Book 3

Jupiter, having carried away Europa, her father, Agenor, commands his son Cadmus to go immediately in search of her, and either to bring back his sister with him, or never to return to Phœnicia. Cadmus, wearied with his toils and fruitless inquiries, goes to consult the oracle at Delphi, which bids him observe the spot where he should see a cow lie down, and build a city there, and give the name of Bœotia to the country.

After Jupiter carries Europa away, her father, Agenor, orders his son Cadmus to search for her immediately. He tells Cadmus to bring his sister back or never return to Phœnicia. Worn out by his efforts and unsuccessful search, Cadmus consults the oracle at Delphi. The oracle tells him to find a cow and watch where it lies down. He must build a city on that spot and name the country Bœotia.

And now the God, having laid aside the shape of the deceiving Bull, had discovered himself, and reached the Dictæan land; when her father, ignorant of her fate, commands Cadmus to seek her thus ravished, and adds exile as the punishment, if he does not find her; being both affectionate and unnatural in the self-same act. The son of Agenor, having wandered over the whole world,²¹⁰ as an exile flies from his country and the wrath of his father, for who is there that can discover the intrigues of Jupiter? A suppliant, he consults the oracle of Phœbus, and inquires in what land he must dwell. “A heifer,” Phœbus says, “will meet thee in the lonely fields, one that has never borne the yoke, and free from the crooked plough. Under her guidance, go on thy way; and where she shall lie down on the grass, there cause a city to be built, and call it the Bœotian²¹¹ city.”

The God now cast off the shape of the deceptive Bull, revealed himself, and reached the Dictæan land. Her father, unaware of her fate, ordered Cadmus to search for her, who had been abducted. He threatened to banish Cadmus if he failed to find her. In this one act, he was both loving and cruel. The son of Agenor wandered over the whole world,²¹⁰ then fled his country and his father’s anger as an exile. For who can uncover the intrigues of Jupiter? He went to the oracle of Phœbus as a suppliant and asked where he should live. “A heifer will meet you in the lonely fields,” Phœbus said. “She has never worn a yoke or pulled the curved plough. Follow her, and where she lies down on the grass, build a city. Call it the Bœotian²¹¹ city.”

Scarcely had Cadmus well got down from the Castalian cave,²¹² when he saw a heifer, without a keeper, slowly going along, bearing no mark of servitude upon her neck. He follows, and pursues her steps with leisurely pace, and silently adores Phœbus, the adviser of his way. And now he had passed the fords of the Cephisus, and the fields of Panope, when the cow stood still and raising her forehead, expansive with lofty horns, towards heaven, she made the air reverberate with her lowings. And so, looking back on her companions that followed behind, she lay down, and reposed her side upon the tender grass. Cadmus returned thanks, and imprinted kisses upon the stranger land, and saluted the unknown mountains and fields. He was now going to offer sacrifice to Jupiter, and commanded his servants to go and fetch some water for the libation from the running springs. An ancient grove was standing there, as yet profaned by no axe. There was a cavern in the middle of it, thick covered with twigs and osiers, forming a low arch by the junction of the rocks; abounding with plenty of water. Hid in this cavern, there was a dragon sacred to Mars,²¹³ adorned with crests and a golden color. His eyes sparkle with fire, and all his body is puffed out with poison; three tongues, too, are brandished, and his teeth stand in a triple row.

Cadmus had barely come down from the Castalian cave²¹² when he saw a heifer walking slowly along without a keeper. She had no mark of a yoke on her neck. He followed her at a leisurely pace, silently worshipping Phœbus, who had shown him the way. And when he had crossed the fords of the Cephisus and the fields of Panope, the cow stopped. She raised her broad forehead and lofty horns toward heaven, and her lowing echoed through the air. Then she looked back at her companions following behind her, lay down, and rested her side on the soft grass. Cadmus gave thanks, kissed the unfamiliar ground, and greeted the strange mountains and fields. He was now going to offer a sacrifice to Jupiter. He ordered his servants to fetch water from the running springs for the libation. An ancient grove stood there, as yet untouched by any axe. In the middle of it was a cave, thickly covered with twigs and osiers. Its rocks met to form a low arch, and the cave had plenty of water. A dragon sacred to Mars²¹³ hid inside. He had crests and a golden color. His eyes sparkled with fire, and his whole body was swollen with poison. He also flicked three tongues, and his teeth stood in three rows.

The companions of Cadmus, fetching water from the fountain of Mars, are devoured by the Dragon that guards it. Cadmus, on discovering their destruction, slays the monster, and, by the advice of Minerva, sows the teeth, which immediately produce a crop of armed men. They forthwith quarrel among themselves, and kill each other, with the exception of five who assist Cadmus in building the city of Thebes.

Cadmus's companions go to fetch water from the fountain of Mars, but the Dragon guarding it devours them. When Cadmus discovers what happened, he kills the monster. Following Minerva's advice, he sows its teeth, which immediately grow into a crop of armed men. They quickly quarrel and kill one another. Only five survive, and they help Cadmus build the city of Thebes.

After the men who came from the Tyrian nation had touched this grove with ill-fated steps, and the urn let down into the water made a splash; the azure dragon stretched forth his head from the deep cave, and uttered dreadful hissings. The urns dropped from their hands; and the blood left their bodies, and a sudden trembling seized their astonished limbs. He wreathes his scaly orbs in rolling spires, and with a spring becomes twisted into mighty folds; and uprearing himself from below the middle into the light air, he looks down upon all the grove, and is of as large a size,²¹⁴ as, if you were to look on him entire, the serpent which separates the two Bears.

The men from the Tyrian nation entered the grove, unaware of their doomed fate. When they lowered an urn into the water, it made a splash. An azure dragon thrust his head out of a deep cave and hissed terribly. The urns fell from the men's hands. The blood drained from their bodies, and their stunned limbs suddenly began to tremble. The dragon wound his scaly body into rolling coils. With a spring, he twisted himself into enormous loops. He raised more than half his body into the air and looked down over the whole grove. He was as large²¹⁴ as the serpent that separates the two Bears, if you were to see it whole.

There is no delay; he seizes the Phœnicians (whether they are resorting to their arms or to flight, or whether fear itself is preventing either step); some he kills with his sting,²¹⁵ some with his long folds, some breathed upon²¹⁶ by the venom of his baneful poison.

Without delay, he seizes the Phœnicians. Some are reaching for their weapons, some are fleeing, and others are too afraid to do either step. He kills some with his sting,²¹⁵ some with his long coils, and some with the deadly poison he breathes upon²¹⁶ them.

The sun, now at its height, had made the shadows but small: the son of Agenor wonders what has detained his companion and goes to seek his men. His garment was a skin torn from a lion; his weapon was a lance with shining steel, and a javelin; and a courage superior to any weapon. When he entered the grove, and beheld the lifeless bodies, and the victorious enemy of immense size upon them, licking the horrid wounds with bloodstained tongue, he said, “Either I will be the avenger of your death, bodies of my faithful companions, or I will be a sharer in it.” Thus he said; and with his right hand he raised a huge stone,²¹⁷ and hurled the vast weight with a tremendous effort. And although high walls with lofty towers would have been shaken with the shock of it, yet the dragon remained without a wound; and, being defended by his scales as though with a coat of mail, and the hardness of his black hide, he repelled the mighty stroke with his skin. But he did not overcome the javelin as well with the same hardness; which stood fast, fixed in the middle joint of his yielding spine, and sank with the entire point of steel into his entrails. Fierce with pain, he turned his head towards his back, and beheld his wounds, and bit the javelin fixed there. And after he had twisted it on every side with all his might, with difficulty he wrenched it from his back; yet the steel stuck fast in his bones. But then, when this newly inflicted wound has increased his wonted fury, his throat swelled with gorged veins, and white foam flowed around his pestilential jaws. The Earth, too, scraped with the scales, sounds again, and the livid steam that issues from his infernal mouth,²¹⁸ infects the tainted air. One while he is enrolled in spires making enormous rings; sometimes he unfolds himself straighter than a long beam. Now with a vast impulse, like a torrent swelled with rain, he is borne along, and bears down the obstructing forests with his breast. The son of Agenor gives way a little; and by the spoil of the lion he sustains the shock, and with his lance extended before him, pushes back his mouth, as it advances. The dragon rages, and vainly inflicts wounds on the hard steel, and fixes his teeth upon the point. And now the blood began to flow from his poisonous palate, and had dyed the green grass with its spray. But the wound was slight; because he recoiled from the stroke, and drew back his wounded throat, and by shrinking prevented the blow from sinking deep, and did not suffer it to go very far. At length, the son of Agenor, still pursuing, pressed the spear lodged in his throat, until an oak stood in his way as he retreated, and his neck was pierced, together with the trunk. The tree was bent with the weight of the serpent, and groaned at having its trunk lashed with the extremity of its tail.

The sun was now at its height, and the shadows were only small. The son of Agenor wondered what had delayed his companion and went to look for his men. He wore a skin torn from a lion and carried a lance with shining steel and a javelin. His courage was greater than any weapon. When he entered the grove, he saw the lifeless bodies of his men. Their victorious enemy, a dragon of immense size, stood over them, licking their dreadful wounds with a bloodstained tongue. He said, “Either I will avenge your deaths, bodies of my faithful companions, or I will share in them.” With that, he lifted a huge stone²¹⁷ in his right hand and hurled the vast weight with tremendous effort. The impact would have shaken high walls and lofty towers, but the dragon was unharmed. His scales protected him like a coat of mail, and his hard black hide turned the mighty blow aside. But the same hard hide could not stop the javelin. It lodged in a joint in the middle of his spine, and the entire steel point sank into his entrails. Fierce with pain, the dragon turned his head toward his back and saw his wounds. He bit the javelin lodged there and twisted it from side to side with all his strength. With difficulty, he wrenched it from his back, but the steel point remained stuck in his bones. The fresh wound increased his usual fury. His throat swelled with bulging veins, and white foam flowed around his poisonous jaws. His scales scraped against the earth, and it echoed with the sound. The foul vapor that poured from his hellish mouth²¹⁸ poisoned the already tainted air. At times he curled into enormous coils. At others he stretched himself out, straighter than a long beam. Then he surged forward like a torrent swollen with rain, knocking down the forest in his path with his chest. The son of Agenor stepped back a little and used the lion’s skin to withstand the impact. Holding his lance out before him, he pushed back the dragon’s advancing mouth. The dragon raged and struck uselessly at the hard steel, sinking his teeth into its point. Blood began to flow from his poisonous mouth, spraying and staining the green grass. But the wound was slight because he recoiled from the blow and pulled back his injured throat. By shrinking away, he kept the lance from sinking very deep. At last, the son of Agenor kept advancing, pressing the spear into the dragon’s throat. As the dragon retreated, an oak tree blocked his way, and the spear pierced both his neck and the trunk. The tree bent under the serpent’s weight and groaned as the end of his tail lashed its trunk.

