For an introduction to Ovid and the work as a whole, the reader is invited to look at the introduction to the translation of "Metamorphoses" Book I, published on this blog on 1st February 2018.
Book XI continues, and indeed brings to a conclusion, the theme of 'the pathos of love' which began on l. 401 of Book VI. The book covers a number of myths, but concentrates particularly on the haunting tale of the love of Ceÿx and Halcyone, which it compares with that of Peleus and Thetis, the parents of Achilles. The metamorphosis myths recounted in Book XI are as follows: the death of Orpheus; Midas; the contest between Apollo and Pan; Laomedon and the walls of Troy; Peleus and Thetis; Daedalion; the cattle of Peleus; Ceÿx and Halcyone; Aesacus and Hesperia.
Ll. 1-66. The death of Orpheus.
While the Thracian bard entices the trees, the souls of wild beasts, and (even) the stones to follow (him) by songs such as these, behold, the Ciconian women (i.e. women from the Thracian tribe of the Cicones, to which Orpheus belongs), their heaving breasts concealed by animal skins, observe Orpheus from the summit of a hill, as he attunes his songs to his sounding (lyre-)strings. One of them, her hair tossed by the light breeze, says, "Look, look, this is (the one) who scorns our (love)!" and she hurled her spear at the face of Apollo's bard, as he is singing. Tipped with leaves, it makes a mark, but left no wound; the second missile is a stone, which, while in flight, is overcome in the very air by the harmony of his voice and lyre, and it lay at his feet as though begging (forgiveness) for such mad audacity. But actually the mindless assaults increase, and there is no restraint, and mad fury rules. All their missiles would have been blunted, but the great clamour of the Berecyntian flutes (i.e. flutes made of boxwood, from the trees of Mount Berecyntus in Phrygia, adjacent to the River Sangarius, and sacred to Cybele) with their broken pipes, and the beating of drums and breasts, and the howls of the Bacchanals drowned out the sound of his lute: in the end, then, the stones grew red with the blood of the bard, whom they could not hear.
In the first place, the Maenads (i.e. the female followers of Bacchus/Dionysus, known for their ecstatic worship of the god) tore apart Orpheus' famous audience, the countless birds, the snakes, and the throng of wild beasts, (which were) still entranced by the voice of the singer. And then they turn their blood-stained hands on Orpheus, and they together gather like birds whenever they see that bird of the night (i.e. an owl) wandering around in the daylight. Like a doomed stag is the prey of dogs in the early morning (hunt) in the arena, (once) the stands have been constructed on both sides, they rush at the bard and join together in hurling (at him) their green-leaved staffs, (which have) not (been) made for that purpose. Some throw clods of earth, some branches torn from trees, (and) others flint-stones. And lest they lack weapons in their madness, some oxen happened to be turning over the soil, by digging (it) up with a ploughshare, and not far away from there some brawny farm-workers were digging the solid earth, and were preparing (it) for use with much sweat. When they saw the throng, they flee, and leave behind (them) their work-tools, and light hoes, heavy rakes and long mattocks lie scattered through the empty fields.
After they had snatched these up and ripped apart the oxen with their threatening horns, those fierce (women) rush back to the killing of the bard, and, as he stretches out his hands, and speaks ineffectually and does not move any (of them) with his voice for the first (and only) time in his life, those sacrilegious (women) murder (him) And his spirit, exhaled through that mouth, which had been heard by stones and understood by the senses of wild creatures, vanished, O Jupiter, into the winds. The sorrowful birds, and the crowd of wild animals, and the hard flint-stones, (and) the woods that had often followed your songs shed tears for you, Orpheus, (and) the trees, shedding their leaves, mourned you with their bare crowns. They say that the rivers were also swollen with their tears, and the naiads (i.e. water-nymphs) and the dryads (i.e. tree-nymphs) wore dark-grey garments and kept their hair dishevelled. His limbs fall in different places. You, Hebrus (i.e. a river in Thrace), receive his head and his lyre, and - (O how) miraculous! - , while the lyre floats in mid-stream, it lets out I know not what mournful complaint, his lifeless tongue utters a mournful (sound), and the river-banks reply mournfully.
And now, carried out to sea, they leave their native river and reach Methymnaea on the shore of Lesbos. Here, a savage serpent attacks the head, exposed (as it is) on that foreign beach, and with its hair dripping with sea-water. At last, Phoebus appears and stops (it) just as it was getting ready to make its bites, and freezes the serpent's gaping jaws and hardens its mouth (into stone), wide-open as it was.
His shade sinks under the earth, and recognises all those places he had seen before, and, searching (for her) through the fields of the blessed, he finds Eurydice, and embraces (her) in his eager arms. Here now, they both walk about with interlocking footsteps; now Orpheus follows (her) as she goes in front, now he goes before (her), leading the way, and looks back, safely now, at his Eurydice.
Ll. 67-84. The transformation of the Maenads.
Lyaeus (i.e. an epithet of Bacchus, meaning 'deliverer from care'), however, did not allow such a crime to go unpunished, and, grieving at the loss of the bard of his sacred rites, he immediately bound with twisted roots (the feet of) all the Edonian (i.e. Thracian) women, who had witnessed the sin. Indeed, the path which each one was following at that moment, had lengthened their toes, and forced the tips (of them) into the solid ground; and, as a bird, when its leg is caught in a snare, which a skilful wild-fowler has concealed, and feels (itself) held, beats its wings and, as it flaps, tightens its bonds by its movement, so, when each one of these (women) had stuck fast, fixed in the ground, in her fear she tried in vain to flee; but the pliant roots holds her, and checks (her) as she struggles, and, while she looks for where her toes are, and where her feet and her toe-nails (are), she sees wood spreading over her shapely legs, and, as she tried to beat her thighs with grieving hands, she struck oak: her breasts also become oak, her shoulders are oak, and you would have thought her extended arms were real branches, and you would not have been wrong in your thinking.
Ll. 85-145. Midas and the golden touch.
This is not enough for Bacchus: he even leaves the very fields, and with a worthier train (of followers) he seeks the vineyards of his own Tmolus (i.e. a mountain in Lydia, sacred to Bacchus) and the Pactolus (i.e. a river close both to Mount Tmolus and the city of Sardis, the Lydian capital), although it was not golden at that time, nor was it envied for its valuable sands. His customary retinue, the Satyrs and Bacchanals, accompanies him, but Silenus is absent: Phrygian countrymen caught hold of him, tottering (as he was) with both age and wine, and led (him), bound with garlands, to King Midas, to whom Thracian Orpheus, together with Cecropian (i.e. Athenian) Eumolpus, had transmitted the Bacchic revels. As soon as he recognised him (as) his comrade and companion in the sacred rites, he joyfully arranged a celebration of his guest's arrival (which lasted) for ten days and nights joined in succession. And now, on the eleventh (day), when Lucifer (i.e. the Morning Star) had dispelled the lofty throng of stars, the King comes in joy to the fields of Lydia and restores Silenus to his young foster-child (i.e. Bacchus).
The god, joyful at his foster-father's return, offered him (i.e. Midas) the authority to choose a gift, a welcome but futile (decision). Doomed to make a poor use of this gift, he says, "Make (it) so that whatever I touch with my body turns to yellow gold." Liber (i.e. Bacchus) agreed to what he had chosen, and released the harmful gift, but he was sad that he had not asked for (something) better.
The Berecyntian demi-god (i.e. Midas) departs happily, and rejoices in his misfortune, and he tests his faith in what he has been promised by touching several (things), and scarcely believing it, (when) he broke off a green twig from the low foliage of a holm-oak: the twig became golden. He picks up a stone from the ground: the stone also turns yellow with gold. Then, he touched a clod of earth: by the power of touch, the clod becomes a nugget (of gold). He gathered some dry husks of corn: it was a (golden) harvest. He holds an apple (he had) picked from a tree: you would think the Hesperides (i.e. the three nymphs who tended the garden with golden apples on an island to the west beyond Mount Atlas) had given (it to him). If he placed his fingers on the tall door-posts, the door-posts seem to glisten. When he washed his hands in clear water, the water flowing over his hands would also have deceived Danaë (i.e. the mother of Perseus, whom Jupiter raped after disguising himself as a shower of gold). As he makes everything golden, he can scarcely contain his hopes in his own mind. As he was exulting, his servants set tables (before him), heaped with dainties, nor (were they) lacking baked bread.
Then indeed, if he touched the gift of Ceres (i.e. bread) with his hand, Ceres' gift hardened, or, if he prepared to tear the food with eager teeth, a layer of yellow covered the food, where his teeth had touched (it). When he mixed the instigator of his gift (i.e. Bacchus as wine) with pure water, you could see the liquid gold flowing through his mouth.
Stunned by this unfortunate novelty, and rich but wretched, he chooses to flee his wealth, and he loathes what he has just wished for. No abundance can relieve his hunger; an arid thirst burns his throat, and he is deservedly tortured by the hateful gold, and, lifting his hands and his shining arms to heaven, he says, "Give (me) your pardon, father Lenaeus (i.e. an epithet of Bacchus as god of the vineyards)! I have sinned, but have pity on (me), I beg (you), and save (me) from this apparently splendid curse!" The will of the gods (is) kind: as soon as he confessed, Bacchus restored (him), and took back the gift (which he had) given (him) in fulfilment of his promise, and "So that you do not remain coated with the gold you (once) wished for (so) foolishly," says he, "Go to the river bordering on great Sardis (i.e. the Pactolus), and make your way by means of the ridge of the river-bank, which meets the falling waters, until you come to the source of the river, and plunge your head and body together into the foaming fountain where (the water) gushes out, and, at the same time, wash away your sin."
The King proceeded to the water (as he had been) bidden: the golden essence tinged the river, and went from his human body into the current. Even now, by gathering the grains of gold from the ancient vein, the fields are already hardening, made pale by the drenched soil.
Ll. 146-171. Pan and Apollo compete before Tmolus.
Detesting wealth, he (i.e. Midas) cultivated the woods and fields, and Pan, who always dwells in mountain-caves. But he remained dull-witted, and the seat of his foolish mind was destined, once again, to harm its master, as before. For, commanding a wide view of the sea, (Mount) Tmolus stands steep in its lofty ascent, and, extending to a slope on either side, is bounded by Sardis on one side, (and) tiny Hypaepae on the other. While Pan is there boasting to the gentle nymphs of his songs, and is playing a light air on his reeds glued with wax, he dared to speak slightingly of Apollo's songs compared with his own, and entered an unequal contest, with Tmolus as the judge.
The aged judge was seated on his own mountain(-top), and shakes his ears free of the trees: his dark hair is encircled only by a wreath of oak-leaves, and acorns hang down around his hollow temples. And, looking at the god of the flocks (i.e. Pan), he said, "There is nothing to prevent (me) from being the judge." He (i.e. Pan) sounds his rustic reeds, and entrances Midas - for he happened to be near the music-making - with his uncouth singing. After this, sacred Tmolus turned his face towards the mouth of Phoebus, (and) his forest followed his face. His golden head wreathed with laurel from (Mount) Parnassus, he (i.e. Apollo/Phoebus) sweeps the ground with his robe dyed with Tyrian purple, and he holds his lyre, inlaid with precious stones and Indian ivory in his left(-hand); his other hand held his plectrum. His posture was (that) of a (true) artist. Then, he plucks the strings with skilled fingers, (and) Tmolus, captivated by their sweet (sound), tells Pan to lower his pipes in submission to the lyre.
Ll. 172-193. Midas and the ass's ears.
The decision of the mountain(-god) satisfies everyone's opinion, (and) yet it is challenged and called unjust by the voice of Midas alone; the Delian (god) (i.e. an epithet of Apollo, taken from the name of his birthplace, the island of Delos) does not permit such uncultivated ears to retain their human form, but extends (them) in length and fills (them) with shaggy grey hair, and makes them flexible and gives (them) the ability to move about. All his other (parts) are human: he is punished in this one aspect, and he assumes the ears of a slow-moving ass.
He, indeed, is anxious to conceal (them), and he tries to mitigate his shamefully ugly head by (wearing) a purple turban. But the servant who used to trim his long hair with a knife had seen it. Since he did not dare to reveal the shameful (thing he had) seen, (and, while he was) eager to broadcast (it) to the winds, yet he could not keep silent (about it), (and) he goes off and digs (a hole in) the ground, and relates in a tiny voice what kind of ears he has beheld on his master's (head), and whispers (this) to the hollow earth, and (then) he buries the evidence of his voice under the earth (which he has) thrown back, and leaves the hole (which he has) covered over in silence. (But) a thick grove of quivering reeds began to grow there, and, as soon as it reached the maturity of a full year, it betrayed its planter: for, stirred gently by the south wind, it repeats the words (which were) buried, and exposes the ears of his master.
Ll. 194-220. Laomedon and the walls of Troy.
Having punished (him) (i.e. Midas), Latona's son (i.e. Apollo) departs from (Mount) Tmolus, and, having been conveyed through the clear air, he came to earth in the land of Laomedon, this side of the narrow sea (named after) Helle, the daughter of Nephele (n.b. Helle fell off the back of the golden ram and was drowned in the sea, which was named the Hellespont in her memory). To the right (of the depths) of Sigeum, and to the left of the depths of Rhoeteum is the ancient altar dedicated to (Jupiter), the Thunderer and the Source of All Oracles. There, he sees Laomedon beginning to build the walls of the new Troy, and (as he saw that) this great undertaking was an increasingly difficult task, and that it was requiring no little resources, he assumes mortal form, together with the trident-bearing father of the swelling deep (i.e. Neptune), and builds the walls for the Phrygian king (i.e. Laomedon), having agreed (with him a sum of) gold for (the construction of) the walls.
There stood the edifice: (but) the king denies (them) their payment and adds perjury to his false words as a crowning addition to his treachery. "You will not go unpunished," says the ruler of the sea, and he directed all the waters towards the shores of avaricious Troy, and flooded the land into the form of a strait, and bore off the farmers' crops and buried their fields beneath the waves. (But) this is not sufficient punishment: the king's daughter (i.e. Hesione) is also required (as food) for a sea-monster; Alceus' grandson (i.e. Hercules) saves her, after she has been chained to some solid rocks, and he demands the steeds (which were) agreed (as) his promised prize, and, when the reward for his great work (is) denied (him), he seizes the twice-perjured walls of conquered Troy. But Telamon (i.e. the son of Aeacus of Aegina, son of Jupiter), a member of his military force, did not depart without honour, and he acquires Hesione, after she has been given (to him in marriage). For Peleus (i.e. Telamon's elder brother) was already distinguished by (having) a goddess as his wife (i.e. he was married to the sea-goddess Thetis, daughter of Nereus and Doris): he (was) not more proud of the name of grandson than (that) of son-in-law, since even if he was not alone in being Jupiter's grandson (i.e. his brothers Telamon and Phocus were his grandsons also), he was alone in having a goddess as his wife.
Ll. 221-265. Peleus and Thetis.
For aged Proteus (i.e. the ancient sea-god with the ability to change his form) had said to Thetis, "Conceive, (you) goddess of the waves: you will be the mother of a warrior, who, in the years of his manhood, will surpass the deeds of his father, and will be called greater than him." So, lest the earth should produce someone greater than Jupiter, although he had felt a hot passion within his breast, Jupiter fled from a union with marine Thetis, and bids his grandson, the son of Aeacus (i.e. Peleus), take his place with regard to his vows, and enter the embraces of the sea maiden.
In Harmonia (i.e. Thessaly) there is a bay, sickle-shaped with regard to its curved bendings; it arms project outwards; there would be a harbour there, if (only) the waves were deeper; the sea covers the surface of the sand; the shore is (so) firm, that it retains no footprints, prevents no footpath, nor is it unstable (because it is) concealed by sea-weed; a myrtle grove, covered over with red and black berries, is close at hand. And in its centre (there is) a cave, (whether) fashioned by nature or by art (is) uncertain, but more (likely) by art, whither you often used to come, Thetis, naked and sitting on a bridled dolphin. There, Peleus seizes you, as you were reclining, overcome by sleep: and, although tempted by his entreaties, you refuse (him), (and) he prepares (to use) force, entwining both his arms (around) your neck. He would have taken (you then and there) by his (act of) daring, if you had not come upon your customary arts, by frequently changing your shape. Now you (were) a bird: but he held (you as) a bird; now you were a large tree: Peleus stuck fast to the tree; your third shape was (that) of a striped tigress: in fear of that, he loosened his arms from your body. Then he entreats the gods of the sea, with wine poured
over the waters, with the entrails of sheep, and with the smoke of incense, until the Carpathian seer (i.e. Proteus, who dwelt on the Aegean island of Carpathos, located between Crete and Rhodes) spoke (thus) from the midst of the sea: "Son of Aeacus (i.e. Peleus), you will obtain the marriage you are seeking, provided you bind (her) unawares, with nooses and tight cords, when she is resting asleep in that rocky cave. And do not let her deceive you, (by) pretending (to be) a hundred (different) shapes, but hold (her close to you) whatever she becomes, until she changes back to what she was before!" Thus Proteus finished speaking, and hid his face in the sea, and let his waves loose among his final words.
(Now,) Titan (i.e. Sol, who was the son of the Titan Hyperion), was low (in the sky), and, with his chariot pointing down, was on course for the Hesperian (i.e. western) ocean, when the lovely daughter of Nereus (i.e. Thetis) leaves the sea and comes to her accustomed bed. Scarcely had Peleus got a good hold of her body, (when) she takes on new forms, until she realises that her limbs are tightly bound and that her arms are spread apart in different directions. Then at last, she sighed, and says, "You have not conquered (me) without the help of a god," and she showed herself (as) Thetis. When she has acknowledged (herself), the hero embraces (her) and achieves his wish, and he makes (her) pregnant with the mighty Achilles.
Ll. 266-345. Ceyx tells the story of Daedalion.
Peleus (was) both fortunate in his son and fortunate in his wife, and (was a man) for whom everything went well, if you exclude the crime of murdering Phocus (i.e. his half-brother); guilty of his brother's blood, the land of Trachin (i.e. a city in Thessaly) received (him after he had been) expelled from his native homeland. Here, Ceÿx (i.e. Κηüξ in Greek), born to his father Lucifer (i.e. the Morning Star), (and) displaying in his face his father's radiance, was ruling his kingdom without force and without bloodshed, but at that time (he was) sad, and, unlike his (normal)-self, he was mourning the loss of his brother.
When the son of Aeacus (i.e. Peleus), weary with his cares and with travel, came to him, and entered the city with a few companions, he left the flocks of sheep and the cattle that he had brought with him in a shady valley, not far from the walls; when the opportunity to enter the king's residence was given (to him), he holds out a draped olive-branch in his hand as a suppliant, (and) tells (him) who he is and whose son he (is), but he conceals his crime, and lies about the cause of his flight: he begs that he may support himself, (either) in the city or in the countryside. In reply, the (King) of Trachin addresses him as follows in a kindly voice: "Peleus, opportunities in my kingdom are open even to people of lowly rank, and I do not rule an inhospitable realm. You can add to this disposition the powerful influences of a famous name and Jupiter (being) your grandfather. Waste no time in prayer! You will receive everything that you are seeking, and whatever (things) you see, call them your share! If only you could see better (things)!"
And he began to weep: Peleus and his companions ask what was the cause of so much grief. He says to them: "Perhaps you think that the bird (i.e. a hawk) which lives on its prey and terrifies all (other) birds always had (feathered) wings: he was (once) a man called Daedalion, and, so great is the constancy of nature, that even then he was energetic, ferocious in warfare, and ready to (use) violence. We were begot by that father, who summons the dawn, and (is) the last (to) leave the sky (i.e. Lucifer, the Morning Star); I cherished peace, and had a concern for preserving peace and for my wife; (but) savage warfare was pleasing to my brother (i.e. Daedalion): his valour subdued kings and nations, but now, having been transformed, he pursues the doves of Thisbe (i.e. a town in Boeotia, a region renowned for its doves).
Chione was his daughter. She was endowed with great beauty, and, marriageable at the age of fourteen, she had numerous suitors. Phoebus and the son of Maia (i.e. Mercury), the former returning from his (sacred) Delphi, and the latter from the summit of (Mount Cyllene) (i.e. the mountain in Arcadia which was Mercury's birthplace), happened to see her at the same moment, and at the same moment they flushed with desire. Apollo puts off his hope of making love (to her) to the night-time, (but) the other could brook no delay, and touches the virgin's face with his sleep-inducing wand: she lies beneath that potent touch, and suffers the god's assault. The night had sprinkled the heaven with stars: Phoebus pretends (to be) an old woman, and enjoys the delights (which had been) forestalled.
When her mature womb had completed its term, a son is born (to her) from the stock of the wing-footed god (i.e. Mercury), Autolycus, crafty and ingenious in every (sort of) intrigue, who was accustomed to making white (things) from black (ones), and black (things) from white (ones), not unworthy of his father's art; Philammon, renowned for his tuneful song and lyre is born from (the stock of) Phoebus - for indeed she gave birth to twins. (But) what is the benefit in having produced two (sons) and having pleased two gods and in being the child of a powerful father and the grandchild of the Thunderer (i.e. in this case, the Morning Star)? Glory is also harmful to many, is it not? It was certainly harmful to her! She set herself up in front of Diana, and criticised the goddess's appearance. But fierce anger aroused the latter, and she says, "(But) you will be satisfied with my deeds."
Without delay, she bent her bow and fired an arrow by its string, and it pierced the tongue that was at fault with its shaft. The tongue is silent, and no sound and attempted words follow, and, as she tries to speak, her life departs with its blood. Then, I embraced (her) in my misery, and felt her father's grief, and spoke (words of) comfort to my dear brother. Her father heard these (words) just like cliffs (hear) the whispers of the sea, and he bitterly laments the loss of his daughter. But, when he saw (her body) burning, there was an attempt by him on four occasions to cast himself into the midst of the pyre; and, when he had been repelled four times, he entrusts his agitated limbs to flight, and, like a bullock conducts (itself) after its neck (has been) pierced by hornets' stings, he runs where there is no pathway. Even then he seemed to me to run faster than any man, and you would have thought that his feet had taken on wings. So, he escapes (us) all, and, swift in his desire for death, he gains the summit of (Mount) Parnassus (i.e. a mountain in Phocis, sacred to Apollo and the Muses). When Daedalion hurled himself from the high rocks, Apollo, pitying (him), made (him into) a bird, and raised (him) up, hovering on his suddenly(-formed) wings, and gave (him) a hooked beak, and curved talons instead of finger-nails, (as well as) his former courage (and) a greater strength of body. And now, (as) a hawk, he rages against all (other) birds, not all friendly to any (of them), and his suffering becomes the cause of suffering to others.
Ll. 346-409. Peleus and the wolf.
While Lucifer's son (i.e. Ceÿx) is telling this strange story about his brother (i.e. Daedalion), the guardian of (Peleus') herd, the Phocian Onetor, runs up to (them) in haste, his speed causing (him) to pant, and cries out, "Peleus, Peleus! I am here to bring you news of a great disaster." Peleus bids (him) speak of (it), whatever it should be, and the (King) of Trachis, with an anxious face, is poised in a fearful suspense himself. He (i.e. Onetor) says: "When the sun, at its zenith in the middle of its course, could look back on as much as it could see was remaining, and some of the oxen had lowered their knees on to the yellow sands, and, as they lay (there), were gazing at the wide expanse of the ocean, some were wandering here and there with slow steps; others are swimming and extend their lofty necks above the waves. There is a temple (there), close to the sea, not gleaming with marble and gold, but (made) with thick beams of timber, and overshadowed by an ancient grove. The Nereids and Nereus haunt (the place): a sailor, while drying his nets on the shore, told (me) that they were the gods of the sea. Close to it is a swamp, choked with dense willow-trees. From it an enormous beast, a wolf, terrorises the vicinity (by) making a heavy crashing noise, and it comes from the marshy rushes, its deadly mouth smeared with foam and soaked in blood, (and) its eyes suffused with red flame. Although it rages with fury and hunger at the same time, it is the more enraged by fury: for it is not concerned to satisfy its thirst and its dire hunger by the slaughter of oxen, but it wounded the whole herd and scatters all (of it) in its hostility. Even some of our (men), while we are defending (them), have received fatal injuries from its deadly jaws. The shore and the shallow waters are red with blood, and the marshes resound with bellowing. But delay is fatal, nor does the situation allow any hesitation; while some (of us) are left, we must all come together in arms, and we must take up our armour and carry our weapons jointly together!"
The countryman finished speaking; but the losses did not stir Peleus, but, remembering his crime, he concludes that the bereaved Nereid (i.e. Psamathe) is sending these losses (as) her sacrificial offerings on behalf of the murdered Phocus. The Oetean king (i.e. Trachis was overlooked by Mount Oeta) orders his men to don their armour and to take up their deadly weapons; he himself was preparing to go with them, but his wife, Halcyone, disturbed by the tumult, springs forward, and scatters her hair which was not yet entirely arranged, and, throwing herself on her husband's neck, she begs (him) with both words and tears to send help without (going) himself, and so to save two lives in one.
The son of Aeacus (i.e. Peleus) (says) to her (i.e. Halcyone): set aside, (O) queen, your becoming and dutiful fears! I am full of gratitude for your promise (of assistance). (But) I do not want arms to be used against this strange monster; I must pray to the goddess of the ocean (i.e. Psamathe)." There was a high tower, a beacon on the top of the citadel; (it was) a welcome sight for tired ships. They climb up there, and look out, with a sigh, at the bulls strewn along the shore and the wild ravager with its bloody jaws and its long shaggy hair stained with gore.
Then, stretching out his hands towards the shores of the open sea, Peleus beseeches azure-coloured Psamathe to restrain her wrath and bring (him) help; (but) she is not persuaded by the words of the son of Aeacus entreating (her): (but) Thetis (as) a suppliant on behalf of her husband receives her pardon. But yet, even when called back from the savage slaughter, the wolf persists, maddened by the sweet taste of blood, until (the goddess) (i.e. Psamathe) changed (it) to marble, as it was clinging to the neck of a wounded heifer. All of its body stayed the same except for its colour: the colour of stone shows that it is no longer a wolf, (and) should no longer be feared. Yet, the fates do not allow Peleus to remain as a fugitive in this country (and) the wandering exile goes to the Magnesians (i.e. inhabitants of the Thessalian region of Magnesia), and there he receives expiation for his murder from the Haemonian (i.e. Thessalian) (king), Acastus (i.e. king of Iolcos, the Magnesian capital and a port on the Pelasgic Gulf).
Ll. 410-473. The separation of Ceÿx and Halcyone.
Meanwhile, Ceÿx, his troubled heart disturbed by his brother's (fate) and the strange happenings that had followed his brother's (death), is preparing to go to the god at Claros (i.e. a town in Ionia between Ephesus and Smyrna, which was the location of an oracle, sacred to Apollo) to consult the sacred oracle, that source of consolation for men; for the impious Phorbas, together with the Phlegyans (i.e. a band of Thessalian robbers), had made the the temple at Delphi inaccessible.
But he tells you, (O) most faithful Halcyone, about his plan before (he goes); at once, the marrow of her bones felt a chill, and a pallor just like boxwood covers her face, and her cheeks are soaked with gushing tears. Three times she tried to speak, three times her face was wet with tears, and, with sobs interrupting her loving reproaches, she said, "What sin of mine has turned your mind, (O) dearest (one)? Where is that concern for me that used to come before (everything else)? Can you go away, leaving your Halcyone behind without a thought? Now does a long journey (really) please you? Am I now dearer to you (when I am) absent? But I suppose your journey is overland, and (so) I shall only grieve, and not also fear, for you, and my anxieties will be free from dread. The waters and the dismal face of the deep do terrify me: and I have recently seen wrecked timbers on the shore, and I have often seen tombs without a body. Do not let a false confidence fill your mind, because your father-in-law, the son of Hippotas (i.e. Aeolus, the king of the winds), is (the one) who keeps the strong winds imprisoned, and calms the sea, whenever he wishes! When once the winds are released, they hold sway over the waters, nothing is forbidden to them; and every land and every sea is exposed to them, they even vex the sky, and cause red lightning-flashes from their fierce collisions. The more I know of them - for I do know (them) and, when I was a child, I often saw (them) in my father's house - the more I think they are to be feared. But if your intention, dear husband, cannot be altered by any prayers (of mine), and you are so very fixed on going, (please) take me with you also. At least we shall (then) be tossed about together, nor shall I fear (something) unless I am (actually) experiencing it: and together we shall endure whatever will happen, (and) together we shall be borne over the wide seas."
Her star-born husband (i.e. Ceÿx, son of Lucifer) is moved by these words and tears of the daughter of Aeolus (i.e. Halcyone): for (the flame of) love burns no less within himself. But he does not wish to give up the sea-journey (he has) planned, nor to put Halcyone into any position of danger, and he responded to her anxious heart with many consoling (words). But yet he did not win his case on that account; (so) to these words he added this further solace, by which alone he prevailed upon his loving (wife): "Every delay will indeed seem long to us: but I swear to you by my father's (sacred) fires, that, as long as the fates shall send (me) back (to you), I shall return before the moon has twice completed her orbit."
When her hopes had been revived by these promises of his return, he immediately orders the ship to be brought down from the dockyard, launched in the sea, and fitted out with (all) its gear. Seeing this, as if she foresaw what was to come, Halcyone shuddered again, and shed a flood of tears, and she gave (him) hugs, and, in her utter wretchedness, at last she said, "Farewell," through her sad mouth, and (then) her whole body collapsed (from under her).
But, while Ceÿx was seeking (reasons for) delay, the young (crewmen), in two rows, draw their oars back towards their hardy breasts and cut the waves with even strokes. She raised her dripping eyes, and, leaning forward, she sees her husband standing on the rounded stern and giving her signals with his hand, and she returns the signals; when the land had receded further and her eyes could not make out his face, she follows the disappearing ship with her gaze, while she can. Even when that could not be seen, having been lost in the distance, she could still see the sails floating from the top of the mast-head; when she could see no sails, in her anxiety, she seeks her empty bedroom, and throws herself on to the bed; both the bed and the room renew Halcyone's tears and remind (her) of the one who is absent.
Ll. 474-572. The tempest.
They had left the harbour and the breeze had stirred the rigging: the mariner draws his dangling oars up to the sides (of the ship), and arranges the ends of the sail-yards on the top of the mast, and unfurls all of the sails from the yard-beam and catches the coming breezes.
The ship was traversing the waves and (had) certainly (reached) no more than the mid-point (of the journey), or less (than that), and land was far off in both directions, when at nightfall the sea began to whiten with swelling waves, and the violent East Wind (began) to blow more strongly. The helmsman shouts, "Lower the tops of the sail-yards at once, and bind every sail beneath the yard-arms." He issues the orders: (but) the adverse storm-winds drown out his instructions, and the crashing of the sea does not allow his voice to be heard at all. Yet on their own initiative, some (of the crew) hasten to draw up the oars, some secure the side (of the ship), (while) others deny the sails to the winds. One man pumps up the waves (from the hold) and pours back the sea-water into the sea, another man carries off the yard-arms; while these (things) are being done without any direction, the storm increases in severity, and the ferocious winds launch their assaults from every quarter, and embroil the angry waves (in their fury).
The helmsman, himself, is fearful, and confesses that he does know what is the situation of the ship, nor what he should order or (what) he should prevent. Such is the weight of the disaster, and (it is) so much greater than his skill! Indeed, the men exclaim with shouts and the rigging creaks, (and,) with the onset of the waves, the sea (seems) menacing, (and so does) the sky with its crashes of thunder. The waves rise up, and the sea seems level with the sky, and to touch the overhanging clouds with its spray; at one moment, when its churns up yellow sand from its depths, it is the same colour as that, at another it is spread blacker than the waters of the Styx, and sometimes it turns white with hissing foam.
This very Trachinian ship is driven by these vicissitudes, now lifted up high, as though it seems to be looking down from the summit of a mountain into the valleys and the depths of Acheron (i.e. the Underworld), now, when the boisterous sea engulfed (it as it was) sunk (in a trough), (it seems) to be looking up at the heights of the sky from an infernal abyss. When struck by a wave, the (ship's) side makes a huge crash, nor, (when it is) battered, is the sound any lighter than on those occasions when an iron ram or a ballista strikes a damaged fortress. And, just as fierce lions, having mustered their strength, are wont to go on the attack courageously against the armour and extended spears (of their hunters), so, when the waves let themselves loose in the rising winds, they reached the level of the ship's armoured shields, and went much higher than these.
And now the (wooden) wedges give way, and, stripped of their wax covering, cracks open up, and offer a passage to the lethal waves. Look, plentiful rain-showers fall from the melting clouds, and you would think that the whole of the sky was descending into the sea, and the swollen sea was ascending into the zones of the sky. The sails are soaked with rain, and sea-water mingles with water from the heavens; the firmament is without starlight, and the murky night is concealed by its own, and the storm's, darkness. However, flashes of lightning dispel this, and give light: (and) the rain becomes illuminated by the lightning flares.
Now the waves make leaps into the hollow fabric of the ship; and, just as a soldier, more outstanding than all the rest, when he has frequently sought to scale the walls of a besieged city, achieves his goal at last, and, fired with a love of glory, he takes possession of the wall, although (he is but) one among a thousand men, so, when the waves have battered the sides (of the ship) nine times, the assault of the tenth wave rushes on, swelling up more furiously (than before); nor does it cease to attack the beleaguered ship until it descends the walls of the conquered ship, so to speak. So, one part of the sea is still trying to take the ship, while another part is (already) inside (it). All are in a state of confusion, just as a city is wont to be confused, when some are undermining its wall from without, and others are taking possession of the wall from within.
Skill fails and courage sinks, and as many deaths seem to rush and burst upon (them) as the advancing waves. One man cannot hold back his tears, another is stupefied, and a third one cries out that (they are) blessed, whom (proper) burial rites await: one man entreats a god in prayer, and, lifting his arms in vain to the sky, which he cannot see, he begs for help, while a brother and a father, a home with his children, and whatever had been left behind, comes to the mind of another. (But) Halcyone (is what) moves Ceÿx, and nothing but Halcyone is on Ceÿx's lips, and, although he longs only (for her), yet he rejoices that she is not there. He would like to see the shores of his homeland once more, and to turn his last look towards his home, but he does not know where it is; the sea swirls with such a vortex, and the whole of the sky lies hidden beneath the shadows induced by the pitch-black storm-clouds, and the aspect of night is duplicated (during the day).
The mast is shattered by the onset of a stormy whirlwind, and the rudder is broken, and a final wave, like a conqueror bent on spoils, swells up and looks down on the (other) waves, as if some (god) should tear all of (Mount) Athos and (Mount) Pindus roughly from their foundations, and hurl (them) into the open sea, (so) it falls precipitously, and by its weight, together with the force of the impact, it thrusts the ship to the bottom; with it the majority of the crew met their fate, sunk in the depths of the abyss, never to return to the daylight: the rest of them cling to broken pieces of the vessel: Ceÿx, himself, holds on to a fragment of the wrecked ship with a hand, with which he was used to (holding) a sceptre, and he calls upon his father-in-law (i.e. Aeolus) and his father (i.e. Lucifer), (but) alas! in vain. But, mostly, (the name of) his wife Halcyone (is) on his lips as he swims. He both thinks of, and speaks to, her, (and) he prays that the waves should carry his body before her eyes, and that, lifeless, he might be entombed by her dear hands. While he can swim, (and) as often as the waves allow (him) to open (his mouth), he mentions the name of Halcyone, and it is murmured by the waves themselves. Look, a black arc of water breaks over the midst of the waves, and a bursting wave buries his drowning head.
Lucifer was dim that dawn, nor could you recognise him, but, since he was not permitted to leave the sky, he hid his face in thick clouds.
Ll. 573-649. The house of Sleep.
Meanwhile, the daughter of Aeolus (i.e. Halcyone), unaware of this great disaster, was keeping count of the nights, and she hastens (to weave) clothes which he can put on, and which she, herself, can wear, when he returns, and she gives herself hope of a vain return. Indeed, she offered pious incense to all the gods, but she worshipped mainly at Juno's temple, and she approached the altars on behalf of a man, who was no longer (there), and she longed for her husband to be safe and to return (to her), and to prefer no other (woman) to herself; but, of all her prayers, only this (last one) could be granted to her.
But the goddess (i.e. Juno) could no longer endure being entreated on behalf of (a man) who had suffered death; and to protect her altars from those defiled hands, she said, "Iris, most faithful messenger of my words, go quickly to the soporific halls of Sleep, and bid (him) send Halcyone a dream(-figure) in the shape of the dead Ceÿx to tell (her) the disastrous truth."
She finished speaking: (then) Iris dons her robe of many colours, and, marking the sky with her bow-like curving (i.e. a rainbow), she seeks the palace of the king she was to instruct, (which was) concealed beneath a cloud.
