Metamorphoses
Ovid
Ovid. Metamorphoses. More, Brookes, translator. Boston: Cornhill Publishing Co., 1922.
- “Midway between the streams of Cyane
- and Arethusa lies a moon-like pool,
- of silvered narrow horns. There stood the Nymph,
- revered above all others in that land,
- whose name was Cyane. From her that pond
- was always called. And as she stood, concealed
- in middle waves that circled her white thighs,
- she recognized the God, and said; ‘O thou
- shalt go no further, Pluto, thou shalt not
- by force alone become the son-in-law
- of Ceres. It is better to beseech
- a mother's aid than drag her child away!
- And this sustains my word, if I may thus
- compare great things with small, Anapis loved
- me also; but he wooed and married me
- by kind endearments; not by fear, as thou
- hast terrified this girl.’ So did she speak;
- and stretching out her arms on either side
- opposed his way.
- “The son of Saturn blazed
- with uncontrolled rage; and urged his steeds,
- and hurled his royal scepter in the pool.
- Cast with a mighty arm it pierced the deeps.
- The smitten earth made way to Tartarus;—
- it opened a wide basin and received
- the plunging chariot in the midst.—But now
- the mournful Cyane began to grieve,
- because from her against her fountain-rights
- the goddess had been torn. The deepening wound
- still rankled in her breast, and she dissolved
- in many tears, and wasted in those waves
- which lately were submissive to her rule.
- “So you could see her members waste away:
- her hones begin to bend; her nails get soft;
- her azure hair, her fingers, legs and feet,
- and every slender part melt in the pool:
- so brief the time in which her tender limbs
- were changed to flowing waves; and after them
- her back and shoulders, and her sides and breasts
- dissolved and vanished into rivulets:
- and while she changed, the water slowly filled
- her faulty veins instead of living blood—
- and nothing that a hand could hold remained.
- “Now it befell when Proserpine was lost,
- her anxious mother sought through every land
- and every sea in vain. She rested not.
- Aurora, when she came with ruddy locks,
- might never know, nor even Hesperus,
- if she might deign to rest.—She lit two pines
- from Aetna's flames and held one in each hand,
- and restless bore them through the frosty glooms:
- and when serene the day had dimmed the stars
- she sought her daughter by the rising sun;
- and when the sun declined she rested not.
- “Wearied with labour she began to thirst,
- for all this while no streams had cooled her lips;
- when, as by chance, a cottage thatched with straw
- gladdened her sight. Thither the goddess went,
- and, after knocking at the humble door,
- waited until an ancient woman came;
- who, when she saw the goddess and had heard
- her plea for water, gave her a sweet drink,
- but lately brewed of parched barley-meal;
- and while the goddess quaffed this drink a boy,
- of bold and hard appearance, stood before
- and laughed and called her greedy. While he spoke
- the angry goddess sprinkled him with meal,
- mixed with the liquid which had not been drunk.
- “His face grew spotted where the mixture struck,
- and legs appeared where he had arms before,
- a tail was added to his changing trunk;
- and lest his former strength might cause great harm,
- all parts contracted till he measured less
- than common lizards. While the ancient dame
- wondered and wept and strove for one caress,
- the reptile fled and sought a lurking place.—
- His very name describes him to the eye,
- a body starred with many coloured spots.
- “What lands, what oceans Ceres wandered then,
- would weary to relate. The bounded world
- was narrow for the search. Again she passed
- through Sicily; again observed all signs;
- and as she wandered came to Cyane,
- who strove to tell where Proserpine had gone,
- but since her change, had neither mouth nor tongue,
- and so was mute. And yet the Nymph made plain
- by certain signs what she desired to say:
- for on the surface of the waves she showed
- a well-known girdle Proserpine had lost,
- by chance had dropped it in that sacred pool;
- which when the goddess recognized, at last,
- convinced her daughter had been forced from her,
- she tore her streaming locks, and frenzied struck
- her bosom with her palms. And in her rage,
- although she wist not where her daughter was,
- she blamed all countries and cried out against
- their base ingratitude; and she declared
- the world unworthy of the gift of corn:
- but Sicily before all other lands,
- for there was found the token of her loss.
- “For that she broke with savage hand the plows,
- which there had turned the soil, and full of wrath
- leveled in equal death the peasant and his ox—
- both tillers of the soil—and made decree
- that land should prove deceptive to the seed,
- and rot all planted germs.—That fertile isle,
- so noted through the world, becomes a waste;
- the corn is blighted in the early blade;
- excessive heat, excessive rain destroys;
- the winds destroy, the constellations harm;
- the greedy birds devour the scattered seeds;
- thistles and tares and tough weeds choke the wheat.
- “For this the Nymph, Alpheian, raised her head
- above Elean waves; and having first
- pushed back her dripping tresses from her brows,
- back to her ears, she thus began to speak;
- ‘O mother of the virgin, sought throughout
- the globe! O mother of nutritious fruits!
- Let these tremendous labours have an end;
- do not increase the violence of thy wrath
- against the Earth, devoted to thy sway,
- and not deserving blame; for only force
- compelled the Earth to open for that wrong.
- Think not my supplication is to aid
- my native country; hither I am come
- an alien: Pisa is my native land,
- and Elis gave me birth. Though I sojourn
- a stranger in this isle of Sicily
- it yet delights me more than all the world.