While the conqueror was surveying the vast size of his vanquished enemy, a voice was suddenly heard (nor was it easy to understand whence it was, but heard it was). “Why, son of Agenor, art thou thus contemplating the dragon slain by thee? Even thou thyself shalt be seen in the form of a dragon.”²¹⁹ He, for a long time in alarm, lost his color together with his presence of mind, and his hair stood on end with a chill of terror. Lo! Pallas, the favorer of the hero, descending through the upper region of the air, comes to him, and bids him sow the dragon’s teeth under the earth turned up, as the seeds of a future people. He obeyed; and when he had opened a furrow with the pressed plough, he scattered the teeth on the ground as ordered, the seed of a race of men. Afterwards (’tis beyond belief) the turf began to move, and first appeared a point of a spear out of the furrows, next the coverings of heads nodding with painted cones;²²⁰ then the shoulders and the breast, and the arms laden with weapons start up, and a crop of men armed with shields grows apace. So, when the curtains²²¹ are drawn up in the joyful theaters, figures are wont to rise, and first to show their countenances; by degrees the rest; and being drawn out in a gradual continuation, the whole appear, and place their feet on the lowest edge of the stage. Alarmed with this new enemy, Cadmus is preparing to take arms, when one of the people that the earth had produced cries out, “Do not take up arms, nor engage thyself in civil war.” And then, engaged hand to hand, he strikes one of his earth-born brothers with the cruel sword, while he himself falls by a dart sent from a distance. He, also, who had put him to death, lives no longer than the other, and breathes forth the air which he has so lately received. In a similar manner, too, the whole troop becomes maddened, and the brothers so newly sprung up, fall in fight with each other, by mutual wounds. And now the youths that had the space of so short an existence allotted them, beat with throbbing breast their blood-stained mother, five only remaining, of whom Echion²²² was one. He, by the advice of Tritonia, threw his arms upon the ground, and both asked and gave the assurance of brotherly concord.

While the conqueror surveyed the vast body of his defeated enemy, a voice suddenly spoke. It was hard to tell where it came from, but it was heard. “Why, son of Agenor, are you thus staring at the dragon slain by you? Even you yourself will be seen in the form of a dragon.”²¹⁹ For a long time, he was so alarmed that he went pale and lost his presence of mind. His hair stood on end with a chill of terror. Then Pallas, who favored the hero, came down to him through the upper air. She told him to sow the dragon’s teeth in the turned earth as seeds for a future people. He obeyed. After opening a furrow by pressing down on the plow, he scattered the teeth on the ground as ordered. They were the seeds of a race of men. Then, incredible as it seems, the turf began to move. First, a spear point appeared from the furrows, followed by helmets with nodding, painted crests.²²⁰ Then shoulders, chests, and arms bearing weapons emerged. A crop of men armed with shields sprang up quickly. In the same way, when the curtains²²¹ rise in the joyful theaters, figures often rise with them. First they show their faces, then gradually the rest of their bodies. As they are drawn up bit by bit, their whole bodies appear, with their feet on the lowest edge of the stage. Alarmed by this new enemy, Cadmus prepared to take up arms. But one of the people born from the earth cried out, “Do not take up arms or join in civil war.” Then, fighting hand to hand, the man struck one of his earth-born brothers with a cruel sword. While doing so, he himself fell to a spear thrown from a distance. The man who killed him lived no longer than he did. He breathed out the air he had so recently received. In the same way, the whole troop went mad. The newly born brothers fought one another and fell from the wounds they inflicted on each other. Now the young men, who had been allotted so short a life, beat their bloodstained mother with their throbbing breasts. Only five remained, and Echion²²² was one of them. On Tritonia’s advice, he threw his weapons to the ground. He asked for and gave a promise of brotherly peace.

The Sidonian stranger had these as associates in his task, when he built the city that was ordered by the oracle of Phœbus.

These were the Sidonian stranger’s companions when he built the city, as the oracle of Phœbus had ordered.

Actæon, the grandson of Cadmus, fatigued with hunting and excessive heat, inadvertently wanders to the cool valley of Gargaphie, the usual retreat of Diana, when tired with the same exercise. There, to his misfortune, he surprises the Goddess and her Nymphs while bathing, for which she transforms him into a stag, and his own hounds tear him to pieces.

Actæon, the grandson of Cadmus, was tired from hunting and the intense heat. He wandered by chance into the cool valley of Gargaphie. Diana often went there to rest when she was tired from hunting. Unfortunately for Actæon, he came upon the goddess and her Nymphs while they were bathing. Diana transformed him into a stag, and his own hounds tore him to pieces.

And now Thebes was standing; now Cadmus, thou mightst seem happy in thy exile. Both Mars and Venus²²³ had become thy father-in-law and mother-in-law; add to this, issue by a wife so illustrious, so many sons²²⁴ and daughters, and grandchildren, dear pledges of love; these, too, now of a youthful age. But, forsooth, the last day of life must always be awaited by man, and no one ought to be pronounced happy before his death,²²⁵ and his last obsequies. Thy grandson, Cadmus, was the first occasion of sorrow to thee, among so much prosperity, the horns, too, not his own, placed upon his forehead, and you, O dogs, glutted with the blood of your master. But, if you diligently inquire into his case, you will find the fault of an accident, and not criminality in him; for what criminality did mistake embrace?

Thebes now stood, and Cadmus, you might have seemed happy in exile. Mars and Venus²²³ had become your father-in-law and mother-in-law. You also had children by your illustrious wife, many sons²²⁴ and daughters, and grandchildren, dear pledges of love. Your grandchildren, too, had reached their youth. But surely, a person must always wait for the last day of life. No one should be called happy before death,²²⁵ and the final funeral rites. Cadmus, amid all this prosperity, your grandson was the first cause of sorrow to you. Horns that were not his own were placed on his forehead. And you, his dogs, gorged yourselves on your master's blood. But if you examine his case carefully, you will find an accident at fault, not a crime. For how could a mistake be a crime?

There was a mountain stained with the blood of various wild beasts; and now the day had contracted the meridian shadow of things, and the sun was equally distant from each extremity of the heavens; when the Hyantian youth²²⁶ thus addressed the partakers of his toils, as they wandered along the lonely haunts of the wild beasts, with gentle accent: “Our nets are moistened, my friends, and our spears, too, with the blood of wild beasts; and the day has yielded sufficient sport; when the next morn, borne upon her rosy chariot, shall bring back the light, let us seek again our proposed task. Now Phœbus is at the same distance from both lands, the Eastern and the Western, and is cleaving the fields with his heat. Cease your present toils, and take away the knotted nets.” The men execute his orders, and cease their labors. There was a valley, thick set with pitch-trees and the sharp-pointed cypress; by name Gargaphie,²²⁷ sacred to the active Diana. In the extreme recess of this, there was a grotto in a grove, formed by no art; nature, by her ingenuity, had counterfeited art; for she had formed a natural arch, in the native pumice and the light sand-stones. A limpid fountain ran murmuring on the right hand with its little stream, having its spreading channels edged with a border of grass. Here, when wearied with hunting, the Goddess of the woods was wont to bathe her virgin limbs in clear water.

A mountain was stained with the blood of many wild beasts. It was noon, and the sun had shortened the shadows. It was equally distant from either end of the sky. The Hyantian youth²²⁶ and his fellow hunters wandered through the lonely haunts of the wild beasts. He then spoke gently to them: “My friends, our nets and spears are wet with the blood of wild beasts. We have had enough hunting for one day. When tomorrow’s dawn brings back the light in her rosy chariot, let us return to our task. Now Phœbus is equally distant from both lands, the Eastern and the Western, and his heat scorches the fields. Stop your work and take down the knotted nets.” The men obeyed and stopped their work. There was a valley called Gargaphie,²²⁷ thick with pitch-trees and sharp-pointed cypresses. It was sacred to the active Diana. Deep in the valley, a grotto lay in a grove. No artist had made it. Nature, in her ingenuity, had imitated art. She had formed a natural arch from native pumice and light sandstone. On the right, a clear spring murmured along in a little stream. Grass bordered its spreading channels. Here, when tired from hunting, the Goddess of the woods used to bathe her virgin limbs in the clear water.

After she had entered there, she handed to one of the Nymphs, her armor-bearer, her javelin, her quiver, and her unstrung bow. Another Nymph put her arms under her mantle, when taken off: two removed the sandals from her feet. But Crocale,²²⁸ the daughter of Ismenus, more skilled than they, gathered her hair, which lay scattered over her neck, into a knot, although she herself was with her hair loose. Nephele,²²⁹ and Hyale,²³⁰ and Rhanis,²³¹ fetch water, Psecas²³² and Phyale²³³ do the same, and pour it from their large urns. And while the Titanian Goddess was there bathing in the wonted stream, behold! the grandson of Cadmus, having deferred the remainder of his sport till next day, came into the grove, wandering through the unknown wood, with uncertain steps; thus did his fate direct him.

After she entered, she gave her javelin, quiver, and unstrung bow to one of the Nymphs, her armor-bearer. Another Nymph took her mantle as she removed it. Two others took the sandals from her feet. But Crocale,²²⁸ the daughter of Ismenus, was more skilled than they were. She gathered the hair scattered over the Goddess’s neck into a knot, although Crocale’s own hair was loose. Nephele,²²⁹ Hyale,²³⁰ and Rhanis²³¹ fetched water. Psecas²³² and Phyale²³³ did the same, and poured it from their large urns. While the Titanian Goddess was bathing there in the familiar stream, the grandson of Cadmus appeared. He had put off the rest of his hunt until the next day. Wandering through the unfamiliar woods with uncertain steps, he came into the grove. Fate had led him there.

