When Theseus asked him why the groan, the gesture,
The mutilated forehead, the old river,
With unadorned and reed-crowned hair, made answer:
"A sorrowful story; for what loser tells
His battles with any pleasure? But I will tell you.
It was not so bad to lose as it was glorious
To have made the fight, and the greatness of the winner
Gives me some satisfaction. You have heard,
Perhaps, of Deianira, once most lovely,
The hope of many suitors, and I myself
Was one of them, and came to her father's house:
Receive me as a son-in-law, I said,
And Hercules said that too, and all the others
Left it to us to settle. He began
By claiming Jove as father, did some bragging
About his labors, and some mission or other
His stepmother had set him. I was thinking
No god should yield to a mortal; Hercules
Had not yet, then, become a god. 'I am,'
I said, 'A god, lord of the river flowing
Through your own realms, King Oeneus. I am no stranger
>From foreign shores, but one from your own country.
It should not count against me that Queen Juno
[page 210]
Is without hatred for me, or that labors
Have not been punishments inflicted on me.
As for your parentage, Hercules, you claim
Alcmena as your mother: that makes Jove
What kind of father to you?--either a product
Of your imagination, or, if real,
A cheater, and your mother an adultress.
So, take your choice--which would you rather be,
Liar, or bastard?' He stood there glaring at me,
Controlling his savage temper very badly,
And finally growled: 'I am a better talker
With fists than tongue. Provided I can win
The fight, I grant you the debater's laurel.'
I had talked so big I knew I had to fight him,
So I slipped out of my green robe, held up
My hands, assumed the proper pose. He took
Handfuls of dust, and sprinkled them over my body,
And made his own turn golden with the dust.
We could grip each other better so. His hold
Aimed at my neck, my flashing legs, he shifted
>From one feint to another, but I was heavy,
Heavy and big; I stood there like a sea-wall
Which the waves beat in vain. We both gave way
A little, and came together again, and held there,
Determined not to yield, foot trampling foot,
And I leaned forward, grabbed his hands, my fingers
Bent back his fingers, and my forehead pushed
Against his forehead. I have seen bulls battle
In just that way for the most shining heifer
With the rest of the herd watching in fear and trembling,
Uncertain who will win. Three times he struggled
To throw me off, and the fourth time he loosened
The hold I had, and hit me hard, and swung me
--I have to tell the truth--in half a circle
And jumped on my back. I ought to have some credit,
There would be no sense in telling lies about it,
[page 211]
For holding up this mountain that weighed on me.
Still, I got out of it: my sweating arms
Managed to break the hold, but he rushed at me,
All winded as I was, gave me no time
To get my strength back, and he grabbed my neck,
And I went down, and knew the taste of the dirt.
Inferior in strength, I turned to cunning,
Became a serpent, slid away, and twisted
My body into looping coils, kept darting
My tongue and hissing at him. All he did
Was laugh. 'I strangled serpents in my cradle,'
He cried, 'You might, Achelous, be bigger
Than some snakes I have seen, and still be only
A little fraction of the one at Lema
Who multiplied with every wound, and lost
A hundred heads, and grew a double number
Each time I struck one off, a tree of serpents
Which I cut down, brought low. What do you think
Will happen to you in that disguise of yours,
In that false armor?' He got hold of my neck,
Squeezed, so I thought my throat was gripped with pincers,
I fought against the thumbs that pressed my jaws,
Until I took another form, a bull's,
But his arms went over the left side of my shoulders,
He dragged me down, he pinned my horns to the ground,
And this was not enough; his rough right hand
Broke off one horn and pulled it from my forehead.
And this the Naiads took, and filled it full
Of fruits and fragrant flowers, and the good goddess,
Whose name is Plenty, was made the richer by it."
His story ended, and a nymph, appareled
After the manner of Diana, came
With flowing hair, bringing the horn, all full
Of autumn's store, prime fruits, to grace the table.
And when day came, and the sun's rays were gilding
The mountain-summits with morning, they took their leave,
[page 212]
All those young men, before the stream ran quiet,
Before the waters were glassy smooth. Their host
Hid in the waves the mutilated horn,
The country features, all uninjured, really,
Except in loss of pride, and so his forehead
He keeps concealed with reeds or willow branches.
But the Centaur Nessus burned for Deianira
As if an arrow had pierced him. Hercules
Was coming home with his bride, and reached the river,
Evenus, swollen to flood with the rains of winter,
Too dangerous to cross, with its whirling eddies.
