Now is there occasion for a softer lyre; and let us sing of youths beloved by the Gods above, and of girls surprised by unlawful flames, who, by their wanton desires, have been deserving of punishment.

The bard had drawn such a grove of trees around him. He sat among a gathering of wild beasts and a multitude of birds. He tested the strings with his thumb until he was satisfied. He found that their different tones still harmonized. Then he began to sing: “Begin my song with Jove, my mother Muse. All things submit to Jove’s rule. I have often sung of Jove’s power before. In grander songs, I sang of the Giants and the victorious thunderbolts scattered over the Phlegræan plains.⁸⁸⁵ Now it is time for a gentler song. Let us sing of young men loved by the Gods above. Let us also sing of girls overcome by forbidden passions, whose wanton desires deserved punishment.

“The king of the Gods above was once inflamed with a passion for Ganymede, and something was found that Jupiter preferred to be, rather than what he was. Yet into no bird does he vouchsafe to be transformed, but that which can carry his bolts.⁸⁸⁶ And no delay is there. Striking the air with his fictitious wings, he carries off the youth of Ilium; who even now mingles his cups for him, and, much against the will of Juno, serves nectar to Jove.”

“The king of the Gods above once burned with passion for Ganymede. Jupiter found that he would rather be something other than himself. Yet he would only transform himself into the bird that could carry his thunderbolts.⁸⁸⁶ He did not delay. He beat the air with his false wings and carried off the youth of Ilium. Even now, Ganymede mixes his drinks and serves nectar to Jove, much against Juno’s wishes.”

As Apollo is playing at quoits with the youth Hyacinthus, one of them, thrown by the Divinity, rebounds from the earth, and striking Hyacinthus on the head, kills him. From his blood springs up the flower which still bears his name.

Apollo is playing quoits with the young Hyacinthus. Apollo throws a quoit, which bounces off the ground and strikes Hyacinthus on the head, killing him. A flower springs from his blood and still bears his name.

“Phœbus would have placed thee too, descendant of Amycla,⁸⁸⁷ in the heavens, if the stern Fates had given him time to place thee there. Still, so far as is possible, thou art immortal; and as oft as the spring drives away the winter, and the Ram succeeds the watery Fish, so often dost thou spring up and blossom upon the green turf. Thee, beyond all others, did my father love, and Delphi, situate in the middle⁸⁸⁸ of the earth, was without its guardian Deity, while the God was frequenting the Eurotas, and the unfortified Sparta;⁸⁸⁹ and neither his lyre nor his arrows were held in esteem by him.

“Phœbus would have placed you in the heavens too, descendant of Amycla,⁸⁸⁷ if the stern Fates had given him time. Still, as far as possible, you are immortal. Whenever spring drives away winter and the Ram follows the watery Fish, you spring up and blossom on the green turf. My father loved you beyond all others. Delphi, in the middle⁸⁸⁸ of the earth, was without its guardian Deity while the God spent his time at the Eurotas and in unfortified Sparta.⁸⁸⁹ He held neither his lyre nor his arrows in esteem.”

“Unmindful of his own dignity, he did not refuse to carry the nets, or to hold the dogs, or to go, as his companion, over the ridges of the rugged mountains; and by lengthened intimacy he augmented his flame. And now Titan was almost in his mid course between the approaching and the past night, and was at an equal distance from them both; when they stripped their bodies of their garments, and shone with the juice of the oily olive, and engaged in the game of the broad quoit.⁸⁹⁰ First, Phœbus tossed it, well poised, into the airy breeze, and clove the opposite clouds with its weight. After a long pause, the heavy mass fell on the hard ground, and showed skill united with strength. Immediately the Tænarian youth,⁸⁹¹ in his thoughtlessness, and urged on by eagerness for the sport, hastened to take up the circlet; but the hard ground sent it back into the air with a rebound against thy face, Hyacinthus.

“Forgetful of his own dignity, he willingly carried the nets, held the dogs, and accompanied him over rugged mountain ridges. As they spent more time together, his love grew stronger. Now Titan was almost midway between the past night and the coming one, equally distant from both. Then they stripped off their clothes, rubbed their bodies until they shone with olive oil, and began playing with a broad quoit.⁸⁹⁰ Phœbus threw it first, sending the well-balanced quoit into the air. Its weight cut through the clouds ahead. After a long time, the heavy disc fell on the hard ground, showing both skill and strength. At once the Tænarian youth,⁸⁹¹ thoughtlessly eager to play, rushed to pick up the disc. But it bounced off the hard ground and struck you in the face, Hyacinthus.

“Equally as pale as the youth does the Divinity himself turn; and he bears up thy sinking limbs; and at one moment he cherishes thee, at another, he stanches thy sad wound; and now he stops the fleeting life by the application of herbs. His skill is of no avail. The wound is incurable. As if, in a well-watered garden, any one should break down violets, or poppies, and lilies, as they adhere to their yellow stalks; drooping, they would suddenly hang down their languid heads, and could not support themselves; and would look towards the ground with their tops. So sink his dying features; and, forsaken by its vigour, the neck is a burden to itself, and reclines upon the shoulder. ‘Son of Œbalus,’ says Phœbus, ‘thou fallest, deprived of thy early youth; and I look on thy wound as my own condemnation. Thou art the object of my grief, and the cause of my crime. With thy death is my right hand to be charged; I am the author of thy destruction. Yet what is my fault? unless to engage in sport can be termed a fault; unless it can be called a fault, too, to have loved thee. And oh! that I could give my life for thee, or together with thee; but since I am restrained by the decrees of destiny, thou shalt ever be with me, and shalt dwell on my mindful lips. The lyre struck with my hand, my songs, too, shall celebrate thee; and, becoming a new flower, by the inscription on thee, thou shalt imitate⁸⁹² my lamentations. The time, too, shall come, at which a most valiant hero⁸⁹³ shall add his name to this flower, and it shall be read upon the same leaves.’

“The Divinity himself turns as pale as the youth and holds up your sinking limbs. Now he comforts you, now he stops the bleeding from your sad wound. And now he applies herbs to keep your life from slipping away. But his skill is useless. The wound cannot be healed. Suppose someone broke violets, poppies, or lilies from their yellow stalks in a well-watered garden. They would suddenly droop, unable to hold up their weary heads, and their tops would face the ground. So his dying face sinks. His neck has lost its strength and can no longer bear its own weight. It falls onto his shoulder. ‘Son of Œbalus,’ says Phœbus, ‘you are dying in your early youth. Your wound condemns me. You are the object of my grief, and the cause of my crime. My right hand must be blamed for your death. I am the cause of your destruction. Yet what is my fault, unless playing a game can be called a fault? Unless loving you can also be called a fault? Oh, if only I could give my life for you, or die with you! But the decrees of destiny forbid it. So you will always be with me, and I will always remember you in my words. My lyre and my songs will celebrate you. And, becoming a new flower, you will imitate⁸⁹² my lamentations through the inscription on you. The time will also come when a most valiant hero⁸⁹³ will add his name to this flower. His name will be read on the same petals.’

“While such things are being uttered by the prophetic lips of Apollo, behold! the blood which, poured on the ground, has stained the grass, ceases to be blood, and a flower springs up, more bright than the Tyrian purple, and it assumes the appearance which lilies have, were there not in this a purple hue, and in them that of silver. This was not enough for Phœbus, for ’twas he that was the author of this honour. He himself inscribed his own lamentations on the leaves, and the flower has ‘ai, ai,’ inscribed thereon; and the mournful characters⁸⁹⁴ there are traced. Nor is Sparta ashamed to have given birth to Hyacinthus; and his honours continue to the present time; the Hyacinthian festival⁸⁹⁵ returns, too, each year, to be celebrated with the prescribed ceremonials, after the manner of former celebrations.”

“While Apollo’s prophetic lips were speaking these words, the blood spilled on the ground stopped being blood. It had stained the grass, and now a flower sprang up, brighter than Tyrian purple. It looked like a lily, except that the flower was purple and lilies are silver. But this was not enough for Phœbus, who had bestowed this honor. He inscribed his own lament on the flower’s leaves. The flower bears the inscription ‘ai, ai,’ and the mournful characters⁸⁹⁴ are traced there. Sparta is not ashamed to have given birth to Hyacinthus, and his honors continue to this day. Each year, the Hyacinthian festival⁸⁹⁵ returns, celebrated with the prescribed ceremonies, as in former times.”

Venus, incensed at the Cerastæ for polluting the island of Cyprus, which is sacred to her, with the human sacrifices which they offer to their Gods, transforms them into bulls; and the Propœtides, as a punishment for their dissolute conduct, are transformed into rocks.

Venus is furious with the Cerastæ for defiling Cyprus, an island sacred to her. They have offered human sacrifices to their gods there, so she transforms them into bulls. The Propœtides are transformed into rocks as punishment for their immoral conduct.

