The Lycian Peasants

Leto in the Wilderness
Artist Unknown

Mother to two of the greatest of the deities of Olympus, the Titaness Leto was a force to be reckoned with. Niobe had felt her dread wrath, and that of her brood. The daughter of the Titans Coeus and Phoebe, much of her origins were shrouded in the mysteries of Asia. Though when at last a maiden of Heaven she became, and the eyes of Zeus the Thunderer met her gaze, revealed at last was she. Hera, Queen of the gods, ever paranoid of the wandering affections of her consort, hounded Leto across the face of the Earth. Heavy with the seed of Zeus, Leto grew weary of the chase. Enraged, Hera ordered the Fates to forbid Leto to give birth on terra firma under the Sun. When at last the pains of labour struck, with nowhere else to turn, turned away by the vile words of Hera, the Titaness came to the island of Delos. Finding a measure of peace at last under the weeping boughs of a forgotten glade, the goddess fought that ungodly pain. First came forth Artemis, the lady of the moon and hunt. Nine days and nights the Titaness laboured still, until with the help of her daughter, a twin was brought into the world -  Apollo, god of light, healing and truth. Sympathetic nymphs, naiads and dryads had shielded Leto from the servants of Hera, but when the screams of the newborn deities pierced the skies, the lady of Olympus was made aware of them, and seethed with rage once more. Vowing never to give Leto rest, She sent forth all manner of dark creatures to hound her and her brood. Far and wide she fled, desperate for respite.

Leto Fountain, Palace of Versailles
Photograph taken by Daniel Gaudry

"At last, outwearied with the toil, and parched with thirst", the exhausted matriarch came to the arid and harsh land of Lycia, where once the fearsome Chimaera had once tread. A blasted land, with little verdance in its hills, the eyes of Leto spied a rare pool of crystal water. Parched with thirst, it played on her mind as the mirage does on the desert traveller. Shimmering in the light, the parched Titaness could resist no longer, and sped with all haste to its banks. Some of the rustic folk of Lycia were there at the lake's shores, reaping the bending osiers, the dank bulrushes and fragrant weeds. The Lycian folk, a people not known for their warmth of hospitality with strangers, eyed the stranger with deepest suspicion. A threatening buzz arose from within their wretched ranks, as Leto came in her approach. Wearied and near broken with toil, she eyed the peasants with more than a dash of humility. They angrily called out to her to stay away, and come not near the crystal waters, so wickedly opposing her primal need. Leto called out to them:


                   " Water I only ask, and sure 'tis hard
                      From Nature's common rights to be debarr'd,
                      This, as the genial sun, and vital air,
                      Should flow alike to ev'ry creature's share.
                      Yet still I ask, and as a favour crave,
                      That which, a public bounty, Nature gave... "
                             - LETO'S PLEA


Leto desperately invoked the pity of her newborn twins, yet still the fiendish folk would not desist, nor with vulgar words restrain. Young Apollo stretched out his arm in supplication, a mere baby, yet no more than his mother's word to the hearts of the Lycian peasants could it reach.

Feeling the pains of dehydration now, Leto moved to cup the crystalled water in her hands, but the dastardly folk spoiled her relief. Foul, abusive words they hurled, and worse still "with spiteful feet the villains trod, over the soft bottom of the marshy flood, and blacken'd all the lake with clouds of rising mud". A once crystal lake was now a murky depth, its purity defiled by the evil whims of a hostile crowd.

The Transfiguration of the Peasants
Painting by Johann Georg Platzer

Now the desperation of a Titaness turned to rage, as "her thirst by indignation was suppress'd". Vengeance coursed through her godly veins, all worries of hydration cast aside as the serpent sheds his skin. The frustrations of long chase, the pains of twin labour and the pangs of thirst mingled as Leto cast her gaze to the Heavens. "May you live, she passionately cry'd, doom'd in that pool for ever to abide". No sooner had her words of wrath left her parched lips, than the wretched folk dived into the pool, void of all shame. To the murky depths they plunged, and as swiftly as they fell, their last vestiges of humanity were gone. When next they pierced the crystal surface, no shouts of insults would come forth, but instead a hoarse croak. Wrenched wide by their bawling, their mouths grew cavernous; a mottled green, their backs. Seldom to see the light, their bellies grew a pale white, their eyes wide and alert. Men and women no more were they, but frogs, condemned forever to dwell within the mud...