It was not for himself that Hercules was worried,
But what of Deianira? At this point Nessus
Came stalking up; he knew the fords, he told them:
"You swim it, Hercules; I'll carry her over!"
So Hercules entrusted her to Nessus,
And she was pale and trembling, afraid of the river,
Afraid of Nessus, but Hercules, undaunted,
Threw club and bow across the stream, but wearing
The lion-skin and quiver, faced the river
Knowing that he must finish what he started,
And had no hesitation, did not even
Look for the smoothest current, scorning favors
>From any river. So he reached the bank,
Was picking up his bow, and heard his bride
Calling for help: Nessus was full of evil.
"So," Hercules cried, "this double-bodied monster
Has so much pride of strength and swiftness in him
He turns to violence. Now hear me, Nessus!
Let things of mine alone! The wheel your father
Rides in eternal Hell should be warning
Against forbidden loves. You will not escape me,
No matter how much you trust your vaunted horse-power!
I will catch up with you, if not by running,
[page 213]
By deeds, by wounds." And as he spoke, he proved it:
The arrow pierced the back, came out at the shoulder,
So two wounds bled, and the blood had poison in it
For the barb was dipped in the venom of the serpent,
And Nessus wrenched it loose. "I shall not die,"
He thought, "Without revenge," and gave his robe,
Dyed in warm crimson, as a gift to her,
The girl he would have ravished, as a token,
To help to make her love him.
Time went by
And Hercules' great deeds, and Juno's hatred
Spread over all the world. He was returning
Victorious from Oechalia, making ready
To pay his vows to Jove, when Rumor, lover
Of truth and falsehood both, the tattletale
Who makes big things of little ones, comes rushing
To Deianira, and her story has it
That Hercules burns with passion for Iole.
She loves him, she believes it, she is frightened
Gives way, at first, to tears, pities herself,
Makes her grief grow by weeping, and recovers
A little, thinking: "What's the good of weeping?
Tears would delight my rival, and she is coming,
Is on her way: what I had better do
Is hurry, figure out something, while I can,
Before she is in my bed. Shall I complain,
Shall I keep silent? Shall I go again
To Calydon, or linger here? Shall I
Forsake this house, or keep her out? I might
Remember Meleager was my brother,
Might plan some desperate deed, murder my rival
To show her what a woman in grief and outrage
Can do by way of vengeance." So her mind
Wavers in all directions, but at last
She thinks it best to send the robe of Nessus,
Dyed with his blood, to help to make her love him,
[page 214]
To send this on to Hercules. Not knowing
What she is giving, the cause of her own sorrow,
She hands it over to Lichas, unsuspecting,
And with most gentle words bids him deliver
The robe to Hercules, and the hero takes it
Throwing it over his shoulder, Lerna's poison.
He was offering incense on the rising flames,
Praying and pouring wine on the marble altar,
And the warmth brought out the virulence of the garment,
Whose molten deadliness spread over his limbs,
And, while he could, his usual fortitude
Kept back his groans, but even his endurance
Could not hold out forever, and in his madness
He knocked the altars down, filled woody Oeta
With horrible cries, tried to tear off the robe,
And where he tore it, there it tore the skin,
Or, where it could not be torn, clung to the limbs,
Or burned to the naked muscles and great bones.
And the blood hissed, as white-hot metal does
Dipped in cold water, and the mixture boiled,
Poison and blood together, the hungry fever
Eating his very marrow, and the tendons,
Half-burnt, made cracking sounds, and livid sweat
Poured from all over his body. He raised his hands:
"Gloat on my suffering, gloat, O cruel Juno,
Sate that relentless heart, watching me burn!
Or if an enemy--and I am yours,
That much is certain--could find some reason
For pity, take away this life of mine,
Sick from its torture, hateful, born for anguish.
Stepmother, I ask a favor: give me death!
Was it for this that I subdued Busiris
Who fouled the temples of the gods with blood
Of strangers slain? Was it for this I lifted
Antaeus from supporting earth, for this
Slew Geryon, dragged off Cerberus? My hands
[page 215]
Seized the bull's horns, and Elis was the gainer
With the Parthenian groves, Stymphalian waters.
My hands brought back the golden belt, my hands
The golden apples from the sleepless dragon.
Centaurs could not resist me, nor the boar
That ravaged Arcady. I slew the Hydra
That gained by its own loss, and little good
That did the monster! And the Thracian horses,
Fed fat on human blood, the mangers filled
With human bodies, I found, and when I found them
Tore them to pieces. These were the hands that choked
The lion of Nemea, these the shoulders
That held the weight of the world, one time, for Atlas.