“But if, perchance, you were to ask of Amathus,⁸⁹⁶ abounding in metals, whether she would wish to have produced the Propœtides; she would deny it, as well as those whose foreheads were of old rugged with two horns, from which they also derived the name of Cerastæ. Before the doors of these was standing an altar of Jupiter Hospes,⁸⁹⁷ a scene of tragic horrors; if any stranger had seen it stained with blood, he would have supposed that sucking calves had been killed there, and Amathusian sheep;⁸⁹⁸ strangers were slain there. Genial Venus, offended at the wicked sacrifices there offered, was preparing to abandon her own cities and the Ophiusian lands.⁸⁹⁹ ‘But how,’ said she, ‘have these delightful spots, how have my cities offended? What criminality is there in them? Let the inhuman race rather suffer punishment by exile or by death, or if there is any middle course between death and exile; and what can that be, but the punishment of changing their shape?’

“But if you were to ask Amathus,⁸⁹⁶ rich in metals, whether she wished she had produced the Propœtides, she would say no. She would also deny wishing to have produced those whose foreheads once bore two rough horns. They took their name, Cerastæ, from those horns. Before their doors stood an altar to Jupiter Hospes,⁸⁹⁷ a scene of terrible horrors. If a stranger had seen the altar stained with blood, he would have thought that suckling calves and Amathusian sheep⁸⁹⁸ had been killed there. But strangers were slaughtered there. Kind Venus, offended by the wicked sacrifices offered there, was preparing to abandon her own cities and the Ophiusian lands.⁸⁹⁹ ‘But how,’ she said, ‘have these delightful places, how have my cities offended? What crime have they committed? Let the inhuman race suffer instead, punished by exile or death, or by some middle course between death and exile. And what could that be but the punishment of changing their shape?’

“While she is hesitating into what she shall change them, she turns her eyes towards their horns, and is put in mind that those may be left to them; and then she transforms their huge limbs into those of fierce bulls.

“As she hesitates over what to turn them into, she looks at their horns and realizes they can keep them. Then she transforms their huge limbs into those of fierce bulls.

“And yet the obscene Propœtides presumed to deny that Venus is a Goddess; for which they are reported the first of all women to have prostituted their bodies,⁹⁰⁰ with their beauty, through the anger of the Goddess. And when their shame was gone, and the blood of their face was hardened, they were, by a slight transition, changed into hard rocks.”

“And yet the obscene Propœtides dared to deny that Venus was a goddess. Because of the goddess’s anger, they are said to have been the first of all women to sell their bodies,⁹⁰⁰ and their beauty. When their shame was gone and the blood in their faces hardened, they changed almost imperceptibly into hard rocks.”

Pygmalion, shocked by the dissolute lives of the Propœtides, throws off all fondness for the female sex, and resolves on leading a life of perpetual celibacy. Falling in love with a statue which he has made, Venus animates it; on which he marries this new object of his affections, and has a son by her, who gives his name to the island.

Shocked by the immoral lives of the Propœtides, Pygmalion gives up all affection for women and resolves to remain celibate forever. He falls in love with a statue he has made, and Venus brings it to life. Pygmalion then marries her, and they have a son who gives his name to the island.

“When Pygmalion saw these women spending their lives in criminal pursuits, shocked at the vices which Nature had so plentifully imparted to the female disposition, he lived a single life without a wife, and for a long time was without a partner of his bed. In the meantime, he ingeniously carved a statue of snow-white ivory with wondrous skill; and gave it a beauty with which no woman can be born; and then conceived a passion for his own workmanship. The appearance was that of a real virgin, whom you might suppose to be alive, and if modesty did not hinder her, to be desirous to move; so much did art lie concealed under his skill. Pygmalion admires it; and entertains, within his breast, a flame for this fictitious body.

“When Pygmalion saw these women spend their lives in crime, he was shocked. Nature had given women so many vices. He lived as a single man, without a wife, and for a long time had no partner in his bed. Meanwhile, he skillfully carved a statue of snow-white ivory. He gave it a beauty no woman could be born with, and then fell in love with his own work. It looked like a real young woman. You might think she was alive and wanted to move, if modesty did not hold her back. His skill was so great that the art was hidden. Pygmalion admired the statue, and a passion for this lifelike body burned in his heart.

“Often does he apply his hands to the work, to try whether it is a human body, or whether it is ivory; and yet he does not own it to be ivory. He gives it kisses, and fancies that they are returned, and speaks to it, and takes hold of it, and thinks that his fingers make an impression on the limbs which they touch, and is fearful lest a livid mark should come on her limbs when pressed. And one while he employs soft expressions, at another time he brings her presents that are agreeable to maidens, such as shells, and smooth pebbles, and little birds, and flowers of a thousand tints, and lilies, and painted balls, and tears of the Heliades, that have fallen from the trees. He decks her limbs, too, with clothing, and puts jewels on her fingers; he puts, too, a long necklace on her neck. Smooth pendants hang from her ears, and bows from her breast.⁹⁰¹ All things are becoming to her; and she does not seem less beautiful than when naked. He places her on coverings dyed with the Sidonian shell, and calls her the companion of his bed, and lays down her reclining neck upon soft feathers, as though it were sensible.

“Often he touches his work to see whether it is a human body or ivory. Even then, he refuses to admit it is ivory. He kisses it and imagines that it kisses him back. He speaks to it and holds it. He thinks his fingers leave impressions on the limbs he touches. He fears that when he presses her limbs, he might leave a dark mark. Sometimes he speaks tenderly to her. At other times, he brings her gifts that please young women. He brings her such as shells, smooth pebbles, little birds, flowers of a thousand colors, lilies, painted balls, and tears of the Heliades that have fallen from the trees. He dresses her and puts jewels on her fingers. He also puts a long necklace around her neck. Smooth pendants hang from her ears, and bows from her breast.⁹⁰¹ Everything suits her, and she seems no less beautiful than when naked. He lays her on coverings dyed with the Sidonian shell and calls her his bed companion. He rests her reclining neck on soft feathers, as though it could feel them.

“A festival of Venus, much celebrated throughout all Cyprus, had now come; and heifers, with snow-white necks, having their spreading horns tipped with gold, fell, struck by the axe. Frankincense, too, was smoking, when, having made his offering, Pygmalion stood before the altar, and timorously said, ‘If ye Gods can grant all things, let my wife be, I pray,’ and he did not dare to say ‘this ivory maid,’ but ‘like to this statue of ivory.’ The golden Venus, as she herself was present at her own festival, understood what that prayer meant; and as an omen of the Divinity being favourable, thrice was the flame kindled up, and it sent up a tapering flame into the air. Soon as he returned, he repaired to the image of his maiden, and, lying along the couch, he gave her kisses. She seems to grow warm. Again he applies his mouth; with his hands, too, he feels her breast. The pressed ivory becomes soft, and losing its hardness, yields to the fingers, and gives way, just as Hymettian wax⁹⁰² grows soft in the sun, and being worked with the fingers is turned into many shapes, and becomes pliable by the very handling. While he is amazed, and is rejoicing, though with apprehension, and is fearing that he is deceived; the lover again and again touches the object of his desires with his hand. It is a real body; the veins throb, when touched with the thumb.

“A festival of Venus, widely celebrated throughout Cyprus, had now arrived. Heifers with snow-white necks and spreading horns tipped with gold fell, struck by the axe. Frankincense was smoking, too. After making his offering, Pygmalion stood before the altar and timidly said, ‘If you Gods can grant all things, let my wife be, I pray,’ and he did not dare say ‘this ivory maiden,’ but ‘like this statue of ivory.’ Golden Venus was present at her own festival and understood what his prayer meant. As a sign of divine favor, the fire flared up three times, sending a tapering flame into the air. As soon as he returned, he went to the statue of his maiden. He lay down on the couch and kissed her. She seemed to grow warm. He kissed her again and touched her breast with his hands. The ivory softened under his touch, losing its hardness and yielding to his fingers. It gave way just as Hymettian wax⁹⁰² softens in the sun. Worked with the fingers, the wax takes many shapes and grows pliable through handling. He was amazed and rejoiced, though anxiously, fearing he was mistaken. Again and again, the lover touched the object of his desire. It was a real body. He felt the veins throb beneath his thumb.

“Then, indeed, the Paphian hero conceives in his mind the most lavish expressions, with which to give thanks to Venus, and at length presses lips, no longer fictitious, with his own lips. The maiden, too, feels the kisses given her, and blushes; and raising her timorous eyes towards the light of day, she sees at once her lover and the heavens. The Goddess was present at the marriage which she thus effected. And now, the horns of the moon having been nine times gathered into a full orb, she brought forth Paphos; from whom the island derived its name.”