Soon as he entered the grotto, dropping with its springs, the Nymphs, naked as they were, on seeing a man, smote their breasts, and filled all the woods with sudden shrieks, and gathering round Diana, covered her with their bodies. Yet the Goddess herself was higher than they, and was taller than them all by the neck. The color that is wont to be in clouds, tinted by the rays of the sun when opposite, or that of the ruddy morning, was on the features of Diana, when seen without her garments. She, although surrounded with the crowd of her attendants, stood sideways, and turned her face back; and how did she wish that she had her arrows at hand; and so she took up water,²³⁴ which she did have at hand, and threw it over the face of the man, and sprinkling his hair with the avenging stream, she added these words, the presages of his future woe: “Now thou mayst tell, if tell thou canst, how that I was seen by thee without my garments.” Threatening no more, she places on his sprinkled head the horns of a lively stag; she adds length to his neck, and sharpens the tops of his ears; and she changes his hands into feet, and his arms into long legs, and covers his body with a spotted coat of hair; fear, too is added. The Autonoëian²³⁵ hero took to flight, and wondered that he was so swift in his speed; but when he beheld his own horns in the wonted stream, he was about to say, “Ah, wretched me!” when no voice followed. He groaned; that was all his voice, and his tears trickled down a face not his own, but that of a stag. His former understanding alone remained. What should he do? Should he return home, and to the royal abode? or should he lie hid in the woods? Fear hinders the one step, shame the other. While he was hesitating, the dogs espied him, and first Melampus,²³⁶ and the good-nosed Ichnobates gave the signal, in full cry. Ichnobates,²³⁷ was a Gnossian dog; Melampus was of Spartan breed. Then the rest rush on, swifter than the rapid winds; Pamphagus,²³⁸ and Dorcæus,²³⁹ and Oribasus,²⁴⁰ all Arcadian dogs; and able Nebrophonus,²⁴¹ and with Lælaps,²⁴² fierce Theron,²⁴³ and Pterelas,²⁴⁴ excelling in speed, Agre²⁴⁵ in her scent, and Hylæus,²⁴⁶ lately wounded by a fierce boar, and Nape,²⁴⁷ begotten by a wolf, and Pœmenis,²⁴⁸ that had tended cattle, and Harpyia,²⁴⁹ followed by her two whelps, and the Sicyonian Ladon,²⁵⁰ having a slender girth; Dromas,²⁵¹ too, and Canace,²⁵² Sticte,²⁵³ and Tigris, and Alce,²⁵⁴ and Leucon,²⁵⁵ with snow-white hair, and Asbolus,²⁵⁶ with black, and the able-bodied Lacon,²⁵⁷ and Aëllo,²⁵⁸ good at running, and Thoüs,²⁵⁹and swift Lycisca,²⁶⁰ with her Cyprian brother, Harpalus,²⁶¹ too, having his black face marked with white down the middle, and Melaneus,²⁶² and Lachne,²⁶³ with a wire-haired body, and Labros,²⁶⁴ and Agriodos,²⁶⁵ bred of a Dictæan sire, but of a Laconian dam, and Hylactor,²⁶⁶ with his shrill note; and others which it were tedious to recount.

As soon as he entered the grotto, dripping with spring water, the Nymphs saw him. Naked as they were, they beat their breasts and filled the woods with sudden shrieks. They gathered around Diana and covered her with their bodies. Yet the Goddess was taller than all of them by a neck. When she was seen naked, Diana’s face turned the color of clouds tinted by the rays of the sun when opposite, or of the rosy dawn. Though surrounded by her attendants, she stood sideways and turned her face back. How she wished she had her arrows at hand! And so she scooped up water,²³⁴ which she did have at hand, and threw it in the man’s face. She sprinkled his hair with the avenging water and spoke these words, a warning of the suffering to come: “Now you may tell, if you can, how you saw me without my clothes.” With no further threat, she placed the horns of a lively stag on his wet head. She lengthened his neck and made his ears pointed. She changed his hands into feet and his arms into long legs. She covered his body with spotted fur and gave him fear as well. The Autonoëian²³⁵ hero fled, amazed at his own speed. But when he saw his horns in the familiar stream, he was about to say, “Ah, wretched me!” when no words came. He groaned. That was his only voice, and tears ran down a face that was no longer his own, but that of a stag. Only his former understanding remained. What should he do? Should he return home to the royal palace? Or should he hide in the woods? Fear held him back from the one step, shame from the other. While he hesitated, the dogs spotted him. Melampus,²³⁶ and keen-nosed Ichnobates were the first to give the signal, barking at full cry. Ichnobates,²³⁷ was a Gnossian dog, and Melampus was of Spartan breed. Then the rest rushed after him, faster than the swift winds. There were Pamphagus,²³⁸ Dorcæus,²³⁹ and Oribasus,²⁴⁰ all Arcadian dogs. There were able Nebrophonus,²⁴¹ Lælaps,²⁴² fierce Theron,²⁴³ Pterelas,²⁴⁴ who excelled in speed, and Agre,²⁴⁵ who excelled in scent. There were Hylæus,²⁴⁶ recently wounded by a fierce boar, Nape,²⁴⁷ fathered by a wolf, and Pœmenis,²⁴⁸ who had tended cattle. Harpyia,²⁴⁹ came with her two pups, and the Sicyonian Ladon,²⁵⁰ had a slender waist. There were Dromas,²⁵¹ Canace,²⁵² Sticte,²⁵³ Tigris, and Alce,²⁵⁴ as well as Leucon,²⁵⁵ with snow-white hair, and Asbolus,²⁵⁶ with black hair. There were strong Lacon,²⁵⁷ Aëllo,²⁵⁸ a good runner, Thoüs,²⁵⁹ and swift Lycisca,²⁶⁰ with her Cyprian brother. Harpalus,²⁶¹ had a white stripe down the middle of his black face. There were Melaneus,²⁶² and Lachne,²⁶³ with her wire-haired body, and Labros,²⁶⁴ and Agriodos,²⁶⁵ whose father was Dictæan and whose mother was Laconian. There was Hylactor,²⁶⁶ with his shrill bark, and others too many to name.

This pack, in eagerness for their prey, are borne over rocks and cliffs, and crags difficult of approach, where the path is steep, and where there is no road. He flies along the routes by which he has so often pursued; alas! he is now flying from his own servants. Fain would he have cried, “I am Actæon, recognize your own master.” Words are wanting to his wishes; the air resounds with their barking. Melanchætes²⁶⁷ was the first to make a wound on his back, Theridamas²⁶⁸ the next; Oresitrophus²⁶⁹ fastened upon his shoulder. These had gone out later, but their course was shortened by a near cut through the hill. While they hold their master, the rest of the pack come up, and fasten their teeth in his body. Now room is wanting for more wounds. He groans, and utters a noise, though not that of a man, still, such as a stag cannot make; and he fills the well-known mountains with dismal moans, and suppliant on his bended knees, and like one in entreaty, he turns round his silent looks as though they were his arms.

Eager for their prey, the pack races over rocks, cliffs, and hard-to-reach crags, where the way is steep or there is no path at all. He flees along the routes where he has so often hunted. Alas, he is now fleeing from his own servants. He longs to cry out, “I am Actæon, recognize your own master.” But he cannot find the words, and the air rings with their barking. Melanchætes²⁶⁷ is the first to wound his back, then Theridamas²⁶⁸. Oresitrophus²⁶⁹ sinks his teeth into his shoulder. These dogs had set out later, but they took a shortcut through the hill. While they hold their master, the rest of the pack catches up and sinks its teeth into him. Now there is no room for more wounds. He groans and makes a sound that is not human, yet no stag could make it. His mournful cries fill the mountains he knows so well. On bended knees, he turns his silent gaze toward them in supplication, as if his eyes were arms reaching out in appeal.

But his companions, in their ignorance, urge on the eager pack with their usual cries, and seek Actæon with their eyes; and cry out “Actæon” aloud, as though he were absent. At his name he turns his head, as they complain that he is not there, and in his indolence, is not enjoying a sight of the sport afforded them. He wished, indeed, he had been away, but there he was; and he wished to see, not to feel as well, the cruel feats of his own dogs. They gather round him on all sides, and burying their jaws in his body, tear their master in pieces under the form of an imaginary stag. And the rage of the quiver-bearing Diana is said not to have been satiated, until his life was ended by many a wound.

But his companions do not know what has happened. They urge on the eager pack with their usual cries and look around for Actæon. They call out “Actæon” as if he were absent. At his name, he turns his head. They complain that he is not there and that he is too lazy to enjoy the sport they are watching. He wished he were away, but there he was. He wished to see the cruel deeds of his own dogs, not feel them too. The dogs surround him and sink their jaws into his body. They tear their master to pieces, taking him for a stag. The anger of Diana, who carries a quiver, is said not to have been satisfied until many wounds had ended his life.

Juno, incensed against Semele for her intrigue with Jupiter, takes the form of Beroë, the more easily to ensure her revenge. Having first infused in Semele suspicions of her lover, she then recommends her to adopt a certain method of proving his constancy. Semele, thus deceived, obtains a reluctant promise from Jupiter, to make his next visit to her in the splendor and majesty in which he usually approached his wife.

Juno is furious with Semele for her affair with Jupiter. To make her revenge easier, she takes the form of Beroë. She first makes Semele suspicious of her lover. Then she suggests a way for Semele to test his faithfulness. Deceived, Semele makes Jupiter reluctantly promise to visit her as he usually approaches his wife, in all his splendor and majesty.

They speak in various ways of this matter. To some, the Goddess seems more severe than is proper; others praise her, and call her deserving of her state of strict virginity: both sides find their reasons. The wife of Jupiter alone does not so much declare whether she blames or whether she approves, as she rejoices at the calamity of a family sprung from Agenor, and transfers the hatred that she has conceived from the Tyrian mistress to the partners of her race. Lo! a fresh occasion is now added to the former one; and she grieves that Semele is pregnant from the seed of great Jupiter. She then lets loose her tongue to abuse.

People speak in different ways about this matter. Some think the Goddess is too harsh. Others praise her and say she deserves her state of strict virginity. Both sides have their reasons. Jupiter’s wife alone says little about whether she blames or approves of her. Instead, she rejoices at the misfortune of a family descended from Agenor. She directs the hatred she feels for the Tyrian mistress toward the mistress’s relatives. Now a fresh cause for anger is added to the first. She is upset that Semele is pregnant by great Jupiter. Then she unleashes a torrent of abuse.