Juno grew tired of giving orders; I
Was never tired obeying them. But now
A new doom comes upon me, one I cannot
Fight off by arms or courage, and the fire
Devours my lungs, and feeds on all my members.
But still Eurystheus keeps his health: who is there
To think that gods exist?" So, racked with pain,
He wandered over Oeta, as a tiger
Drags off the spears that wounded him, when the hunter
Has fled in fear. There you could see him groaning,
Gnashing his teeth, still tearing at the garment,
Leveling trees, raging against the mountains,
Or holding out his hands to his father's Heaven.
Then he saw Lichas, trembling, Iying hidden
Under the hollow of a rock, and pain
Roused all his fury: "You were the one who did it,
You, Lichas, brought me death!" And Lichas shuddered,
Turned pale, tried to say something, came to his knees
In supplication, and found himself raised high,
Whirled through the air, three times, four times, flung far
Toward the Euboean waters, as a stone
Flies from a catapult, and high in the air,
In the cold wind, he felt his body stiffen
[page 216]
As showers in cold wind are turned to snow
And snow to sleet and sleet to hail, so Lichas
Hurled through the air by Hercules, grew colder,
The blood, by fear, made rigid, and the body
All stone and hardness. To this very day
Euboean sailors show the traveler
A low rock rising, as if with human features,
Out of the water, and they call it Lichas,
And will not step there; they are never sure
It would not feel their tread, and be offended.
And Hercules cut down trees from lofty Oeta
To make himself a funeral pyre, and called
On Poeas' son to take the bow, the quiver
The arrows that would visit Troy again,
And Philoctetes had the fire made ready
Under the barrow, and as the flames went roaring
Above, around, Hercules spread as quilt
The lion's skin, and used his club as pillow,
And lay there, no more troubled than a feaster
At a great banquet, garland-crowned, among
The brimming cups of wine. And the flame grew stronger,
Spread, sought the care-free limbs of its despiser,
And the gods were troubled for earth's champion
As Jove, with joyful voice addressed them: "Gods,
This fear of yours is my delight; my heart
Rejoices that the people I rule and father
Is grateful, that your favor guards my son.
He has earned that favor by his deeds, but I
Am under obligation for that favor.
Let not your hearts be troubled; Oeta's flames
Are nothing, and the conqueror will conquer
These also. Only his mother's heritage,
His mortal part, will feel the fire; that part
Which comes from me, no flames will ever master,
It will live always, safe from death and burning,
[page 217]
And I shall take it to the shores of Heaven
When it is done with earth, and you, I trust,
Will, all of you, approve. If anyone
Should grieve that Hercules becomes a god,
Should be unwilling that he have this honor,
Well, let him grieve, and let him grant, and let him,
Even against his will, own it was proper."
The gods agreed, and even royal Juno
Looked willing enough, only a little sullen
At Jove's last words, aimed, as she knew, at her,
And meanwhile anything that fire could conquer
Was conquered: there was nothing left, a form,
A shape, not to be recognized, of Hercules,
With nothing human about it, only spirit,
The proof of Jove, shining, the way a serpent
Shines with the old skin cast, when the new life glistens.
So Hercules put off the mortal body,
Thriving, and in his better part becoming greater,
More worthy of veneration, and Jove raised him
Through hollow clouds to the bright stars, a rider
In the chariot drawn by the four heavenly horses.
And Atlas, who bears Heaven on his shoulders,
Felt the new weight, and Sthenelus' son, Eurystheus,
Held to his ancient grudge at Hercules,
And, troubled with long suffering for her son,
Alcmena had one comforter, Iole,
To whom to tell her sorrows, an old woman
Proud of the world-wide glory of her son,
Unhappy in her misfortunes. This Iole,
By Hercules' command, had married Hyllus,
Was pregnant by him, and Alcmena told her:
"May the gods favor you, and shorten your labor
When the time comes to call on Ilithyia,
[page 218]
Helper of travail, and no friend of mine
Since Juno was my enemy. I remember
When my son's birth was near, the weight in the womb
So heavy anyone would know the father
Must have been Jove, and even in speaking of it
Today, I feel once more the pangs of labor.
