Dor. And what did she do then?
The. She never said a word against her own sentence; she was ready to submit: but she pleaded hard for the child’s life, and cried, and held him up for his grandfather to see; and there was the sweet babe, that thought no harm, smiling at the waves. I am beginning again, at the mere remembrance of it.
Dor. You make me cry, too. And is it all over?
The. No; the chest has carried them safely so far; it is by Seriphus.
Dor. Then why should we not save them? We can put the chest into those fishermen’s nets, look; and then of course they will be hauled in, and come safe to shore.
The. The very thing. She shall not die; nor the child, sweet treasure!
XIV
Triton. Iphianassa. Doris. Nereids
Tri. Well, ladies: so the monster you sent against the daughter of Cepheus has got killed himself, and never done Andromeda any harm at all!
Nereid. Who did it? I suppose Cepheus was just using his daughter as a bait, and had a whole army waiting in ambush to kill him?
Tri. No, no. — Iphianassa, you remember Perseus, Danae’s boy? — they were both thrown into the sea by the boy’s grandfather, in that chest, you know, and you took pity on them.
Iph. I know; why, I suppose he is a fine handsome young fellow by now?
Tri. It was he who killed your monster.
Iph. But why? This was not the way to show his gratitude.
Tri. I’ll tell you all about it. The king had sent him on this expedition against the Gorgons, and when he got to Libya —
Iph. How did he get there? all by himself? he must have had some one to help him? — it is a dangerous journey otherwise.
Tri. He flew, — Athene gave him wings. — Well, so when he got to where the Gorgons were living, he caught them napping, I suppose, cut off Medusa’s head, and flew away.
Iph. How could he see them? The Gorgons are a forbidden sight. Whoever looks at them will never look at any one else again.
Tri. Athene held up her shield — I heard him telling Andromeda and Cepheus about it afterwards — Athene showed him the reflection of the Gorgon in her shield, which is as bright as any mirror; so he took hold of her hair in his left hand, grasped his scimetar with the right, still looking at the reflection, cut off her head, and was off before her sisters woke up. Lowering his flight as he reached the Ethiopian coast yonder, he caught sight of Andromeda, fettered to a jutting rock, her hair hanging loose about her shoulders; ye Gods, what loveliness was there exposed to view! And first pity of her hard fate prompted him to ask the cause of her doom: but Fate had decreed the maiden’s deliverance, and presently Love stole upon him, and he resolved to save her. The hideous monster now drew near, and would have swallowed her: but the youth, hovering above, smote him with the drawn scimetar in his right hand, and with his left uncovered the petrifying Gorgon’s head: in one moment the monster was lifeless; all of him that had met that gaze was turned to stone. Then Perseus released the maiden from her fetters, and supported her, as with timid steps she descended from the slippery rock. — And now he is to marry her in Cepheus’s palace, and take her home to Argos; so that where she looked for death, she has found an uncommonly good match.
Iph. I am not sorry to hear it. It is no fault of hers, if her mother has the vanity to set up for our rival.
Dor. Still, she is Andromeda’s mother; and we should have had our revenge on her through the daughter.
Iph. My dear, let bygones be bygones. What matter if a barbarian queen’s tongue runs away with her? She is sufficiently punished by the fright. So let us take this marriage in good part.
XV
West Wind. South Wind
W. Such a splendid pageant I never saw on the waves, since the day I first blew. You were not there, Notus? S. Pageant, Zephyr? what pageant? and whose?
W. You missed a most ravishing spectacle; such another chance you are not likely to have.
S. I was busy with the Red Sea; and I gave the Indian coasts a little airing too. So I don’t know what you are talking about.
W. Well, you know Agenor the Sidonian?
S. Europa’s father? what of him?
W. Europa it is that I am going to tell you about.
S. You need not tell me that Zeus has been in love with her this long while; that is stale news.
W. We can pass the love, then, and get on to the sequel.
Europa had come down for a frolic on the beach with her playfellows. Zeus transformed himself into a bull, and joined the game. A fine sight he was — spotless white skin, crumpled horns, and gentle eyes. He gambolled on the shore with them, bellowing most musically, till Europa took heart of grace and mounted him. No sooner had she done it than, with her on his back, Zeus made off at a run for the sea, plunged in, and began swimming; she was dreadfully frightened, but kept her seat by clinging to one of his horns with her left hand, while the right held her skirt down against the puffs of wind.
S. A lovely sight indeed, Zephyr, in every sense — Zeus swimming with his darling on his back.
W. Ay, but what followed was lovelier far.
Every wave fell; the sea donned her robe of peace to speed them on their way; we winds made holiday and joined the train, all eyes; fluttering Loves skimmed the waves, just dipping now and again a heedless toe — in their hands lighted torches, on their lips the nuptial song; up floated Nereids — few but were prodigal of naked charms — and clapped their hands, and kept pace on dolphin steeds; the Triton company, with every sea-creature that frights not the eye, tripped it around the maid; for Posidon on his car, with Amphitrite by him, led them in festal mood, ushering his brother through the waves. But, crowning all, a Triton pair bore Aphrodite, reclined on a shell, heaping the bride with all flowers that blow.
