by Ovid
never again will you have cause to worry—
about this one.” And swore upon the Styx.
The goddess was now pacified, and Io
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at once began regaining her lost looks,
till she became what she had been before;
her body lost all of its bristling hair,
her horns shrank down, her eyes grew narrower,
her jaws contracted, arms and hands returned,
and hooves divided themselves into nails;
nothing remained of her bovine nature,
unless it was the whiteness of her body.
She had some trouble getting her legs back,
and for a time feared speaking, lest she moo,
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and so quite timidly regained her speech.
She is a celebrated goddess now,
and worshiped by the linen-clad Egyptians.
Her son, Epaphus, is believed to be
sprung from the potent seed of mighty Jove,
and temples may be found in every city
wherein the boy is honored with his parent.
Phaëthon
He had a friend, like him in age and spirit,
named Phaëthon, the sun god’s child. One day
this boy was boasting, and in vanity
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would not take second place to Epaphus,
so proud he was that Phoebus was his father.
The grandson of Inachus could not bear it:
“You are a fool—to trust your mother’s lies!
You’re swollen with false notions of your father!”
Phaëthon blushed, and in embarrassment,
repressed the awful anger that he felt;
he went back to his mother, Clymene,
and told her what the other boy had said.
“And so that you may feel this pain the more,
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dear mother,” he said, “I who am so bold,
so very spirited, could not reply!
It shames me that I listened to such insults
unable to respond or to refute them!
“If I am truly of immortal seed,
give me sure proof of my exalted birth,
and a status equal to my origin!”
He spoke and threw his arms around her neck,
imploring her upon his very life,
and on that of his stepfather, Merops,
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and by the wedding torches of his sisters,
to give him proof of who his father was.
Clymene, moved by Phaëthon’s petition
(or by the insult to her own good name),
lifted her arms and stretched them out to heaven
and gazing right into the sun, replied,
“By this great radiance, my child, I swear,
by this bright orb which sees and hears us now,
that from this being which you now behold,
and which rules the world, you have your origin,
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child of the Sun! And if I speak a lie,
never may I look on his face again;
may this light be the last light that I see!
“It will not be a great task to discover
the place where your father keeps his household gods.
The house from whence he rises is on land
contiguous to ours: if you dare,
set out and ask your question of the Sun.”
Already full of heaven in his mind,
his mother’s words inspire him with joy,
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and after crossing Ethiopia,
his native land, and passing through the realm
of India that lies beneath the sun,
he comes at last to where his father rises.
BOOK II
OF MORTAL CHILDREN AND IMMORTAL LUSTS
Phaëthon The Heliades Cycnus The Sun’s complaint Jove, Callisto, and Arcas The raven and the crow The prophecies of Ocyrhoë Mercury and the tattletale Mercury and Aglauros (1) The house of Envy Mercury and Aglauros (2) Jove and Europa
Phaëthon
There stood the regal palace of the Sun,
soaring upon its many lofty columns,
with roof of gold and fire-flashing bronze,
and ceilings intricate with ivory,
and double-folding doors that shone with silver.
Its art surpassed the stuff that it was made of,
for Vulcan had engraved upon those doors
the seas that gird the middle of the earth,
the circling lands and the overhanging sky.
The waves displayed their gods of cerulean hue:
10
harmonious Triton, inconstant Proteus,
huge Aegaeon, who lifts enormous whales,
and Doris with her daughters, the sea nymphs;
some are depicted swimming, others sit
upon a rock to dry their sea-green hair,
and others are shown riding upon fishes,
their features neither utterly alike
nor wholly different, but rather mixed,
as those of sisters ought to be.
On land
were scenes of men in cities, beasts in forests,
20
rivers and nymphs and rural deities;
and over this he set the zodiac,
six figures each upon the left and right.
Soon as the son of Clymene had climbed
the steep path leading to the dwelling place
of his reputed parent, he went in
and turned at once to meet his father’s gaze—
though at some distance, for he could not bear
such brightness any closer.
Phoebus sat
in robes of purple high upon a throne
30
that glittered brilliantly with emeralds;
and in attendance on his left and right
stood Day and Month and Year and Century,
and all the Hours, evenly divided;
fresh Spring was there, adorned with floral crown,
and Summer, naked, bearing ripened grain,
and Autumn, stained from treading out her grapes,
and Winter with his grey and frosty locks.
And sitting in the middle of these figures,
the all-seeing Sun looked upon that youth,
40
who quaked with terror at such novel sights.
“What brings you here?” he asked. “What do you seek
in this high tower, Phaëthon—you, an heir
no parent would deny?”
The youth responded:
“O Phoebus, our universal light,
and father—if you let me use that name!
—If Clymene is not concealing guilt
under false pretenses, then give me proof
by which I might have credibility
as your true son, and free my mind of doubt!”
50
So the boy spoke.
The father put aside
his shining crown and told him to draw nearer
and took him in his arms: “It would not be
appropriate for me to disavow
our relationship,” he said, “for Clymene
has spoken truly of your parentage.
“But so that you may have no doubts at all,
whatever gift you ask me will be given you;
and this I promise by the marshy Styx,
which all of the immortals swear upon—
60
a sight which I, of course, have never seen.”
He’d scarcely finished speaking when the boy
asked for his father’s chariot—and permission
to guide his winged horses for a day.
The father’s oath now filled him with regret;
three times and four he struck his lustrous brow:
“Your deed reveals the rashness of my speech!
Would that
I were permitted to rescind
the promise I have given! I confess
that this alone I would deny you, son!
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“At least I am permitted to dissuade you:
what you desire is most dangerous!
You seek a gift that is too great for you,
beyond your strength, beyond your boyish years;
your fate is mortal: what you ask for isn’t.
“Out of your ignorance, you seek much more
than even gods are able to control,
for though each god may do just as he pleases,
none but myself may set his heel upon
the fire-bearing axle. No—not even he
80
who governs vast Olympus and who flings
the thunderbolt may drive this chariot:
and what force is more powerful than Jove?
“The journey starts off steeply, and my team,
emerging from their stables in the morning,
must struggle to ascend—and barely do:
the midpoint of the heavens is so high
that when I look down on the earth and seas,
fear often makes me tremble, and the heart
within my breast is seized with palpitations!
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“The last part of the journey is a steep
descent that needs a skilled hand on the reins;
then, even Tethys, waiting to receive me
beneath the waves, must fear that I will crash!
“Besides, there is the whirling vault of heaven
that draws the stars along and sets them spinning;
I press against this force which overcomes
all others, and I overcome it by
opposing the revolving universe.
“Suppose the chariot were in your hands:
100
what would you do? Would you have the power
to go against the whirling of the poles,
lest their rotation sweep you off completely?
“Perhaps you think that there are sacred groves
and cities of the gods along the way,
temples displaying all the gifts of wealth?
Not so: your path is full of lurking perils
as well as images of savage beasts.
“And if you hold this course unswervingly,
you’ll find the horns of Taurus in your way,
110
the Archer and the gaping jaws of Leo,
and Scorpio, whose long and curving arms
sweep one way, while the curving arms of Cancer
sweep broadly in the opposite direction.
“Nor will you find it easy to control
my fire-breathing steeds, who challenge me
to hold them back when they get heated up,
and their wild necks rebel against the reins.
“I would not be the giver of a gift
that would prove fatal to you, son—beware,
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and change your asking while it may be changed!
You seek assurance that you are my son?
I give you such assurance by my fears,
and by my dread, I show myself your father.
Look, look, upon my countenance—I wish
that you could look into my heart as well,
and there discover my paternal cares!
“Whatever wealth this ample world affords
is yours to have: just cast your eyes about
the plentitude of sky and earth and ocean
130
and ask for any of the goods you see:
I will deny you nothing that you wish.
“Only one thing I beg you not to ask for,
a punishment, if truly understood,
and not a gift, although you think it so—
a punishment indeed, my Phaëthon.
“Why do you throw your arms around my neck,
you foolish child? Why do you beseech me?
It will be given to you! Have no doubt!
I’ve sworn it by the waters of the Styx,
140
whatever you wish for—only wish more wisely!”
But his rebellious son refused to listen
and adamantly kept to his design,
so great his passion for the chariot.
And so, after delaying for as long
as possible, the father led his son
to Vulcan’s gift, the noble chariot.
Golden its axle, golden too, its shaft,
and golden the outer surface of its wheels,
adorned with radiating silver spokes;
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its yoke, inlaid with golden chrysolites,
returned the light of Phoebus in reflection.
And while the overreaching Phaëthon
gazed upon it in admiration, look—
Aurora, wakeful in the gleaming east,
has once more opened wide her purple gates,
and now her rosy courtyard is displayed;
the stars all scatter, and bright Lucifer
brings up the rear, the last to leave his post.
When the father noticed that the morning star
160
was setting, and the world was growing red,
and the Moon’s pale horns were vanishing, he ordered
the passing Hours to prepare his steeds.
Swiftly they brought his fire-breathing horses
from the lofty stalls where they had been well fed
on heavenly ambrosia, and harnessed them:
they shook their jangling reins impatiently.
Then Phoebus smeared his son’s face with an ointment
to keep him safe from the consuming flames,
and placed the radiant crown upon his head.
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Foreseeing grief, his breast heaved as he spoke:
“You have so far ignored your father’s warnings,
but listen now, and—if you can—heed these:
spare the whip, boy, and rein your horses in,
for on their own, they will go fast enough—
your task is to restrain them in their flight.
“Do not attempt to go directly through
the five zones of heaven, but rather take
the curving route that leads through only three,
and thus avoids extremes of north and south.
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“That is the right way—you will clearly see
the ruts worn in the pathway by my wheels.
To heat the earth and sky both evenly,
don’t hug the earth, don’t rise to the upper air
or you will either set the sky ablaze
or the earth below: the middle way is safest.
“Avoid the coiled-up Serpent on your right
and the low-lying Altar on your left—
keep in between! I leave the rest to Fortune,
and trust that she will be a better guide
190
than you yourself have been.
“But while I speak,
the humid night has reached the western shore—
we may delay no longer. We are called:
Dawn is conspicuously present now,
and shadows all are fled. Take up the reins,
or, if that heart of yours can be persuaded,
take my advice—and not my chariot!
“Change your mind now, while change is still permitted,
while both your feet are firmly on the ground—
before you mount and set out on this course
200
which, in your ignorance, you foolishly desire—
look on in safety while I light the world!”
But the boy is in the chariot already
and stands there proudly as he takes the reins
and offers thanks to his unwilling father.
Meanwhile, the flying horses of the Sun,
Pyrois, Eous, Aethon, and Phlegon,
>
filled all the air with fiery whinnying,
and kicked the bars that held them back.
When Tethys
(not knowing what her grandson’s fate would be)
210
released them, and all heaven opened up,
they took off with their hooves shredding the mists
of morning in their way as they flew past
the east winds in the quadrants where they rise.
But the burden that the horses of the Sun
were used to bearing was much heavier,
and their yoke lacked its customary weight;
just as a ship that is un ballasted
rolls all about, unsteadied by its lightness,
and goes off course, so too the chariot,
220
without the weight it usually carries,
leaps in the air, bucking, tossed all about
as though it had no passenger at all;
and once they’re all aware of this, the horses
bolt from the rutted track in four directions.
Now terrified, it is impossible
for him to use the reins that he was given,
or find his way; nor, if he were to find it,
could he control his steeds. For the first time, then, the Great and Little Bears knew the sun’s heat
230
and tried—in vain, for it was not permitted—
to plunge into the sea. And the Serpent, who
lies nearest to the frigid northern Pole,
and who has been, in sluggish hibernation,
a threat to no one, suddenly became
a raging terror, stirred up by the heat.
Folks say that even you, Boötes, fled,
slow as you are, and hampered by your oxcart.
But when, from heaven’s summit, he looked down
at the lands that lay so distantly beneath him,
240
unlucky Phaëthon at once turned pale,
and suddenly his knees began to shake
with terror, and his eyes were darkened by
excessive light; and now the god’s true son
regrets he ever touched his father’s horses,
is sorry to have found his origins,
and sorry that his prayer was ever answered;
he wishes to be called the son of Merops,
this boy now like a ship caught in a gale
and driven by the furious north wind,
250
whose helmsman lets the useless tiller go
and puts his trust in heaven and in prayer.
Much of the sky already lies behind him,
much more remains ahead: what can he do?
He turns this matter over in his mind,
now looking to the west (which he is fated
never to reach), now looking eastward: no
solution to his problem may be found,
and stunned by ignorance, cannot decide
if he should hold the reins or let them go—