Seven days, seven nights, I suffered, sick and weary
Raised arms to Heaven, crying for Lucina,
With her two goddess-midwives, to come help me,
And she did come, but with a mind corrupted
By Juno's hate. She heard my groans, and watched me;
Sitting there by that altar near the doorway,
She crossed her knees, and laced her hands together,
And spoke constricting charms, I pushed and struggled,
Cursed Jove's ingratitude, wanted to die,
Screamed so that even stones were moved to pity,
And other mothers came to try to help me,
Prayed, urged me to keep trying. One of them,
Galanthis, yellow-haired, one of my servants,
A good devoted girl (I loved her for it)
Saw there was something wrong, and knew that Juno
Was working mischief. In and out the doorway
Galanthis went and came, and saw the goddess
Sitting there on the altar, the crossed knees,
The hands laced tight together, and she spoke:
'Whoever you are, congratulate my lady!
Her son is born, her prayer is heard.' The goddess
Leaped up, at that, and loosed her hands, and I
Was likewise loosed of my burden, and Galanthis
Broke out in laughter, but the angry goddess
Grabbed her, still laughing, yanked her by the hair,
Made forelegs of her arms, and would not let her
Rise from the ground. She kept her golden color
Though now in different shape, the little weasel
Who haunts my house, still busy in devotion,
And, so the story goes, since her mouth helped me
[page 219]
Give birth by telling lies, through her own mouth
Her young are born."
Alcmena's story ended
In a long sigh for Galanthis. Iole
Answered her: "Are you grieving, Mother, still,
For one no kin of yours? Then let me tell you
What happened to my sister, though my sorrow,
My tears, are arguments against my speaking.
Her name was Dryope, most famed for beauty
Of all Oechalian girls, the only daughter
Her mother had (I was not sister, really,
Only half-sister, by a different mother).
Apollo took her maidenhood, the god
Of Delphi and of Delos, but Andraemon
Made her his wife, and people thought him lucky.
There is a lake, with shelving shore, and myrtle
Growing around it, and Dryope came here,
Innocent of her fortune, bringing garlands
To give the nymphs, and carrying her son,
Not yet a full year old, whom she was nursing,
And near the lake the water-lotus blossomed
In crimson flower, the sign of berries, later,
And Dryope was picking these, to give
The little boy to play with, and I would have
Done the same thing, for I was there that day,
But I saw bloody drops fall from the flower,
Saw the boughs shudder, stir as if in terror,
And I remembered, then, too late, the story
The shepherds told, how Lotis, then a naiad,
Fled from Priapus' lust, and though her body
Was changed into this flower, she kept her name.
My sister did not know it. She was frightened,
Tried to draw back, and having made her prayer
[page 220]
And offering to the nymphs, she would have gone,
But found her feet were rooted. She tried hard
To lift them out of the ground, but only moved
Her upper parts, and from below the bark
Came creeping slowly over the groin. She struggled
To tear her hair, and filled her hand with leaves;
Leaves covered all her head. The little boy,
Amphissos (so his grandfather had named him)
Felt the breast harden, and no stream of milk
Come when he suckled. I saw it all, I saw it
And could not help, but I did what I could,
Held on to the growing branches and delayed them
With my embrace, and wanted to be hidden
Under that bark. Andraemon came, her husband,
And her poor father, Eurytus, both asking
For Dryope; I pointed to the lotus.
They kissed the wood, still warm, flung themselves down,
Clung to the roots. There was nothing left my sister
Except her face, the rest was tree. The tears
Fell on the leaves that used to be her body,
And while she could she spoke: 'If the unhappy
Can ever be believed, I swear by the gods,
I have not earned this evil; I am punished
Without a crime; my life is innocent,
Has always been: if I am Iying, let me
Lose all my leaves, be looped with axes, burned
In fire forever. Take my boy away
>From the branches of his mother, find a nurse
And let him drink his milk under my tree,
Play here, and when he learns to talk, then teach him
To say in sorrow: Here my mother hides.
But let him fear the ponds, and pick no flowers,
And let him think that all the bushes are
Bodies of goddesses. Farewell, dear husband,
Dear father, sister! If you love me, keep me
Free from the wounds of pruning-knife, from teeth
[page 221]
Of hungry cattle. I cannot bend over
To kiss you, so reach up to me, come nearer,
Lift up my little son while I can see him.
I can say no more, for the soft bark Is creeping
Up the white neck to forehead, hair. I am hidden.
Remove your hands from my eyes; the bark will close them.'
Her mouth could say no more, could be no more,
But after the change of the body, the new-formed branches
Were warm a long long time."
And as Iole
Finished the story, and Alcmena dried
Her tears away, and wept herself, their sorrow
Was stopped by a new happening. Iolaus,
Almost a boy again, stood on the threshold,
His years turned back, so that his cheeks were blooming
With the first down again, for Juno's daughter,
Hebe, won by her husband's prayers, had given him youth.