So went it from Phoenice even to Crete. But, when he set foot on the isle, behold, the bull was no more; ’twas Zeus that took Europa’s hand and led her to the Dictaean Cave — blushing and downward-eyed; for she knew now the end of her bringing.
But we plunged this way and that, and roused the still seas anew.
S. Ah me, what sights of bliss! and I was looking at griffins, and elephants, and blackamoors!
DIALOGUES OF THE GODS — Θεῶν Διάλογοι
Translated by H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler
CONTENTS
I
II
III
VI
VII
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVIII
XIX
XX.
XXI
XXIV
XXV
XXVI
I
Prometheus. Zeus
Prom. Release me, Zeus; I have suffered enough.
Zeus. Release you? you? Why, by rights your irons should be heavier, you should have the whole weight of Caucasus upon you, and instead of one, a dozen vultures, not just pecking at your liver, but scratching out your eyes. You made these abominable human creatures to vex us, you stole our fire, you invented women. I need not remind you how you overreached me about the meat-offerings; my portion, bones disguised in fat: yours, all the good.
Prom. And have I not been punished enough — riveted to the Caucasus all these years, feeding your bird (on which all worst curses light!) with my liver?
Zeus. ’Tis not a tithe of your deserts.
Prom. Consider, I do not ask you to release me for nothing. I offer you information which is invaluable.
Zeus. Promethean wiles!
Prom. Wiles? to what end? you can find the Caucasus another time; and there are chains to be had, if you catch me cheating.
Zeus. Tell me first the nature of your ‘invaluable’ offer.
Prom. If I tell you your present errand right, will that convince you that I can prophesy too?
Zeus. Of course it will.
Prom. You are bound on a little visit to Thetis.
&n
bsp; Zeus. Right so far. And the sequel? I trust you now.
Prom. Have no dealings with her, Zeus. As sure as Nereus’s daughter conceives by you, your child shall mete you the measure you meted to —
Zeus. I shall lose my kingdom, you would say?
Prom. Avert it, Fate! I say only, that union portends this issue.
Zeus. Thetis, farewell! and for this Hephaestus shall set you free.
II
Eros. Zeus
Eros. You might let me off, Zeus! I suppose it was rather too bad of me; but there! — I am but a child; a wayward child.
Zeus. A child, and born before Iapetus was ever thought of? You bad old man! Just because you have no beard, and no white hairs, are you going to pass yourself off for a child?
Eros. Well, and what such mighty harm has the old man ever done you, that you should talk of chains?
Zeus. Ask your own guilty conscience, what harm. The pranks you have played me! Satyr, bull, swan, eagle, shower of gold, — I have been everything in my time; and I have you to thank for it. You never by any chance make the women in love with me; no one is ever smitten with my charms, that I have noticed. No, there must be magic in it always; I must be kept well out of sight. They like the bull or the swan well enough: but once let them set eyes on me, and they are frightened out of their lives.
Eros. Well, of course. They are but mortals; the sight of Zeus is too much for them.
Zeus. Then why are Branchus and Hyacinth so fond of Apollo?
Eros. Daphne ran away from him, anyhow; in spite of his beautiful hair and his smooth chin. Now, shall I tell you the way to win hearts? Keep that aegis of yours quiet, and leave the thunderbolt at home; make yourself as smart as you can; curl your hair and tie it up with a bit of ribbon, get a purple cloak, and gold-bespangled shoes, and march forth to the music of flute and drum; — and see if you don’t get a finer following than Dionysus, for all his Maenads.
Zeus. Pooh! I’ll win no hearts on such terms.
Eros. Oh, in that case, don’t fall in love. Nothing could be simpler.
Zeus. I dare say; but I like being in love, only I don’t like all this fuss. Now mind; if I let you off, it is on this understanding.
III
Zeus. Hermes
Zeus. Hermes, you know Inachus’s beautiful daughter?
Her. I do. Io, you mean?
Zeus. Yes; she is not a girl now, but a heifer.
Her. Magic at work! how did that come about?
Zeus. Hera had a jealous fit, and transformed her. But that is not all; she has thought of a new punishment for the poor thing. She has put a cowherd in charge, who is all over eyes; this Argus, as he is called, pastures the heifer, and never goes to sleep.
Her. Well, what am I to do?
Zeus. Fly down to Nemea, where the pasture is, kill Argus, take Io across the sea to Egypt, and convert her into Isis. She shall be henceforth an Egyptian Goddess, flood the Nile, regulate the winds, and rescue mariners.
VI
Hera. Zeus
Hera. Zeus! What is your opinion of this man Ixion?
Zeus. Why, my dear, I think he is a very good sort of man; and the best of company. Indeed, if he were unworthy of our company, he would not be here.
Hera. He is unworthy! He is a villain! Discard him!
Zeus. Eh? What has he been after? I must know about this.