“Then the Paphian hero thinks in his mind of the most lavish words to thank Venus. At last, he presses his lips to hers, which are no longer make-believe. The maiden feels his kisses and blushes. She raises her timid eyes toward the light of day and sees both her lover and the heavens. The Goddess was present at the marriage she had thus brought about. After the moon had become full nine times, the maiden gave birth to Paphos, for whom the island was named.”

Myrrha, the daughter of Cinyras and Cenchris, having conceived an incestuous passion for her own father, and despairing of satisfying it, attempts to hang herself. Her nurse surprises her in the act, and prevents her death. Myrrha, after repeated entreaties and assurances of assistance, discloses to her the cause of her despair. The nurse, by means of a stratagem, procures her the object of her desires, which being discovered by her father, he pursues his daughter with the intention of killing her. Myrrha flies from her father’s dominions and being delivered of Adonis, is transformed into a tree.

Myrrha, the daughter of Cinyras and Cenchris, develops an incestuous passion for her own father. Despairing of satisfying it, she tries to hang herself. Her nurse catches her in the act and saves her life. After the nurse repeatedly begs her to explain and promises to help, Myrrha reveals the cause of her despair. The nurse uses a trick to help Myrrha satisfy her desire. When her father discovers what has happened, he pursues Myrrha, intending to kill her. Myrrha flees her father's kingdom, gives birth to Adonis, and is transformed into a tree.

“Of him was that Cinyras sprung, who, if he had been without issue, might have been reckoned among the happy. Of horrible events shall I now sing. Daughters, be far hence; far hence be parents, too; or, if my verse shall charm your minds, let credit not be given to me in this part of my song, and do not believe that it happened; or, if you will believe, believe as well in the punishment of the deed.

“Cinyras was descended from him. If he had had no children, he might have been considered happy. I will now sing of terrible events. Daughters, stay far away. Parents, stay far away, too. But if my song captivates you, do not believe me in this part of my song. Do not believe it happened. Or, if you do believe it, believe also that the deed was punished.

“Yet, if Nature allows this crime to appear to have been committed, I congratulate the Ismarian matrons, and my own division of the globe. I congratulate this land, that it is afar from those regions which produced so great an abomination. Let the Panchæan land⁹⁰³ be rich in amomum, and let it produce cinnamon, and its zedoary,⁹⁰⁴ and frankincense distilling from its tree, and its other flowers, so long as it produces the myrrh-tree, as well. The new tree was not of so much worth as to be a recompense for the crime to which it owed its origin. Cupid himself denies, Myrrha, that it was his arrows that injured thee; and he defends his torches from that imputation; one of the three Sisters kindled this flame within thee, with a Stygian firebrand and with swelling vipers. It is a crime to hate a parent; but this love is a greater degree of wickedness than hatred. On every side worthy nobles are desiring thee in marriage, and throughout the whole East the youths come to the contest for thy bed. Choose out of all these one for thyself, Myrrha, so that, in all that number, there be not one person, namely, thy father.

“Yet, if Nature allows this crime to seem possible, I congratulate the Ismarian matrons and my own part of the world. I congratulate this land because it is far from the regions that produced such an abomination. Let the Panchæan land⁹⁰³ be rich in amomum. Let it produce cinnamon, zedoary,⁹⁰⁴ frankincense flowing from its tree, and its other flowers, as long as it also produces the myrrh-tree. The new tree was not worth enough to make up for the crime that gave rise to it. Cupid himself denies that his arrows wounded you, Myrrha. He also denies that his torches were to blame. One of the three Sisters kindled this flame in you with a Stygian firebrand and swelling vipers. It is a crime to hate a parent, but this love is even more wicked than hatred. Worthy nobles desire you in marriage on every side. Young men from all over the East compete for your bed. Choose one of them for yourself, Myrrha. From all those men, choose anyone but your father.”

“She, indeed, is sensible of her criminality, and struggles hard against her infamous passion, and says to herself, ‘Whither am I being carried away by my feelings? What am I attempting? I beseech you, O ye Gods, and natural affection, and ye sacred ties of parents, forbid this guilt: defend me from a crime so great! if, indeed, this be a crime. But yet the ties of parent and child are said not to forbid this kind of union; and other animals couple with no distinction. It is not considered shameful for the heifer to mate with her sire; his own daughter becomes the mate of the horse; the he-goat, too, consorts with the flocks of which he is the father; and the bird conceives by him, from whose seed she herself was conceived. Happy they, to whom these things are allowed! The care of man has provided harsh laws, and what Nature permits, malignant ordinances forbid. And yet there are said to be nations⁹⁰⁵ in which both the mother is united to the son, and the daughter to the father, and natural affection is increased by a twofold passion. Ah, wretched me! that it was not my chance to be born there, and that I am injured by my lot being cast in this place! but why do I ruminate on these things? Forbidden hopes, begone! He is deserving to be beloved, but as a father only. Were I not, therefore, the daughter of the great Cinyras, with Cinyras I might be united. Now, because he is so much mine, he is not mine, and his very nearness of relationship is my misfortune.

“She is aware of her wrongdoing and struggles hard against her shameful passion. She says to herself, ‘Where are my feelings carrying me? What am I trying to do? I beg you, gods, family love, and sacred bonds between parents and children, prevent this guilt. Protect me from such a terrible crime, if, indeed, it is a crime. Yet people say the bond between parent and child does not forbid this kind of union. Other animals mate without making that distinction. It is not considered shameful for a heifer to mate with her father. A horse’s own daughter becomes his mate. A male goat mates with the flocks he has fathered. A bird conceives by the male whose seed conceived her. How fortunate they are, to be allowed such things! Human concern has created harsh laws, and cruel rules forbid what Nature permits. And yet there are said to be nations⁹⁰⁵ where mothers mate with sons and daughters with fathers. There, family love is strengthened by a double passion. Oh, how miserable I am! If only I had been born there. Instead, I suffer because my lot was cast here. But why do I keep thinking about this? Forbidden hopes, go away! He deserves to be loved, but only as a father. If I were not the daughter of the great Cinyras, I might be united with him. But because he is so much mine, he is not mine. His very closeness as a relative is my misfortune.

“‘A stranger, I were more likely to succeed. I could wish to go far away hence, and to leave my native country, so I might but escape this crime. A fatal delusion detains me thus in love; that being present, I may look at Cinyras, and touch him, and talk with him, and give him kisses, if nothing more is allowed me. But canst thou hope for anything more, impious maid? and dost thou not perceive both how many laws, and how many names thou art confounding? Wilt thou be both the rival of thy mother, and the harlot of thy father? Wilt thou be called the sister of thy son, and the mother of thy brother? and wilt thou not dread the Sisters that have black snakes for their hair, whom guilty minds see threatening their eyes and their faces with their relentless torches? But do not thou conceive criminality in thy mind, so long as thou hast suffered none in body, and violate not the laws of all-powerful Nature by forbidden embraces. Suppose he were to be compliant, the action itself forbids thee; but he is virtuous, and regardful of what is right. And yet, O that there were a like infatuation in him!’

“‘If I were a stranger, I would be more likely to succeed. I wish I could go far away and leave my native country, if only I could escape this crime. A fatal delusion keeps me here in love. It lets me stay near Cinyras, look at him, touch him, talk with him, and kiss him, if nothing more is allowed. But can you hope for anything more, wicked girl? Do you not see how many laws and how many names you are throwing into confusion? Will you be both your mother’s rival and your father’s harlot? Will you be called your son’s sister and your brother’s mother? Will you not fear the Sisters with black snakes for hair? Guilty minds see them holding their relentless torches threateningly before their eyes and faces. But do not harbor a crime in your mind while your body remains innocent. Do not violate the laws of all-powerful Nature with forbidden embraces. Even if he were willing, the act itself forbids you. But he is virtuous and cares about what is right. And yet, if only he were equally infatuated!’”

“Thus she says; but Cinyras, whom an honourable crowd of suitors is causing to be in doubt what he is to do, inquires of herself, as he repeats their names, of which husband she would wish to be the wife. At first she is silent; and, fixing her eyes upon her father’s countenance, she is in confusion, and fills her eyes with the warm tears. Cinyras, supposing this to be the effect of virgin bashfulness, bids her not weep, and dries her cheeks, and gives her kisses. On these being given, Myrrha is too much delighted; and, being questioned what sort of a husband she would have, she says, ‘One like thyself.’ But he praises the answer not really⁹⁰⁶ understood by him, and says, ‘Ever be thus affectionate.’ On mention being made of affection, the maiden, conscious of her guilt, fixed her eyes on the ground.