- ‘I, Arethusa, claim this isle my home,
- and do implore thee keep my throne secure,
- O greatest of the Gods! A better hour,
- when thou art lightened of thy cares, will come,
- and when thy countenance again is kind;
- and then may I declare what cause removed
- me from my native place—and through the waves
- of such a mighty ocean guided me
- to find Ortygia.
- ‘Through the porous earth
- by deepest caverns, I uplift my head
- and see unwonted stars. Now it befell,
- as I was gliding far beneath the world,
- where flow dark Stygian streams, I saw
- thy Proserpine. Although her countenance
- betrayed anxiety and grief, a queen She reigned
- supremely great in that opacous world
- queen consort mighty to the King of Hell.’
- “Astonished and amazed, as thunderstruck,
- when Proserpina's mother heard these words,
- long while she stood till great bewilderment
- gave way to heavy grief. Then to the skies,
- ethereal, she mounted in her car
- and with beclouded face and streaming hair
- stood fronting Jove, opprobrious. ‘I have come
- O Jupiter, a suppliant to thee,
- both for my own offspring as well as thine.
- If thy hard heart deny a mother grace,
- yet haply as a father thou canst feel
- some pity for thy daughter; and I pray
- thy care for her may not be valued less
- because my groaning travail brought her forth.—
- My long-sought daughter has at last been found,
- if one can call it, found, when certain loss
- more certain has been proved; or so may deem
- the knowledge of her state.—But I may bear
- his rude ways, if again he bring her back.
- ‘Thy worthy child should not be forced to wed
- a bandit-chief, nor should my daughter's charms
- reward his crime.’ She spoke;—and Jupiter
- took up the word; ‘This daughter is a care,
- a sacred pledge to me as well as thee;
- but if it please us to acknowledge truth,
- this is a deed of love and injures not.
- And if, O goddess, thou wilt not oppose,
- such law-son cannot compass our disgrace:
- for though all else were wanting, naught can need
- Jove's brother, who in fortune yields to none
- save me. But if thy fixed desire compel
- dissent, let Proserpine return to Heaven;
- however, subject to the binding law,
- if there her tongue have never tasted food—
- a sure condition, by the Fates decreed.’
- he spoke; but Ceres was no less resolved
- to lead her daughter thence.
- “Not so the Fates
- permit.—The virgin, thoughtless while she strayed
- among the cultivated Stygian fields,
- had broken fast. While there she plucked the fruit
- by bending a pomegranate tree, and plucked,
- and chewed seven grains, picked from the pallid rind;
- and none had seen except Ascalaphus—
- him Orphne, famed of all Avernian Nymphs,
- had brought to birth in some infernal cave,
- days long ago, from Acheron's embrace—
- he saw it, and with cruel lips debarred
- young Proserpine's return. Heaving a sigh,
- the Queen of Erebus, indignant changed
- that witness to an evil bird: she turned
- his head, with sprinkled Phlegethonian lymph,
- into a beak, and feathers, and great eyes;
- his head grew larger and his shape, deformed,
- was cased in tawny wings; his lengthened nails
- bent inward;—and his sluggish arms
- as wings can hardly move. So he became
- the vilest bird; a messenger of grief;
- the lazy owl; sad omen to mankind.
- “The telltale's punishment was only just;
- O Siren Maids, but wherefore thus have ye
- the feet and plumes of birds, although remain
- your virgin features? Is it from the day
- when Proserpina gathered vernal flowers;
- because ye mingled with her chosen friends?
- And after she was lost, in vain ye sought
- through all the world; and wished for wings to waft
- you over the great deep, that soon the sea
- might feel your great concern.—The Gods were kind:
- ye saw your limbs grow yellow, with a growth
- of sudden-sprouting feathers; but because
- your melodies that gently charm the ear,
- besides the glory of your speech, might lose
- the blessing, of a tongue, your virgin face
- and human voice remained.
- “But Jupiter,
- the mediator of these rival claims,
- urged by his brother and his grieving sister,
- divided the long year in equal parts.
- Now Proserpina, as a Deity,
- of equal merit, in two kingdoms reigns:—
- for six months with her mother she abides,
- and six months with her husband.—Both her mind
- and her appearance quickly were transformed;
- for she who seemed so sad in Pluto's eyes,
- now as a goddess beams in joyful smiles;
- so, when the sun obscured by watery mist
- conquers the clouds, it shines in splendour forth.
- “And genial Ceres, full of joy, that now
- her daughter was regained, began to speak;
- ‘Declare the reason of thy wanderings,
- O Arethusa! tell me wherefore thou
- wert made a sacred stream.’ The waters gave
- no sound; but soon that goddess raised her head
- from the deep springs; and after sue had dried
- her green hair with her hand, with fair address
- she told the ancient amours of that stream
- which flows through Elis.—‘I was one among
- the Nymphs of old Achaia,’—so she said—
- ‘And none of them more eager sped than I,
- along the tangled pathways; and I fixed
- the hunting-nets with zealous care.—Although
- I strove not for the praise that beauty gives,
- and though my form was something stout for grace,
- it had the name of being beautiful.
- ‘So worthless seemed the praise, I took no joy
- in my appearance—as a country lass
- I blushed at those endowments which would give
- delight to others—even the power to please
- seemed criminal.—And I remember when
- returning weary from Stymphal fan woods,
- and hot with toil, that made the glowing sun
- seem twice as hot, I chanced upon a stream,
- that flowed without a ripple or a sound
- so smoothly on, I hardly thought it moved.
