by Ovid
and when the dear day had once more dimmed out the bright stars,
she searched again for her daughter from sunrise to sunset.
Stellio
“‘Worn out by her labors and suffering thirst, with no fountain
to wet her lips at, she happened upon a thatched hovel
and knocked at its humble door, from which there came forth
a crone who looked at the goddess, and, when asked for water,
gave her a sweet drink, sprinkled with toasted barley.
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And, as she drank it, a boy with a sharp face and bold manner
stood right before her and mocked her and said she was greedy.
Angered by what he was saying, the goddess drenched him
with all she had not yet drunk of the barley mixture.
The boy’s face thirstily drank up the spots as his arms were
turned into legs, and a tail was joined to his changed limbs;
so that he should now be harmless, the boy was diminished,
and he was transformed into a very small lizard.
Astonished, the old woman wept and reached out to touch him,
but the marvelous creature fled her, seeking a hideout.
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He now has a name appropriate to his complexion,
Stellio, from the constellations spotting his body.
“‘To speak of the lands and seas the goddess mistakenly searched
would take far too long; the earth exhausted her seeking;
she came back to Sicily; and, as she once more traversed it,
arrived at Cyane, who would have told her the story
had she not herself been changed; but, though willing in spirit,
her mouth, tongue, and vocal apparatus were absent;
nevertheless, she gave proof that was clear to the mother:
Persephone’s girdle (which happened by chance to have fallen
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into the fountain) now lay exposed on its surface.
“‘Once recognizing it, the goddess knew that her daughter
had been taken, and tore her hair into utter disorder,
and repeatedly struck her breasts with the palms of both hands.
With her daughter’s location a mystery still, she reproaches
the whole earth as ungrateful, unworthy her gift of grain crops,
and Sicily more than the others, where she has discovered
the proof of her loss; and so it was here that her fierce hand
shattered the earth-turning plows, here that the farmers and cattle
perished alike, and here that she bade the plowed fields
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default on their trust by blighting the seeds in their keeping.
Sicilian fertility, which had been everywhere famous,
was given the lie when the crops died as they sprouted,
now ruined by too much heat, and now by too heavy a rainfall;
stars and winds harmed them, and the greedy birds devoured
the seed as it was sown; the harvest of wheat was defeated
by thorns and darnels and unappeasable grasses.
“‘Then Arethusa lifted her head from the Elean waters
and swept her dripping hair back away from her forehead,
saying, “O Mother of Grain—and mother, too, of that virgin
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sought through the whole world—here end your incessant labors,
lest your great anger should injure the earth you once trusted,
and which, unwillingly pillaged, has done nothing ignoble;
nor do I plead for my nation, since I am a guest here:
my nation is Pisa, I am descended from Elis,
and live as a stranger in Sicily—this land that delights me
more than all others on earth; here Arethusa
dwells with her household gods. Spare it, merciful goddess,
and when your cares and countenance both have been lightened,
there will come an opportune time to tell you the reason
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why I was taken from home and borne off to Ortygia
over a waste of waters. The earth gave me access,
showed me a path, and, swept on through underground caverns,
I raised my head here to an unfamiliar night sky.
But while gliding under the earth on a Stygian river,
I saw with my very own eyes your dear Proserpina;
grief and terror were still to be seen in her features,
yet she was nonetheless queen of that shadowy kingdom,
the all-powerful consort of the underworld’s ruler.”
“‘The mother was petrified by the speech of the fountain,
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and stood for a very long time as though she were senseless,
until her madness had been driven off by her outrage,
and then she set out in her chariot for the ethereal regions;
once there, with her face clouded over and hair all disheveled,
she planted herself before Jove and fiercely addressed him:
“Jupiter, I have come here as a suppliant, speaking
for my child—and yours: if you have no regard for her mother,
relent as her father—don’t hold her unworthy, I beg you,
simply because I am the child’s other parent!
The daughter I sought for so long is at last recovered,
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if to recover means only to lose much more surely,
or if to recover means just to learn her location!
Her theft could be borne—if only he would return her!
Then let him do it, for surely Jove’s daughter is worthy
of a mate who’s no brigand, even if my daughter isn’t.”
“‘Jupiter answered her, “She is indeed our daughter,
the pledge of our love and our common concern,
but if you will kindly agree to give things their right names,
this is not an injury requiring my retribution,
but an act of love by a son-in-law who won’t shame you,
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goddess, if you give approval; though much were lacking,
how much it is to be Jove’s brother! But he lacks nothing,
and only yields to me that which the Fates have allotted.