“Thus she speaks. But Cinyras is unsure what to do, with so many respectable suitors seeking her hand. He names them and asks her which one she would wish to marry. At first she is silent. She looks at her father’s face in confusion, and her eyes fill with warm tears. Cinyras thinks her tears are caused by maidenly shyness. He tells her not to weep, dries her cheeks, and kisses her. Myrrha is too delighted by his kisses. When he asks what kind of husband she wants, she says, ‘One like yourself.’ But he praises her answer, which he has not really⁹⁰⁶ understood, and says, ‘Always be so affectionate.’ At this mention of affection, the girl, conscious of her guilt, lowers her eyes to the ground.

“It is now midnight, and sleep has dispelled the cares, and has eased the minds of mortals. But the virgin daughter of Cinyras, kept awake, is preyed upon by an unconquerable flame, and ruminates upon her wild desires. And one while she despairs, and at another she resolves to try; and is both ashamed, and yet is desirous, and is not certain what she is to do; and, just as a huge tree, wounded by the axe, when the last stroke now remains, is in doubt, as it were, on which side it is to fall, and is dreaded in each direction; so does her mind, shaken by varying passions, waver in uncertainty, this way and that, and receives an impulse in either direction; and no limit or repose is found for her love, but death: ’tis death that pleases her. She raises herself upright, and determines to insert her neck⁹⁰⁷ in a halter; and tying her girdle to the top of the door-post, she says, ‘Farewell, dear Cinyras, and understand the cause of my death;’ and then fits the noose to her pale neck.

“It is now midnight, and sleep has driven away cares and eased the minds of mortals. But the virgin daughter of Cinyras lies awake, consumed by an irresistible flame. She dwells on her wild desires. At one moment she despairs, and at another she resolves to act. She is both ashamed and yet full of desire, unsure what to do. A great tree struck by an axe seems to hesitate before the final blow. It might fall either way, and people fear it in both directions. Just like that tree, her mind is shaken by conflicting passions. It wavers uncertainly, pulled this way and that. And she finds no end or rest for her love except in death. Death is what she wants. She sits up and decides to put her neck⁹⁰⁷ in a noose. She ties her girdle to the top of the doorpost and says, ‘Farewell, dear Cinyras, and understand why I am dying.’ Then she fits the noose around her pale neck.

“They say that the sound of her words reached the attentive ears of her nurse,⁹⁰⁸ as she was guarding the door of her foster-child. The old woman rises, and opens the door; and, seeing the instruments of the death she has contemplated, at the same moment she cries aloud, and smites herself, and rends her bosom, and snatching the girdle from her neck, tears it to pieces. And then, at last, she has time to weep, then to give her embraces, and to inquire into the occasion for the halter. The maid is silent, as though dumb, and, without moving, looks upon the earth; and thus detected, is sorry for her attempt at death in this slow manner. The old woman still urges her; and laying bare her grey hair, and her withered breasts, begs her, by her cradle and by her first nourishment, to entrust her with that which is causing her grief. She, turning from her as she asks, heaves a sigh. The nurse is determined to find it out, and not to promise her fidelity only. ‘Tell me,’ says she, ‘and allow me to give thee assistance; my old age is not an inactive one. If it is a frantic passion, I have the means of curing it with charms and herbs; if any one has hurt thee by spells, by magic rites shalt thou be cured; or if it is the anger of the Gods, that anger can be appeased by sacrifice. What more than these can I think of? No doubt thy fortunes and thy family are prosperous, and in the way of continuing so; thy mother and thy father are still surviving.’ Myrrha, on hearing her father’s name, heaves a sigh from the bottom of her heart. Nor, even yet, does her nurse apprehend in her mind any unlawful passion; and still she has a presentiment that it is something connected with love. Persisting in her purpose, she entreats her, whatever it is, to disclose it to her, and takes her, as she weeps, in her aged lap; and so embracing her in her feeble arms, she says, ‘Daughter, I understand it; thou art in love, and in this case (lay aside thy fears) my assiduity will be of service to thee; nor shall thy father ever be aware of it.’

“They say her nurse,⁹⁰⁸ who was guarding the door of her foster-child, heard her words and listened closely. The old woman rose and opened the door. When she saw what the girl had prepared for her death, she cried out, struck herself, and tore her dress over her breast. She snatched the girdle from the girl’s neck and tore it to pieces. And only then did she have time to weep, embrace her, and ask why she had made a noose. The girl was silent, as though she could not speak, and stared motionless at the ground. Thus discovered, she regretted that her attempt to die had been so slow. The old woman kept pressing her. She bared her gray hair and withered breasts and begged the girl to tell her what was causing her grief. She reminded her of the cradle and the milk she had first given her. As the nurse questioned her, the girl turned away and sighed. The nurse was determined to discover the cause and to do more than promise to keep her secret. ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘and let me help you. I may be old, but I am not helpless. If it is a mad passion, I can cure it with charms and herbs. If someone has harmed you with spells, magic rites can cure you. Or if the gods are angry, their anger can be appeased by sacrifice. What else than these can I think of? Surely you and your family are prosperous and likely to remain so. Your mother and father are still alive.’ When Myrrha heard her father’s name, she sighed from the bottom of her heart. Even then, her nurse did not suspect an unlawful passion, and yet she sensed that it had something to do with love. Still determined, she begged Myrrha to tell her what was wrong, whatever it was. She took the weeping girl onto her aged lap and held her in her feeble arms. ‘Daughter, I understand,’ she said. ‘You are in love. In this case, put aside your fears. My care will help you, and your father will never know.’”

“Furious, she sprang away from her bosom; and pressing the bed with her face, she said, ‘Depart, I entreat thee, and spare my wretched shame.’ Upon the other insisting, she said, ‘Either depart, or cease to inquire why it is I grieve; that which thou art striving to know, is impious.’ The old woman is struck with horror, and stretches forth her hands palsied both with years and with fear, and suppliantly falls before the feet of her foster-child. And one while she soothes her, sometimes she terrifies her with the consequences, if she is not made acquainted with it; and then she threatens her with the discovery of the halter, and of her attempted destruction, and promises her good offices, if the passion is confided to her. She lifts up her head, and fills the breast of her nurse with tears bursting forth; and often endeavouring to confess, as often does she check her voice; and she covers her blushing face with her garments, and says, ‘O, mother, happy in thy husband!’ Thus much she says; and then she sighs. A trembling shoots through the chilled limbs and the bones of her nurse, for she understands her; and her white hoariness stands bristling with stiff hair all over her head; and she adds many a word to drive away a passion so dreadful, if only she can. But the maiden is well aware that she is not advised to a false step; still she is resolved to die, if she does not enjoy him whom she loves. ‘Live then,’ says the nurse, ‘thou shalt enjoy thy——’ and, not daring to say ‘parent,’ she is silent; and then she confirms her promise with an oath.

“Furious, she sprang from the nurse’s embrace and pressed her face into the bed. ‘Go away, I beg you,’ she said, ‘and spare me this wretched shame.’ When the nurse insisted, she said, ‘Either go away or stop asking why I grieve. What you are trying to learn is wicked.’ The old woman was horrified. She stretched out her hands, trembling with age and fear, and fell pleading at her foster child’s feet. At times she comforted her. At others, she frightened her with the consequences of keeping the secret. Then she threatened to reveal the noose and the girl’s attempt to kill herself. She also promised to help if the girl confided her passion. The girl lifted her head and wept against her nurse’s breast. Again and again she tried to confess, but each time she stopped herself. She covered her blushing face with her clothes and said, ‘Oh, mother, happy in your husband!’ That was all she said. Then she sighed. The nurse understood, and a tremor ran through her chilled limbs and bones. Her white hair stood on end all over her head. She spoke at length, hoping to drive away so dreadful a passion, if only she could. But the girl knew well that the nurse was right to warn her. Still, she was determined to die if she could not have the man she loved. ‘Live then,’ said the nurse. ‘You shall have your...’ She fell silent, not daring to say ‘father.’ Then she swore an oath to confirm her promise.

“The pious matrons were now celebrating the annual festival of Ceres,⁹⁰⁹ on which, having their bodies clothed with snow-white robes, they offer garlands made of ears of corn, as the first fruits of the harvest; and for nine nights they reckon embraces, and the contact of a husband, among the things forbidden. Cenchreïs, the king’s wife, is absent in that company, and attends the mysterious rites. Therefore, while his bed is without his lawful wife, the nurse, wickedly industrious, having found Cinyras overcome with wine, discloses to him a real passion, but under a feigned name, and praises the beauty of the damsel. On his enquiring the age of the maiden, she says, ‘She is of the same age as Myrrha.’ After she is commanded to bring her, and as soon as she has returned home, she says, ‘Rejoice, my fosterling, we have prevailed.’ The unhappy maid does not feel joy throughout her entire body, and her boding breast is sad. And still she does rejoice: so great is the discord in her mind.