“And what good have I done by railing so often?” said she. “She herself must be attacked by me. If I am properly called the supreme Juno, I will destroy her; if it becomes me to hold the sparkling sceptre in my right hand; if I am the queen, and both the sister and wife of Jupiter. The sister I am, no doubt. But I suppose she is content with a stolen embrace, and the injury to my bed is but trifling. She is now pregnant; that alone was wanting; and she bears the evidence of his crime in her swelling womb, and wishes to be made a mother by Jupiter, a thing which hardly fell to my lot alone. So great is her confidence in her beauty. I will take care²⁷⁰ he shall deceive her; and may I be no daughter of Saturn, if she does not descend to the Stygian waves, sunk there by her own dear Jupiter.”

“What good has all my complaining done?” she said. “I must attack her myself, by me. If I am rightly called supreme Juno, I will destroy her. If I deserve to hold the sparkling scepter in my right hand, I will destroy her. If I am the queen, Jupiter’s sister and wife, I will destroy her. His sister I am, no doubt. But I suppose she is satisfied with a stolen embrace, and his betrayal of our marriage is a small thing. She is now pregnant. That alone was missing. Her swelling belly carries the evidence of his crime. She wants to become a mother by Jupiter, an honor that hardly fell to me alone. That is how confident she is in her beauty. I will make sure²⁷⁰ he deceives her. May I no longer be a daughter of Saturn if she does not sink into the Stygian waves, sent there by her own dear Jupiter.”

Upon this she rises from her throne, and, hidden in a cloud of fiery hue, she approaches the threshold of Semele. Nor did she remove the clouds before she counterfeited an old woman, and planted gray hair on her temples; and furrowed her skin with wrinkles, and moved her bending limbs with palsied step, and made her voice that of an old woman. She became Beroë²⁷¹ herself, the Epidaurian²⁷² nurse of Semele. When, therefore, upon engaging in discourse with her, and after long talking, they came to the name of Jupiter, she sighed, and said, “I only wish it may be Jupiter; yet I am apt to fear everything. Many a one under the name of a God has invaded a chaste bed. Nor yet is it enough that he is Jupiter; let him, if, indeed, he is the real one, give some pledge of his affection; and beg of him to bestow his caresses on thee, just in the greatness and form in which he is received by the stately Juno; and let him first assume his ensigns of royalty.” With such words did Juno tutor the unsuspecting daughter of Cadmus. She requested of Jupiter a favor, without naming it. To her the God said, “Make thy choice, thou shalt suffer no denial; and that thou mayst believe it the more, let the majesty of the Stygian stream bear witness. He is the dread and the God of the Gods.”

At this, she rose from her throne and approached Semele’s doorway, hidden in a fiery cloud. Before removing the cloud, she disguised herself as an old woman. She put gray hair at her temples and wrinkles in her skin. She bent her limbs, walked with a trembling step, and gave herself an old woman’s voice. She became Beroë²⁷¹ herself, Semele’s Epidaurian²⁷² nurse. They began to talk, and after a long conversation, they came to the subject of Jupiter. She sighed and said, “I only hope he is Jupiter. Yet I tend to fear everything. Many men have entered a chaste woman’s bed while claiming to be a God. But even if he is Jupiter, that is not enough. If he really is Jupiter, let him give you some proof of his love. Ask him to embrace you in the same splendor and form in which stately Juno receives him. Let him first put on his signs of royalty.” With these words, Juno instructed the unsuspecting daughter of Cadmus. Semele asked Jupiter for a favor without naming it. The God said to her, “Choose what you wish, and you shall not be refused. To make you believe me, let the majesty of the Stygian stream bear witness. He is the dread and the God of the Gods.”

Overjoyed at what was her misfortune, and too easily prevailing, as now about to perish by the complaisance of her lover, Semele said, “Present thyself to me, just such as the daughter of Saturn is wont to embrace thee, when ye honor the ties of Venus.” The God wished to shut her mouth as she spoke, but the hasty words had now escaped into air. He groaned; for neither was it now possible for her not to have wished, nor for him not to have sworn. Therefore, in extreme sadness, he mounted the lofty skies, and with his nod drew along the attendant clouds; to which he added showers and lightnings mingled with winds, and thunders, and the inevitable thunderbolt.

Semele was overjoyed at what was her misfortune. She had won her request too easily and was about to die because her lover had agreed to it. She said, “Appear to me just as you appear to the daughter of Saturn when she embraces you in love.” The god wanted to stop her from speaking, but her hasty words were already out. He groaned, for she could not take back her request, and he could not take back his oath. So, deeply saddened, he rose to the high heavens and summoned the clouds with a nod. He added rain, lightning mixed with winds, thunder, and the inevitable thunderbolt.

Semele is visited by Jupiter, according to the promise she had obliged him to make; but, being unable to support the effulgence of his lightning, she is burnt to ashes in his presence. Bacchus, with whom she is pregnant, is preserved; and Tiresias decided the dispute between Jupiter and Juno, concerning the sexes.

Jupiter visits Semele, as he had promised her. But she cannot withstand the brilliance of his lightning and is burned to ashes in his presence. Bacchus, whom she is carrying, is saved. Tiresias settles a dispute between Jupiter and Juno about the sexes.

And yet, as much as possible, he tries to mitigate his powers. Nor is he now armed with those flames with which he had overthrown the hundred-handed Typhœus; in those, there is too much fury. There is another thunder, less baneful, to which the right hand of the Cyclops gave less ferocity and flames, and less anger. The Gods above call this second-rate thunder; it he assumes, and he enters the house of Agenor. Her mortal body could not endure²⁷³ the æthereal shock, and she was burned amid her nuptial presents. The infant, as yet unformed, is taken out of the womb of his mother, and prematurely (if we can believe it) is inserted in the thigh of the father, and completes the time that he should have spent in the womb. His aunt, Ino, nurses him privately in his early cradle. After that, the Nyseian Nymphs²⁷⁴ conceal him, entrusted to them, in their caves, and give him the nourishment of milk.

Even so, he tries to restrain his powers as much as possible. He does not use the flames with which he defeated the hundred-handed Typhœus. There is too much fury in them. There is another, less deadly thunderbolt. The Cyclops made it with less violence and fire, and less anger. The Gods above call this second-rate thunder. He takes it and enters the house of Agenor. Her mortal body could not withstand²⁷³ the heavenly shock, and she burned among her wedding gifts. Her unborn child, still unformed, is taken from her womb. Prematurely, he is placed in his father's thigh, if we can believe it. There he completes the time he should have spent in the womb. His aunt, Ino, secretly nurses him in his cradle. After that, the child is entrusted to them, and the Nyseian Nymphs²⁷⁴ hide him in their caves and feed him milk.

And while these things are transacted on earth by the law of destiny, and the cradle of Bacchus, twice born,²⁷⁵ is secured; they tell that Jupiter, by chance, well drenched with nectar, laid aside all weighty cares, and engaged in some free jokes with Juno, in her idle moments, and said: “Decidedly the pleasure of you, females, is greater than that which falls to the lot of us males.” She denied it. It was agreed between them, to ask what was the opinion of the experienced Tiresias. To him both pleasures were well known. For he had separated with a blow of his staff two bodies of large serpents, as they were coupling in a green wood; and (passing strange) become a woman from a man, he had spent seven autumns. In the eighth, he again saw the same serpents, and said, “If the power of a stroke given you is so great as to change the condition of the giver into the opposite one, I will now strike you again.” Having struck the same snakes, his former sex returned, and his original shape came again. He, therefore, being chosen as umpire in this sportive contest, confirmed the words of Jove. The daughter of Saturn is said to have grieved more than was fit, and not in proportion to the subject; and she condemned the eyes of the umpire to eternal darkness.

While these things happened on earth according to destiny, the cradle of Bacchus, twice born,²⁷⁵ was made safe. Meanwhile, Jupiter, they say, happened to be well drenched with nectar. He set aside all serious concerns and began joking freely with Juno as she rested. He said: “Surely you females have greater pleasure than we males.” She denied it. They agreed between themselves to ask the experienced Tiresias. He knew both pleasures well. Once, in a green wood, he had struck two large snakes with his staff, separating them as they mated. Strangely enough, he had turned from a man into a woman and spent seven autumns as a woman. In the eighth, he saw the same snakes again and said, “If striking you has such power that it changes the one who strikes you into the opposite sex, I will strike you again.” He struck the same snakes, and his former sex and original shape returned. Chosen to judge this playful dispute, Tiresias confirmed Jove’s words. The daughter of Saturn, they say, was more upset than the subject deserved. She condemned the judge’s eyes to eternal darkness.

But the omnipotent father (for it is not allowed any God to cancel the acts of another Deity) gave him the knowledge of things to come, in recompense for his loss of sight, and alleviated his punishment by this honor.

But no god may undo the actions of another deity. So the all-powerful father gave him knowledge of the future to compensate for his loss of sight. This honor eased his punishment.

Echo, having often amused Juno with her stories, to give time to Jupiter’s mistresses to make their escape, the Goddess, at last, punishes her for the deception. She is slighted and despised by Narcissus, with whom she falls in love.

Echo often entertained Juno with stories to give Jupiter’s mistresses time to escape. At last, Juno punished her for the deception. Echo falls in love with Narcissus, but he rejects and despises her.

He, much celebrated by fame throughout the cities of Aonia,²⁷⁶ gave unerring answers to the people consulting him. The azure Liriope²⁷⁷ was the first to make essay and experiment of his infallible voice; whom once Cephisus encircled in his winding stream, and offered violence to, when enclosed by his waters. The most beauteous Nymph produced an infant from her teeming womb, which even then might have been beloved, and she called him Narcissus. Being consulted concerning him, whether he was destined to see the distant season of mature old age; the prophet, expounding destiny, said, “If he never recognizes himself.” Long did the words of the soothsayer appear frivolous; but the event, the thing itself, the manner of his death, and the novel nature of his frenzy, confirmed it.

His fame spread throughout the cities of Aonia,²⁷⁶ and he gave unfailing answers to those who consulted him. The azure Liriope²⁷⁷ was the first to test his infallible voice. Once, Cephisus had surrounded her with his winding stream and violated her when she was enclosed by his waters. The beautiful Nymph gave birth to a child who was lovable even then, and she named him Narcissus. She asked the prophet whether her son was destined to live to a ripe old age. Reading his fate, the prophet said, “If he never recognizes himself.” For a long time, the prophet's words seemed meaningless. But what happened, the event itself, the manner of his death, and his strange madness proved the words true.