Hera. Certainly you must; though I scarce know how to tell you. The wretch!
Zeus. Oh, oh; if he is a ‘wretch,’ you must certainly tell me all about it. I know what ‘wretch’ means, on your discreet tongue. What, he has been making love?
Hera. And to me! to me of all people! It has been going on for a long time. At first, when he would keep looking at me, I had no idea — . And then he would sigh and groan; and when I handed my cup to Ganymede after drinking, he would insist on having it, and would stop drinking to kiss it, and lift it up to his eyes; and then he would look at me again. And then of course I knew. For a long time I didn’t like to say anything to you; I thought his mad fit would pass. But when he actually dared to speak to me, I left him weeping and groveling about, and stopped my ears, so that I might not hear his impertinences, and came to tell you. It is for you to consider what steps you will take.
Zeus. Whew! I have a rival, I find; and with my own lawful wife. Here is a rascal who has tippled nectar to some purpose. Well, we have no one but ourselves to blame for it: we make too much of these mortals, admitting them to our table like this. When they drink of our nectar, and behold the beauties of Heaven (so different from those of Earth!), ’tis no wonder if they fall in love, and form ambitious schemes! Yes, Love is all-powerful; and not with mortals only: we Gods have sometimes fallen beneath his sway.
Hera. He has made himself master of you; no doubt of that. He does what he likes with you; — leads you by the nose. You follow him whither he chooses, and assume every shape at his command; you are his chattel, his toy. I know how it will be: you are going to let Ixion off, because you have had relations with his wife; she is the mother of Pirithous.
Zeus. Why, what a memory you have for these little outings of mine! — Now, my idea about Ixion is this. It would never do to punish him, or to exclude him from our table; that would not look well. No; as he is so fond of you, so hard hit — even to weeping point, you tell me, —
Hera. Zeus! What are you going to say?
Zeus. Don’t be alarmed. Let us make a cloud-phantom in your likeness, and after dinner, as he lies awake (which of course he will do, being in love), let us take it and lay it by his side. ‘Twill put him out of his pain: he will fancy he has attained his desire.
Hera. Never! The presumptuous villain!
Zeus. Yes, I know. But what harm can it do to you, if Ixion makes a conquest of a cloud?
Hera. But he will think that I am the cloud; he will be working his wicked will upon me for all he can tell.
Zeus. Now you are talking nonsense. The cloud is not Hera, and Hera is not the cloud. Ixion will be deceived; that is all.
Hera. Yes, but these men are all alike — they have no delicacy. I suppose, when he goes home, he will boast to every one of how he has enjoyed the embraces of Hera, the wife of Zeus! Why, he may tell them that I am in love with him! And they will believe it; they will know nothing about the cloud.
Zeus. If he says anything of the kind he shall soon find himself in Hades, spinning round on a wheel for all eternity. That will keep him busy! And serve him right; not for falling in love — I see no great harm in that — but for letting his tongue wag.
VII
Hephaestus. Apollo
Heph. Have you seen Maia’s baby, Apollo? such a pretty little thing, with a smile for everybody; you can see it is going to be a treasure.
Ap. That baby a treasure? well, in mischief, Iapetus is young beside it.
Heph. Why, what harm can it do, only just born?
Ap. Ask Posidon; it stole his trident. Ask Ares; he was surprised to find his sword gone out of the scabbard. Not to mention myself, disarmed of bow and arrows.
Heph. Never! that infant? he has hardly found his legs yet; he is not out of his baby-linen.
Ap. Ah, you will find out, Hephaestus, if he gets within reach of you.
Heph. He has been.
Ap. Well? all your tools safe? none missing?
Heph. Of course not.
Ap. I advise you to make sure.
Heph. Zeus! where are my pincers?
Ap. Ah, you will find them among the baby-linen.
Heph. So light-fingered? one would swear he had practised petty larceny in the womb.
Ap. Ah, and you don’t know what a glib young chatterbox he is; and, if he has his way, he is to be our errand-boy! Yesterday he challenged Eros — tripped up his heels somehow, and had him on his back in a twinkling; before the applause was over, he had taken the opportunity of a congratulatory hug from Aphrodite to steal her girdle; Zeus had not done laughing before — the sceptre was gone. If the thunderbolt had not been t
oo heavy, and very hot, he would have made away with that too.
Heph. The child has some spirit in him, by your account.
Ap. Spirit, yes — and some music, moreover, young as he is.
Heph. How can you tell that?
Ap. He picked up a dead tortoise somewhere or other, and contrived an instrument with it. He fitted horns to it, with a cross-bar, stuck in pegs, inserted a bridge, and played a sweet tuneful thing that made an old harper like me quite envious. Even at night, Maia was saying, he does not stay in Heaven; he goes down poking his nose into Hades — on a thieves’ errand, no doubt. Then he has a pair of wings, and he has made himself a magic wand, which he uses for marshalling souls — convoying the dead to their place.
Delphi Complete Works of Lucian Page 112