- ‘The water was so clear that one could see
- and count the pebbles in the deepest parts,
- and silver willows and tall poplar trees,
- nourished by flowing waters, spread their shade
- over the shelving banks. So I approached,
- and shrinkingly touched the cool stream with my feet;
- and then I ventured deeper to my knees;
- and not contented doffed my fleecy robes,
- and laid them on a bending willow tree.
- Then, naked, I plunged deeply in the stream,
- and while I smote the water with my hands,
- and drew it towards me, striking boldly forth,
- moving my body in a thousand ways,
- I thought I heard a most unusual sound,
- a murmuring noise beneath the middle stream.
- ‘Alarmed, I hastened to the nearest bank,
- and as I stood upon its edge, these words
- hoarsely Alpheus uttered from his waves;
- ‘Oh, whither dost thou hasten?’ and again,
- ‘Oh, whither dost thou hasten?’ said the voice.
- ‘Just as I was, I fled without my clothes,
- for I had left them on the other bank;
- which, when he saw, so much the more inflamed,
- more swiftly he pursued: my nakedness
- was tempting to his gaze. And thus I ran;
- and thus relentlessly he pressed my steps:
- so from the hawk the dove with trembling wings;
- and so, the hawk pursues the frightened dove.
- ‘Swiftly and long I fled, with winding course,
- to Orchamenus, Psophis and Cyllene,
- and Maenalus and Erymanthus cold,
- and Elis. Neither could he gain by speed,
- although his greater strength must soon prevail,
- for I not longer could endure the strain.
- ‘Still I sped onward through the fields and woods,
- by tangled wilds and over rocks and crags;
- and as I hastened from the setting sun,
- I thought I saw a growing shadow move
- beyond my feet; it may have been my fear
- imagined it, but surely now I heard
- the sound of footsteps: I could even feel
- his breathing on the loose ends of my hair;
- and I was terrified. At last, worn out
- by all my efforts to escape, I cried;
- ‘Oh, help me—thou whose bow and quivered darts
- I oft have borne—thy armour-bearer calls—
- O chaste Diana help,—or I am lost.’
- ‘It moved the goddess, and she gathered up
- a dense cloud, and encompassed me about.—
- The baffled River circled round and round,
- seeking to find me, hidden in that cloud—
- twice went the River round, and twice cried out,
- ‘Ho, Arethusa! Arethusa, Ho!’
- ‘What were my wretched feelings then? Could I
- be braver than the Iamb that hears the wolves,
- howling around the high-protecting fold?
- Or than the hare, which lurking in the bush
- knows of the snarling hounds and dares not move?
- And yet, Alpheus thence would not depart,
- for he could find no footprints of my flight.
- ‘He watched the cloud and spot, and thus besieged,
- a cold sweat gathered on my trembling limbs.
- The clear-blue drops, distilled from every pore,
- made pools of water where I moved my feet,
- and dripping moisture trickled from my hair.—
- Much quicker than my story could be told,
- my body was dissolved to flowing streams.—
- But still the River recognized the waves,
- and for the love of me transformed his shape
- from human features to his proper streams,
- that so his waters might encompass mine.
- ‘Diana, therefore, opened up the ground,
- in which I plunged, and thence through gloomy caves
- was carried to Ortygia—blessed isle!
- To which my chosen goddess gave her name!
- Where first I rose amid the upper air!’
- “Thus Arethusa made an end of speech:
- and presently the fertile goddess yoked
- two dragons to her chariot: she curbed
- their mouths with bits: they bore her through the air,
- in her light car betwixt the earth and skies,
- to the Tritonian citadel, and to
- Triptolemus, to whom she furnished seed,
- that he might scatter it in wasted lands,
- and in the fallow fields; which, after long
- neglect, again were given to the plow.
- “After he had traveled through uncharted skies,
- over wide Europe and vast Asian lands,
- he lit upon the coast of Scythia, where
- a king called Lyncus reigned. And there, at once
- he sought the palace of that king, who said;
- ‘Whence come you, stranger, wherefore in this land?
- Come, tell to me your nation and your name.’
- “And after he was questioned thus, he said,
- ‘I came from far-famed Athens and they call
- my name Triptolemus. I neither came
- by ship through waves, nor over the dry land;
- for me the yielding atmosphere makes way.—
- I bear the gifts of Ceres to your land,
- which scattered over your wide realm may yield
- an ample harvest of nutritious food.’
- “The envious Lyncus, wishing to appear
- the gracious author of all benefits,
- received the unsuspecting youth with smiles;
- but when he fell into a heavy sleep
- that savage king attacked him with a sword—
- but while attempting to transfix his guest,
- the goddess Ceres changed him to a lynx:—
- and once again she sent her favoured youth
- to drive her sacred dragons through the clouds.
- “The greatest of our number ended thus
- her learned songs; and with concordant voice
- the chosen Nymphs adjudged the Deities,
- on Helicon who dwell, should be proclaimed
- the victors.
- “But the vanquished nine began
- to scatter their abuse; to whom rejoined
- the goddess; ‘Since it seems a trifling thing
- that you should suffer a deserved defeat,
- and you must add unmerited abuse
- to heighten your offence, and since by this
- appears the end of our endurance, we
- shall certainly proceed to punish you
- according to the limit of our wrath.’