There is a cave with a long recess near the (land of the) Cimmerians (i.e. a legendary people, said to live in caves in perpetual darkness somewhere beyond the North Wind), a hollow mountain, (which is) the home and sanctuary of listless Sleep: Phoebus (i.e. the sun) can never reach it with his rays, (whether) at dawn, at midday, or at sunset. Mists, mixed with fog, and the gloomy shadows of twilight, rise up from the ground. There, no watchful bird (i.e. a cockerel) summons Aurora (i.e. the dawn) with crowing noises from his crested beak, no dogs disturb the silence with their anxious barking, or a goose, more alert than dogs, (with its cackling). No beasts, no cattle, no branches stirred by the wind, or the sound of human tongues, are the cause of any clamour. (There) a mute stillness dwells; but from the stony depths there flows a stream of Lethean water (i.e. the Lethe was the River of Unmindfulness in the Underworld), by which, as it glides along, with its murmur, over the rattling pebbles, its waves invite sleep. In front of the cave's mouth, fertile poppies flourish, and countless herbs, from the juice of which the (goddess) Night gathers (the dew of) sleep, and, wet (as she is), she scatters (it) over the darkened earth.
(There are) no doors in the whole of the palace, lest a turning hinge should let out creaking noises, (and there is) no guard on the threshold. But in the centre of the cave there is a tall bed, made of ebony, downy, black in colour, covered with a dusky sheet, on which the god (i.e. Sleep) himself lies, his limbs relaxed in slumber. Around him in all directions, lie idle dreams, resembling different shapes, as many as (there are) ears of corn at harvest time, or as the trees bear leaves (or as) the shores (bear) grains of sand (which have been) thrown up.
As soon as the virgin (goddess) entered, and pushed aside with her hands the dreams (which were) in her way, the sacred palace blazed with the flashing light of her robe, and the god, scarcely able to lift his eyes, (which were) looking down with a sluggish heaviness, and falling back again and again, (while) striking the top of his chest with his nodding chin, at last shook himself free of himself; and, resting on an elbow, he asked (her) - for he did know her - why she had come. And she replied (thus): "(O) Sleep, repose of (all) things, (O) Sleep, gentlest of the gods, the peace of mind, from whom care flies, (you) who soothes the body, wearied by demanding duties, and who gets it ready for toil again, order dream(-images), which make imitations look like true forms, (and) let (one) go, in the image of the King (i.e. Ceÿx), to Halcyone at Hercules' Trachis, and let it depict a likeness of the wreck. This Juno commands." After she had completed her commission, Iris departs - for she was not able to withstand the power of sleep any longer - , and, as she felt sleep slip over her limbs, she flees and recrosses the arch by means of which she had just come.
Then, from the throng of his numerous sons, the father (i.e. Sleep) rouses Morpheus, a skilled craftsman and an imitator of the (human) form: in that place, no one else can express more cleverly the process, the features and the sound of speech. He turns his mind to the clothes and the usual accents of a man; but he only imitates human beings, while another (son) becomes a beast, or a bird, or a serpent with a long body: the gods call him Icelus, the mortal crowd Phobetor. There is also a third (son), of diverse skill, (called) Phantasos: he, deceptively, turns himself into earth, stones, rivers, and trees, all (things) which have no life; these (sons) are accustomed to show their faces at night to kings and generals, (while) the others wander around among the common people. Old Sleep passes them by, and chooses one out of all these brothers, (namely) Morpheus, to carry out the commands of the daughter of Thaumas (i.e. Iris), and, relaxing once more into gentle slumber, he lowered his head and buried (it) in his tall bed.
Ll. 650-709. Morpheus goes to Halcyone in the form of Ceÿx.
He (i.e. Morpheus) flies through the darkness on wings that make no noise, and within a short space of time he comes to the Haemonian city (i.e. Trachis), and, laying aside the wings from his body, he is transformed into the shape of Ceÿx, and taking on a ghostly appearance, like (that) of a dead (man), he stood, without any clothes, beside the bed of his wretched wife (i.e. Halcyone): the man's beard seems sodden, and sea-water (seems) to flow from his soaking wet hair.
Then, bending over her bed with tears streaming down his face, he says these (words): "My poor wife, do you know your Ceÿx? Or has my face changed (so much)? Now, look at me! You will recognise (me), and find your husband's shade in place of your husband. Your prayers have brought me no help, Halcyone: I am dead! Do not give yourself any false hopes of my (return)! The stormy South Wind caught my ship in the Aegean sea, and tossed (her) in a mighty wind and wrecked (her), and the waves overwhelmed my lips, as they cried out your name in vain. No doubtful agent brings you this news, nor are you hearing this through vague rumours: having been shipwrecked, I myself am present in person to tell you of my fate. Get up, do (something), shed tears, put on mourning (clothes), and do not send me (down) to the voids of Tartarus, unlamented." Morpheus says these (words) in a voice, which she would believe were her husband's: he also seemed to be shedding real tears, and his hands exhibited Ceÿx's gestures.
Halcyone groans tearfully, and moves her arms about in her sleep, and, seeking his body, she grasps (only) air, and cries out, "Wait! Where are you rushing off to? We shall go together!" Roused by her own voice and her husband's image, she casts off sleep and at first she looks around (to see) if (the one) who had just been seen is (still) there: for her servants, aroused by her voice, had brought a lamp. When she does not find (him) anywhere, she strikes her face with her hands and tears the clothes from her breast, and she beats at her very breasts, nor does she bother to loosen her hair: (but) she tears (it), and shouts at her nurse who had asked what (was) the cause of her grief, "Halcyone is no more, she is no more! She has died, together with her Ceÿx! Away with any words of consolation! He has been lost in a shipwreck! I saw (him), and I recognised (him), and, wanting to hold on to (him), I stretched out my hands to (him) as he disappeared. It was a shade, but yet (it was) also my husband's true shade made manifest! True, he did not have his usual features, if you ask, nor did his face shine as before: pale and naked, and still with dripping hair, in my misfortune, I saw (him). Look, my wretched (husband) stood on this (very) spot!" - and she looks (to see) if any of his footprints remain. "This, this was (exactly) what I, with my prophetic mind, was afraid (would happen), and I begged (you) not to forsake me in order to chase the winds. But I certainly wished that you would take me (with you) too, since you were going to your death! How good it would have been for me to go with you: for (then) I should have spent no part of my life apart (from you), nor would death have separated (us). Now I have perished without being there, I am also tossed by the waves in my absence, and the sea possesses me without me. My mind would be more cruel than the sea itself, if I should try to lead my life any longer and should fight to overcome this great sorrow of mine. But I shall not fight, nor shall I leave you, my poor (husband), and now, at least, I shall come (as) your companion, and, if not the (burial) urn, yet the lettered (stone) will join us in the tomb: if not bones to my bones, yet I shall touch (you) name to name." Grief prevents any further (speech), and lamentation puts a stop to all discourse, and sighs are drawn from her stricken heart.
Ll. 710-748. Ceÿx and Halcyone are turned into birds.
It was morning: she goes out of the palace towards the shore, and sadly seeks the place from which she had seen him go. And, while she lingers there, and while she says, "Here he loosed the hawser, (and) on this beach he kissed me as he left," and, while she recalls his noteworthy actions through the places (where they happened), and looks out to sea, she sees somewhere in the distance in the flowing water something rather like a body. At first, she was unsure what it was; when the tide brought (it) a little nearer, although it was (still) some way off, yet it was evident that it was a body. (Although she was) unaware who it was, she was moved by the portent, since (it was) a shipwrecked (man), and, as though she was shedding a tear for the unknown (man), she cries out, "Alas! poor (soul), whoever you are, and your wife, if you have (one)!" Driven by the waves, the body is brought nearer: the more she gazes at it, her courage shrinks and shrinks, (O) woe! And now (it has been) brought close to land, and now she sees (something) that she could recognise: it was her husband! "It's him!" she cries out, and she tears at her face, hair and clothes at the same time, and, stretching out her trembling hands to Ceÿx, she says, "(Is it) like this, O my dearest husband, (is it) like this, O (you) poor (fellow), that you return to me?" A breakwater, built by the hand (of man), adjoins the waves, and it breaks the initial force of the sea, and weakens the onrush of the tide. Although it was amazing that she could (do so), she leaps on to it: she flew, and, beating the gentle breeze with her newly fashioned wings, she skimmed the surface of the waves (as) a sorrowful bird. And, as she flies, her clacking mouth with its slender beak uttered a sound like a grieving (person) and (one) full of lamentation. But, when she touched the mute and bloodless corpse, she enfolded his dear limbs in her newly-formed wings, and vainly gave (him) cold kisses with her hard beak. People doubted whether Ceÿx felt this, or (just) seemed to raise his face through the movements of the waves, but he had felt (it): and, at last, through the pity of the gods, they are both changed into birds (i.e. halcyons, or kingfishers); (each was) exposed to the same fate, (and) then their love remained as well, nor, among these birds, was their conjugal bond loosened: they mate and become parents, and for seven calm days during the winter-time, Halcyone broods with her nest floating on the surface of the sea. During that time the waves of the sea lie (still): Aeolus locks up the winds and prevents (them) from leaving, and he grants his descendants a level surface of the sea. (N.B. This story is the origin of the legend of the so-called Halcyon days, i.e. the seven days which precede the Winter Solstice and the seven which succeed it, during which time the hen-kingfisher lays her eggs in a nest which she launches on the sea. During these Halcyon days, Halcyone's father, Aeolus, the King of the Winds, stops the winds from blowing, and a total calm ensues, thus allowing the nest to stay afloat, and the kingfisher's chicks to be hatched in it. For this reason, Halcyon days are reputed to be a time of peace and happiness.)
Ll. 749-795. The transformation of Aesacus.
A certain elderly (man) watches them (i.e. Ceÿx and Halcyone) flying together over the wide sea, and praises the love (which they have) preserved to the end: (someone) nearby, or the same man, if chance should allow (it) - pointing to a long-necked diving bird - said, "That (bird), whom you can see skimming the sea, bearing his legs folded under (him), (is) also a descendant of royal (stock), and, if you seek his descent in an unbroken line to himself, his source is Ilus, and Assaracus, and Ganymede, snatched by Jupiter, and old Laomedon and (his son) Priam, (who was) assigned to Troy's last days; that (bird) was Hector's brother: if he had not experienced that strange fate in his early youth, perhaps he would have had no lesser name than Hector. Though the daughter of Dymas (i.e. Hecuba) bore the latter, Aesacus is said to have been born in secret to Alexirrhoë, the daughter of two-horned Granicus (i.e. the god of the River Granicus, the source of which was Mount Ida in Mysia) beneath the shadows of (Mount) Ida.
He hated cities, and dwelt in the remote mountains and insignificant country (places) far away from the glittering court, and did not attend meetings in Troy except on occasion. Yet, not having an uncultivated heart nor (one) immune to love, he catches sight of Hesperia, the daughter of Cebren (i.e. the god of the River Cebren in the Troad), on (one) of her father's river-banks, while she was drying in the sun her hair (which was) spread over her shoulders. As soon as she is seen, the nymph flees, just as a frightened hind (flees) a tawny wolf, and a river duck, surprised far from the lake (she has) left behind, (flees) a hawk; the Trojan hero (i.e. Aesacus) pursues her, and he is swiftly beset with love, just as swiftly as (she is beset) with fear. (But) look, a serpent, concealed in the grass, has bitten the foot of the fleeing (girl) with its curved fang, and has left its poison in her body. Her flight is ended with her life: her lover clasps her lifeless (body), and cries out, "How I regret, how I regret that I followed you! But I did not fear that such (a thing) as this (would happen), nor was it worth so high a price as this for me to win (you). The two of us have destroyed you, my poor (girl): the wound was provided by the snake, the reason (for it) by me! (And) I shall be (even) more guilty than that (snake), unless I give you some consolation for your death by my own death."
(Thus) he spoke, and threw himself into the sea from a rock which the rough waters had worn away from underneath. Moved with pity, Tethys (i.e. goddess of the sea and the wife of Oceanus) caught (him) gently as he fell, and clothed him with feathers as he floated across the surface of the water, and the opportunity to choose his death was not granted to him. The lover is angry that he is forced to live against his will, and that his spirit is thwarted, (when) wishing to leave its unhappy abode, and, when he had received the new wings on his shoulders, he flies up and hurls himself into the sea once more. The feathers break his fall: Aesacus rages, and dives headlong into the deep, and keeps trying endlessly to (find) the way to death. His love makes (him) lean: the space between his leg joints (is) long; his neck remains long, (and) his head is far from his body; (but) he does love seawater, and he acquires his name because he dives into it (i.e. mergus, the diver or gull).