“The devout women were now celebrating the annual festival of Ceres.⁹⁰⁹ Dressed in snow-white robes, they offered garlands of grain as the first fruits of the harvest. For nine nights, they considered embraces and contact with a husband forbidden. Cenchreïs, the king’s wife, was away with the women, taking part in the secret rites. So, while his lawful wife was absent from his bed, the wickedly diligent nurse found Cinyras drunk with wine. She told him of a real passion, but used a false name, and praised the beauty of the girl. When he asked the girl’s age, she said, ‘She is the same age as Myrrha.’ He ordered her to bring the girl. As soon as the nurse returned home, she said, ‘Rejoice, my foster child, we have succeeded.’ The unhappy girl did not feel joy throughout her body, and her heart was heavy with foreboding. And still she did rejoice: such was the conflict in her mind.”

“’Twas the time when all things are silent, and Boötes had turned his wain with the pole obliquely directed among the Triones.⁹¹⁰ She approaches to perpetrate her enormity. The golden moon flies from the heavens; black clouds conceal the hiding stars; the night is deprived of its fires. Thou, Icarus, dost conceal thy rising countenance; and thou, Erigone, raised to the heavens through thy affectionate love for thy father. Three times was she recalled by the presage of her foot stumbling; thrice did the funereal owl give an omen by its dismal cry. Yet onward she goes, and the gloom and the dark night lessen her shame. In her left hand she holds that of her nurse, the other, by groping, explores the secret road. And now she is arrived at the door of the chamber; and now she opens the door; now she is led in; but her knees tremble beneath her sinking hams, her colour and her blood vanish; and her courage deserts her as she moves along. The nearer she is to the commission of her crime, the more she dreads it, and she repents of her attempt, and could wish to be able to return unknown. The old woman leads her on by the hand as she lingers, and when she has delivered her up on her approach to the lofty bed, she says, ‘Take her, Cinyras, she is thy own,’ and so unites their doomed bodies. The father receives his own bowels into the polluted bed, and allays her virgin fears, and encourages her as she trembles. Perhaps, too, he may have called her by a name suited to her age, and she may have called him ‘father,’ that the appropriate names might not be wanting in this deed of horror. Pregnant by her father, she departs from the chamber, and, in her impiety, bears his seed in her incestuous womb, and carries with her, criminality in her conception. The ensuing night repeats the guilty deed; nor on that night is there an end. At last, Cinyras, after so many embraces, longing to know who is his paramour, on lights being brought in, discovers both the crime and his own daughter.

“It was the hour when everything is silent, and Boötes had turned his wagon, its pole pointing obliquely among the Triones.⁹¹⁰ She approaches to commit her terrible crime. The golden moon flees from the heavens. Black clouds hide the stars as they retreat. The night is robbed of its lights. You, Icarus, hide your rising face, and you do too, Erigone, raised to heaven for your loving devotion to your father. Three times she stumbles, a warning to turn back. Three times the funeral owl gives an omen with its mournful cry. Yet onward she goes, and the dark night lessens her shame. With her left hand she holds her nurse’s hand. With the other she feels her way along the hidden path. And now she reaches the chamber door. Now she opens it. Now she is led inside. But her knees tremble beneath her, the blood drains from her face, and her courage fails as she moves forward. The closer she comes to committing her crime, the more she fears it. She regrets her attempt and wishes she could turn back without being recognized. The old woman takes her hand and leads her on as she hesitates. When she brings her to the high bed, she says, ‘Take her, Cinyras, she is your own,’ and so brings their doomed bodies together. The father receives his own flesh and blood into the defiled bed. He calms her virgin fears and reassures her as she trembles. Perhaps he even calls her by a name suited to her age, and she may call him ‘father.’ Thus the fitting names would not be missing from this horrific act. Pregnant by her father, she leaves the chamber. In her wickedness, she carries his seed in her incestuous womb and carries with her the guilt of her conception. The guilty act is repeated the following night, and it does not end that night either. At last, after so many embraces, Cinyras longs to know who his lover is. He has lights brought in and discovers both the crime and his own daughter.”

“His words checked through grief, he draws his shining sword from the scabbard as it hangs. Myrrha flies, rescued from death by the gloom and the favour of a dark night; and wandering along the wide fields, she leaves the Arabians famed for their palms, and the Panchæan fields. And she wanders during nine horns of the returning moon; when, at length, being weary, she rests in the Sabæan country,⁹¹¹ and with difficulty she supports the burden of her womb. Then, uncertain what to wish, and between the fear of death and weariness of life, she uttered such a prayer as this: ‘O ye Deities, if any of you favour those who are penitent; I have deserved severe punishment, and I do not shrink from it. But that, neither existing, I may pollute the living, nor dead, those who are departed, expel me from both these realms; and transforming me, deny me both life and death.’ Some Divinity ever regards the penitent; at least, the last of her prayers found its Gods to execute it. For the earth closes over her legs as she speaks, and a root shoots forth obliquely through her bursting nails, as a firm support to her tall trunk. Her bones, too, become hard wood, and her marrow continuing in the middle, her blood changes into sap, her arms into great branches, her fingers into smaller ones; her skin grows hard with bark. And now the growing tree has run over her heavy womb, and has covered her breast, and is ready to enclose her neck. She cannot endure delay, and sinks down to meet the approaching wood, and hides her features within the bark. Though she has lost her former senses together with her human shape, she still weeps on, and warm drops distil⁹¹² from the tree. There is a value even in her tears, and the myrrh distilling from the bark, retains the name of its mistress, and will be unheard-of in no future age.

“His words choked by grief, he draws his shining sword from the scabbard at his side. Myrrha flees, saved from death by the darkness and the shelter of night. She wanders across the wide fields, leaving the Arabians famed for their palms and the Panchæan fields behind. She wanders through nine returning crescent moons. At last, weary, she rests in the Sabæan country,⁹¹¹ struggling to bear the weight of her unborn child. Then, unsure what to wish for, she is caught between fear of death and weariness of life. She offers a prayer like this: ‘O gods, if any of you favor those who repent, I deserve severe punishment, and I do not shrink from it. But cast me out of both realms, so that I may not pollute the living by living or the dead by dying. Transform me, and deny me both life and death.’ Some divinity always listens to those who repent. At least, gods were found to grant the last part of her prayer. As she speaks, the earth closes over her legs. A root pushes sideways through her splitting toenails to support her tall trunk. Her bones turn to hard wood, while her marrow remains at the center. Her blood becomes sap, her arms become large branches, and her fingers become smaller ones. Her skin hardens into bark. The growing tree spreads over her swollen womb and covers her breast. It is about to enclose her neck. She cannot bear to wait, so she sinks down to meet the rising wood and hides her face in the bark. Though she has lost her former senses along with her human form, she still weeps. Warm drops fall⁹¹² from the tree. Even her tears have value. The myrrh that drips from the bark keeps its mistress’s name, and no future age will be unaware of it.

“But the infant conceived in guilt grows beneath the wood, and seeks out a passage, by which he may extricate himself, having left his mother. Her pregnant womb swells in the middle of the tree. The burden distends the mother, nor have her pangs words of their own whereby to express themselves; nor can Lucina be invoked by her voice while bringing forth. Yet she is like one struggling to be delivered; and the bending tree utters frequent groans, and is moistened with falling tears. Gentle Lucina stands by the moaning boughs, and applies her hands, and utters words that promote delivery. The tree gapes open, in chinks, and through the cleft bark it discharges the living burden. The child cries; the Naiads, laying him on the soft grass, anoint him with the tears of his mother.

“But the child conceived in guilt grows beneath the wood. He seeks a passage out of his mother. Her pregnant womb swells inside the tree. The burden stretches the mother, but her labor pains have no words to express themselves. Nor can she call on Lucina as she gives birth. Yet she is like a woman struggling to give birth. The bending tree groans again and again and is wet with falling tears. Gentle Lucina stands beside the moaning branches. She lays her hands on them and speaks words to help the birth. The tree splits open, and through the broken bark it releases its living burden. The child cries. The Naiads lay him on the soft grass and anoint him with his mother's tears.

“Even Envy herself would have commended his face; for just as the bodies of naked Cupids are painted in a picture, such was he. But that their dress may not make any difference, either give to him or take away from them, the polished quivers.”

“Even Envy herself would have praised his face. He looked just like the naked Cupids in paintings. But so their dress makes no difference, either give him polished quivers or take theirs away.”