She was about to swear that she would never
Grant such a favor again, but Themis stopped her.
"Thebes is commencing civil war," she told her,
"Capaneus cannot lose unless Jove beats him,
Brother will fight with brother, and the earth
Will open wide, so that a living prophet
Will see the ghost he is to be; a son
Will kill one parent and avenge the other,
Impious yet devoted, and his evils
Will drive him mad; he will lose his home, be haunted
By the Grim Sisters, by the shades of his mother,
Until his wife calls back the fatal gold,
Until the sword of Phegeus takes his life-blood.
Callirhoë, in that time, will ask of Jove
Years for her infant sons, lest the avenger
Murder unharmed, and he will hear, and speed them
Through youth to manhood, almost in an instant."
So Themis told the future, and the gods
Murmured with varying voice: why could not others
[page 222]
Give the same gift? Aurora, Pallas' daughter,
Had an old husband, and the gentle Ceres
Complained about Iasion, all that grayness
About his temples; Ericthonius should,
So Vulcan said, have one more life to live,
And Venus, all too heedful of the future,
Made offer to renew Anchises' years.
Each god has his own favorite: the tumult
Swelled loud in argument, but Jove brought silence:
"What recklessness is this? What reverence
Is left me? Do you think yourselves so mighty,
So powerful, that the Fates are less? I tell you
The Fates returned his years to Iolaus,
The Fates made warriors of Callirhoë's children,
The Fates rule you, so you had better like it;
They rule me too; if I had power to change them,
Years would not now be bending down my son,
My Aeacus; Minos and Rhadamanthus
Would still be in their prime, my own son, Minos,
Who rules but feebly now, since men despise him
For the sad weight of age." So they were quiet
Seeing how Aeacus, Minos, Rhadamanthus
Were tired from the long years, though one time Minos
Had awed great nations with his mighty name,
But he was little now; Deione's son,
Miletus, proud of his young strength, and boasting
Apollo as his father, frightened Minos,
Who thought his kingdom threatened, but lacked nerve
To banish the usurper, but Miletus
Fled of his own accord, sailed swiftly over
The blue Aegean waters, and in Asia
Founded the city which he gave his name,
And there he knew Cyane, Maeander's daughter,
That river turning on himself forever,
And she was beautiful and bore him children
Caunus and Byblis.
[page 223]
Byblis is a warning
That girls should never love what is forbidden.
She loved her brother, and the way she loved him
Was not the way sisters should love their brothers.
At first she did not know what she was doing,
She saw no wrong in kissing him so often,
Putting her arms around his neck. The picture
Is what it seems, pure sisterly devotion,
But somehow this lacks color; she starts coming
To see him, in her very finest dresses,
Wants to appear a pretty girl, too much so,
Is envious if she sees a lovelier woman,
But still she does not realize; her fire
Hides, so far, never a wish, but it keeps burning.
She calls him lord and master, hates the name
Of brother, wishes he would call her Byblis,
Not sister. She suppresses, in the daytime,
Her wanton hopes, but in her soft sleep Iying
She often sees the thing she loves, her body
Appears to join her brother's, and she blushes
Deep in her sleep, and her sleep goes, and Byblis
Is silent, and remembers the appearance
Of that sweet night, and talks to herself, all troubled:
"What does it mean, this vision of the night?
Do I really want it real? Why have I seen it?
He is handsome, yes; even the envious know it.
He pleases me; if he were not my brother,
He could be loved, and he is worthy of me.
It hurts to be his sister, to be on guard,
In all my waking moments, and try nothing.
So let the dream return again! No witness
Is there in sleep, and yet in sleep the pleasure
Was Very real. Venus and wingĖd Cupid
Win bear me out--what pleasure I felt, what touch
[page 224]
Of outright passion! How I lay there melting!
How wonderful to remember, though the night
Was swift, and brief the joy, and envious of me.
If I could change my name and be united
To Caunus, O how happy I would be
To be his father's daughter-in-law, and Caunus
Might, happily, be my father's son-in-law.
Would that the gods might give us everything
Together, except our parents! Would that Caunus
Were nobler-born than I! He will make someone
A mother some day, but will always be
Only a brother to me. All we have
By way of common bond is common barrier.