- “But these Emathian sisters laughed to scorn
- our threatening words; and as they tried to speak,
- and made great clamour, and with shameless hands
- made threatening gestures, suddenly stiff quills
- sprouted from out their finger-nails, and plumes
- spread over their stretched arms; and they could see
- the mouth of each companion growing out
- into a rigid beak.—And thus new birds
- were added to the forest.—While they made
- complaint, these Magpies that defile our groves,
- moving their stretched-out arms, began to float,
- suspended in the air. And since that time
- their ancient eloquence, their screaming notes,
- their tiresome zeal of speech have all remained.”
- All this Minerva heard; and she approved
- their songs and their resentment; but her heart
- was brooding thus, “It is an easy thing
- to praise another, I should do as they:
- no creature of the earth should ever slight
- the majesty that dwells in me,—without
- just retribution.”—So her thought was turned
- upon the fortune of Arachne — proud,
- who would not ever yield to her the praise
- won by the art of deftly weaving wool,
- a girl who had not fame for place of birth,
- nor fame for birth, but only fame for skill!
- For it was well known that her father dwelt
- in Colophon; where, at his humble trade,
- he dyed in Phocean purples, fleecy wool.
- Her mother, also of the lower class,
- had died. Arachne in a mountain town
- by skill had grown so famous in the Land
- of Lydia, that unnumbered curious nymphs
- eager to witness her dexterity,
- deserted the lush vineyards of Timolus;
- or even left the cool and flowing streams
- of bright Pactolus, to admire the cloth,
- or to observe her deftly spinning wool.
- So graceful was her motion then,—if she
- was twisting the coarse wool in little balls,
- or if she teased it with her finger-tips,
- or if she softened the fine fleece, drawn forth
- in misty films, or if she twirled the smooth
- round spindle with her energetic thumb,
- or if with needle she embroidered cloth;—
- in all her motions one might well perceive
- how much Minerva had instructed her:
- but this she ever would deny, displeased
- to share her fame; and said, “Let her contend
- in art with me; and if her skill prevails,
- I then will forfeit all!”
- Minerva heard,
- and came to her, disguised with long grey hair,
- and with a staff to steady her weak limbs.
- She seemed a feeble woman, very old,
- and quavered as she said, “Old age is not
- the cause of every ill; experience comes
- with lengthened years; and, therefore, you should not
- despise my words. It is no harm in you
- to long for praise of mortals, when
- your nimble hands are spinning the soft wool,—
- but you should not deny Minerva's art—
- and you should pray that she may pardon you,
- for she will grant you pardon if you ask.”
- Arachne, scowling with an evil face.
- Looked at the goddess, as she dropped her thread.
- She hardly could restrain her threatening hand,
- and, trembling in her anger, she replied
- to you, disguised Minerva:
- “Silly fool,—
- worn out and witless in your palsied age,
- a great age is your great misfortune!— Let
- your daughter and your son's wife—if the Gods
- have blessed you—let them profit by your words;
- within myself, my knowledge is contained
- sufficient; you need not believe that your
- advice does any good; for I am quite
- unchanged in my opinion. Get you gone,—
- advise your goddess to come here herself,
- and not avoid the contest!”
- Instantly,
- the goddess said, “Minerva comes to you!”
- And with those brief words, put aside the shape
- of the old woman, and revealed herself,
- Minerva, goddess.
- All the other Nymphs
- and matrons of Mygdonia worshiped her;
- but not Arachne, who defiant stood;—
- although at first she flushed up—then went pale—
- then blushed again, reluctant.—So, at first,
- the sky suffuses, as Aurora moves,
- and, quickly when the glorious sun comes up,
- pales into white.
- She even rushed upon
- her own destruction, for she would not give
- from her desire to gain the victory.
- Nor did the daughter of almighty Jove
- decline: disdaining to delay with words,
- she hesitated not.
- And both, at once,
- selected their positions, stretched their webs
- with finest warp, and separated warp with sley.
- The woof was next inserted in the web
- by means of the sharp shuttles, which
- their nimble fingers pushed along, so drawn
- within the warp, and so the teeth notched in
- the moving sley might strike them.—Both, in haste,
- girded their garments to their breasts and moved
- their skilful arms, beguiling their fatigue
- in eager action.
- Myriad tints appeared
- besides the Tyrian purple—royal dye,
- extracted in brass vessels.—As the bow,
- that spans new glory in the curving sky,
- its glittering rays reflected in the rain,
- spreads out a multitude of blended tints,
- in scintillating beauty to the sight
- of all who gaze upon it; — so the threads,
- inwoven, mingled in a thousand tints,
- harmonious and contrasting; shot with gold:
- and there, depicted in those shining webs,
- were shown the histories of ancient days:—
- Minerva worked the Athenian Hill of Mars,
- where ancient Cecrops built his citadel,
- and showed the old contention for the name
- it should be given.—Twelve celestial Gods
- surrounded Jupiter, on lofty thrones;
- and all their features were so nicely drawn,
- that each could be distinguished.—Jupiter
- appeared as monarch of those judging Gods.
- There Neptune, guardian of the sea, was shown
- contending with Minerva. As he struck
- the Rock with his long trident, a wild horse
- sprang forth which he bequeathed to man. He claimed
- his right to name the city for that gift.
- And then she wove a portrait of herself,
- bearing a shield, and in her hand a lance,
- sharp-pointed, and a helmet on her head—
- her breast well-guarded by her Aegis: there
- she struck her spear into the fertile earth,
- from which a branch of olive seemed to sprout,
- pale with new clustered fruits.—And those twelve Gods,
- appeared to judge, that olive as a gift
- surpassed the horse which Neptune gave to man.