Adonis is educated by the Naiads. His beauty makes a strong impression on the Goddess Venus, and, in her passion, she traverses the same wilds in pursuit of the youth, which his mother did, when flying from the wrath of her father. After chasing the wild beasts, she invites Adonis to a poplar shade, where she warns him of his danger in hunting lions, wild boars, and such formidable animals. On this occasion, too, she relates the adventures of Hippomenes and Atalanta. The beauty of the latter was such, that her charms daily attracted crowds of suitors. Having consulted the oracle, whether she shall marry, she is answered that a husband will certainly prove her destruction. On this, to avoid marrying, she makes it a rule to offer to run with her suitors, promising that she herself will be the prize of the victor, but only on condition that immediate death shall be the fate of those who are vanquished by her. As she excels in running, her design succeeds, and several suitors die in the attempt to win her. Hippomenes, smitten with her charms, is not daunted at their ill success; but boldly enters the lists, after imploring the aid of Venus. Atalanta is struck with his beauty, and is much embarrassed, whether she shall yield to the charms of the youth, or to the dissuasions of the oracle. Hippomenes attracts her attention in the race, by throwing down some golden apples which Venus has given him, and then, reaching the goal before her, he carries off the reward of victory. Venus, to punish his subsequent ingratitude towards her, raises his desires to such a pitch, that he incurs the resentment of Cybele, by defiling her shrine with the embraces of his mistress; on which they are both transformed into lions, and thenceforth draw the chariot of the Goddess.

The Naiads raise Adonis. His beauty makes a strong impression on the Goddess Venus, and she falls in love with him. In pursuit of the young man, she travels through the same wild places his mother crossed while fleeing her father’s wrath. After chasing wild animals, Venus invites Adonis to rest in the shade of a poplar. There she warns him of the dangers of hunting lions, wild boars, and other fearsome animals. She also tells him the story of Hippomenes and Atalanta. Atalanta was so beautiful that crowds of suitors came to her every day. She asked the oracle whether she should marry. The oracle answered that a husband would certainly bring about her destruction. To avoid marriage, she made a rule that she would race her suitors. She promised to marry the winner, but only on condition that anyone she defeated would be put to death immediately. Because she was an excellent runner, her plan worked, and several suitors died trying to win her. Hippomenes fell in love with her beauty and was not discouraged by their failure. After begging Venus for help, he boldly entered the contest. Atalanta was struck by his beauty and struggled to decide whether to give in to her love for him or heed the oracle’s warning. During the race, Hippomenes distracted her by dropping golden apples that Venus had given him. He reached the finish before her and claimed his prize. Later, Hippomenes showed no gratitude to Venus. To punish him, she aroused his desire so strongly that he defiled Cybele’s shrine by making love to his mistress there. He incurred Cybele’s anger, and the couple were transformed into lions. From then on, they drew the Goddess’s chariot.

“Winged time glides on insensibly and deceives us; and there is nothing more fleeting than years. He, born of his own sister and of his grandfather, who, so lately enclosed in a tree, was so lately born, and but just now a most beauteous infant, is now a youth, now a man, and now more beauteous than he was before. And now he pleases even Venus,⁹¹³ and revenges the flames of his mother, kindled by her. For, while the boy that wears the quiver is giving kisses to his mother, he unconsciously grazes her breast with a protruding arrow. The Goddess, wounded, pushed away her son with her hand. The wound was inflicted more deeply than it seemed to be, and at first had deceived even herself. Charmed with the beauty of the youth, she does not now care for the Cytherian shores, nor does she revisit Paphos, surrounded with the deep sea, and Cnidos,⁹¹⁴ abounding in fish, or Amathus, rich in metals.

“Winged time glides by unnoticed and deceives us. Nothing passes more quickly than the years. He was born of his own sister and grandfather. Until recently, he was enclosed in a tree. He was born only a short time ago and was a beautiful infant just moments ago. Now he is a youth, now a man, and now more beautiful than he was before. And now he pleases even Venus,⁹¹³ and avenges his mother’s passion, which Venus had kindled. For while the boy who wears the quiver is kissing his mother, a protruding arrow accidentally grazes her breast. The wounded goddess pushes her son away. The wound is deeper than it seems, and at first it deceives even her. Charmed by the young man’s beauty, she no longer cares for the Cytherian shores. Nor does she return to Paphos, surrounded by the deep sea, or Cnidos,⁹¹⁴ rich in fish, or Amathus, rich in metals.

“She abandons even the skies; him she ever attends; and she who has been always accustomed to indulge in the shade, and to improve her beauty, by taking care of it, wanders over the tops of mountains, through the woods, and over bushy rocks, bare to the knee and with her robes tucked up after the manner of Diana, and she cheers on the dogs, and hunts animals that are harmless prey, either the fleet hares, or the stag with its lofty horns, or the hinds; she keeps afar from the fierce boars, and avoids the ravening wolves, and the bears armed with claws, and the lions glutted with the slaughter of the herds. Thee, too, Adonis, she counsels to fear them, if she can aught avail by advising thee. And she says, “Be brave against those animals that fly; boldness is not safe against those that are bold. Forbear, youth, to be rash at my hazard, and attack not the wild beasts to which nature has granted arms, lest thy thirst for glory should cost me dear. Neither thy age, nor thy beauty, nor other things which have made an impression on Venus, make any impression on lions and bristly boars, and the eyes and the tempers of wild beasts. The fierce boars carry lightning⁹¹⁵ in their curving tusks; there is rage and fury unlimited in the tawny lions; and the whole race is odious to me.”

“She even leaves the skies and always stays with him. She had always been accustomed to resting in the shade and tending to her beauty. Now she wanders over mountaintops, through woods, and across rocky slopes covered in bushes. Her knees are bare, and her robes are tucked up like Diana’s. She urges on the dogs and hunts harmless prey, such as swift hares, high-antlered stags, and hinds. She keeps far from fierce boars and avoids ravenous wolves, clawed bears, and lions gorged on slaughtered herds. She also warns you, Adonis, to fear them, if her advice can do any good. She says, “Be brave against animals that flee. It is dangerous to be bold against those that are bold. Young man, do not be reckless and put me at risk. Do not attack the wild beasts that nature has armed, lest your thirst for glory cost me dearly. Your youth, your beauty, and the other things that have captivated Venus mean nothing to lions and bristly boars. They mean nothing to the eyes and tempers of wild beasts. Fierce boars carry lightning⁹¹⁵ in their curved tusks. Tawny lions know no limit to their rage and fury. I hate the whole breed.”

“Upon his asking, what is the reason, she says, ‘I will tell thee, and thou wilt be surprised at the prodigious result of a fault long since committed. But this toil to which I am unaccustomed has now fatigued me, and see! a convenient poplar invites us, by its shade, and the turf furnishes a couch. Here I am desirous to repose myself, together with thee;’ and forthwith she rests herself on the ground, and presses at once the grass and himself. And with her neck reclining on the bosom of the youth, smiling, she thus says, and she mingles kisses in the midst of her words:—

“When he asks why, she says, ‘I will tell you, and you will be surprised by the extraordinary result of a fault committed long ago. But this effort, which I am not used to, has tired me. Look! A poplar offers us welcome shade, and the grass makes a bed. I want to rest here with you.’ And at once she lies down on the ground, pressing against both the grass and the young man. Resting her neck on his chest, she smiles and speaks, kissing him between her words:

“Perhaps thou mayst have heard how a certain damsel excelled the swiftest men in the contest of speed. That report was no idle tale; for she did excel them. Nor couldst thou have said, whether she was more distinguished in the merit of her swiftness, or in the excellence of her beauty. Upon her consulting the oracle about a husband, the God said to her, ‘Thou hast no need, Atalanta, of a husband; avoid obtaining a husband. And yet thou wilt not avoid it, and, while still living, thou wilt lose thyself.’ Alarmed with the response of the God, she lives a single life in the shady woods, and determinedly repulses the pressing multitude of her suitors with these conditions. ‘I am not,’ says she, ‘to be gained, unless first surpassed in speed. Engage with me in running. Both a wife and a wedding shall be given as the reward of the swift; death shall be the recompense of the slow. Let that be the condition of the contest.’ She, indeed, was cruel in this proposal; but (so great is the power of beauty) a rash multitude of suitors agreed to these terms. Hippomenes had sat, as a spectator, of this unreasonable race, and said, ‘Is a wife sought by any one, amid dangers so great?’ And thus he condemned the excessive ardour of the youths. But when he beheld her face, and her body with her clothes laid aside, such as mine is, or such as thine would be, Adonis, if thou wast to become a woman, he was astonished, and raising his hands, he said, ‘Pardon me, ye whom I was just now censuring; the reward which you contended for was not yet known to me.’

