Metamorphoses

Ovid

Ovid. Metamorphoses. More, Brookes, translator. Boston: Cornhill Publishing Co., 1922.

To him the hero, who proclaimed himself
a favored son of Neptune, answered now;
“Declare the reason of your heavy sighs,
and how your horn was broken?” And at once
the Calydonian River-God replied,
binding with reeds his unadorned rough locks:
“It is a mournful task you have required,
for who can wish to tell his own disgrace?
But truly I shall speak without disguise,
for my defeat, if rightly understood,
should be my glory.—Even to have fought
in battle with a hero of such might,
affords me consolation.
“Deianira
(you may have heard some tales of her) was once
the envied hope of many. She was then
a lovely virgin.—I, among the rest
who loved this maiden, entered the fair home
of her great father Oeneus, and I said;
“ ‘Consider all my claims, Parthaon's son,
for I am come to plead your daughter's cause
and mine—So you may make me son-in-law.,—’
no sooner was it said, than Hercules
in such words also claimed the virgin's hand:
all others quickly yielded to our claims.
“He boasted his descent from Jupiter;
the glory of his labors and great deeds
performed at his unjust stepmother's wish.
“But as he was not then a God, it seemed
disgraceful if my state should yield my right;
so I contended with these haughty words,
‘Why should this alien of a foreign land,
contending for your daughter, match himself
to me! king of the waters in this realm!
For as I wind around, across your lands,
I must be of your people, and a part
of your great state. Oh, let it not be said,
because the jealous Juno had no thought
to punish me by labors, my descent
is not so regal! This tremendous boast,
that you, Alcmena's son, are sprung from Jove,
falls at the touch of truth;—or it reveals
the shame of a weak mother, who so gained
your doubtful glory of descent from Heaven!
Prove your descent from Jupiter is false,
or else confess you are the son of shame!’
“But Hercules, unable to control
the flame of his great wrath, scowled as I spoke.
He briefly answered me, ‘My hand excels
my tongue; let me now overcome in fight,
and I may suffer your offence of words.’
“Full of unvented rage he rushed on me,
but firm I stood, ashamed to yield a foot—
I had so largely boasted, no retreat was left,
and so I doffed my green robe—Striking guard,
with clenched hands doubled at my breast,
I stood my ground. He scooped up in his hand
fine, yellow dust; and tossed it on the air
so that the tawny powder sprinkled us;
quick-shifting then he sought to strike my neck,
or feint at my quick-moving legs, and turn
swift moving to attack me at all points.
But as a huge cliff in the sea remains
unmoved, unshaken by the sounding waves,
so my great size, against his vain attacks,
defended me securely—Back we went;
retiring for a space; then rushed again
together, furious, and with foot to foot,
determined not to yield, defiant stood,
till, forward-bending from my waist and hips,
I pressed my forehead against his and locked
his fingers into mine: so, have I seen
two strong bulls rush in combat for the good
of some smooth heifer in the pasture—while
the herd a-tremble and uncertain, wait;
ready to give allegiance to the one
most worthy of dominion.
“Thrice in vain
Hercules strove to push my breast from his,
but I pressed ever closer—till, the fourth
attempt succeeding, he unloosed my grip,
and breaking from my circling arms drew back,
and struck me such a buffet with his hand,
it twisted me about, and instantly
he clung with all his weight upon my back—
“Believe me I have not suppressed the truth.
Nor shall I try to gain applause not due:
I seemed to bear a mountain on my back. —
straining and dripping sweat, I broke his hold,—
with great exertion I unlocked his grip.
He pressed upon me, as I strained for breath,
preventing a renewal of my strength,
and seized upon my neck. Then at the last,
my bent knee went down on the gritty earth,
I bit the sand. So, worsted in my strength,
I sought diversion by an artifice,
and changed me to a serpent.—I then slipped
from his tight clutches my great length, and coiled
my body now transformed to snaky folds—
hissing I darted my divided tongue.