- And, so Arachne, rival of her fame,
- might learn the folly of her mad attempt,
- from the great deeds of ancient histories,
- and what award presumption must expect,
- Minerva wove four corners with life scenes
- of contest, brightly colored, but of size
- diminutive.
- In one of these was shown
- the snow-clad mountains, Rhodope,
- and Haemus, which for punishment were changed
- from human beings to those rigid forms,
- when they aspired to rival the high Gods.
- And in another corner she described
- that Pygmy, whom the angry Juno changed
- from queen-ship to a crane; because she thought
- herself an equal of the living Gods,
- she was commanded to wage cruel wars
- upon her former subjects. In the third,
- she wove the story of Antigone,
- who dared compare herself to Juno, queen
- of Jupiter, and showed her as she was
- transformed into a silly chattering stork,
- that praised her beauty, with her ugly beak.—
- Despite the powers of Ilion and her sire
- Laomedon, her shoulders fledged white wings.
- And so, the third part finished, there was left
- one corner, where Minerva deftly worked
- the story of the father, Cinyras;—
- as he was weeping on the temple steps,
- which once had been his daughter's living limbs.
- And she adorned the border with designs
- of peaceful olive—her devoted tree—
- which having shown, she made an end of work.
- Arachne, of Maeonia, wove, at first
- the story of Europa, as the bull
- deceived her, and so perfect was her art,
- it seemed a real bull in real waves.
- Europa seemed to look back towards the land
- which she had left; and call in her alarm
- to her companions—and as if she feared
- the touch of dashing waters, to draw up
- her timid feet, while she was sitting on
- the bull's back.
- And she wove Asteria seized
- by the assaulting eagle; and beneath the swan's
- white wings showed Leda lying by the stream:
- and showed Jove dancing as a Satyr, when
- he sought the beautiful Antiope,
- to whom was given twins; and how he seemed
- Amphitryon when he deceived Alcmena;
- and how he courted lovely Danae
- luring her as a gleaming shower of gold;
- and poor Aegina, hidden in his flame,
- jove as a shepherd with Mnemosyne;
- and beautiful Proserpina, involved
- by him, apparent as a spotted snake.
- And in her web, Arachne wove the scenes
- of Neptune:—who was shown first as a bull,
- when he was deep in love with virgin Arne
- then as Enipeus when the giant twins,
- Aloidae, were begot; and as the ram
- that gambolled with Bisaltis; as a horse
- loved by the fruitful Ceres, golden haired,
- all-bounteous mother of the yellow grain;
- and as the bird that hovered round snake-haired
- Medusa, mother of the winged horse;
- and as the dolphin, sporting with the Nymph,
- Melantho.—All of these were woven true
- to life, in proper shades.
- And there she showed
- Apollo, when disguised in various forms:
- as when he seemed a rustic; and as when
- he wore hawk-wings, and then the tawny skin
- of a great lion; and once more when he
- deluded Isse, as a shepherd lad.
- And there was Bacchus, when he was disguised
- as a large cluster of fictitious grapes;
- deluding by that wile the beautiful
- Erigone;—and Saturn, as a steed,
- begetter of the dual-natured Chiron.
- And then Arachne, to complete her work,
- wove all around the web a patterned edge
- of interlacing flowers and ivy leaves.
- Minerva could not find a fleck or flaw—
- even Envy can not censure perfect art—
- enraged because Arachne had such skill
- she ripped the web, and ruined all the scenes
- that showed those wicked actions of the Gods;
- and with her boxwood shuttle in her hand,
- struck the unhappy mortal on her head,—
- struck sharply thrice, and even once again.
- Arachne's spirit, deigning not to brook
- such insult, brooded on it, till she tied
- a cord around her neck, and hung herself.
- Minerva, moved to pity at the sight,
- sustained and saved her from that bitter death;
- but, angry still, pronounced another doom:
- “Although I grant you life, most wicked one,
- your fate shall be to dangle on a cord,
- and your posterity forever shall
- take your example, that your punishment
- may last forever!” Even as she spoke,
- before withdrawing from her victim's sight,
- she sprinkled her with juice—extract of herbs
- of Hecate.
- At once all hair fell off,
- her nose and ears remained not, and her head
- shrunk rapidly in size, as well as all
- her body, leaving her diminutive.—
- Her slender fingers gathered to her sides
- as long thin legs; and all her other parts
- were fast absorbed in her abdomen—whence
- she vented a fine thread;—and ever since,
- Arachne, as a spider, weaves her web.
- All Lydia was astonished at her fate
- the Rumor spread to Phrygia, soon the world
- was filled with fear and wonder. Niobe
- had known her long before,—when in Maeonia
- near to Mount Sipylus; but the sad fate
- which overtook Arachne, lost on her,
- she never ceased her boasting and refused
- to honor the great Gods.
- So many things
- increased her pride: She loved to boast
- her husband's skill, their noble family,
- the rising grandeur of their kingdom. Such
- felicities were great delights to her;
- but nothing could exceed the haughty way
- she boasted of her children: and, in truth,
- Niobe might have been adjudged on earth,
- the happiest mother of mankind, if pride
- had not destroyed her wit.
- It happened then,
- that Manto, daughter of Tiresias,
- who told the future; when she felt the fire
- of prophecy descend upon her, rushed
- upon the street and shouted in the midst:
- “You women of Ismenus! go and give
- to high Latona and her children, twain,
- incense and prayer. Go, and with laurel wreathe
- your hair in garlands, as your sacred prayers
- arise to heaven. Give heed, for by my speech
- Latona has ordained these holy rites.”