“Perhaps you have heard how a young woman outran the fastest men in a race. The story was no idle tale, for she did outrun them. You could not have said whether she was more remarkable for her speed or her beauty. When she consulted the oracle about a husband, the God said to her, ‘You have no need of a husband, Atalanta. Avoid taking one. Yet you will not escape it, and, while still alive, you will lose yourself.’ Alarmed by the God’s answer, she lived alone in the shady woods. She firmly turned away the crowd of eager suitors with these conditions. ‘No one can win me,’ she said, ‘unless he first outruns me. Race against me. Both a wife and a wedding will be the reward for the swift. Death will be the reward for the slow. Let that be the condition of the contest.’ Her proposal was cruel. But beauty has such power that a reckless crowd of suitors agreed to the terms. Hippomenes had watched this unreasonable race and said, ‘Does anyone seek a wife at such great risk?’ So he condemned the young men’s excessive eagerness. But then he saw her face and her body, stripped of clothing. Her body was like mine, or like yours would be, Adonis, if you became a woman. He was astonished. Raising his hands, he said, ‘Forgive me, you whom I just criticized. I did not yet know the reward you were competing for.’”

“In commending her, he kindles the flame, and wishes that none of the young men may run more swiftly than she, and, in his envy, is apprehensive of it. ‘But why,’ says he, ‘is my chance in this contest left untried? The Divinity himself assists the daring.’ While Hippomenes is pondering such things within himself, the virgin flies with winged pace. Although she appears to the Aonian youth to go no less swiftly than the Scythian arrow, he admires her still more in her beauty, and the very speed makes her beauteous. The breeze that meets her bears back her pinions on her swift feet, and her hair is thrown over her ivory shoulders and the leggings which are below her knees with their variegated border, and upon her virgin whiteness her body has contracted a blush; no otherwise than as when purple hangings⁹¹⁶ over a whitened hall tint it with a shade of a similar colour. While the stranger is observing these things, the last course is run,⁹¹⁷ and the victorious Atalanta is adorned with a festive crown. The vanquished utter sighs, and pay the penalty, according to the stipulation. Still, not awed by the end of these young men, he stands up in the midst; and fixing his eyes on the maiden, he says, ‘Why dost thou seek an easy victory by conquering the inactive? Contend now with me. If fortune shall render me victorious, thou wilt not take it ill to be conquered by one so illustrious. For my father was Megareus, Onchestius his;⁹¹⁸ Neptune was his grandsire; I am the great grandson of the king of the waves. Nor is my merit inferior to my extraction. Or if I shall be conquered, in the conquest of Hippomenes thou wilt have a great and honourable name.’

“As he praises her, his passion grows. He hopes that none of the young men can outrun her, yet fears they might. ‘But why,’ he says, ‘should I leave my own chance in this contest untried? The Divinity himself helps those who dare.’ While Hippomenes turns these thoughts over, the maiden flies along as if on wings. To the Aonian youth, she seems to move no less swiftly than a Scythian arrow. Yet he admires her beauty all the more, and her very speed makes her beautiful. The breeze blows back the wings on her swift feet. Her hair streams over her ivory shoulders and her leggings, which have a patterned border below her knees. A blush spreads over her maidenly white skin. It is like the color that purple hangings⁹¹⁶ cast over a white hall. While the stranger watches, the final race is run,⁹¹⁷ and the victorious Atalanta is crowned in celebration. The defeated young men sigh and pay the penalty, as agreed. Still, Hippomenes is not frightened by their fate. He stands before everyone, fixes his eyes on the maiden, and says, ‘Why do you seek an easy victory by defeating the slow? Race now against me. If fortune grants me victory, you will not mind being beaten by someone so distinguished. My father was Megareus, and his father was Onchestius.⁹¹⁸ Neptune was Megareus’s grandfather. I am the great grandson of the king of the waves. My own merit is no less than my birth. Or, if I am defeated, defeating Hippomenes will bring you great and honorable fame.’

“As he utters such words as these, the daughter of Schœneus regards him with a benign countenance, and is in doubt whether she shall wish to be overcome or to conquer; and thus she says: ‘What Deity, a foe to the beauteous, wishes to undo this youth? and commands him, at the risk of a life so dear, to seek this alliance? In my own opinion, I am not of so great value. Nor yet am I moved by his beauty. Still, by this, too, I could be moved. But, ’tis because he is still a boy; ’tis not himself that affects me, but his age. And is it not, too, because he has courage and a mind undismayed by death? And is it not, besides, because he is reckoned fourth in descent from the monarch of the sea? And is it not, because he loves me, and thinks a marriage with me of so much worth as to perish for it, if cruel fortune should deny me to him? Stranger, while still thou mayst, begone, and abandon an alliance stained with blood. A match with me is cruelly hazardous. No woman will be unwilling to be married to thee; and thou mayst be desired even by a prudent maid. But why have I any concern for thee, when so many have already perished? Let him look to it; and let him die, since he is not warned by the fate of so many of my wooers, and is impelled onwards to weariness of life.

“As he speaks, the daughter of Schœneus looks kindly at him. She is unsure whether she wants to lose or win. And so she says: ‘What god, an enemy of beauty, wants to destroy this young man? What god urges him to risk a life so precious to seek marriage with me? In my opinion, I am not worth so much. Nor yet am I moved by his beauty. Still, his beauty could move me too. But it is because he is still a boy. It is not he himself who affects me, but his age. And is it not also because he has courage and a mind undaunted by death? And is it not because he is counted fourth in descent from the ruler of the sea? And is it not because he loves me and thinks marriage to me worth so much? He would die for it if cruel fortune denied me to him. Stranger, while still you can, go away and give up this match stained with blood. Marrying me is a cruel risk. No woman would refuse to marry you, and even a sensible girl might want you. But why should I care about you when so many have already died? Let him take care of himself, and let him die. The fate of so many of my suitors has not warned him, and his weariness of life drives him on.

“‘Shall he then die because he was desirous with me to live? And shall he suffer an undeserved death, the reward of his love? My victory will not be able to support the odium of the deed. But it is no fault of mine. I wish thou wouldst desist! or since thou art thus mad, would that thou wast more fleet than I! But what a feminine look⁹¹⁹ there is in his youthful face! Ah, wretched Hippomenes, I would that I had not been seen by thee! Thou wast worthy to have lived! And if I had been more fortunate; and if the vexatious Divinities had not denied me the blessings of marriage, thou wast one with whom I could have shared my bed.’ Thus she said; and as one inexperienced, and smitten by Cupid for the first time, not knowing what she is doing, she is in love, and yet does not know that she is in love.

“‘Should he die because he wanted to live with me? Should he suffer an undeserved death as a reward for his love? My victory could not withstand the hatred the deed would bring. But it is not my fault. I wish you would give up! Or, since you are so mad, I wish you were faster than I am! But how feminine⁹¹⁹ his young face looks! Ah, poor Hippomenes, I wish you had never seen me! You deserved to live! If I had been luckier, and if the troublesome gods had not denied me the blessings of marriage, you are someone I could have shared my bed with.’ So she spoke. She was inexperienced and struck by Cupid for the first time. She did not know what she was doing. She was in love, yet she did not know it.

“And now, both the people and her father, demanded the usual race, when Hippomenes, the descendant of Neptune, invoked me with anxious voice; ‘I entreat that Cytherea may favour my undertaking, and aid the passion that she has inspired in me.’ The breeze, not envious, wafted to me this tender prayer; I was moved, I confess it; nor was any long delay made in giving aid. There is a field, the natives call it by name the Tamasenian field,⁹²⁰ the choicest spot in the Cyprian land; this the elders of former days consecrated to me, and ordered to be added as an endowment for my temple. In the middle of this field a tree flourishes, with yellow foliage, and with branches tinkling with yellow gold. Hence, by chance as I was coming, I carried three golden apples, that I had plucked, in my hand; and being visible to none but him, I approached Hippomenes, and I showed him what was to be the use of them. The trumpets have now given the signal, when each of them darts precipitately from the starting place, and skims the surface of the sand with nimble feet. You might have thought them able to pace the sea with dry feet, and to run along the ears of white standing corn while erect. The shouts and the applause of the populace give courage to the youth, and the words of those who exclaim, ‘Now, now, Hippomenes, is the moment to speed onward! make haste. Now use all thy strength! Away with delay! thou shalt be conqueror.’ It is doubtful whether the Megarean hero, or the virgin daughter of Schœneus rejoiced the most at these sayings. O how often when she could have passed by him, did she slacken her speed, and then unwillingly left behind the features that long she had gazed upon.

“And now, both the people and her father demanded the usual race. Hippomenes, a descendant of Neptune, called to me anxiously. ‘I beg Cytherea to favor my attempt and help me win the love she has inspired in me.’ The breeze, holding nothing back, carried this tender prayer to me. I was moved, I confess, and I did not delay long in giving help. There is a field in the Cyprian land that the natives call the Tamasenian field.⁹²⁰ It is the finest place in the land. The elders of former days consecrated it to me and made it part of my temple’s endowment. In the middle of the field grows a tree with yellow leaves and branches that tinkle with yellow gold. As it happened, I was coming from there with three golden apples I had picked. Visible to no one but Hippomenes, I approached him and showed him what was to be done with them. The trumpets have now sounded the signal. Both racers dart from the starting line and skim over the sand on nimble feet. You might have thought they could walk across the sea with dry feet or run along the heads of standing white corn without bending them. The crowd’s cheers and applause encourage the young man. People shout, ‘Now, now, Hippomenes, is the time to race ahead! Hurry! Use all your strength now! Do not delay! You will win.’ It is hard to say whether the Megarean hero or the virgin daughter of Schœneus was more pleased by their words. Oh, how often she slowed down when she could have passed him! Then she reluctantly left behind the face she had gazed at for so long.