And now the son of Cephisus had added one to three times five years, and he might seem to be a boy and a young man as well. Many a youth,²⁷⁸ and many a damsel, courted him; but there was so stubborn a pride in his youthful beauty, that no youths, no damsels made any impression on him. The noisy Nymph, who has neither learned to hold her tongue after another speaking, nor to speak first herself, resounding Echo, espied him, as he was driving the timid stags into his nets. Echo was then a body, not a voice; and yet the babbler had no other use of her speech than she now has, to be able to repeat the last words out of many. Juno had done this; because when often she might have been able to detect the Nymphs in the mountains in the embrace of her husband, Jupiter, she purposely used to detain²⁷⁹ the Goddess with a long story, until the Nymphs had escaped. After the daughter of Saturn perceived this, she said, “But small exercise of this tongue, with which I have been deluded, shall be allowed thee, and a very short use of thy voice.” And she confirmed her threats by the event. Still, in the end of one’s speaking she redoubles the voice, and returns the words she hears. When, therefore, she beheld Narcissus²⁸⁰ wandering through the pathless forests, and fell in love with him, she stealthily followed his steps; and the more she followed him, with the nearer flame did she burn. In no other manner than as when the native sulphur, spread around²⁸¹ the tops of torches, catches the flame applied to it. Ah! how often did she desire to accost him in soft accents, and to employ soft entreaties! Nature resists, and suffers her not to begin; but what Nature does permit, that she is ready for; to await his voice, to which to return her own words.

The son of Cephisus had now reached sixteen, and he could seem both a boy and a young man. Many a young man,²⁷⁸ and many a young woman, courted him. But his youthful beauty held such stubborn pride that neither young men nor young women made any impression on him. The noisy Nymph Echo saw him driving timid stags into his nets. Echo could not keep silent after someone else spoke, but she could not speak first, either. Echo then had a body, not just a voice. Yet the chatterbox could use her speech only as she does now, to repeat the last words of what someone says. Juno had done this to her. Juno might often have caught the Nymphs in the mountains in the embrace of her husband, Jupiter. But Echo deliberately kept²⁷⁹ the Goddess talking with a long story until the Nymphs had escaped. When the daughter of Saturn realized this, she said, “You will have little use of the tongue with which you deceived me, and very little use of your voice.” She made good on her threat. Now Echo still repeats the end of what someone says, returning the words she hears. When she saw Narcissus²⁸⁰ wandering through the trackless forests, she fell in love with him and secretly followed him. The more she followed him, the more intensely her passion burned. It was just like native sulfur spread around²⁸¹ the tips of torches, catching fire when a flame touches it. Ah, how often she longed to speak to him gently and plead with him tenderly! Nature prevented her from speaking first. But she was ready to do what Nature allowed: wait for his voice and answer it with her own words.

By chance, the youth, being separated from the trusty company of his attendants, cries out, “Is there any one here?” and Echo answers “Here!” He is amazed; and when he has cast his eyes on every side, he cries out with a loud voice, “Come!” Whereon she calls the youth who calls. He looks back; and again, as no one comes, he says, “Why dost thou avoid me?” and just as many words as he spoke, he receives. He persists; and being deceived by the imitation of an alternate voice, he says, “Let us come together here;” and Echo, that could never more willingly answer any sound whatever, replies, “Let us come together here!” and she follows up her own words, and rushing from the woods,²⁸² is going to throw her arms around the neck she has so longed for. He flies; and as he flies, he exclaims, “Remove thy hands from thus embracing me; I will die first, before thou shalt have the enjoyment of me.” She answers nothing but “Have the enjoyment of me.” Thus rejected, she lies hid in the woods, and hides her blushing face with green leaves, and from that time lives in lonely caves; but yet her love remains, and increases from the mortification of her refusal. Watchful cares waste away her miserable body; leanness shrivels her skin, and all the juices of her body fly off in air. Her voice and her bones alone are left.

By chance, the youth became separated from his trusted attendants. He cried out, “Is anyone here?” Echo answered, “Here!” He was amazed. He looked all around and cried out loudly, “Come!” Then she called back to the youth who called. He looked back, and when no one came, he said again, “Why do you avoid me?” He heard just as many words as he had spoken. Still deceived by the voice that seemed to answer him, he said, “Let us come together here.” Echo had never been more eager to answer any sound. She replied, “Let us come together here!” Then she followed her own words and rushed from the woods.²⁸² She was about to throw her arms around the neck she had so longed for. He fled, crying as he ran, “Take your hands away. I would die before I let you have me.” She answered only, “Have me.” So rejected, she hid in the woods and covered her blushing face with green leaves. From then on, she lived in lonely caves. Yet her love remained, and it grew stronger with the pain of rejection. Sleepless worries wasted her miserable body. She grew thin, her skin shriveled, and all her bodily fluids vanished into the air. Only her voice and her bones remained.

Her voice still continues, but they say that her bones received the form of stones. Since then, she lies concealed in the woods, and is never seen on the mountains: but is heard in all of them. It is her voice alone which remains alive in her.

Her voice still remains, but they say her bones turned to stone. Since then, she has remained hidden in the woods and is never seen on the mountains. But she is heard in all of them. Her voice alone remains alive.

Narcissus falls in love with his own shadow, which he sees in a fountain; and, pining to death, the Gods change him into a flower, which still bears his name.

Narcissus falls in love with his own reflection in a fountain. He wastes away and dies, and the gods turn him into a flower that still bears his name.

Thus had he deceived her, thus, too, other Nymphs that sprung from the water or the mountains, thus the throng of youths before them. Some one, therefore, who had been despised by him, lifting up his hands towards heaven, said, “Thus, though he should love, let him not enjoy what he loves!” Rhamnusia²⁸³ assented to a prayer so reasonable. There was a clear spring, like silver, with its unsullied waters, which neither shepherds, nor she-goats feeding on the mountains, nor any other cattle, had touched; which neither bird nor wild beast had disturbed, nor bough falling from a tree. There was grass around it, which the neighboring water nourished, and a wood, that suffered the stream to become warm with no rays of the sun. Here the youth, fatigued both with the labor of hunting and the heat, lay down, attracted by the appearance of the spot, and the spring; and, while he was endeavoring to quench his thirst, another thirst grew upon him.

He had deceived her, and other Nymphs born of the water or the mountains, and many youths before them. So someone he had rejected by him raised his hands to heaven and said, “May he, too, love and never enjoy what he loves!” Rhamnusia²⁸³ granted this reasonable prayer. There was a clear spring, its pure water shining like silver. No shepherd, mountain goat, or other animal had touched it. No bird or wild beast had disturbed it, nor had any falling branch. Grass grew around the spring, nourished by its water. A wood sheltered it from the sun’s warming rays of the sun. Drawn by the beauty of the place and the spring, the youth lay down there. He was tired from hunting and from the heat. As he tried to quench his thirst, another thirst grew upon him.

While he is drinking, being attracted with the reflection of his own form, seen in the water, he falls in love with a thing that has no substance; and he thinks that to be a body, which is but a shadow. He is astonished at himself, and remains unmoved with the same countenance, like a statue formed of Parian marble.²⁸⁴ Lying on the ground, he gazes on his eyes like two stars, and fingers worthy of Bacchus, and hair worthy of Apollo, and his youthful cheeks and ivory neck, and the comeliness of his mouth, and his blushing complexion mingled with the whiteness of snow; and everything he admires, for which he himself is worthy to be admired. In his ignorance, he covets himself; and he that approves, is himself the thing approved. While he pursues he is pursued, and at the same moment he inflames and burns. How often does he give vain kisses to the deceitful spring; how often does he thrust his arms, catching at the neck he sees, into the middle of the water, and yet he does not catch himself in them. He knows not what he sees, but what he sees, by it is he inflamed; and the same mistake that deceives his eyes, provokes them. Why, credulous youth, dost thou vainly catch at the flying image? What thou art seeking is nowhere; what thou art in love with, turn but away and thou shalt lose it; what thou seest, the same is but the shadow of a reflected form; it has nothing of its own. It comes and stays with thee; with thee it will depart, if thou canst but depart thence.

As he drinks, he is drawn to the reflection of his own face in the water. He falls in love with something that has no substance, and mistakes what is only a shadow for a body. Amazed at himself, he remains motionless, his expression unchanged, like a statue carved from Parian marble.²⁸⁴ Lying on the ground, he gazes at his eyes, like two stars, and his fingers, worthy of Bacchus. He admires his hair, worthy of Apollo, his youthful cheeks and ivory neck, and the beauty of his mouth. He admires his rosy complexion, mingled with the whiteness of snow. He admires everything in himself that makes him worthy of admiration. Without knowing it, he desires himself. He admires, and is himself the one admired. As he pursues, he is pursued. At the same moment, he kindles desire and burns with it. How often he kisses the deceptive spring in vain! How often he plunges his arms into the water, reaching for the neck he sees, yet never catches himself! He does not know what he sees, but the sight fills him with desire. The same illusion that deceives his eyes excites them. Why, trusting youth, do you reach in vain for an image that slips away? What you seek is nowhere. Turn away, and you will lose what you love. What you see is only the shadow of a reflection. It has nothing of its own. It comes and stays with you. It will leave with you, if only you can leave the spring.

No regard for food,²⁸⁵ no regard for repose, can draw him away thence; but, lying along upon the overshadowed grass, he gazes upon the fallacious image with unsatiated eyes, and by his own sight he himself is undone. Raising himself a little while, extending his arms to the woods that stand around him, he says, “Was ever, O, ye woods! any one more fatally in love? For this ye know, and have been a convenient shelter for many a one. And do you remember any one, who ever thus pined away, during so long a time, though so many ages of your life has been spent? It both pleases me and I see it; but what I see, and what pleases me, yet I cannot obtain; so great a mistake possesses one in love; and to make me grieve the more, neither a vast sea separates us, nor a long way, nor mountains, nor a city with its gates closed; we are kept asunder by a little water. He himself wishes to be embraced; for as often as I extend my lips to the limpid stream, so often does he struggle towards me with his face held up; you would think he might be touched. It is a very little that stands in the way of lovers. Whoever thou art, come up hither. Why, dear boy, the choice one, dost thou deceive me? or whither dost thou retire, when pursued? Surely, neither my form nor my age is such as thou shouldst shun; the Nymphs, too, have courted me. Thou encouragest I know not what hopes in me with that friendly look, and when I extend my arms to thee, thou willingly extendest thine; when I smile, thou smilest in return; often, too, have I observed thy tears, when I was weeping; my signs, too, thou returnest by thy nods, and, as I guess by the motion of thy beauteous mouth, thou returnest words that come not to my ears. In thee ’tis I, I now perceive; nor does my form deceive me. I burn with the love of myself, and both raise the flames and endure them. What shall I do? Should I be entreated, or should I entreat? What, then, shall I entreat? What I desire is in my power; plenty has made me poor. Oh! would that I could depart from my own body! a new wish, indeed, in a lover; I could wish that what I am in love with was away. And now grief is taking away²⁸⁶ my strength, and no long period of my life remains; and in my early days am I cut off; nor is death grievous to me, now about to get rid of my sorrows by death. I wish that he who is beloved could enjoy a longer life. Now we two, of one mind, shall die in the extinction of one life.”