“But Hercules, Alcides, only laughed
and in derision of my scheming, said,
‘It was the pastime of my cradle days
to strangle better snakes than you—and though
your great length may excel all of your kind,
how small a part of that Lernaean snake
would you—one serpent be? It grew from wounds
I gave (at first it had one hundred heads)
and every time I severed one head from
its neck two grew there in the place of one,
by which its strength increased. This creature then
outbranching with strong serpents, sprung from death
and thriving on destruction, I destroyed.—
What do you think will then become of you,
disguised so in deceitful serpent-form,
wielding a borrowed weapon not your own
“And after he had ridiculed me thus,
he gouged his fingers underneath my jaws,
so that my throat was tortured, as if squeezed
with forceps, while I struggled in his grip.
“Twice was I vanquished, there remained to me
a third form so again I changed to seem
a savage bull, and with my limbs renewed
in that form fought once more. He threw his arms
about the left side of my ponderous neck,
and dragging on me followed as I ran.
He seized on my hard horns, and, tugging turned
and twisted me, until he fastened them
firm in the surface of the earth; and pushed
me, helpless, to the shifting sand beneath.
Not yet content he laid his fierce right hand
on my tough horn, and broke and tore it from
my mutilated head.—This horn, now heaped
with fruits delicious and sweet-smelling flowers,
the Naiads have held sacred from that hour,
devoted to the bounteous goddess Plenty.’
All this the River-god said; then a nymph,
a lovely nymph like fair Diana dressed,
whose locks were flowing down on either side,
came graceful to the board, and brought to them
of Autumn's plenty in an ample horn,
and gave to them selected apples for
a second course.
And now, as early dawn
appeared, and as the rising sunlight flashed
on golden summits of surrounding hills,
the young men waited not until the stream
subsiding, had resumed its peaceful way,
but all arose, reluctant, and went forth.
Then Achelous, in his moving waves,
hid his fine rustic features and his head,
scarred by the wound which gave the Horn of Plenty.

Loss of his horn had greatly humbled him,
it was so cherished though his only loss, —
but he could hide the sad disgrace with reeds
and willow boughs entwined about his head.
O, Nessus! your fierce passion for the same
maid utterly destroyed even you, pierced through
the body by a flying arrow-point.
Returning to the city of his birth
great Hercules, the son of Jupiter,
with his new bride, arrived upon the bank
of swift Evenus—after winter rains
had swollen it so far beyond its wont,
that, full of eddies, it was found to be
impassable. The hero stood there, brave
but anxious for his bride. Nessus, the centaur,
strong-limbed and well-acquainted with those fords,
came up to him and said, “Plunge in the flood
and swim with unimpeded strength—for with
my help she will land safely over there.”
And so the hero, with no thought of doubt,
trusted the damsel to the centaur's care,
though she was pale and trembling with her fear
of the swift river and the centaur's aid.
This done, the hero, burdened as he was
with quiver and the lion skin (for he
had tossed his club and curving bow across
the river to the other bank), declared,
“Since I have undertaken it, at once
this rushing water must be overcome.”
And instantly, he plunged in without thought
of where he might cross with most ease, for so
he scorned to take advantage of smooth water.
And after he had gained the other bank,
while picking up his bow which there was thrown,
he heard his wife's voice, anxious for his help.
He called to Nessus who was in the act
then to betray his trust: “Vain confidence!
You are not swift enough, vile ravisher!
You two-formed monster Nessus, I warn you!
Hear me, and never dare to come between
me and my love. If fear has no restraint,
your father's dreadful fate on whirling wheel,
should frighten you from this outrageous act:
for you cannot escape, although you trust
the fleet-foot effort of a rapid horse.
I cannot overtake you with my feet
but I can shoot and halt you with a wound.”
his deed sustained the final warning word.
He shot an arrow through the centaur's back,
so that the keen barb was exposed beyond
his bleeding breast. He tore it from both wounds,
and life-blood spurted instantly, mixed with
the deadly poison of Lernaean hydra.
This Nessus caught, and muttering, “I shall not
die unavenged”, he gave his tunic, soaked
with blood to Deianira as a gift;
and said, “Keep this to strengthen waning love.”
Now many years passed by, and all the deeds,
and labors of the mighty Hercules,
gave to the wide world his unequalled fame;
and finally appeased the hatred of
his fierce stepmother.
All victorious
returning from Oechalia, he prepared
to offer sacrifice, when at Cenaeum,
upon an altar he had built to Jupiter,
but tattling Rumor, swollen out of truth
from small beginning to a wicked lie,
declared brave Hercules, Amphitryon's son,
was burning for the love of Iole.
And Deianira—his fond wife—convinced
herself, the wicked rumor must be true.
Alarmed at the report of his new love,
at first, poor wife, she was dissolved in tears,
and then she sank in grievous misery.
But soon in angry mood, she rose and said:
“Why should I give up to my sorrow while
I drown my wretched spirit in weak tears?
Let me consider an effectual check—
while it is possible—even before
she comes, invader of my lawful bed:
shall I be silent or complain of it?
Must I go back to Calydon or stay?
Shall I depart unbidden, from my house?
Or, if no other method can prevail,
shall I oppose my rival's first approach?
O shade of Meleager, let me prove
I am yet worthy to be called your sister;
and in the desperate slaughter of this rival,
the world, astonished, may be taught to fear
the vengeance of an injured woman's rage.”
So, torn by many moods, at last her mind
fixed on one thought:—she might still keep his love,
could certainly restore it, if she sent
to him the tunic soaked in Nessus' blood.
Unknowingly, she gave the fatal cause
of her own woe to trusting Lichas, whom
she urged in gentle words to take the gift,
from her to her loved husband Hercules.
He, unsuspecting, put the tunic on,
all covered with Lernaean hydra's poison.
The hero then was casting frankincense
into the sacred flames, and pouring wine
on marble altars, as his holy prayers
were floating to the Gods. The hallowed heat
striking upon his poisoned vesture, caused
Echidna-bane to melt into his flesh.
As long as he was able he withstood
the torture. His great fortitude was strong.
But when at last his anguish overcame
even his endurance, he filled all the wild
of Oeta with his cries: he overturned
those hallowed altars, then in frenzied haste
he strove to pull the tunic from his back.
The poisoned garment, cleaving to him, ripped
his skin, heat-shriveled, from his burning flesh.
Or, tightening on him, as his great strength pulled,
stripped with it the great muscles from his limbs,
leaving his huge bones bare.
Even his blood
audibly hissed, as red-hot blades when they
are plunged in water, so the burning bane
boiled in his veins. Great perspiration streamed
from his dissolving body, as the heat
consumed his entrails; and his sinews cracked,
brittle when burnt. The marrow in his bones
dissolved, as it absorbed the venom-heat.

There was no limit to his misery;
raising both hands up towards the stars of heaven,
he cried, “Come Juno, feast upon my death;
feast on me, cruel one, look down from your
exalted seat; behold my dreadful end
and glut your savage heart! Oh, if I may
deserve some pity from my enemy,
from you I mean, this hateful life of mine
take from me—sick with cruel suffering
and only born for toil. The loss of life
will be a boon to me, and surely is
a fitting boon, such as stepmothers give!
“Was it for this I slew Busiris, who
defiled his temples with the strangers' blood?
For this I took his mother's strength from fierce
antaeus—that I did not show a fear
before the Spanish shepherd's triple form?
Nor did I fear the monstrous triple form
of Cerberus.—And is it possible
my hands once seized and broke the strong bull's horns?
And Elis knows their labor, and the waves
of Stymphalus, and the Parthenian woods.
For this the prowess of these hands secured
the Amazonian girdle wrought of gold;
and did my strong arms, gather all in vain
the fruit when guarded by the dragon's eyes.
The centaurs could not foil me, nor the boar
that ravaged in Arcadian fruitful fields.
Was it for this the hydra could not gain
double the strength from strength as it was lost?
And when I saw the steeds of Thrace, so fat
with human blood, and their vile mangers heaped
with mangled bodies, in a righteous rage
I threw them to the ground, and slaughtered them,
together with their master! In a cave
I crushed the Nemean monster with these arms;
and my strong neck upheld the wide-spread sky!
And even the cruel Juno, wife of Jove—
is weary of imposing heavy toils,
but I am not subdued performing them.
“A new calamity now crushes me,
which not my strength, nor valor, nor the use
of weapons can resist. Devouring flames
have preyed upon my limbs, and blasting heat
now shrivels the burnt tissue of my frame.
But still Eurystheus is alive and well!
And there are those who yet believe in Gods!”
Just as a wild bull, in whose body spears
are rankling, while the frightened hunter flies
away for safety, so the hero ranged
over sky-piercing Oeta; his huge groans,
his awful shrieks resounding in those cliffs.
At times he struggles with the poisoned robe.
Goaded to fury, he has razed great trees,
and scattered the vast mountain rocks around!
And stretched his arms towards his ancestral skies!
So, in his frenzy, as he wandered there,
he chanced upon the trembling Lichas, crouched
in the close covert of a hollow rock.
Then in a savage fury he cried out,
“Was it you, Lichas, brought this fatal gift?
Shall you be called the author of my death?”
Lichas, in terror, groveled at his feet,
and begged for mercy—“Only let me live!”
But seizing on him, the crazed Hero whirled
him thrice and once again about his head,
and hurled him, shot as by a catapult,
into the waves of the Euboic Sea.
While he was hanging in the air, his form
was hardened; as, we know, rain drops may first
be frozen by the cold air, and then change
to snow, and as it falls through whirling winds
may press, so twisted, into round hailstones:
even so has ancient lore declared that when
strong arms hurled Lichas through the mountain air
through fear, his blood was curdled in his veins.
No moisture left in him, he was transformed
into a flint-rock. Even to this day,
a low crag rising from the waves is seen
out of the deep Euboean Sea, and holds
the certain outline of a human form,
so sure]y traced, the wary sailors fear
to tread upon it, thinking it has life,
and they have called it Lichas ever since.
But, O illustrious son of Jupiter!
How many of the overspreading trees,
thick-growing on the lofty mountain-peak
of Oeta, did you level to the ground,
and heap into a pyre! And then you bade
obedient Philoctetes light a torch
beneath it, and then take in recompense
your bow with its capacious quiver full
of arrows, arms that now again would see
the realm of Troy. And as the pyre began
to kindle with the greedy flames, you spread
the Nemean lion skin upon the top,
and, club for pillow, you lay down to sleep,
as placid as if, with abounding cups
of generous wine and crowned with garlands, you
were safe, reclining on a banquet-couch.
And now on every side the spreading flames
were crackling fiercely, as they leaped from earth
upon the careless limbs of Hercules.
He scorned their power. The Gods felt fear
for earth's defender and their sympathy
gave pleasure to Saturnian Jove — he knew
their thought—and joyfully he said to them:
“Your sudden fear is surely my delight,
O heavenly Gods! my heart is lifted up
and joy prevails upon me, in the thought
that I am called the Father and the King
of all this grateful race of Gods. I know
my own beloved offspring is secure
in your declared protection: your concern
may justly evidence his worth, whose deeds
great benefits bestowed. Let not vain thoughts
alarm you, nor the rising flames of Oeta;
for Hercules who conquered everything,
shall conquer equally the spreading fires
which now you see: and all that part of him,
celestial — inherited of me—
immortal, cannot feel the power of death.
It is not subject to the poison-heat.
And therefore, since his earth-life is now lost,
him I'll translate, unshackled from all dross,
and purified, to our celestial shore.
I trust this action seems agreeable
to all the Deities surrounding me.