- At once, the Theban women wreathe their brows
- with laurel, and they cast in hallowed flame
- the grateful incense, while they supplicate
- all favors of the ever-living Gods.
- And while they worship, Niobe comes there,
- surrounded with a troup that follow her,
- and most conspicuous in her purple robe,
- bright with inwoven threads of yellow gold.
- Beautiful in her anger, she tosses back
- her graceful head. The glory of her hair
- shines on her shoulders. Standing forth,
- she looks upon them with her haughty eyes,
- and taunts them, “Madness has prevailed on you
- to worship some imagined Gods of Heaven,
- which you have only heard of; but the Gods
- that truly are on earth, and can be seen,
- are all neglected! Come, explain to me,
- why is Latona worshiped and adored,
- and frankincense not offered unto me?
- For my divinity is known to you.
- “Tantalus was my father, who alone
- approached the tables of the Gods in heaven;
- my mother, sister of the Pleiades,
- was daughter of huge Atlas, who supports
- the world upon his shoulders; I can boast
- of Jupiter as father of my sire,
- I count him also as my father-in-law.
- The peoples of my Phrygia dread my power,
- and I am mistress of the palace built
- by Cadmus. By my husband, I am queen
- of those great walls that reared themselves
- to the sweet music of his sounding lyre.
- We rule together all the people they
- encompass and defend. And everywhere
- my gaze is turned, an evidence of wealth
- is witnessed.
- “In my features you can see
- the beauty of a goddess, but above
- that majesty is all the glory due
- to me, the mother of my seven sons
- and daughters seven. And the time will come
- when by their marriage they will magnify
- the circle of my power invincible.
- “All must acknowledge my just cause of pride
- and must no longer worship, in despite
- of my superior birth, this deity,
- a daughter of ignoble Coeus, whom
- one time the great Earth would not even grant
- sufficient space for travail: whom the Heavens,
- the Land, the Sea together once compelled
- to wander, hopeless on all hostile shores!
- Throughout the world she found herself rebuffed,
- till Delos, sorry for the vagrant, said,
- ‘Homeless you roam the lands, and I the seas!’
- And even her refuge always was adrift.
- “And there she bore two children, who, compared
- with mine, are but as one to seven. Who
- denies my fortunate condition?—Who
- can doubt my future?—I am surely safe.
- “The wealth of my abundance is too strong
- for Fortune to assail me. Let her rage
- despoil me of large substance; yet so much
- would still be mine, for I have risen above
- the blight of apprehension. But, suppose
- a few of my fair children should be taken!
- Even so deprived, I could not be reduced
- to only two, as this Latona, who,
- might quite as well be childless.—Get you gone
- from this insensate sacrifice. Make haste!
- Cast off the wreathing laurels from your brows!”
- They plucked the garlands from their hair, and left
- the sacrifice, obedient to her will,
- although in gentle murmurs they adored
- the goddess Niobe had so defamed.
- Latona, furious when she heard the speech,
- flew swiftly to the utmost peak of Cynthus,
- and spoke to her two children in these words:
- “Behold your mother, proud of having borne
- such glorious children! I will yield
- prestige before no goddess—save alone
- immortal Juno! I have been debased,
- and driven for all ages from my own—
- my altars, unto me devoted long,
- and so must languish through eternity,
- unless by you sustained. Nor is this all;.
- That daughter of Tantalus, bold Niobe,
- has added curses to her evil deeds,
- and with a tongue as wicked as her sire's,
- has raised her base-born children over mine.
- Has even called me childless! A sad fate
- more surely should be hers! Oh, I entreat”—
- But Phoebus answered her, “No more complaint
- is necessary, for it only serves
- to hinder the swift sequel of her doom.”
- And with the same words Phoebe answered her.
- And having spoken, they descended through
- the shielding shadows of surrounding clouds,
- and hovered on the citadel of Cadmus.
- There, far below them, was a level plain
- which swept around those walls; where trampling steeds,
- with horny hoofs, and multitudinous wheels,
- had beaten a wide track. And on the field
- the older sons of Niobe on steeds
- emblazoned with bright dyes and harness rich
- with studded gold were circling.—One of these,
- Ismenus, first-born of his mother, while
- controlling his fleet courser's foaming mouth,
- cried out, “Ah wretched me!” A shaft had pierced
- the middle of his breast; and as the reins
- dropped slowly on the rapid courser's neck,
- his drooping form fell forward to the ground.
- Not far from him, his brother, Sipylus,
- could hear the whistling of a fatal shaft,
- and in his fright urged on the plunging steed:
- as when the watchful pilot, sensible
- of storms approaching, crowds on sail,
- hoping to catch a momentary breeze,
- so fled he, urging an impetuous flight;
- but, while he fled the shaft, unerring, flew;
- transfixed him with its quivering death; struck where
- the neck supports the head and the sharp point
- protruded from his throat. In his swift flight,
- as he was leaning forward, he was struck;
- and, rolling over the wild horse's neck
- pitched to the ground, and stained it with his blood.
- Unhappy Phaedimus, and Tantalus,
- (So named from his maternal grandsire) now
- had finished coursing on the track, and smooth.
- Shining with oil, were wrestling in the field;
- and while those brothers struggled—breast to breast—
- another arrow, hurtling from the sky,
- pierced them together, just as they were clinched.