Still, if you’re so keen on parting them, your Proserpina
may come back to heaven—but only on one condition:
that she has not touched food, for so the Fates have required.”
Ascalaphus
“‘He spoke and Ceres was sure she would get back her daughter,
though the Fates were not, for the girl had already placated
her hunger while guilelessly roaming death’s formal gardens,
where, from a low-hanging branch, she had plucked without
thinking
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a pomegranate, and peeling its pale bark off, devoured
seven of its seeds. No one saw her but Ascalaphus
(whom it is said that Orphne, a not undistinguished
nymph among those of Avernus, pregnant by Acheron,
gave birth to there in the underworld’s dark-shadowed forest);
he saw, and by his disclosure, kept her from returning.
“‘Raging, the Queen of the Underworld turned that informer
into a bird of ill omen: sprinkling the waters
of Phlegethon into the face of Ascalaphus,
she gave him a beak and plumage and eyes quite enormous.
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Lost to himself, he is clad now in yellow-brown pinions,
his head increases in size and his nails turn to talons,
but the feathers that spring from his motionless arms scarcely flutter;
a filthy bird he’s become, the grim announcer of mourning,
a slothful portent of evil to mortals—the owl.
The daughters of Acheloüs
&n
bsp; “‘That one, because of his tattling tongue, seems quite worthy
of punishment,—but you, daughters of Acheloüs,
why do you have the plumage of birds and the faces of virgins?
Is it because while Proserpina gathered her flowers,
you, artful Sirens, were numbered among her companions?
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No sooner had you scoured the whole earth in vain for her
than you desired the vast seas to feel your devotion,
and prayed to the gods, whom you found willing to help you,
that you might skim over the flood upon oars that were pinions,
then saw your limbs turn suddenly golden with plumage.
And so that your tunefulness, which the ear finds so pleasing,
should not be lost, nor your gifts of vocal expression,
your maidenly faces remain, along with your voices.
Proserpina transformed
“‘But poised between his sorrowing sister and brother,
great Jove divided the year into two equal portions,
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so now in two realms the shared goddess holds sway,
and as many months spent with her mother are spent with her husband.
She changed her mind then, and changed her expression to match it,
and now her fair face, which even Dis found depressing,
beams as the sun does, when, after having been hidden
before in dark clouds, at last it emerges in triumph.
Arethusa’s tale
“‘Her daughter safely restored to her, kindhearted Ceres
wishes to hear your story now, Arethusa—
what did you flee from and what changed you into a fountain?
The splashing waters are stilled: the goddess raises
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her head from their depths and wrings dry her virid tresses,
then tells the old tale of the river Alpheus’ passion.
“‘“Once I was one of the nymphs who dwell in Achaea,”
she said, “and none had more zeal than I for traversing
the mountain pastures or setting out snares for small game.
But even though I did not seek to find fame as a beauty,
men called me that, my courage and strength notwithstanding;
nor was I pleased that my beauty was lauded so often,
and for my corporeal nature (which most other maidens
are wont to take pleasure in) I blushed like a rustic,
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thinking it wrong to please men.
“‘“Exhausted from hunting,
I was on my way back from the Stymphalian forest,
and the fierce heat of the day was doubled by my exertions.
By chance I came on a stream, gently and silently flowing,
clear to the bottom, where you could count every pebble,
water so still you would scarcely believe it was moving.
Silvery willows and poplars, which the stream nourished,
artlessly shaded its banks as they sloped to the water.
“‘“At once I approach and wiggle my toes in its wetness,
then wade in up to my knees—not satisfied wholly,
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I strip off my garments and hang them up on a willow,
and, naked, merge with the waters. I strike and stroke them,
gliding below and thrashing about on the surface,
then hear a strange murmur that seems to come from the bottom,
which sends me scampering onto the near bank in terror:
‘Why the great rush?’ Alpheus cries from his waters,
then hoarsely repeating, ‘Why the great rush, Arethusa?’
Just as I am, I flee without clothing (my garments
were on the bank opposite); aroused, Alpheus pursues me,
my nakedness making me seem more ripe for the taking.
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“‘“Thus did I run, and thus did that fierce one press after,
as doves on trembling pinions flee from the kestrel,
as kestrels pursue the trembling doves and assault them.
To Orchomenus and past, to Psophis, Cyllene,
the folds of Maenalia, Erymanthus, and Elis,
I continued to run, nor was he faster than I was;
but since Alpheus was so much stronger, I couldn’t
outrun him for long, given his greater endurance.