Neither food²⁸⁵ nor rest can draw him away. Lying on the shaded grass, he gazes endlessly at the deceptive image. His own gaze is his undoing. He raises himself a little and stretches his arms toward the surrounding woods. “O woods,” he says, “has anyone ever loved more fatally? You know about love, and you have sheltered many lovers. In all the long ages you have lived, do you remember anyone who has pined away so long? I see what pleases me, but I cannot have it. Such is the terrible mistake that holds a lover. And what makes my grief worse is that no vast sea or long road separates us. No mountains or city with closed gates stand between us. Only a little water keeps us apart. He wants to embrace me too. Whenever I press my lips to the clear water, he reaches toward me with his face raised. You would think I could touch him. So little stands between us lovers. “Whoever you are, come up here. Why do you deceive me, dear boy, you who are so special? Where do you go when I pursue you? Surely my looks and my age are not such that you should avoid me. Even the Nymphs have courted me. Your friendly face gives me hope, though I hardly know what I hope for. When I reach out to you, you willingly reach out to me. When I smile, you smile back. Often, too, I have seen you weep when I wept. You answer my gestures with nods. And from the movement of your beautiful mouth, I think you answer me in words I cannot hear. “I now see that you are me. My own image no longer deceives me. I burn with love for myself. I both kindle the flames and suffer them. What shall I do? Should I beg or be begged? And what shall I ask for? What I desire is already mine. Having so much has left me poor. Oh, if only I could leave my own body! What a strange wish for a lover, to want the one I love to be away from me. And now grief is taking away²⁸⁶ my strength. I do not have long to live. I am being cut off in my youth. But death does not trouble me, since it will free me from my sorrows. I wish the one I love could live longer. Now we two, united in thought, will die when our one life comes to an end.”

Thus he said, and, with his mind but ill at ease, he returned to the same reflection, and disturbed the water with his tears; and the form was rendered defaced by the moving of the stream; when he saw it beginning to disappear, he cried aloud, “Whither dost thou fly? Stay, I beseech thee! and do not in thy cruelty abandon thy lover; let it be allowed me to behold that which I may not touch, and to give nourishment to my wretched frenzy.” And, while he was grieving, he tore his garment from the upper border, and beat his naked breast with his palms, white as marble. His breast, when struck, received a little redness, no otherwise than as apples are wont, which are partly white and partly red; or as a grape, not yet ripe, in the parti-colored clusters, is wont to assume a purple tint. Soon as he beheld this again in the water, when clear, he could not endure it any longer; but, as yellow wax with the fire, or the hoar frost of the morning, is wont to waste away with the warmth of the sun, so he, consumed by love, pined away, and wasted by degrees with a hidden flame. And now, no longer was his complexion of white mixed with red; neither his vigor nor his strength, nor the points which had charmed when seen so lately, nor even his body, which formerly Echo had been in love with, now remained. Yet, when she saw these things, although angry, and mindful of his usage of her, she was grieved, and, as often as the unhappy youth said, “Alas!” she repeated, “Alas!” with re-echoing voice; and when he struck his arms with his hands, she, too, returned the like sound of a blow.

Thus he spoke, and, with his mind still troubled, he looked again at the same reflection. His tears disturbed the water, and the moving stream distorted the image. When he saw it beginning to disappear, he cried aloud, “Where are you fleeing? Stay, I beg you! Do not cruelly abandon your lover. Let me look at what I cannot touch, and feed my miserable frenzy.” As he grieved, he tore his garment from the top and beat his bare breast with his palms. His breast was white as marble, but the blows made it slightly red. It was like an apple, partly white and partly red, or an unripe grape turning purple among clusters of different colors. Soon the water cleared, and he saw his reflection again. He could bear it no longer. Just as yellow wax melts in a fire, or morning frost fades in the sun’s warmth, he wasted away. Consumed by love, he slowly faded from a hidden flame. His complexion was no longer a mix of white and red. His vigor, his strength, and the features that had charmed so recently were gone. Even his body, which Echo had once loved, was gone. Yet when Echo saw this, she grieved, although she was angry and remembered how he had treated her. Whenever the unhappy youth said, “Alas!” she repeated, “Alas!” in her echoing voice. And when he struck his arms with his hands, she too echoed the sound of the blows.

His last accents, as he looked into the water, as usual, were these: “Ah, youth, beloved in vain!” and the spot returned just as many words; and after he had said, “Farewell!” Echo, too, said, “Farewell!” He laid down his wearied head upon the green grass, when night closed the eyes that admired the beauty of their master; and even then, after he had been received into the infernal abodes, he used to look at himself in the Stygian waters. His Naiad sisters lamented him, and laid their hair,²⁸⁷ cut off, over their brother; the Dryads, too, lamented him, and Echo resounded to their lamentations. And now they were preparing the funeral pile, and the shaken torches, and the bier. The body was nowhere to be found. Instead of his body, they found a yellow flower, with white leaves encompassing it in the middle.

As usual, he looked into the water and spoke his last words: “Ah, youth, loved in vain!” The place echoed every word. After he said, “Farewell!” Echo, too, said, “Farewell!” He laid his weary head on the green grass, and night closed the eyes that admired their master's beauty. Even after he entered the underworld, he still gazed at himself in the Stygian waters. His Naiad sisters mourned him and laid their cut hair,²⁸⁷ over their brother. The Dryads mourned him, and Echo repeated their cries. They were preparing the funeral pyre, the torches they waved, and the bier. But his body was nowhere to be found. In its place, they found a yellow flower with white petals around its center.

Pentheus ridicules the predictions of Tiresias; and not only forbids his people to worship Bacchus, who had just entered Greece in triumph, but even commands them to capture him, and to bring him into his presence. Under the form of Acœtes, one of his companions, Bacchus suffers that indignity, and relates to Pentheus the wonders which the God had wrought. The recital enrages Pentheus still more, who thereupon goes to Mount Cithæron, to disturb the orgies then celebrating there; on which his own mother and the other Bacchantes tear him to pieces.

Pentheus mocks Tiresias’s predictions. He forbids his people to worship Bacchus, who has just entered Greece in triumph. He even orders them to capture Bacchus and bring him before him. Taking the form of Acœtes, one of his companions, Bacchus submits to this indignity. He tells Pentheus about the wonders the god has performed. The story enrages Pentheus even more. He goes to Mount Cithæron to disrupt the orgies being celebrated there. His own mother and the other Bacchantes then tear him to pieces.

This thing, when known, brought deserved fame to the prophet through the cities of Achaia;²⁸⁸ and great was the reputation of the soothsayer. Yet Pentheus,²⁸⁹ the son of Echion, a contemner of the Gods above, alone, of all men, despises him, and derides the predicting words of the old man, and upbraids him with his darkened state, and the misfortune of having lost his sight. He, shaking his temples, white with hoary hair, says: “How fortunate wouldst thou be, if thou as well couldst become deprived of this light, that thou mightst not behold the rites of Bacchus. For soon the day will come, and even now I predict that it is not far off, when the new God Liber, the son of Semele, shall come hither. Unless thou shalt vouchsafe him the honor of a temple, thou shalt be scattered, torn in pieces, in a thousand places, and with thy blood thou shalt pollute both the woods, and thy mother and the sisters of thy mother. These things will come to pass; for thou wilt not vouchsafe honor to the Divinity; and thou wilt complain that under this darkness I have seen too much.”

When this became known, it brought the prophet deserved fame throughout the cities of Achaia.²⁸⁸ The soothsayer’s reputation was great. Yet Pentheus,²⁸⁹ the son of Echion, scorned the gods above. He alone, of all men, despised the prophet. He mocked the old man’s predictions and reproached him for his darkness and the misfortune of having lost his sight. The prophet shook his head, its temples white with age, and said: “How fortunate you would be if you too could lose the light of sight, so that you would not see the rites of Bacchus. For the day will soon come, and I predict that it is not far off, when the new god Liber, the son of Semele, will come here. Unless you grant him the honor of a temple, you will be torn to pieces and scattered in a thousand places. Your blood will stain the woods, your mother, and your mother’s sisters. These things will happen because you will not grant honor to the god. And you will complain that, in this darkness, I have seen too much.”

The son of Echion drives him away as he says such things as these. Confirmation follows his words, and the predictions of the prophet are fulfilled. Liber comes, and the fields resound with festive howlings. The crowd runs out; both matrons and new-married women mixed with the men, both high and low, are borne along to the celebration of rites till then unknown. “What madness,” says Pentheus, “has confounded your minds, O ye warlike men,²⁹⁰ descendants of the Dragon? Can brass knocked against brass prevail so much with you? And the pipe with the bending horn, and these magical delusions? And shall the yells of women, and madness produced by wine, and troops of effeminate wretches, and empty tambourines²⁹¹ prevail over you, whom neither the warrior’s sword nor the trumpet could affright, nor troops with weapons prepared for fight? Am I to wonder at you, old men, who, carried over distant seas, have fixed in these abodes a new Tyre, and your banished household Gods, but who now allow them to be taken without a struggle? Or you, of more vigorous age and nearer to my own, ye youths; whom it was befitting to be brandishing arms, and not the thyrsus,²⁹² and to be covered with helmets, not green leaves? Do be mindful, I entreat you, of what race you are sprung, and assume the courage of that dragon, who though but one, destroyed many. He died for his springs and his stream; but do you conquer for your own fame. He put the valiant to death; do you expel the feeble foe, and regain your country’s honor. If the fates forbid Thebes to stand long, I wish that engines of war²⁹³ and men should demolish the walls, and that fire and sword should resound. Then should we be wretched without any fault of our own, and our fate were to be lamented, but not concealed, and our tears would be free from shame. But now Thebes will be taken by an unarmed boy, whom neither wars delight, nor weapons, nor the employment of horses, but hair wet with myrrh, and effeminate chaplets, and purple, and gold interwoven with embroidered garments; whom I, indeed, (do you only stand aside) will presently compel to own that his father is assumed, and that his sacred rites are fictitious. Has Acrisius²⁹⁴ courage enough to despise the vain Deity, and to shut the gates of Argos against his approach; and shall this stranger affright Pentheus with all Thebes? Go quickly, (this order he gives to his servants), go, and bring hither in chains the ringleader. Let there be no slothful delay in executing my commands.”

The son of Echion drives him away as he says these things. What follows confirms his words and fulfills the prophet’s predictions. Liber comes, and the fields echo with cries of celebration. The crowd rushes out. Married women and newlyweds mingle with men, and people of every rank are swept along to celebrate rites until then unknown. “What madness,” says Pentheus, “has clouded your minds, you warlike men,²⁹⁰ descendants of the Dragon? Can the clash of brass against brass have such power over you? Can the pipe with its curved horn and these magical illusions? You were frightened by neither the warrior’s sword nor the trumpet, nor by troops ready for battle. Will you now be overcome by women’s cries, drunken madness, crowds of effeminate wretches, and hollow tambourines²⁹¹? “Should I marvel at you, old men? You crossed distant seas and established a new Tyre here, bringing your exiled household gods with you. Yet now you let them be taken without a fight. Or should I marvel at you young men, stronger and closer to my own age? You should be wielding weapons, not the thyrsus,²⁹² and wearing helmets, not green leaves. Remember, I beg you, the race you come from. Show the courage of that dragon, who destroyed many men though he was alone. He died for his springs and his stream. But you should conquer for your own glory. He killed the brave. You should drive out the weak enemy and restore your country’s honor. “If fate forbids Thebes to stand much longer, I wish men would tear down its walls with engines of war,²⁹³ and fire and sword would rage. Then we would suffer through no fault of our own. Our fate would deserve to be mourned, not hidden, and we could weep without shame. But now an unarmed boy will take Thebes. He takes no pleasure in war, weapons, or horses. Instead, he delights in hair wet with myrrh, effeminate garlands, purple, and gold woven into embroidered clothes. Just stand aside, and I will soon force him to admit that his supposed father is not his father, and that his sacred rites are a fraud. Acrisius²⁹⁴ has the courage to scorn this false god and shut the gates of Argos against him. Will this stranger frighten Pentheus and all Thebes?” He gives his servants this order: “Go quickly and bring the ringleader here in chains. Do not delay in carrying out my orders.”

His grandfather,²⁹⁵ Cadmus, Athamas, and the rest of the company of his friends rebuke him with expostulations, and in vain try to restrain him. By their admonition he becomes more violent, and by being curbed his fury is irritated, and is on the increase, and the very restraint did him injury. So have I beheld a torrent, where nothing obstructed it in its course, run gently and with moderate noise; but wherever beams and stones in its way withheld it, it ran foaming and raging, and more violent from its obstruction. Behold! the servants return, all stained with blood; and when their master inquires where Bacchus is, they deny that they have seen Bacchus. “But this one,” say they, “we have taken, who was his attendant and minister in his sacred rites.” And then they deliver one, who, from the Etrurian nation, had followed the sacred rites of the Deity, with his hands bound behind his back.

His grandfather,²⁹⁵ Cadmus, Athamas, and all his other friends scold him and try in vain to restrain him. Their warnings make him more violent. Their attempts to curb him only increase his fury, and the restraint itself harms him. So I have seen a torrent flow gently and with a moderate sound when nothing blocked its course. But wherever beams and stones held it back, it foamed and raged, made more violent by the obstacles. Look! The servants return, covered in blood. When their master asks where Bacchus is, they say they have not seen him. “But we have captured this man,” they say, “who attended him and served in his sacred rites.” And then they bring him forward, his hands bound behind his back. He was from the Etrurian nation and had followed the sacred rites of the Deity.

Pentheus looks at him with eyes that anger has made terrible, and although he can scarcely defer the time of his punishment, he says, “O wretch, doomed to destruction, and about, by thy death, to set an example to others, tell me thy name, and the name of thy parents, and thy country, and why thou dost attend the sacred rites of a new fashion.” He, void of fear, says, “My name is Acœtes; Mæonia²⁹⁶ is my country; my parents were of humble station. My father left me no fields for the hardy oxen to till, no wool-bearing flocks, nor any herds. He himself was but poor, and he was wont with line, and hooks, to deceive the leaping fishes, and to take them with the rod. His trade was his only possession. When he gave that calling over to me, he said, ‘Receive, as the successor and heir of my employment, those riches which I possess;’ and at his death he left me nothing but the streams. This one thing alone can I call my patrimony. But soon, that I might not always be confined to the same rocks, I learned with a steadying right hand to guide the helm of the ship, and I made observations with my eyes of the showery Constellation of the Olenian she-goat,²⁹⁷ and Taygete,²⁹⁸ and the Hyades,²⁹⁹ and the Bear, and the quarters of the winds, and the harbors fit for ships. By chance, as I was making for Delos, I touched at the coast of the land of Dia,³⁰⁰ and came up to the shore by plying the oars on the right side; and I gave a nimble leap, and lighted upon the wet sand. When the night was past, and the dawn first began to grow red, I arose and ordered my men to take in fresh water, and I pointed out the way which led to the stream. I myself, from a lofty eminence, looked around to see what the breeze promised me; and then I called my companions, and returned to the vessel. ‘Lo! we are here,’ says Opheltes, my chief mate; and having found, as he thought, a prize in the lonely fields, he was leading along the shore, a boy with all the beauty of a girl. He, heavy with wine and sleep, seemed to stagger, and to follow with difficulty. I examined his dress, his looks, and his gait, and I saw nothing there which could be taken to be mortal. I both was sensible of it, and I said to my companions, ‘I am in doubt what Deity is in that body; but in that body a Deity there is. Whoever thou art, O be propitious and assist our toils; and pardon these as well.’ ‘Cease praying for us,’ said Dictys, than whom there was not another more nimble at climbing to the main-top-yards, and at sliding down by catching hold of a rope. This Libys, this the yellow-haired Melanthus, the guardian of the prow, and this Alcimedon approved of; and Epopeus³⁰¹ as well, the cheerer of their spirits, who by his voice gave both rest and time to the oars; and so did all the rest; so blind is the greed for booty. ‘However,’ I said, ‘I will not allow this ship to be damaged by this sacred freight. Here I have the greatest share of right.’ and I opposed them at the entrance.

Pentheus looks at him with eyes made terrible by anger. Though he can hardly wait to punish him, he says, “You wretch, doomed to destruction, your death will be a warning to others. Tell me your name, your parents’ names, and your country. Why do you take part in these new sacred rites?” Without fear, the man says, “My name is Acœtes. Mæonia²⁹⁶ is my country, and my parents were of humble station. My father left me no fields for strong oxen to plow, no wool-bearing flocks, and no herds. He was only a poor man. He used a line and hooks to trick the leaping fish, catching them with a rod. His trade was his only possession. When he passed that trade on to me, he said, ‘As the successor and heir to my work, receive the riches I possess.’ When he died, he left me nothing but the streams. That alone is what I can call my inheritance. But soon I learned to guide a ship’s helm with a steady hand, so I would not always be confined to the same rocks. I studied the rainy Constellation of the Olenian she-goat,²⁹⁷ Taygete,²⁹⁸ the Hyades,²⁹⁹ and the Bear. I also studied the directions of the winds and the harbors suitable for ships. By chance, while sailing for Delos, I landed on the coast of Dia.³⁰⁰ We rowed toward the shore on the right side, and I leaped nimbly onto the wet sand. After the night passed and the dawn first began to redden, I rose. I ordered my men to take on fresh water and showed them the path to the stream. From a high point, I looked around to see what the breeze promised. Then I called my companions and returned to the ship. ‘Look, here we are,’ said Opheltes, my chief mate. He was leading a boy along the shore. He thought he had found a prize in the deserted fields. The boy had all the beauty of a girl. Heavy with wine and sleep, he seemed to stagger and could hardly keep up. I studied his clothes, his face, and his walk, and saw nothing that seemed mortal. I recognized this and said to my companions, ‘I do not know what god is in that body, but a god is there. Whoever you are, please look kindly on us and help us in our work. Forgive these men too.’ ‘Stop praying for us,’ said Dictys. No one was quicker than he at climbing to the main-top-yards and sliding down by a rope. Libys, yellow-haired Melanthus, who watched over the prow, and Alcimedon agreed with him. So did Epopeus,³⁰¹ who cheered their spirits and used his voice to set the rowers’ pace and give them rest. And all the others agreed too. So blind is the greed for plunder. ‘Even so,’ I said, ‘I will not let this sacred passenger bring harm to the ship. I have the greatest right to decide here.’ And I stood against them at the entrance.

“Lycabas, the boldest of all the number, was enraged, who, expelled from a city of Etruria, was suffering exile as the punishment for a dreadful murder.³⁰² He, while I was resisting, seized hold of my throat with his youthful fist, and shaking me, had thrown me overboard into the sea, if I had not, although stunned, held fast by grasping a rope. The impious crew approved of the deed. Then at last Bacchus (for Bacchus it was), as though his sleep had been broken by the noise, and his sense was returning into his breast after much wine, said: ‘What are you doing? What is this noise? Tell me, sailors, by what means have I come hither? Whither do you intend to carry me?’ ‘Lay aside thy fears,’ said Proreus, ‘and tell us what port thou wouldst wish to reach. Thou shalt stop at the land that thou desirest.’ ‘Direct your course then to Naxos,’³⁰³ says Liber, ‘that is my home; it shall prove a hospitable land for you.’

“Lycabas, the boldest of them all, was enraged. He had been banished from a city in Etruria as punishment for a dreadful murder.³⁰² As I resisted, he seized my throat with his youthful fist and shook me. He would have thrown me overboard into the sea if I had not held tightly to a rope, though I was stunned. The wicked crew approved of what he had done. At last Bacchus spoke. For it was Bacchus. He seemed to have been awakened by the noise and to be recovering his senses after much wine. ‘What are you doing? What is this noise? Tell me, sailors, how did I get here? Where do you intend to take me?’ ‘Put aside your fears,’ said Proreus, ‘and tell us what port you want to reach. You shall land wherever you wish.’ ‘Then set your course for Naxos,’³⁰³ said Liber. ‘That is my home. It will welcome you.’

“In their deceit they swore by the ocean and by all the Deities, that so it should be; and bade me give sail to the painted ship. Naxos was to our right; and as I was accordingly setting sail for the right hand, every one said for himself, ‘What art thou about, madman? What insanity possesses thee, Acœtes? Stand away to the left.’ The greater part signified their meaning to me by signs; some whispered in my ear what they wanted. I was at a loss, and I said, ‘Let some one else take the helm;’ and I withdrew myself from the execution both of their wickedness, and of my own calling. I was reviled by them all, and the whole crew muttered reproaches against me. Æthalion, among them, says, ‘As if, forsooth, all our safety is centred in thee,’ and he himself comes up, and takes my duty; and leaving Naxos, he steers a different course. Then the God, mocking them as if he had at last but that moment discovered their knavery, looks down upon the sea from the crooked stern; and, like one weeping, he says: ‘These are not the shores, sailors, that you have promised me; this is not the land desired by me. By what act have I deserved this treatment? What honor is it to you, if you that are young men, deceive a mere boy? if you that are many, deceive me, who am but one?’ I had been weeping for some time. The impious gang laughed at my tears, and beat the sea with hastening oars. Now by himself do I swear to thee (and no God is there more powerful than he), that I am relating things to thee as true, as they are beyond all belief. The ship stood still upon the ocean, no otherwise than if it was occupying a dry dock. They, wondering at it, persisted in the plying of their oars; they unfurled their sails, and endeavored to speed onward with this twofold aid. Ivy impeded the oars,³⁰⁴ and twined around them in encircling wreaths; and clung to the sails with heavy clusters of berries. He himself, having his head encircled with bunches of grapes, brandished a lance covered with vine leaves. Around him, tigers and visionary forms of lynxes, and savage bodies of spotted panthers, were extended.

“In their deceit, they swore by the ocean and all the Deities that they would do as promised. Then they told me to set sail in the painted ship. Naxos was to our right, and as I accordingly steered right, they all cried out, ‘What are you doing, madman? What madness has seized you, Acœtes? Turn left.’ Most showed me what they meant with signs. Some whispered what they wanted in my ear. I was at a loss. ‘Let someone else take the helm,’ I said. I stepped away, refusing both to carry out their wicked plan and to perform my own duty. They all abused me, and the whole crew muttered reproaches against me. Among them, Æthalion said, ‘As if, indeed, our safety depends entirely on you.’ He came forward and took over my duty. Leaving Naxos behind, he steered another course. Then the God mocked them, pretending he had only just discovered their treachery. He looked down at the sea from the curved stern and spoke as if he were weeping. ‘Sailors, these are not the shores you promised me. This is not the land I wanted. What have I done to deserve this treatment? What honor is there in it for you, if you who are young men deceive a mere boy? Or if you, who are many, deceive me, who am only one?’ I had been weeping for some time. The wicked crew laughed at my tears and beat the sea with quick strokes of their oars. Now I swear to you by the God himself, and no God is more powerful than he. What I tell you is true, though it is beyond belief. The ship stood still on the ocean, as if it were in a dry dock. The sailors were astonished, but they kept rowing. They unfurled the sails and tried to move forward with both sails and oars. Ivy tangled the oars³⁰⁴ and wound around them in wreaths. It clung to the sails with heavy clusters of berries. The God himself wore bunches of grapes around his head and brandished a lance covered with vine leaves. Around him lay tigers, ghostly forms of lynxes, and the fierce bodies of spotted panthers.

“The men leaped overboard, whether it was madness or fear that caused this; and first of all, Medon began to grow black with fins, with a flattened body, and to bend in the curvature of the back-bone. To him Lycabas said, ‘Into what prodigy art thou changing?’ and, as he spoke, the opening of his mouth was wide, his nose became crooked, and his hardened skin received scales upon it. But Libys, while he was attempting to urge on the resisting oars, saw his hands shrink into a small compass, and now to be hands no longer, and that now, in fact, they may be pronounced fins. Another, desirous to extend his arms to the twisting ropes, had no arms, and becoming crooked, with a body deprived of limbs, he leaped into the waves; the end of his tail was hooked, just as the horns of the half-moon are curved. They flounce about on every side, and bedew the ship with plenteous spray, and again they emerge, and once more they return beneath the waves. They sport with all the appearance of a dance, and toss their sportive bodies, and blow forth the sea, received within their wide nostrils. Of twenty the moment before (for so many did that ship carry), I was the only one remaining. The God encouraged me, frightened and chilled with my body all trembling, and scarcely myself, saying, ‘Shake off thy fear, and make for Dia.’ Arriving there, I attended upon the sacred rites of Bacchus, at the kindled altars.”

“The men leaped overboard, whether from madness or fear. Medon was the first of all to turn black and grow fins. His body flattened, and his spine began to curve. Lycabas said to him, ‘What kind of monster are you becoming?’ As he spoke, his mouth opened wide, his nose became crooked, and scales appeared on his hardened skin. But Libys was trying to work the resisting oars when he saw his hands shrink. They were no longer hands, and now, in fact, they could be called fins. Another man wanted to reach for the twisting ropes, but he had no arms. His body curved, and, deprived of limbs, he leaped into the waves. The end of his tail was hooked, like the curved horns of a half-moon. They flounce about on every side, covering the ship with spray. Again they emerge, and once more they dive beneath the waves. They play as if dancing, tossing their playful bodies and blowing seawater from their wide nostrils. A moment before, there had been twenty of us, for that was how many the ship carried. I was the only one left. I was frightened and chilled, trembling all over and scarcely myself. The God encouraged me, saying, ‘Shake off your fear and head for Dia.’ When I arrived there, I took part in the sacred rites of Bacchus at the burning altars.”

“We have lent ear to a long story,”³⁰⁵ says Pentheus, “that our anger might consume its strength in its tediousness. Servants! drag him headlong, and send to Stygian night his body, racked with dreadful tortures.” At once the Etrurian Acœtes, dragged away, is shut up in a strong prison; and while the cruel instruments of the death that is ordered, and the iron and the fire are being made ready, the report is that the doors opened of their own accord, and that the chains, of their own accord, slipped from off his arms, no one loosening them.

“We listened to a long story,”³⁰⁵ says Pentheus, “so that its tedium might wear out our anger. Servants! Drag him away and send his body to Stygian night, after racking it with dreadful tortures.” At once, the Etrurian Acœtes is dragged away and locked in a strong prison. The cruel instruments for his ordered execution, the iron and the fire, are being prepared. But word comes that the doors opened by themselves. The chains slipped from his arms by themselves, with no one loosening them.

The son of Echion persists: and now he does not command others to go, but goes himself to where Cithæron,³⁰⁶ chosen for the celebration of these sacred rites, was resounding with singing, and the shrill voices of the votaries of Bacchus. Just as the high-mettled steed neighs, when the warlike trumpeter gives the alarm with the sounding brass, and conceives a desire for battle, so did the sky, struck with the long-drawn howlings, excite Pentheus, and his wrath was rekindled on hearing the clamor. There was, about the middle of the mountain, the woods skirting its extremity, a plain free from trees, and visible on every side. Here his mother was the first to see him looking on the sacred rites with profane eyes; she first was moved by a frantic impulse, and she first wounded her son, Pentheus, by hurling her thyrsus, and cried out, “Ho! come, my two sisters;³⁰⁷ that boar which, of enormous size, is roaming amid our fields, that boar I must strike.” All the raging multitude rushes upon him alone; all collect together, and all follow him, now trembling, now uttering words less atrocious than before, now blaming himself, now confessing that he has offended.

The son of Echion persists. This time he does not command others to go, but goes himself to Cithæron,³⁰⁶ chosen for these sacred rites. The mountain echoes with singing and the shrill voices of the followers of Bacchus. A spirited horse neighs when a trumpeter sounds the alarm on his brass trumpet, and it longs for battle. In the same way, the sky rang with long-drawn howls that stirred Pentheus. The noise rekindled his anger. About halfway up the mountain was a treeless clearing, with woods at its edge. The clearing was visible from every side. Here his mother was the first to see him watching the sacred rites with irreverent eyes. She was the first to be seized by a frantic impulse, and the first to wound her son, Pentheus, by throwing her thyrsus. She cried, “Come, my two sisters;³⁰⁷ an enormous boar is roaming through our fields. I must strike that boar.” The whole raging crowd rushes at him alone. All gather around him, and all pursue him. Now he trembles, now he speaks less cruelly than before, now he blames himself, and now he confesses that he has offended.

However, on being wounded, he says, “Give me thy aid, Autonoë, my aunt; let the ghost of Actæon³⁰⁸ influence thy feelings.” She knows not what Actæon means, and tears away his right hand as he is praying; the other is dragged off by the violence of Ino. The wretched man has now no arms to extend to his mother; but showing his maimed body, with the limbs torn off, he says, “Look at this, my mother!” At the sight Agave howls aloud, and tosses her neck, and shakes her locks in the air; and seizing his head, torn off, with her blood-stained fingers, she cries out, “Ho! my companions, this victory is our work!”

But when he is wounded, he says, “Help me, Autonoë, my aunt. Let the ghost of Actæon³⁰⁸ move you to pity.” She does not know what he means by Actæon and tears off his right hand as he begs her. Ino violently tears off the other. The wretched man has now no arms to reach out to his mother. But he shows her his maimed body, with its limbs torn off, and says, “Look at this, mother!” At the sight, Agave howls, throws back her head, and shakes her hair in the air. Then she seizes his severed head with her bloodstained fingers and cries, “Come, my companions, this victory is our work!”

The wind does not more speedily bear off, from a lofty tree, the leaves nipped by the cold of autumn, and now adhering with difficulty, than were the limbs of the man, torn asunder by their accursed hands. Admonished by such examples, the Ismenian matrons frequent the new worship, and offer frankincense, and reverence the sacred altars.

The wind carries leaves from a tall tree no faster than their cursed hands tore the man's limbs apart. Autumn's cold had withered the leaves, and they were barely clinging to the tree. Warned by such examples, the Ismenian women take part in the new worship. They offer frankincense and honor the sacred altars.