What do my visions mean then? And what weight
Have dreams? Do they have any? It is better
For the gods, it seems; the gods have had their sisters,
Saturn had Ops, and Ocean Tethys, Jove
Took Juno: gods are laws unto themselves,
And who am I, to strain poor human customs
To superhuman license? I must either
Drive this forbidden flame out of my heart
Or, if I cannot, die, and as I lie there,
Dead on my bed, my brother will come and kiss me.
What I would like needs two for consummation:
Suppose it pleases me, but seems a crime
To Caunus? But the sons of Aeolus
Were not afraid to enter their sisters' chambers.
Where did I learn of them? Why have I given
Myself such precedents? What am I doing?
Be gone, disgusting flames, and let him never
Love me, except as brother should love sister!
If he had been the first, if he had fallen
In love with me, I might perhaps have yielded,
So, since I would not, could not, have refused him
If he sought me, why can't I do the asking?
Can I speak out? Can I confess it? Surely.
[page 225]
Love will compel me to, I can. Or can I?
It might be better if I wrote a letter."
This notion pleases her; she is determined,
Raises herself a little, lies there leaning
On her left elbow. "He is going to see it,"
She thinks, "and I confess my crazy passion.
What have I come to? what a fire is burning
In my poor mind!" She puts the words together
After long thinking, and her hand is trembling.
Her right hand takes the pen, her left the tablet.
She starts, and stops, and writes, and makes corrections,
Rubs out, and changes, frowns in disapproval,
Nods in approval, puts the tablets down
And picks them up again, and does not know
Just what she wants, and nothing seems to please her
Whatever it is she is on the point of doing.
Her face shows her confusion of shame and boldness.
She had written sister: that required erasing,
She started over: "A lover of yours, who never
Will know what happiness is, unless you grant it,
Wishes you happiness. I am ashamed
To give my name, but ask me what I want
And I will tell you: I wish that I could plead
My case and give no name; let Byblis never
Be known until her hopes were realized.
You might have known that wounded heart of hers
By her complexion, fainting, sighing, tears,
Embraces, kisses, the kind, if you had noticed,
No sister ever gives. God help me, I
Have done all that I could, with this deep wound,
This fire within me; I have fought against it,
Tried to be well, tried to escape. I have borne
More than you might think any girl could bear,
Not given way. But now, and I admit it,
I know I am beaten, I am forced to ask you
To help me, with my timid prayers. You only
[page 226]
Can save me, or destroy me: which will it be?
No enemy asks you this, but a girl, joined closely,
Most closely, to you, asks to come still closer,
Asks for an even more intimate relation.
Let old men have their laws, let old men quibble
Of right and wrong, and study up on cases.
But we are young; our need is love, and rashness.
We are still too young to know what is forbidden;
All things are right, if only we believe it;
We have examples of the gods to follow.
And what is there to stop us? A strict father?
Regard for reputation? Only fear!
Not even fear, if we have no cause for fearing.
It is easy enough to hide our stolen pleasures
Under the names of brother and of sister.
As things are now, I can talk with you in secret,
We fondle each other, kiss in the sight of others,
And still--how much is lacking! Pity me
For saying so--I never would have said it
Except my love is desperate: do not be
My murderer--" There was no more room for writing,
And the last phrase was scribbled on the margin.
She seals the letter with her ring, and moistens
The imprint with her tears, and, filled with shame,
Summons a servant, tells him Take this letter
And give it to my --she could hardly say it,
But after a struggle got the word out-- brother.
And, as she gave it to him, from her hands
The tablets fell, and the bad omen troubled
Her mind, but still she gave it. And the servant
All in good time delivered the written secrets.
And Caunus, angry, threw away the tablets,
Having read a few lines only, had a struggle
To keep his hands off from the message-bearer.
"Get out of here," he said, "O filthy pander
To the lust of things forbidden. You are lucky
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I do not kill you, but your death would be
Dirt on my hands!" And the slave fled in terror,
Told Byblis all her brother had said in anger,
And she grew pale, hearing herself rejected,
Turned cold as ice, but, as her senses gathered
Some strength again, so, once again, her passion
Came back to life, and her tongue found words to utter:
"So, I deserved it. Why was I so foolish
To give my wound away, in such a hurry
To get things down in writing I had better
Keep to myself? I should have tried, before this,
To test, with more ambiguous talk, his feeling.
Now I have spread my sail, and never noticed
Which way the wind was blowing, and run before it,
And I am dashed on rocks or drowned in ocean,
My ship has no retreat. I should have listened
To what the omens tried in vain to tell me
When my hands dropped the tablets, and the wax,
If not the letters, spelled out ruin for me.