“‘“Nonetheless, I still managed to keep on running
across the wide fields, up wooded mountains,
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on bare rocks, steep cliffs, in wastes wild and trackless;
with the sun at my back, I could see his shadow before me,
stretched out on the ground, unless my panic deceived me;
but surely I did hear those frightening footsteps behind me,
and felt his hot breath lifting the hair from my shoulders.
“‘“Worn with exertion, I cried out, ‘Help! Or I’m taken!
Aid your armoress, Diana—to whom you have often
entrusted your bow, along with your quiver of arrows!’
The goddess was moved by my plea and at once I was hidden
in a dense cloud of fine mist: the river god, clueless,
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circled around me, hidden in darkness, searching;
twice he unknowingly passed by the place where the goddess
had hidden me, and twice he called, ‘Yo! Arethusa!’
How wretched was I? Why, even as the lamb is,
at hearing the howling of wolves around the sheepfold,
or as the rabbit in the briar patch who glimpses
the dog’s fierce muzzle and feels too frightened to tremble.
“‘“Alpheus remained there, for as he noticed no footprints
heading away from the cloud, he continued to watch it.
An icy sweat thoroughly drenched the limbs that he looked for,
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and the dark drops poured from every part of my body;
wherever my foot had been, there was a puddle,
and my hair shed moisture. More swiftly than I can tell it,
I turned into liquid—even so, he recognized me,
his darling there in the water, and promptly discarded
the human form he had assumed for the occasion,
reverting to river, so that our fluids might mingle.
Diana shattered the earth’s crust; I sank down,
and was swept on through sightless caverns, off to Ortygia,
so pleasing to me because it’s the goddess’s birthplace;
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and here I first rose up into the air as a fountain.”
Triptolemus and Lyncus
“‘Here Arethusa concluded. The fruitful goddess summoned
her team of dragons and yoked them onto her chariot;
and guiding their heads with the reins, she was transported
up through the middle air that lies between earth and heaven
until she arrived in Athens, and, giving her carriage
to Triptolemus, ordered him to go off and scatter
grain on the earth—some on land that had never been broken,
and some on land that had been a long time fallow.
“‘The young man was carried high up over Europe and Asia
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until at last he came to the kingdom of Scythia.
Lyncus was king here; he brought him into his palace,
and asked him his name, his homeland, the cause of his journey,
and how he had come there.
“‘“My well-known homeland,” he answered,
“is Athens; I am Triptolemus; neither by ship upon water
nor foot upon land have I come here; the air itself parted
to make me a path on which I coursed through the heavens.
I bear you the gifts of Ceres, which, sown in your broad fields,
will yield a bountiful h
arvest of nourishing produce.”
“‘This the barbarian heard with great envy, and wishing
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that he himself might be perceived as the donor,
took him in as a guest, and while the young man was sleeping,
approached with a sword, and as he attempted to stab him,
Ceres changed Lyncus to lynx, and ordered Triptolemus
to drive her sacred team through the air back to Athens.’
The P-Airides
“When our eldest sister had concluded
her superb performance, with one voice
the nymphs awarded victory to…the Muses!
“And when the others, in defeat, reviled us,
I answered them: ‘Since you display such nerve
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in challenging the Muses, you deserve
chastisement—even more so since you’ve added
insult to outrage: our wise forbearance
is not without its limits, as you’ll learn
when we get to the penalties, and vent
our righteous anger on your worthless selves.’
“Then the Pierides mock our threats,
and as they try to answer us by shouting
vulgarities and giving us the finger,
their fingers take on feathers and their arms
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turn into pinions! Each one sees a beak
replace a sister’s face, as a new bird
is added to the species of the forest;
and as they try to beat upon their breasts,
bewailing their new situation, they
all hang suspended, flapping in the air,
the forest’s scandal—the P-Airides!
“And even though they are all feathered now,
their speech remains as fluent as it was,
and they are famous for their noisiness
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as well as for their love of argument.”
BOOK VI
OF PRAISE AND PUNISHMENT
Arachne Niobe Latona Marsyas Pelops Tereus, Procne, and Philomela Boreas and Orythyia
Arachne
After she’d listened to their tale, Minerva
gave her approval to the Muses’ song
and to the anger that it justified.
“To praise is insufficient,” she reflected;
“we will be praised—and we will not permit
those who belittle our divinity
to go unpunished!”
Her attention turned
to the undoing of Maeonian Arachne,
who (it was said) accepted praise that set her
above the goddess in the art of weaving,
10
a girl renowned not for her place of birth
nor for her family, but for her art:
