Chapter XVI: Book THE TENTH: Fable I. X.1-85 (2)

“Yet, if Nature allows this crime to appear to have been committed, I congratulate the Ismarian matrons, and my own {division of the} globe. I congratulate this land, that it is afar from those regions which produced so great an abomination. Let the Panchæan land[42] be rich in amomum, and let it produce cinnamon, and its zedoary,[43] and frankincense distilling from its tree, and its other flowers, so long as it produces the myrrh-tree, as well. The new tree was not of so much worth {as to be a recompense for the crime to which it owed its origin}. Cupid himself denies, Myrrha, that it was his arrows that injured thee; and he defends his torches from that imputation; one of the three Sisters kindled {this flame} within thee, with a Stygian firebrand and with swelling vipers. It is a crime to hate a parent; {but} this love is a greater degree of wickedness than hatred. On every side worthy nobles are desiring thee {in marriage}, and throughout the whole East the youths come to the contest for thy bed. Choose out of all these one for thyself, Myrrha, so that, in all that number, there be not one person, {namely, thy father}.

“She, indeed, is sensible {of her criminality}, and struggles hard against her infamous passion, and says to herself, ‘Whither am I being carried away by my feelings? What am I attempting? I beseech you, O ye Gods, and natural affection, and ye sacred ties of parents, forbid this guilt: defend me from a crime so great! if, indeed, this be a crime. But yet the ties of parent and child are said not to forbid this {kind of} union; and other animals couple with no distinction. It is not considered shameful for the heifer to mate with her sire; his own daughter becomes the mate of the horse; the he-goat, too, consorts with the flocks of which he is the father; and the bird conceives by him, from whose seed she herself was conceived. Happy they, to whom these things are allowed! The care of man has provided harsh laws, and what Nature permits, malignant ordinances forbid. {And} yet there are said to be nations[44] in which both the mother is united to the son, and the daughter to the father, and natural affection is increased by a twofold passion. Ah, wretched me! that it was not my chance to be born there, {and that} I am injured by my lot {being cast} in this place! {but} why do I ruminate on these things? Forbidden hopes, begone! He is deserving to be beloved, but as a father {only}. Were I not, therefore, the daughter of the great Cinyras, with Cinyras I might be united. Now, because he is so much mine, he is not mine, and his very nearness {of relationship} is my misfortune.

“‘A stranger, I were more likely to succeed. I could wish to go far away hence, and to leave my native country, so I might {but} escape this crime. A fatal delusion detains me {thus} in love; that being present, I may look at Cinyras, and touch him, and talk with him, and give him kisses, if nothing more is allowed me. But canst thou hope for anything more, impious maid? and dost thou not perceive both how many laws, and {how many} names thou art confounding? Wilt thou be both the rival of thy mother, and the harlot of thy father? Wilt thou be called the sister of thy son, and the mother of thy brother? and wilt thou not dread the Sisters that have black snakes for their hair, whom guilty minds see threatening their eyes and their faces with their relentless torches? But do not thou conceive criminality in thy mind, so long as thou hast suffered none in body, and violate not the laws of all-powerful Nature by forbidden embraces. Suppose he were to be compliant, the action itself forbids {thee; but} he is virtuous, and regardful of what is right. And {yet}, O that there were a like infatuation in him!’

“{Thus} she says; but Cinyras, whom an honourable crowd of suitors is causing to be in doubt what he is to do, inquires of herself, as he repeats their names, of which husband she would wish {to be the wife}. At first she is silent; and, fixing her eyes upon her father’s countenance, she is in confusion, and fills her eyes with the warm tears. Cinyras, supposing this to be {the effect} of virgin bashfulness, bids her not weep, and dries her cheeks, and gives her kisses. On these being given, Myrrha is too much delighted; and, being questioned what sort of a husband she would have, she says, ‘One like thyself.’ But he praises the answer not {really}[45] understood by him, and says, ‘Ever be thus affectionate.’ On mention being made of affection, the maiden, conscious of her guilt, fixed her eyes on the ground.

“It is {now} midnight, and sleep has dispelled the cares, and {has eased} the minds {of mortals}. But the virgin daughter of Cinyras, kept awake, is preyed upon by an unconquerable flame, and ruminates upon her wild desires. And one while she despairs, and at another she resolves to try; and is both ashamed, and {yet} is desirous, and is not certain what she is to do; and, just as a huge tree, wounded by the axe, when the last stroke {now} remains, is in doubt, {as it were}, on which side it is to fall, and is dreaded in each direction; so does her mind, shaken by varying passions, waver in uncertainty, this way and that, and receives an impulse in either direction; {and} no limit or repose is found for her love, but death: ’tis death that pleases her. She raises herself upright, and determines to insert her neck[46] in a halter; and tying her girdle to the top of the door-post, she says, ‘Farewell, dear Cinyras, and understand the cause of my death;’ and {then} fits the noose to her pale neck.

“They say that the sound of her words reached the attentive ears of her nurse,[47] as she was guarding the door of her foster-child. The old woman rises, and opens the door; and, seeing the instruments of the death she has contemplated, at the same moment she cries aloud, and smites herself, and rends her bosom, and snatching the girdle from her neck, tears it to pieces. {And} then, at last, she has time to weep, then to give her embraces, and to inquire into the occasion for the halter. The maid is silent, {as} {though} dumb, and, without moving, looks upon the earth; and {thus} detected, is sorry for her attempt at death in this slow manner. The old woman {still} urges her; and laying bare her grey hair, and her withered breasts, begs her, by her cradle and by her first nourishment, to entrust her with that which is causing her grief. She, turning from her as she asks, heaves a sigh. The nurse is determined to find it out, and not to promise her fidelity only. ‘Tell me,’ says she, ‘and allow me to give thee assistance; my old age is not an inactive one. If it is a frantic passion, I have the means of curing it with charms and herbs; if any one has hurt thee by spells, by magic rites shalt thou be cured; or if it is the anger of the Gods, that anger can be appeased by sacrifice. What more {than these} can I think of? No doubt thy fortunes and thy family are prosperous, and in the way of continuing so; thy mother and thy father are {still} surviving.’ Myrrha, on hearing her father’s {name}, heaves a sigh from the bottom of her heart. Nor, even yet, does her nurse apprehend in her mind any unlawful passion; {and} still she has a presentiment that it is something {connected with} love. Persisting in her purpose, she entreats her, whatever it is, to disclose it to her, and takes her, as she weeps, in her aged lap; and so embracing her in her feeble arms, she says, ‘Daughter, I understand it; thou art in love, and in this case (lay aside thy fears) my assiduity will be of service to thee; nor shall thy father ever be aware of it.’

“Furious, she sprang away from her bosom; and pressing the bed with her face, she said, ‘Depart, I entreat thee, and spare my wretched shame.’ Upon the other insisting, she said, ‘Either depart, or cease to inquire why it is I grieve; that which thou art striving to know, is impious.’ The old woman is struck with horror, and stretches forth her hands palsied both with years and with fear, and suppliantly falls before the feet of her foster-child. And one while she soothes her, sometimes she terrifies her {with the consequences}, if she is not made acquainted with it; and {then} she threatens her with the discovery of the halter, {and} of her attempted destruction, and promises her good offices, if the passion is confided to her. She lifts up her head, and fills the breast of her nurse with tears bursting forth; and often endeavouring to confess, as often does she check her voice; and she covers her blushing face with her garments, and says, ‘O, mother, happy in thy husband!’ Thus much {she says}; and {then} she sighs. A trembling shoots through the chilled limbs and the bones of her nurse, for she understands her; and her white hoariness stands bristling with stiff hair all over her head; and she adds many a word to drive away a passion so dreadful, if {only} she can. But the maiden is well aware that she is not advised to a false step; still she is resolved to die, if she does not enjoy him whom she loves. ‘Live {then},’ says {the nurse}, ‘thou shalt enjoy thy----’ and, not daring to say ‘parent,’ she is silent; and {then} she confirms her promise with an oath.

“The pious matrons were {now} celebrating the annual festival of Ceres,[48] on which, having their bodies clothed with snow-white robes, they offer garlands made of ears of corn, as the first fruits of the harvest; and for nine nights they reckon embraces, and the contact of a husband, among the things forbidden. Cenchreïs, the king’s wife, is absent in that company, and attends the mysterious rites. Therefore, while his bed is without his lawful wife, the nurse, wickedly industrious, having found Cinyras overcome with wine, discloses to him a real passion, {but} under a feigned name, and praises the beauty {of the damsel}. On his enquiring the age of the maiden, she says, ‘She is of the same age as Myrrha.’ After she is commanded to bring her, and as soon as she has returned home, she says, ‘Rejoice, my fosterling, we have prevailed.’ The unhappy maid does not feel joy throughout her entire body, and her boding breast is sad. And still she does rejoice: so great is the discord in her mind.

“’Twas the time when all things are silent, and Boötes had turned his wain with the pole obliquely directed among the Triones.[49] She approaches to {perpetrate} her enormity. The golden moon flies from the heavens; black clouds conceal the hiding stars; the night is deprived of its fires. Thou, Icarus, dost conceal thy rising countenance; and {thou}, Erigone, raised to the heavens through thy affectionate love for thy father. Three times was she recalled by the presage of her foot stumbling; thrice did the funereal owl give an omen by its dismal cry. Yet {onward} she goes, and the gloom and the dark night lessen her shame. In her left hand she holds that of her nurse, the other, by groping, explores the secret road. {And} now she is arrived at the door of the chamber; and now she opens the door; now she is led in; but her knees tremble beneath her sinking hams, her colour and her blood vanish; and her courage deserts her as she moves along. The nearer she is to {the commission of} her crime, the more she dreads it, and she repents of her attempt, and could wish to be able to return unknown. The old woman leads her on by the hand as she lingers, and when she has delivered her up on her approach to the lofty bed, she says, ‘Take her, Cinyras, she is thy own,’ and {so} unites their doomed bodies. The father receives his own bowels into the polluted bed, and allays her virgin fears, and encourages her as she trembles. Perhaps, too, he may have called her by a name {suited to} her age, and she may have called him ‘father,’ that the {appropriate} names might not be wanting in this deed of horror. Pregnant by her father, she departs from the chamber, and, in her impiety, bears his seed in her incestuous womb, and carries {with her}, criminality in her conception. The ensuing night repeats the guilty deed; nor on that {night} is there an end. At last, Cinyras, after so many embraces, longing to know who is his paramour, on lights being brought in, discovers both the crime and his own daughter.

“His words checked through grief, he draws his shining sword from the scabbard as it hangs. Myrrha flies, rescued from death by the gloom and the favour of a dark night; and wandering along the wide fields, she leaves the Arabians famed for their palms, and the Panchæan fields. And she wanders during nine horns of the returning moon; when, at length, being weary, she rests in the Sabæan country,[50] and with difficulty she supports the burden of her womb. Then, uncertain what to wish, and between the fear of death and weariness of life, she uttered such a prayer {as this}: ‘O ye Deities, if any of you favour those who are penitent; I have deserved severe punishment, and I do not shrink from it. But that, neither existing, I may pollute the living, nor dead, those who are departed, expel me from both these realms; and transforming me, deny me both life and death.’ {Some} Divinity {ever} regards the penitent; at least, the last of her prayers found its Gods {to execute it}. For the earth closes over her legs as she speaks, and a root shoots forth obliquely through her bursting nails, {as} a firm support to her tall trunk. Her bones, too, become hard wood, and her marrow continuing in the middle, her blood changes into sap, her arms into great branches, her fingers into smaller ones; her skin grows hard with bark. And now the growing tree has run over her heavy womb, and has covered her breast, and is ready to enclose her neck. She cannot endure delay, and sinks down to meet the approaching wood, and hides her features within the bark. Though she has lost her former senses together with her {human} shape, she still weeps on, and warm drops distil[51] from the tree. There is a value even in her tears, and the myrrh distilling from the bark, retains the name of its mistress, and will be unheard-of in no {future} age.

“But the infant conceived in guilt grows beneath the wood, and seeks out a passage, by which he may extricate himself, having left his mother. Her pregnant womb swells in the middle of the tree. The burden distends the mother, nor have her pangs words of their own {whereby to express themselves}; nor can Lucina be invoked by her voice {while} bringing forth. Yet she is like one struggling {to be delivered}; and the bending tree utters frequent groans, and is moistened with falling tears. Gentle Lucina stands by the moaning boughs, and applies her hands, and utters words that promote delivery. The tree gapes open, in chinks, and through the cleft bark it discharges the living burden. The child cries; the Naiads, laying him on the soft grass, anoint him with the tears of his mother.

“Even Envy {herself} would have commended his face; for just as the bodies of naked Cupids are painted in a picture, such was he. But that their dress may not make any difference, either give to him or take away from them, the polished quivers.”

[Footnote 42: _The Panchæan land._--Ver. 309. Panchæa was a region
of Arabia Felix, abounding in the choicest wines and frankincense.
Here, the Phœnix was said to find the materials for making its
nest.]

[Footnote 43: _Its zedoary._--Ver. 308. ‘Costus,’ or ‘costum,’ was
an Indian shrub, which yielded a fragrant ointment, much esteemed
by the ancients. Clarke translates it ‘Coysts,’ a word apparently
of his own coining.]

[Footnote 44: _Said to be nations._--Ver. 331. We do not read of
any such nations, except the fabulous Troglodytes of Ethiopia, who
were supposed to live promiscuously, like the brutes. Attica, king
of the Huns, long after Ovid’s time, married his own daughter,
amid the rejoicings of his subjects.]

[Footnote 45: _Not really._--Ver. 365. That is to say, not
understood by him in the sense in which Myrrha meant it.]

[Footnote 46: _To insert her neck._--Ver. 378. ‘Laqueoque
innectere fauces Destinat,’ is translated by Clarke, ‘And resolves
to stitch up her neck in a halter.’]

[Footnote 47: _Of her nurse._--Ver. 382. Antoninus Liberalis gives
this hag the name of Hippolyte.]

[Footnote 48: _Festival of Ceres._--Ver. 431. Commentators, in
general, suppose that he here alludes to the festival of the
Thesmophoria, which was celebrated in honour of Demeter, or Ceres,
in various parts of Greece; in general, by the married women,
though the virgins joined in some of the ceremonies. Demosthenes,
Diodorus Siculus, and Plutarch, say that it was first celebrated
by Orpheus; while Herodotus states, that it was introduced from
Egypt by the daughters of Danaüs; and that, after the Dorian
conquest, it fell into disuse, being retained only by the people
of Arcadia. It was intended to commemorate the introduction of
laws and the regulations of civilized life, which were generally
ascribed to Demeter. It is not known whether the festival lasted
four or five days with the Athenians. Many days were spent by the
matrons in preparing for its celebration. The solemnity was
commenced by the women walking in procession from Athens to
Eleusis. In this procession they carried on their heads
representations of the laws which had been introduced by Ceres,
and other symbols of civilized life. They then spent the night at
Eleusis, in celebrating the mysteries of the Goddess. The second
day was one of mourning, during which the women sat on the ground
around the statues of Ceres, taking no food but cakes made of
sesame and honey. On it no meetings of the people were held.
Probably it was in the afternoon of this day that there was a
procession at Athens, in which the women walked bare-footed behind
a waggon, upon which were baskets, with sacred symbols. The third
day was one of merriment and festivity among the women, in
commemoration of Iämbe, who was said to have amused the Goddess
during her grief at the loss of Proserpine. An atoning sacrifice,
called ζήμια, was probably offered to the Goddess, at the end of
this day. It is most probable that the ceremonial lasted but three
days. The women wore white dresses during the period of its
performance, and they adopted the same colour during the
celebration of the Cerealia at Rome. Burmann thinks, that an
Eastern festival, in honour of Ceres, is here referred to. If so,
no accounts of it whatever have come down to us.]

[Footnote 49: _Among the Triones._--Ver. 446. ‘Triones’. This
word, which is applied to the stars of the Ursa Major, or
Charles’s Wain, literally means ‘oxen;’ and is by some thought to
come from ‘tero,’ ‘to bruise,’ because oxen were used for the
purpose of threshing corn; but it is more likely to have its
origin from ‘terra,’ ‘the earth,’ because oxen were used for
ploughing. The Poet employs this periphrasis, to signify the
middle of the night.]

[Footnote 50: _Sabæan country._--Ver. 480. Sabæa, or Saba, was a
region of Arabia Felix, now called ‘Yemen.’ It was famed for its
myrrh, frankincense, and spices. In the Scriptures it is called
Sheba, and it was the queen of this region, who came to listen to
the wisdom of Solomon.]

[Footnote 51: _Warm drops distil._--Ver. 500. He alludes to the
manner in which frankincense is produced, it exuding from the bark
of the tree in drops; this gum, Pliny the Elder and Lucretius call
by the name of ‘stacta,’ or ‘stacte.’ The ancients flavoured their
wines with myrrh.]

EXPLANATION.

Le Clerc, forming his ideas on what Lucian, Phurnutus, and other
authors have said on the subject, explains the story of Cinyras and
Myrrha in the following manner. Cynnor, or Cinyras, the grandfather
of Adonis, having one day drank to excess, fell asleep in a posture
which violated the rules of decency. Mor, or Myrrha, his
daughter-in-law, the wife of Ammon, together with her son Adonis,
seeing him in that condition, acquainted her husband with her
father’s lapse. On his repeating this to Cinyras, the latter was so
full of indignation, that he loaded Myrrha and Adonis with
imprecations.

Loaded with the execrations of her father, Myrrha retired into
Arabia, where she remained some time; and because Adonis passed some
portion of his youth there, the poets feigned that Myrrha was
delivered of him in that country. Her transformation into a tree was
only invented on account of the equivocal character of her name,
‘Mor,’ which meant in the Arabic language ‘Myrrh.’ It is very
probable that the story was founded on a tradition among the
Phœnicians of the history of Noah, and of the malediction which Ham
drew on himself by his undutiful conduct towards his father.

FABLE IX. [X.519-707]

Adonis is educated by the Naiads. His beauty makes a strong
impression on the Goddess Venus, and, in her passion, she traverses
the same wilds in pursuit of the youth, which his mother did, when
flying from the wrath of her father. After chasing the wild beasts,
she invites Adonis to a poplar shade, where she warns him of his
danger in hunting lions, wild boars, and such formidable animals.
On this occasion, too, she relates the adventures of Hippomenes and
Atalanta. The beauty of the latter was such, that her charms daily
attracted crowds of suitors. Having consulted the oracle, whether
she shall marry, she is answered that a husband will certainly prove
her destruction. On this, to avoid marrying, she makes it a rule to
offer to run with her suitors, promising that she herself will be
the prize of the victor, but only on condition that immediate death
shall be the fate of those who are vanquished by her. As she excels
in running, her design succeeds, and several suitors die in the
attempt to win her. Hippomenes, smitten with her charms, is not
daunted at their ill success; but boldly enters the lists, after
imploring the aid of Venus. Atalanta is struck with his beauty, and
is much embarrassed, whether she shall yield to the charms of the
youth, or to the dissuasions of the oracle. Hippomenes attracts her
attention in the race, by throwing down some golden apples which
Venus has given him, and then, reaching the goal before her, he
carries off the reward of victory. Venus, to punish his subsequent
ingratitude towards her, raises his desires to such a pitch, that he
incurs the resentment of Cybele, by defiling her shrine with the
embraces of his mistress; on which they are both transformed into
lions, and thenceforth draw the chariot of the Goddess.

“Winged time glides on insensibly and deceives us; and there is nothing more fleeting than years. He, born of his own sister and of his grandfather, who, so lately enclosed in a tree, was so lately born, and but just now a most beauteous infant, is now a youth, now a man, {and} now more beauteous than he {was before}. {And} now he pleases even Venus,[52] and revenges the flames of his mother, {kindled by her}. For, while the boy that wears the quiver is giving kisses to his mother, he unconsciously grazes her breast with a protruding arrow. The Goddess, wounded, pushed away her son with her hand. The wound was inflicted more deeply than it seemed to be, and at first had deceived {even} herself. Charmed with the beauty of the youth, she does not now care for the Cytherian shores, nor does she revisit Paphos, surrounded with the deep sea, and Cnidos,[53] abounding in fish, or Amathus, rich in metals.

“She abandons even the skies; him she {ever} attends; and she who has been always accustomed to indulge in the shade, and to improve her beauty, by taking care of it, wanders over the tops of mountains, through the woods, and over bushy rocks, bare to the knee and with her robes tucked up after the manner of Diana, and she cheers on the dogs, and hunts animals that are harmless prey, either the fleet hares, or the stag with its lofty horns, or the hinds; she keeps afar from the fierce boars, and avoids the ravening wolves, and the bears armed with claws, and the lions glutted with the slaughter of the herds. Thee, too, Adonis, she counsels to fear them, if she can aught avail by advising thee. And she says, “Be brave against those {animals} that fly; boldness is not safe against those that are bold. Forbear, youth, to be rash at my hazard, and attack not the wild beasts to which nature has granted arms, lest thy {thirst for} glory should cost me dear. Neither thy age, nor thy beauty, nor {other} things which have made an impression on Venus, make any impression on lions and bristly boars, and the eyes and the tempers of wild beasts. The fierce boars carry lightning[54] in their curving tusks; there is rage and fury unlimited in the tawny lions; and the {whole} race is odious to me.”

“Upon his asking, what is the reason, she says, ‘I will tell thee, and thou wilt be surprised at the prodigious result of a fault long since committed. But {this} toil to which I am unaccustomed has now fatigued me, and see! a convenient poplar invites us, by its shade, and the turf furnishes a couch. Here I am desirous to repose myself, together with thee;’ and {forthwith} she rests herself on the ground, and presses at once the grass and himself. And with her neck reclining on the bosom of the youth, smiling, she thus says, and she mingles kisses in the midst of her words:--

“Perhaps thou mayst have heard how a certain damsel excelled the swiftest men in the contest of speed. That report was no idle tale; for she did excel them. Nor couldst thou have said, whether she was more distinguished in the merit of her swiftness, or in the excellence of her beauty. Upon her consulting the oracle about a husband, the God said to her, ‘Thou hast no need, Atalanta, of a husband; avoid obtaining a husband. And yet thou wilt not avoid it, and, while {still} living, thou wilt lose thyself.’ Alarmed with the response of the God, she lives a single life in the shady woods, and determinedly repulses the pressing multitude of her suitors with these conditions. ‘I am not,’ says she, ‘to be gained, unless first surpassed in speed. Engage with me in running. Both a wife and a wedding shall be given as the reward of the swift; death {shall be} the recompense of the slow. Let that be the condition of the contest.’ She, indeed, was cruel {in this proposal}; but (so great is the power of beauty) a rash multitude of suitors agreed to these terms. Hippomenes had sat, as a spectator, of this unreasonable race, and said, ‘Is a wife sought by any one, amid dangers so great?’ And {thus} he condemned the excessive ardour of the youths. {But} when he beheld her face, and her body with her clothes laid aside, such as mine is, or such as thine would be, {Adonis}, if thou wast to become a woman, he was astonished, and raising his hands, he said, ‘Pardon me, ye whom I was just now censuring; the reward which you contended for was not yet known to me.’

“In commending her, he kindles the flame, and wishes that none of the young men may run more swiftly than she, and, in his envy, is apprehensive of it. ‘But why,’ says he, ‘is my chance in this contest left untried? The Divinity himself assists the daring.’ While Hippomenes is pondering such things within himself, the virgin flies with winged pace. Although she appears to the Aonian youth to go no less swiftly than the Scythian arrow, he admires her still more in her beauty, and the very speed makes her beauteous. The breeze that meets her bears back her pinions on her swift feet, and her hair is thrown over her ivory shoulders and the leggings which are below her knees with their variegated border, and upon her virgin whiteness her body has contracted a blush; no otherwise than as when purple hangings[55] over a whitened hall tint it with a shade of a similar colour. While the stranger is observing these things, the last course is run,[56] and the victorious Atalanta is adorned with a festive crown. The vanquished utter sighs, and pay the penalty, according to the stipulation. Still, not awed by the end of these young men, he stands up in the midst; and fixing his eyes on the maiden, he says, ‘Why dost thou seek an easy victory by conquering the inactive? Contend {now} with me. If fortune shall render me victorious, thou wilt not take it ill to be conquered by one so illustrious. For my father was Megareus, Onchestius his;[57] Neptune was his grandsire; I am the great grandson of the king of the waves. Nor is my merit inferior to my extraction. Or if I shall be conquered, in the conquest of Hippomenes thou wilt have a great and honourable name.’

“As he utters such words as these, the daughter of Schœneus regards him with a benign countenance, and is in doubt whether she shall wish to be overcome or to conquer; and thus she says: ‘What Deity, a foe to the beauteous, wishes to undo this {youth}? and commands him, at the risk of a life {so} dear, to seek this alliance? In my own opinion, I am not of so great value. Nor {yet} am I moved by his beauty. Still, by this, too, I could be moved. But, {’tis} because he is still a boy; ’tis not himself that affects me, but his age. And is it not, too, because he has courage and a mind undismayed by death? And is it not, besides, because he is reckoned fourth in descent from the {monarch} of the sea? And is it not, because he loves me, and thinks a marriage with me of so much worth as to perish {for it}, if cruel fortune should deny me to him? Stranger, while {still} thou mayst, begone, and abandon an alliance stained with blood. A match with me is cruelly hazardous. No woman will be unwilling to be married to thee; and thou mayst be desired {even} by a prudent maid. But why have I any concern for thee, when so many have already perished? Let him look to it; {and} let him die, since he is not warned by the fate of so many of my wooers, and is impelled onwards to weariness of life.

“‘Shall he then die because he was desirous with me to live? And shall he suffer an undeserved death, the reward of his love? My victory will not be able to support the odium {of the deed}. But it is no fault of mine. I wish thou wouldst desist! or since thou art {thus} mad, would that thou wast more fleet {than I!} But what a feminine look[58] there is in his youthful face! Ah, wretched Hippomenes, I would that I had not been seen by thee! Thou wast worthy to have lived! And if I had been more fortunate; and if the vexatious Divinities had not denied me {the blessings of} marriage, thou wast one with whom I could have shared my bed.’ Thus she said; and as one inexperienced, and smitten by Cupid for the first time, not knowing what she is doing, she is in love, and {yet} does not know that she is in love.

“{And} now, both the people and her father, demanded the usual race, when Hippomenes, the descendant of Neptune, invoked me with anxious voice; ‘I entreat that Cytherea may favour my undertaking, and aid the passion that she has inspired {in me}.’ The breeze, not envious, wafted to me this tender prayer; I was moved, I confess it; nor was any long delay made in {giving} aid. There is a field, the natives call it by name the Tamasenian {field},[59] the choicest spot in the Cyprian land; this the elders of former days consecrated to me, and ordered to be added as an endowment for my temple. In the middle of this field a tree flourishes, with yellow foliage, {and} with branches tinkling with yellow gold. Hence, by chance as I was coming, I carried three golden apples, that I had plucked, in my hand; and being visible to none but him, I approached Hippomenes, and I showed him what {was to be} the use of them. The trumpets have {now} given the signal, when each {of them} darts precipitately from the starting place, and skims the surface of the sand with nimble feet. You might have thought them able to pace the sea with dry feet, and to run along the ears of white standing corn {while} erect. The shouts and the applause of the populace give courage to the youth, and the words of those who exclaim, ‘Now, now, Hippomenes, is the moment to speed onward! make haste. Now use all thy strength! Away with delay! thou shalt be conqueror.’ It is doubtful whether the Megarean hero, or the virgin daughter of Schœneus rejoiced the most at these sayings. O how often when she could have passed by him, did she slacken her speed, and {then} unwillingly left behind the features that long she had gazed upon.

“A parched panting is coming from his faint mouth, and the goal is {still} a great way off. Then, at length, the descendant of Neptune throws one of the three products of the tree. The virgin is amazed, and from a desire for the shining fruit, she turns from her course, and picks up the rolling gold. Hippomenes passes her. The theatres ring[60] with applause. She makes amends for her delay, and the time that she has lost, with a swift pace, and again she leaves the youth behind. And, retarded by the throwing of a second apple, again she overtakes the {young} man, and passes by him. The last part of the race {now} remained. ‘{And} now,’ said he, ‘O Goddess, giver of this present, aid me;’ and {then} with youthful might, he threw the shining gold, in an oblique direction, on one side of the plain, in order that she might return the more slowly. The maiden seemed to be in doubt, whether she should fetch it; I forced her to take it up, and added weight to the apple, when she had taken it up, and I impeded her, both by the heaviness of the burden, and the delay in reaching it. And that my narrative may not be more tedious than that race, the virgin was outrun, and the conqueror obtained the prize.

“And was I not, Adonis, deserving that he should return thanks to me, and the tribute of frankincense? but, in his ingratitude, he gave me neither thanks nor frankincense. I was thrown into a sudden passion; and provoked at being slighted, I provided by {making} an example, that I should not be despised in future times, and I aroused myself against them both. They were passing by a temple, concealed within a shady wood, which the famous Echion had formerly built for the Mother of the Gods, according to his vow; and the length of their journey moved them to take rest {there}. There, an unseasonable desire of caressing {his wife} seized Hippomenes, excited by my agency. Near the temple was a recess, with {but} little light, like a cave, covered with native pumice stone, {one} sacred from ancient religious observance; where the priest had conveyed many a wooden image of the ancient Gods. This he entered, and he defiled the sanctuary by a forbidden crime. The sacred images turned away their eyes, and the Mother {of the Gods}, crowned with turrets,[61] was in doubt whether she should plunge these guilty ones in the Stygian stream. That seemed {too} light a punishment. Wherefore yellow manes cover their necks so lately smooth; their fingers are bent into claws, of their shoulders are made fore-legs;[62] their whole weight passes into their breasts. The surface of the sand is swept by their tails.[63] Their look has anger {in it}; instead of words they utter growls; instead of chambers they haunt the woods; and dreadful to others, {as} lions, they champ the bits of Cybele with subdued jaws. Do thou, beloved by me, avoid these, and together with these, all kinds of wild beasts which turn not their backs in flight, but their breasts to the fight; lest thy courage should be fatal to us both.”

[Footnote 52: _Pleases even Venus._--Ver. 524. According to
Apollodorus, Venus had caused Myrrha to imbibe her infamous
passion, because she had treated the worship of that Goddess with
contempt.]

[Footnote 53: _Cnidos._--Ver. 531. This was a city of Caria,
situate on a promontory. Strangers resorted thither, to behold a
statue of Venus there, which was made by Praxiteles.]

[Footnote 54: _Carry lightning._--Ver. 551. The lightning shock
seems to be attributed to the wild boar, from the vehemence with
which he strikes down every impediment in his way.]

[Footnote 55: _Purple hangings._--Ver. 595. Curtains, or hangings,
called ‘aulæa,’ were used by the ancients to ornament their halls,
sitting rooms, and bed chambers. In private houses they were also
sometimes hung as coverings over doors, and in the interior, as
substitutes for them. In the palace of the Roman emperors,
a slave, called ‘velarius,’ was posted at each of the principal
doors, to raise the curtain when any one passed through. Window
curtains were also used by the Romans, while they were employed in
the temples, to veil the statue of the Divinity. Ovid here speaks
of them as being of purple colour; while Lucretius mentions them
as being of yellow, red, and rusty hue.]

[Footnote 56: _Last course is run._--Ver. 597. Among the Romans,
the race consisted of seven rounds of the Circus, or rather
circuits of the ‘spina,’ or wall, in the midst of it, at each end
of which was the ‘meta,’ or goal. Livy and Dio Cassius speak of
seven conical balls, resembling eggs, which were called ‘ova,’ and
were placed upon the ‘spina.’ Their use was to enable the
spectators to count the number of rounds which had been run, for
which reason they were seven in number; and as each round was run,
one of the ‘ova’ was put up, or, according to Varro, taken down.
The form of the egg was adopted in honour of Castor and Pollux,
who were said to have been produced from eggs. The words
‘novissima meta’ here mean either ‘the last part of the course,’
or, possibly, ‘the last time round the course.’]

[Footnote 57: _Onchestius his._--Ver. 605. But Hyginus says that
Neptune was the father of Megareus, or Macareus, as the Scholiast
of Sophocles calls him. Neptune being the father of Onchestius,
Hippomenes was the fourth from Neptune, inclusively. Onchestius
founded a city of that name in Bœotia, in honour of Neptune, who
had a temple there; in the time of Pausanias the place was in
ruins. That author tells us that Megareus aided Nisus against
Minos, and was slain in that war.]

[Footnote 58: _A feminine look._--Ver. 631. Clarke renders this
line-- ‘But what a lady-like countenance there is in his boyish
face!’]

[Footnote 59: _Tamasenian field._--Ver. 644. Tamasis, or Tamaseus,
is mentioned by Pliny as a city of Cyprus.]

[Footnote 60: _The theatres ring._--Ver. 668. ‘Spectacula’ may
mean either the seats, or benches, on which the spectators sat,
or an amphitheatre. The former is most probably the meaning in the
present instance.]

[Footnote 61: _Crowned with turrets._--Ver. 696. Cybele, the
Goddess of the Earth, was usually represented as crowned with
turrets, and drawn in a chariot by lions.]

[Footnote 62: _Are made fore-legs._--Ver. 700. ‘Armus’ is
generally the shoulder of a brute; while ‘humerus’ is that of a
man. ‘Armus’ is sometimes used to signify the human shoulder.]

[Footnote 63: _By their tails._--Ver. 701. Pliny the Elder remarks
that the temper of the lion is signified by his tail, in the same
way as that of the horse by his ears. When in motion, it shows
that he is angry; when quiet, that he is in a good temper.]

EXPLANATION.

The Atalanta who is mentioned in this story was the daughter of
Schœneus, and the granddaughter of Athamas, whose misfortunes
obliged him to retire into Bœotia, where he built a little town,
which was called after his name, as we learn from Pausanias and
Eustathius. Ovid omits to say that it was one of the conditions of
the agreement, that the lover was to have the start in the race.
According to some writers, the golden apples were from the gardens
of the Hesperides; while, according to others, they were plucked by
Venus in the isle of Cyprus. The story seems to be founded merely on
the fact, that Hippomenes contrived by means of bribes to find the
way to the favour of his mistress.

Apollodorus, however, relates the story in a different manner;
he says that the father of Atalanta desiring to have sons, but no
daughters, exposed her, on her birth, in a desert, that she might
perish. A she-bear found the infant, and nourished it, until it was
discovered by some hunters. As the damsel grew up, she made hunting
her favourite pursuit, and slew two Centaurs, who offered her
violence, with her arrows. On her parents pressing her to marry, she
consented to be the wife of that man only who could outrun her, on
condition that those who were conquered by her in the race should be
put to death. Several of her suitors having failed in the attempt,
one of the name of Melanion, by using a similar stratagem to that
attributed by Ovid to Hippomenes, conquered her in the race, and
became her husband. Having profaned the temple of Jupiter, they were
transformed, Melanion into a lion, and Atalanta into a lioness.
According to Apollodorus, her father’s name was Iasius, though in
his first book he says she was the daughter of Schœneus. He also
says that she was the same person that was present at the hunt of
the Calydonian boar, though other writers represent them to have
been different personages. Euripides makes Mænalus to have been the
name of her father.

Atalanta had by Melanion, or, as some authors say, by Mars, a son
named Parthenopæus, who was present at the Theban war. Ælian gives a
long account of her history, which does not very much differ from
the narrative of Apollodorus.

FABLE X. [X.708-739]

Adonis being too ardent in the pursuit of a wild boar, the beast
kills him, on which Venus changes his blood into a flower of crimson
colour.

“She, indeed, {thus} warned him; and, harnessing her swans, winged her way through the air; but his courage stood in opposition to her advice. By chance, his dogs having followed its sure track, roused a boar, and the son of Cinyras pierced him, endeavouring to escape from the wood, with a wound from the side. Immediately the fierce boar, with his crooked snout, struck out the hunting-spear, stained with his blood, and {then} pursued him, trembling and seeking a safe retreat, and lodged his entire tusks in his groin, and stretched him expiring on the yellow sand.

“Cytherea, borne in her light chariot[64] through the middle of the air, had not yet arrived at Cyprus upon the wings of her swans. She recognized afar his groans, as he was dying, and turned her white birds in that direction. And when, from the lofty sky, she beheld him half dead, and bathing his body in his own blood, she rapidly descended, and rent both her garments and her hair, and she smote her breast with her distracted hands. And complaining of the Fates, she says, ‘But, however, all things shall not be in your power; the memorials of my sorrow, Adonis, shall ever remain; and the representation of thy death, repeated yearly, shall exhibit an imitation of my mourning. But thy blood shall be changed into a flower. Was it formerly allowed thee, Persephone, to change the limbs[65] of a female into fragrant mint; and shall the hero, the son of Cinyras, {if} changed, be a cause of displeasure against me?’ Having thus said, she sprinkles his blood with odoriferous nectar, which, touched by it, effervesces, just as the transparent bubbles are wont to rise in rainy weather. Nor was there a pause longer than a full hour, when a flower sprang up from the blood, of the same colour {with it}, such as the pomegranates are wont to bear, which conceal their seeds beneath their tough rind. Yet the enjoyment of it is but short-lived; for the same winds[66] which give it a name, beat it down, as it has but a slender hold, and is apt to fall by reason of its extreme slenderness.”

[Footnote 64: _In her light chariot._--Ver. 717. ‘Vecta levi curru
Cytherea,’ Clarke quaintly renders, ‘The Cytherean Goddess riding
in her light chair.’]

[Footnote 65: _To change the limbs._--Ver. 729. Proserpine was
said to have changed the Nymph, ‘Mentha,’ into a plant of that
name, which we call ‘mint.’ Some writers say that she found her
intriguing with Pluto while, according to other writers, she was
the mistress of Pollux.]

[Footnote 66: _The same winds._--Ver. 739. The flower which sprang
from the blood of Adonis was the anemone, or wind-flower, of which
Pliny the Elder says-- ‘This flower never opens but when the wind
is blowing, from which too, it receives its name, as ἄνεμος means
the wind.’ --(Book i. c. 23).]

EXPLANATION.

Theocritus, Bion, Hyginus, and Antoninus Liberalis, beside several
other authors, relate the history of the loves of Venus and Adonis.
They inform us of many particulars which Ovid has here neglected to
remark. They say that Mars, jealous of the passion which Venus had
for Adonis, implored the aid of Diana, who, to gratify his revenge,
sent the boar that destroyed the youth. According to some writers,
it was Apollo himself that took the form of that animal; and they
say that Adonis descending to the Infernal Regions, Proserpine fell
in love with him, and refused to allow him to return,
notwithstanding the orders of Jupiter. On this, the king of heaven
fearing to displease both the Goddesses, referred the dispute to the
Muse Calliope, who directed that Adonis should pass one half of his
time with Venus on earth, and the other half in the Infernal
Regions. They also tell us that it took up a year before the dispute
could be determined, and that the Hours brought Adonis at last to
the upper world, on which, Venus being dissatisfied with the
decision of Calliope, instigated the women of Thrace to kill her son
Orpheus.

The mythologists have considered this story to be based on grounds
either historical or physical. Cicero, in his Discourse on the
Nature of the Gods, says, that there were several persons who had
the name of Venus, and that the fourth, surnamed Astarte, was a
Syrian, who married Adonis, the son of Cinyras, king of Cyprus.
Hunting in the forests of Mount Libanus, or Lebanon, he was wounded
in the groin by a wild boar, which accident ultimately caused his
death. Astarte caused the city of Byblos and all Syria to mourn for
his loss; and, to keep his name and his sad fate in remembrance,
established feasts in his honour, to be celebrated each year. Going
still further, if we suppose the story to have originated in
historical facts, it seems not improbable that Adonis did not die of
his wound, and that, contrary to all expectation, he was cured; as
the Syrians, after having mourned for several days during his
festival, rejoiced as though he had been raised from the dead, at a
second festival called ‘The Return.’ The worship both of Venus and
Adonis probably originated in Syria, and was spread through Asia
Minor into Greece; while the Carthaginians, a Phœnician colony
introduced it into Sicily. The festival of Adonis is most amusingly
described by Theocritus the Sicilian poet, in his ‘Adoniazusæ.’ Some
authors have suggested that Adonis was the same with the Egyptian
God Osiris, and that the affliction of Venus represented that of
Isis at the death of her husband. According to Hesiod, Adonis was
the son of Phœnix and Alphesibœa, while Panyasis says that he was
son of Theias, the king of the Assyrians.

In support of the view which some commentators take of the story of
Adonis having been founded on physical circumstance, we cannot do
better than quote the able remarks of Mr. Keightley on the subject.
He says (Mythology of Ancient Greece and Italy, p. 109)-- “The tale
of Adonis is apparently an Eastern mythus. His very name is Semitic
(Hebrew ‘Adon,’ ‘Lord’), and those of his parents also refer to that
part of the world. He appears to be the same with the Thammuz,
mentioned by the prophet Ezekiel, and to be a Phœnician
personification of the sun who, during a part of the year is absent,
or, as the legend expresses it, with the Goddess of the under world:
during the remainder with Astarte, the regent of heaven. It is
uncertain when the Adonia were first celebrated in Greece; but we
find Plato alluding to the gardens of Adonis, as boxes of flowers
used in them were called; and the ill fortune of the Athenian
expedition to Sicily was in part ascribed to the circumstance of the
fleet having sailed during that festival.”

This notion of the mourning for Adonis being a testimony of grief
for the absence of the Sun during the winter, is not, however, to be
too readily acquiesced in. Lobeck (Aglaophamus, p. 691), for
example, asks, with some appearance of reason, why those nations
whose heaven was mildest, and their winter shortest, should so
bitterly bewail the regular changes of the seasons, as to feign that
the Gods themselves were carried off or slain; and he shrewdly
observes, that, in that case, the mournful and the joyful parts of
the festival should have been held at different times of the year,
and not joined together, as they were. He further inquires, whether
the ancient writers, who esteemed these Gods to be so little
superior to men, may not have believed them to have been really and
not metaphorically put to death? And, in truth, it is not easy to
give a satisfactory answer to these questions.

BOOK THE ELEVENTH.

FABLE I. [XI.1-84]

While Orpheus is singing to his lyre on Mount Rhodope, the women of
Thrace celebrate their orgies. During that ceremony they take
advantage of the opportunity to punish Orpheus for his indifference
towards their sex; and, in the fury inspired by their rites, they
beat him to death. His head and lyre are carried by the stream of
the river Hebrus into the sea, and are cast on shore on the isle of
Lesbos. A serpent, about to attack the head when thrown on shore,
is changed into a stone, and the Bacchanals who have killed him are
transformed into trees.

While with songs such as these, the Thracian poet is leading the woods and the natures of savage beasts, and the following rocks, lo! the matrons of the Ciconians, having their raving breasts covered with the skins of wild beasts, from the summit of a hill, espy Orpheus adapting his voice to the sounded strings {of his harp}. One of these, tossing her hair along the light breeze, says, “See! see! here is our contemner!” and hurls her spear at the melodious mouth of the bard of Apollo: {but}, being wreathed at the end with leaves, it makes a mark without any wound. The weapon of another is a stone, which, when thrown, is overpowered in the very air by the harmony of his voice and his lyre, and lies before his feet, a suppliant, as it were, for an attempt so daring.