That was a sign to change the day, to change
The purpose. No, the day. The god gave warning,
Gave certain signs, if I had not been crazy.
I should have spoken to him, never trusted
Words to the wax, I should have gone, myself,
Told him my passion; he would have seen my tears,
He would have seen the features of his lover.
I could say more than I could ever have written
On tablets, could have thrown my arms around him,
Clung to his knees, and, Iying on the ground,
Begged for my life, and if I were denied it
I might have seemed to die: so many things
I might have done; if none of them had moved him,
Their sum, put all together, might. Perhaps
The time was wrong, the servant less than tactful
Waiting the proper moment--that was the trouble.
His mother was no tigress, he has in him
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No heart of flint or iron, he was not suckled
On lion's milk. He can be won, he will be;
He must be asked again, and I must never
Tire, not while life remains. The best thing, surely,
If I had power of changing things, the best
Would be, not to have started: the second best
Is to go on and finish. Caunus cannot,
Even if I stopped, forget what I have dared,
And if I stopped, he would think I did not mean it,
Suspect that I was teasing, or a traitor.
No matter what, I shall appear the victim
Of the god who burns my heart or my own passion.
There is nothing I can do and not be guilty:
I have written, I have asked for it, I am not
An innocent girl, and nobody will say so.
So what have I to lose? My crimes are full
To overflowing, my desire still hungry."
But, after this is said, her purpose wavers,
She hates, but yearns, to tempt him, and, unhappy,
Commits herself again to his rejection.
There seems no end to this; he leaves the country,
Flees from the desperate unnatural sister,
Founds a new city in a foreign land,
And then, they say, Byblis lost all her reason,
Tore at her garments, beat her arms, went crying
Her hopes for love forbidden, her lost hopes,
And leaves her country also and the home
She hates, pursuing still her flying brother.
As the Ismarian women, coming home
>From Bacchus' rites, have that wild look upon them,
So Byblis seemed to all the foreign people
Whose lands she wandered, wailing, Caria,
Lycia, past Mount Gagos, past Lymira,
Beyond the waves of Xanthus, to the mountain
Where the Chimaera lived, the triple monster,
Lioness, fire, and serpent. Even forests
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Failed Byblis here, and she was tired. She fell,
Hair streaming over the hard rocks, and kissing
The leaves she thought were there. They tried to raise her,
Nymphs from the mountainside, and tell her, often,
To cure her love, but all their consolation
Falls on deaf ears. She lies there, silent, tearing
The green herbs with her nails, and the soft grasses
Are moistened by her tears. They say the naiads
Hollowed a channel for those tears, unending:
What else was there to do? As the cut bark
Oozes its pitchy drops, or as ice trickles
To melting in the warm west wind and sunshine,
So Byblis in her tears became a fountain
Which bears her name today as it goes flowing
Under the somber oaks along that valley.
Her story might have filled the hundred cities
Of Crete, except that Crete, by then, was dwelling
On a new wonder of her own, the change
That came to Iphis.
There was a man from Phaestus,
Ligdus by name, free-born, but undistinguished,
By no means rich, save in his life and honor.
His wife was near her travail, and he told her:
"I want two things, an easy labor for you,
And a male child. A daughter is more trouble,
And we are poor. I hate this, but--forgive me,
I hate to say it, too--if it should be
A girl, let her be killed." They both were weeping,
And Telethusa over and over begged him
To be more merciful, but his heart was hardened.
Her time was very near, and the great burden
Almost too heavy for her, and at midnight
A dream or vision came, Inachus' daughter,
With all her train of votaries, and stood,
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Or seemed to stand, before her bed. The horns
Of the moon shone bright on her head, and ears of corn
Were golden bright in color, all her grace
Was royal: with her came the dog Anubis,
Holy Bubastis, and the mottled Apis
Harpocrates, the Silencer, with finger
Ever on lips; there were the sacred rattles,
The Egyptian asps, the god of the quest, Osiris.
She was aroused, saw them all plain, the goddess
Was speaking: "Telethusa, one of my own,
Be comforted: do not obey your husband,
And do not scruple, when your child is born,
To save it, boy or girl. I am a goddess,
Helper of those in need, and you will never
Have reason to complain of thankless worship."
She was gone, and Telethusa, happy, rose,
Raised her pure hands to heaven's stars, and prayed
Fulfillment for her vision.