“A parched panting is coming from his faint mouth, and the goal is still a great way off. Then, at length, the descendant of Neptune throws one of the three products of the tree. The virgin is amazed, and from a desire for the shining fruit, she turns from her course, and picks up the rolling gold. Hippomenes passes her. The theatres ring⁹²¹ with applause. She makes amends for her delay, and the time that she has lost, with a swift pace, and again she leaves the youth behind. And, retarded by the throwing of a second apple, again she overtakes the young man, and passes by him. The last part of the race now remained. ‘And now,’ said he, ‘O Goddess, giver of this present, aid me;’ and then with youthful might, he threw the shining gold, in an oblique direction, on one side of the plain, in order that she might return the more slowly. The maiden seemed to be in doubt, whether she should fetch it; I forced her to take it up, and added weight to the apple, when she had taken it up, and I impeded her, both by the heaviness of the burden, and the delay in reaching it. And that my narrative may not be more tedious than that race, the virgin was outrun, and the conqueror obtained the prize.

“His faint breaths come in dry gasps, and the finish line is still far away. At last, Neptune’s descendant throws one of the three fruits from the tree. The maiden is amazed. Wanting the shining fruit, she turns aside and picks up the rolling gold. Hippomenes passes her. The stands ring⁹²¹ with applause. She makes up for the delay and the time she has lost by running swiftly. Again she leaves the young man behind. Though slowed by the throwing of a second apple, she again catches the young man and passes him. Only the final stretch of the race now remained. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘O Goddess, who gave me this gift, help me.’ Then, with youthful strength, he threw the shining gold diagonally across the plain. He threw it to one side so that she would take longer to return. The maiden seemed unsure whether to fetch it. I made her pick it up and added weight to the apple once she had it. I slowed her with both its weight and the delay in reaching it. And so that my story may not be more tedious than that race, the maiden was outrun, and the winner claimed the prize.

“And was I not, Adonis, deserving that he should return thanks to me, and the tribute of frankincense? but, in his ingratitude, he gave me neither thanks nor frankincense. I was thrown into a sudden passion; and provoked at being slighted, I provided by making an example, that I should not be despised in future times, and I aroused myself against them both. They were passing by a temple, concealed within a shady wood, which the famous Echion had formerly built for the Mother of the Gods, according to his vow; and the length of their journey moved them to take rest there. There, an unseasonable desire of caressing his wife seized Hippomenes, excited by my agency. Near the temple was a recess, with but little light, like a cave, covered with native pumice stone, one sacred from ancient religious observance; where the priest had conveyed many a wooden image of the ancient Gods. This he entered, and he defiled the sanctuary by a forbidden crime. The sacred images turned away their eyes, and the Mother of the Gods, crowned with turrets,⁹²² was in doubt whether she should plunge these guilty ones in the Stygian stream. That seemed too light a punishment. Wherefore yellow manes cover their necks so lately smooth; their fingers are bent into claws, of their shoulders are made fore-legs;⁹²³ their whole weight passes into their breasts. The surface of the sand is swept by their tails.⁹²⁴ Their look has anger in it; instead of words they utter growls; instead of chambers they haunt the woods; and dreadful to others, as lions, they champ the bits of Cybele with subdued jaws. Do thou, beloved by me, avoid these, and together with these, all kinds of wild beasts which turn not their backs in flight, but their breasts to the fight; lest thy courage should be fatal to us both.”

“And did I not deserve his thanks and an offering of frankincense, Adonis? But in his ingratitude, he gave me neither. I flew into a rage at the insult. I decided to make an example of them both, so no one would ever despise me again. They were passing a temple hidden in a shady wood. The famous Echion had built it for the Mother of the Gods to fulfill a vow. Their long journey led them to rest there. There, I stirred an untimely desire in Hippomenes to caress his wife. Near the temple was a dim recess, like a cave, covered with natural pumice stone. It had long been sacred, and the priest had placed many wooden images of the ancient Gods there. Hippomenes entered it and defiled the sanctuary with a forbidden act. The sacred images turned their eyes away. The Mother of the Gods, crowned with turrets,⁹²² wondered whether to plunge the guilty pair into the Stygian stream. But that seemed too light a punishment. So yellow manes covered their necks, which had so recently been smooth. Their fingers curved into claws, and their shoulders became forelegs.⁹²³ Their whole weight shifted to their chests. Their tails swept the surface of the sand.⁹²⁴ Their faces showed anger. Instead of words, they growled. Instead of living in chambers, they roamed the woods. As lions, they terrified others, yet they meekly champed the bits of Cybele. You, my beloved, must avoid these lions and every wild beast that turns to fight rather than flee. Otherwise, your courage may prove fatal to us both.”

Adonis being too ardent in the pursuit of a wild boar, the beast kills him, on which Venus changes his blood into a flower of crimson colour.

Adonis pursues a wild boar too eagerly, and the beast kills him. Venus then changes his blood into a crimson flower.

“She, indeed, thus warned him; and, harnessing her swans, winged her way through the air; but his courage stood in opposition to her advice. By chance, his dogs having followed its sure track, roused a boar, and the son of Cinyras pierced him, endeavouring to escape from the wood, with a wound from the side. Immediately the fierce boar, with his crooked snout, struck out the hunting-spear, stained with his blood, and then pursued him, trembling and seeking a safe retreat, and lodged his entire tusks in his groin, and stretched him expiring on the yellow sand.

“She thus warned him, then harnessed her swans and flew through the air. But his courage led him to disregard her advice. By chance, his dogs picked up a boar’s trail and flushed it out. As the boar tried to escape from the woods, the son of Cinyras wounded it in the side. The fierce boar immediately used its curved snout to pull out the bloodstained hunting spear. It then chased him as he trembled and sought safety. The boar buried its tusks deep in his groin, leaving him dying on the yellow sand.

“Cytherea, borne in her light chariot⁹²⁵ through the middle of the air, had not yet arrived at Cyprus upon the wings of her swans. She recognized afar his groans, as he was dying, and turned her white birds in that direction. And when, from the lofty sky, she beheld him half dead, and bathing his body in his own blood, she rapidly descended, and rent both her garments and her hair, and she smote her breast with her distracted hands. And complaining of the Fates, she says, ‘But, however, all things shall not be in your power; the memorials of my sorrow, Adonis, shall ever remain; and the representation of thy death, repeated yearly, shall exhibit an imitation of my mourning. But thy blood shall be changed into a flower. Was it formerly allowed thee, Persephone, to change the limbs⁹²⁶ of a female into fragrant mint; and shall the hero, the son of Cinyras, if changed, be a cause of displeasure against me?’ Having thus said, she sprinkles his blood with odoriferous nectar, which, touched by it, effervesces, just as the transparent bubbles are wont to rise in rainy weather. Nor was there a pause longer than a full hour, when a flower sprang up from the blood, of the same colour with it, such as the pomegranates are wont to bear, which conceal their seeds beneath their tough rind. Yet the enjoyment of it is but short-lived; for the same winds⁹²⁷ which give it a name, beat it down, as it has but a slender hold, and is apt to fall by reason of its extreme slenderness.”

“Cytherea had not yet reached Cyprus in her light chariot,⁹²⁵ drawn through the air by her swans. From far away, she heard his dying groans and turned her white birds toward him. From high in the sky, she saw him half dead, his body bathed in his own blood. She quickly descended, tore her clothes and hair, and beat her breast with frantic hands. She cried out against the Fates, ‘But not everything will be in your power. Adonis, signs of my sorrow will remain forever. Each year, a reenactment of your death will show an imitation of my mourning. But your blood will be changed into a flower. Persephone, you were once allowed to change a woman’s body⁹²⁶ into fragrant mint. And will anyone be displeased with me if I change the hero, the son of Cinyras?’ Having said this, she sprinkled his blood with fragrant nectar. When the nectar touched the blood, it bubbled, like clear bubbles rising in rainy weather. Within an hour, a flower sprang from the blood. It was the same color as the blood, like the flowers of the pomegranate, which hides its seeds beneath a tough rind. Yet the flower’s beauty is short-lived. The same winds⁹²⁷ that give it its name beat it down. Its hold is weak, and its extreme slenderness makes it likely to fall.”