If any jealous god of heaven should grieve
at the divinity of Hercules,
he may begrudge the prize but he will know
at least 'twas given him deservedly,
and with this thought he must approve the deed.”
The Gods confirmed it: and though Juno seemed
to be contented and to acquiesce,
her deep vexation was not wholly hid,
when Jupiter with his concluding words
so plainly hinted at her jealous mind.
Now, while the Gods conversed, the mortal part
of Hercules was burnt by Mulciber;
but yet an outline of a spirit-form
remained. Unlike the well-known mortal shape
derived by nature of his mother, he
kept traces only of his father, Jove.
And as a serpent, when it is revived
from its old age, casts off the faded skin,
and fresh with vigor glitters in new scales,
so, when the hero had put off all dross,
his own celestial, wonderful appeared,
majestic and of godlike dignity.
And him, the glorious father of the Gods
in the great chariot drawn by four swift steeds,
took up above the wide-encircling clouds,
and set him there amid the glittering stars.

Even Atlas felt the weight of Heaven increase,
but King Eurystheus, still implacable,
vented his baffled hatred on the sons
of the great hero. Then the Argive mother,
Alcmena, spent and anxious with long cares,
the burden of her old age and her fears,
could pass the weary hours with Iole
in garrulous narrations of his worth,
his mighty labors and her own sad days.
Iole, by command of Hercules,
had been betrothed to Hyllus, and by him
was gravid, burdened with a noble child.
And so to Iole, Alcmena told
this story of the birth of Hercules:—
“Ah, may the Gods be merciful to you
and give you swift deliverance in that hour
when needful of all help you must call out
for Ilithyia, the known goddess of
all frightened mothers in their travail, she
whom Juno's hatred overcame and made
so dreadful against me. For, when my hour
of bearing Hercules was very near,
and when the tenth sign of the zodiac
was traversed by the sun, my burden then
became so heavy, and the one I bore
so large, you certainly could tell that Jove
must be the father of the unborn child.
“At last, no longer able to endure—
ah me, a cold sweat seizes on me now;
only to think of it renews my pains!
Seven days in agony, as many nights,
exhausted in my dreadful misery,
I stretched my arms to heaven and invoked
Lucina and three Nixian deities
the guardians of birth. Lucina came;
but before then she had been pledged to give
my life to cruel Juno. While Lucina
sat on the altar near the door and listened,
with her right knee crossed over her left knee,
with fingers interlocked, she stopped the birth:
and in low muttered tones she chanted Charms
which there prevented my deliverance.
“I fiercely struggled, and insane with pain
shrieked vain revilings against Jupiter;
I longed for death, and my delirious words
then should have moved the most unfeeling rocks.
The Theban matrons, eager to help me,
stood near me while they asked the aid of Heaven.
“And there was present of the common class,
my maid Galanthis—with her red-gold hair—
efficient and most willing to obey
her worthy character deserved my love.
She felt assured, Juno unjustly worked
some spell of strong effect against my life.
And when this maid beheld Lucina perched
so strangely on the altar, with her fingers
inwoven on her knees and tightly pressed
together, in a gripping finger-comb,
she guessed that jealous Juno was the cause.
Quick-witted, in a ringing voice this maid
cried out, ‘Congratulations! All is well!
Alcmena is delivered—a fine child
so safely brought forth—her true prayers approved!’
“Lucina, who presides at birth, surprised
leaped up, unclenched her hands, as one amazed.
Just as her hands unfastened, and her knees
were parted from their stricture, I could feel
the bonds of stricture loosen; and without
more labor was delivered of my child.
“'Tis said, Galanthis laughed and ridiculed
the cheated deity; and as she laughed
the vixen goddess caught her by the hair
and dragging her upon the ground, while she
was struggling to arise, held her, and there
transformed both of her arms to animal
forelegs. Her old activity remained;
her hair was not changed, but she did not keep
her maiden form: and ever since that day,
because she aided with deceitful lips,
her offspring are brought forth through the same mouth.
Changed to a weasel she dwells now with me.”