- The mingled sound that issued from two throats
- was like a single groan. Convulsed with pain,
- the wrestlers fell together on the ground,
- where, stricken with a double agony,
- rolling their eyeballs, they sobbed out their lives.
- Alphenor saw them die—beating his breast
- in agony—ran to lift in his arms
- their lifeless bodies cold—while doing this
- he fell upon them. Phoebus struck him so,
- piercing his midriff in a vital part,
- with fatal shot, which, when he pulled it forth,
- dragged with its barb a torn clot of his lung—
- his blood and life poured out upon the air.
- The youthful Damasicthon next was struck,
- not only once; an arrow pierced his leg
- just where the sinews of the thigh begin,
- and as he turned and stooped to pluck it out,
- another keen shaft shot into his neck,
- up to the fletching.—The blood drove it out,
- and spouted after it in crimson jets.
- Then, Ilioneus, last of seven sons,
- lifted his unavailing arms in prayer,
- and cried, “O Universal Deities,
- gods of eternal heaven, spare my life!”—
- Besought too late, Apollo of the Bow,
- could not prevail against the deadly shaft,
- already on its way: and yet his will,
- compellant, acted to retard its flight,
- so that it cut no deeper than his heart.
- The rumors of an awful tragedy,—
- the wailings of sad Niobe's loved friends,—
- the terror of her grieving relatives,—
- all gave some knowledge of her sudden loss:
- but so bewildered and enraged her mind,
- that she could hardly realize the Gods
- had privilege to dare against her might.
- Nor would she, till her lord, Amphion, thrust
- his sword deep in his breast, by which his life
- and anguish both were ended in dark night.
- Alas, proud Niobe, once haughty queen!
- Proud Niobe who but so lately drove
- her people from Latona's altars, while,
- moving majestic through the midst, she hears
- their plaudits, now so bitterly debased,
- her meanest enemy may pity her!—
- She fell upon the bodies of her sons,
- and in a frenzy of maternal grief,
- kissed their unfeeling lips. Then unto Heaven
- with arms accusing, railed upon her foe:
- “Glut your revenge! Latona, glut your rage!
- Yea, let my lamentations be your joy!
- Go—satiate your flinty heart with death!
- Are not my seven sons all dead? Am I
- not waiting to be carried to my grave?—
- exult and triumph, my victorious foe!
- Victorious? Nay!—Much more remains to me
- in all my utmost sorrow, than to you,
- you gloater upon vengeance—Undismayed,
- I stand victorious in my Field of Woe!”
- no sooner had she spoken, than the cord
- twanged from the ever-ready bow; and all
- who heard the fatal sound, again were filled
- with fear,—save Niobe, in misery bold,—
- defiant in misfortune.—Clothed in black,
- the sisters of the stricken brothers stood,
- with hair disheveled, by the funeral biers.
- And one while plucking from her brother's heart
- a shaft, swooned unto death, fell on her face—
- on her dear brother's corpse. Another girl,
- while she consoled her mother, suddenly,
- was stricken with an unseen, deadly wound;
- and doubled in convulsions, closed her lips,
- tight held them, till both breath and life were lost.
- Another, vainly rushed away from death—
- she met it, and pitched head-first to the ground;
- and still another died upon her corse,
- another vainly sought a secret death,
- and, then another slipped beyond's life's edge.
- So, altogether, six of seven died—
- each victim, strickened in a different way.
- One child remained. Then in a frenzy-fear
- the mother, as she covered her with all
- her garments and her body, wailed—“Oh, leave
- me this one child! the youngest of them all!
- My darling daughter—only leave me one!”
- But even while she was entreating for its life—
- the life was taken from her only child.
- Childless— she crouched beside her slaughtered sons,
- her lifeless daughters, and her husband's corpse.
- The breeze not even moved her fallen hair,
- a chill of marble spread upon her flesh,
- beneath her pale, set brows, her eyes moved not,
- her bitter tongue turned stiff in her hard jaws,
- her lovely veins congealed, and her stiff neck
- and rigid hands could neither bend nor move.—
- her limbs and body, all were changed to stone.
- Yet ever would she weep: and as her tears
- were falling she was carried from the place,
- enveloped in a storm and mighty wind,
- far, to her native land, where fixed upon
- a mountain summit she dissolves in tears,—
- and to this day the marble drips with tears.
- All men and women, after this event,
- feared to incur Latona's fateful wrath,
- and worshiped with more zeal the Deity,
- mother of twins.—And, as it is the way
- of men to talk of many other things
- after a strong occurrence, they recalled
- what other deeds the goddess had performed;—
- and one of them recited this event:
- 'Twas in the ancient days of long-ago,—
- some rustics, in the fertile fields of Lycia,
- heedless, insulted the goddess to their harm:—
- perhaps you've never heard of this event,
- because those country clowns were little known.
- The event was wonderful, but I can vouch
- the truth of it. I visited the place
- and I have seen the pool of water, where
- happened the miracle I now relate.
- My good old father, then advanced in years,
- incapable of travel, ordered me
- to fetch some cattle—thoroughbreds—from there,
- and had secured a Lycian for my guide,
- as I traversed the pastures, with the man,
- it chanced, I saw an ancient altar,—grimed
- with sacrificial ashes—in the midst
- of a large pool, with sedge and reeds around,
- a-quiver in the breeze. And there my guide
- stood on the marge, and with an awe-struck voice
- began to whisper, “Be propitious, hear
- my supplications, and forget not me!”