And her pains
Grew sharp, and her womb's burden forced its way
To daylight, and the father did not know
He had a daughter. Telethusa told him
It was a boy, and gave the household orders
To rear and tend the child as boy, and no one
Knew better but the nurse. And Ligdus made
His proper vows, and gave the child a name,
Iphis, from his own father; Telethusa
Was glad, in that the name, of common usage
For boys and girls alike, would not commit her
To Iying when she spoke the name. The fraud,
Begun in natural affection, prospered;
No one was ever the wiser; the child Iphis
Dressed as a boy, and grew in grace, the features
Beautiful, whether boy's or girl's, no matter.
Now thirteen years had sped, and Ligdus found
A bride for Iphis, golden-haired Ianthe,
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Telestes' daughter, whom the Phaestian women
Praised for the lavish dower of her beauty.
They were of equal age, they both were lovely,
Had learned their ABC's from the same teachers,
And so love came to both of them together
In simple innocence, and filled their hearts
With equal longing, but they did not love
With equal hope: Ianthe waited, eager
For marriage and fulfillment; she is sure
The one she thinks a man will prove it to her
As husband; Iphis, dearly loving, knew
Love could not ever be enjoyed, and therefore
Loved all the more, a girl, a virgin, burning
For girl and virgin. She kept back her tears,
Or almost kept them back: "How will it end,"
She wondered, "when such love as no one ever
Has heard of, such a strange unnatural passion
Takes hold on me? If the gods wished to save me,
They should have saved me; if they wished my ruin,
They should have wished more natural ruin on me.
Heifers do not love heifers, nor mares in heat
Run after mares, but rams want ewes, and stags
Seek does, and birds mate so; in all the world
Of beasts no female ever takes a female!
I wish I were no girl. The land of Crete
Has had its share of monsters, that king's daughter
Who loved the bull--but that was male and female.
My passion, if the truth be told, is madder
Than hers was, and at least she had the hope
Of consummation, she enjoyed her lover
Through trick disguise, and her bull never knew it.
But what could all the cunning in the world
Do for me here? If Daedalus himself
Came back on waxen wings, how could he help me?
With all his craft could he make a girl a boy,
Could he change Ianthe somehow? Have some courage,
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Iphis, my dear, and pull yourself together.
Give up this foolishness: you were born woman,
No use deceiving yourself as well as others.
Seek what is proper, love as woman should.
It is hope that genders love, and hope that feeds it
And hope is what you do not have. No watchman
Keeps her away from your embrace, no husband
Is fearful of your suit, no cruel father,
And she would not refuse you, yet you cannot
Possess her, nor be happy, no, not even
If all things favored you, if gods and men
Worked to their utmost. Never a prayer of mine
Has been denied, the gods have been most gracious,
My father wants what I do, and her father
Wants what Ianthe does. There is only nature,
Stronger than all of them together, to hurt me.
The longed-for time has come, the wedding-day
Is near, and soon Ianthe will be mine
To have and not to have! Amid the waves
We die of thirst. Why do you come here, Juno,
Preposterous bridesmaid? Why do you come here, Hymen,
Where two brides wait, and never a bridegroom coming?"
And all this while Ianthe burned, imploring
That Hymen would come soon, but Telethusa,
Fearing what she desired, put off the marriage,
One way or another, a pretended illness,
An inauspicious dream, until her fictions
Were all exhausted. There was one day more.
The mother took the fillets off, her own,
Her daughter's, and, with flowing locks, was praying
Before the altar: "O Egyptian Isis,
Dweller by seven-horned Nile, bring help, I beg you,
Heal our anxieties! I can remember
Your symbols in my dreams, the clashing sounds,
The holy rattles, the votaries, the torches,
And I was careful to obey those orders.
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That Iphis, still, beholds the light, that I
Was never punished, that is all your doing,
Your wisdom and your gift. Pity us, help us,
The two of us, in our need." And as she wept,
The goddess seemed to move, the altar trembled,
The doors of the temple shook, the moon-shaped horns
Were darting light, and the noisy rattle sounded.
The mother left the temple, cheered a little,
If not entirely reassured, and Iphis
Was walking, in her usual way, beside her,
But taking, somehow, longer steps than usual,
With face not quite as shining, and she looked stronger,
The features not as soft, and the hair shorter,
The vigor less becoming to a woman.
She was no woman now, but a young bridegroom!
Bring offerings to the temples, bring them quickly,
Rejoice, be unafraid! They made their offerings,
Adding a brief inscription, one verse only:
The man has brought the gifts the woman promised.
And the next morning made the whole world brighter,
As Venus, Juno, Hymen, came together
To the marriage-fires, and Iphis had Ianthe.