- And I, observing him, echoed the words,
- “Forget not me!” which, having done, I turned
- to him and said, “Whose altar can this be?
- Perhaps a sacred altar of the Fauns,
- or of the Naiads, or a native God?”
- To which my guide replied, “Young man, such Gods
- may not be worshiped at this altar. She
- whom once the royal Juno drove away
- to wander a harsh world, alone permits
- this altar to be used: that goddess whom
- the wandering Isle of Delos, at the time
- it drifted as the foam, almost refused
- a refuge.
- There Latona, as she leaned
- against a palm-tree—and against the tree
- most sacred to Minerva, brought forth twins,
- although their harsh step-mother, Juno, strove
- to interfere.—And from the island forced
- to fly by jealous Juno, on her breast
- she bore her children, twin Divinities.
- At last, outwearied with the toil, and parched
- with thirst—long-wandering in those heated days
- over the arid land of Lycia, where
- was bred the dire Chimaera— at the time
- her parching breasts were drained, she saw this pool
- of crystal water, shimmering in the vale.
- Some countrymen were there to gather reeds,
- and useful osiers, and the bulrush, found
- with sedge in fenny pools. To them approached
- Latona, and she knelt upon the merge
- to cool her thirst, with some refreshing water.
- But those clowns forbade her and the goddess cried,
- as they so wickedly opposed her need:
- “Why do you so resist my bitter thirst?
- The use of water is the sacred right
- of all mankind, for Nature has not made
- the sun and air and water, for the sole
- estate of any creature; and to Her
- kind bounty I appeal, although of you
- I humbly beg the use of it. Not here
- do I intend to bathe my wearied limbs.
- I only wish to quench an urgent thirst,
- for, even as I speak, my cracking lips
- and mouth so parched, almost deny me words.
- A drink of water will be like a draught
- of nectar, giving life; and I shall owe
- to you the bounty and my life renewed.—
- ah, let these tender infants, whose weak arms
- implore you from my bosom, but incline
- your hearts to pity!” And just as she spoke,
- it chanced the children did stretch out their arms
- and who would not be touched to hear such words,
- as spoken by this goddess, and refuse?
- But still those clowns persisted in their wrong
- against the goddess; for they hindered her,
- and threatened with their foul, abusive tongues
- to frighten her away—and, worse than all,
- they even muddied with their hands and feet
- the clear pool; forcing the vile, slimy dregs
- up from the bottom, in a spiteful way,
- by jumping up and down.—Enraged at this,
- she felt no further thirst, nor would she deign
- to supplicate again; but, feeling all
- the outraged majesty of her high state,
- she raised her hands to Heaven, and exclaimed,
- “Forever may you live in that mud-pool!”
- The curse as soon as uttered took effect,
- and every one of them began to swim
- beneath the water, and to leap and plunge
- deep in the pool.—Now, up they raise their heads,
- now swim upon the surface, now they squat
- themselves around the marshy margent, now
- they plump again down to the chilly deeps.
- And, ever and again, with croaking throats,
- indulge offensive strife upon the banks,
- or even under water, boom abuse.
- Their ugly voices cause their bloated necks
- to puff out; and their widened jaws are made
- still wider in the venting of their spleen.
- Their backs, so closely fastened to their heads,
- make them appear as if their shrunken necks
- have been cut off. Their backbones are dark green;
- white are their bellies, now their largest part.—
- Forever since that time, the foolish frogs
- muddy their own pools, where they leap and dive.
- So he related how the clowns were changed
- to leaping frogs; and after he was through,
- another told the tale of Marsyas, in these words:
- The Satyr Marsyas, when he played the flute
- in rivalry against Apollo's lyre,
- lost that audacious contest and, alas!
- His life was forfeit; for, they had agreed
- the one who lost should be the victor's prey.
- And, as Apollo punished him, he cried,
- “Ah-h-h! why are you now tearing me apart?
- A flute has not the value of my life!”
- Even as he shrieked out in his agony,
- his living skin was ripped off from his limbs,
- till his whole body was a flaming wound,
- with nerves and veins and viscera exposed.
- But all the weeping people of that land,
- and all the Fauns and Sylvan Deities,
- and all the Satyrs, and Olympus, his
- loved pupil—even then renowned in song,
- and all the Nymphs, lamented his sad fate;
- and all the shepherds, roaming on the hills,
- lamented as they tended fleecy flocks.
- And all those falling tears, on fruitful Earth,
- descended to her deepest veins, as drip
- the moistening dews,—and, gathering as a fount,
- turned upward from her secret-winding caves,
- to issue, sparkling, in the sun-kissed air,
- the clearest river in the land of Phrygia,—
- through which it swiftly flows between steep banks
- down to the sea: and, therefore, from his name,
- 'Tis called “The Marsyas” to this very day.
- And after this was told, the people turned
- and wept for Niobe's loved children dead,
- and also, mourned Amphion, sorrow-slain.
- The Theban people hated Niobe,
- but Pelops, her own brother, mourned her death;
- and as he rent his garment, and laid bare
- his white left shoulder, you could see the part
- composed of ivory.—At his birth 'twas all
- of healthy flesh; but when his father cut
- his limbs asunder, and the Gods restored
- his life, all parts were rightly joined, except
- part of one shoulder, which was wanting; so
- to serve the purpose of the missing flesh,
- a piece of ivory was inserted there,
- making his body by such means complete.