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses: A New Verse Translation (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

United States

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

The Birth of Bacchus

Of all the Olympian deities at the head of the Classical Pantheon, one was something of an enigma among the rest. Dionysus, or Bacchus as the Romans knew him, had a curious pedigree. His mother was no grand spirit of the forest nor thundering deity, but an otherwise ordinary mortal woman. His father, on the other hand, was none other than Zeus the Thunderer, King of the Gods and son of the Titan Kronos. From this peculiar union came a peculiar child, brought forth in a most peculiar birth...

Jupiter and Semele
Painting by Sebastiano Ricci

Daughter of Cadmus, founder of the great city of Thebes and sower of the Dragon's Teeth, and Harmonia his wife, Semele lived a relatively ordinary life in the Boeotian countryside as a priestess of Zeus. That was, although, until the day came when after a sacrifice, she swam in the river Asopus. Far overhead, an eagle soared. Regal though the imperial bird was, its feathered form within concealed the true Emperor of the Sky. For no eagle it was in truth, but Zeus himself, come to collect his offering. But the eyes of an eagle are keen indeed, and from on high the Thunderer spotted the one from whom this offering had come. Under the gentle, glassy surface of the Asopus his baleful gaze pierced, and there his priestess he saw. Not for the first time nor the last did the Son of Kronos become ensnared by a mortal woman. Down to the earthly plain the thunderous monarch descended, and so began the affair that would spell her doom. No mortal yet had resisted the charms of Zeus, and hapless Semele would not be the first. The deed done, back to Olympus he retreated, assured of secrecy. Or so he thought.

Hera alone, Queen of the gods, ever watchful of the infidelities of her husband, scoured the earthly plain. Her feud with Semele's kin ran deep, for she "joy'd to see the race of Cadmus bleed; for still she kept Europa in her mind". A nameless spy in her league brought word to her that Semele, daughter of Cadmus was rich with the seed of a god, and carried in her womb a future god. Her paranoia and suspicions flared, and to terrible fury was she roused. "Are my reproaches of so small a force? 'Tis time I then pursue another course: It is decreed the guilty wretch shall die, if I'm indeed the mistress of the Sky". In the Classical World, the dark powers had no fury like a Hera scorned, and she concocted a vile stratagem in her vengeful mind, and vowed that Semele would die, and her slayer would be none other than Zeus himself.


In a golden cloud she descended to the Earth, coming to the gates of Semele's lodge. But no divine form did she take, but the wrinkled visage of Beroe, Semele's nurse. "In her trembling gait she totters on, and learns to tattle in the nurse's tone". Greeting oblivious Semele as only the special bond between nurse and child can, she was welcomed warmly into the daughter's house. Veiling her rage, Hera beguiled Semele with softly spoken stories and fables of old. Semele confided in her nurse the affair, and that she indeed bore the seed of Jove. If her veins of ichor thundered with anger, the goddess buried it deep within. She sowed doubt in Semele's mind, and asked how she could know that this man was indeed the Lord of Olympus. To test the veracity of her suspicion, the nurse proposed a simple test:


                  " Bid him, when next he courts the rites of your affection,
                    Descend triumphant from th' ethereal sky,
                    In all the pomp of his divinity,
                    Encompass'd round by those celestial charms... "
                         - HERA'S RUSE

The Birth of Bacchus
Painting by Nicolas Poussin

The unwary girl, snared on Hera's trap, was racked with doubt at what she said. Who was in truth the father of her as yet unborn child? She had to know, and would not rest until she knew. So when Zeus the father of gods and men came once more to the maiden's fold, Semele confronted him, though hid her ruse. She asked the Son of Kronos if she could have but one thing. Zeus replied "Whate'er you ask, may Styx confirm my voice, choose what you will, and you shall have your choice". Powerful indeed are the winds of Fate, for though mighty indeed was the ruler of Olympus, even he to Fate must bow, and to renege on a promise would be to overturn the cosmos in fire. He dare not refuse her request now. "Then", said Semele, "when next you seek my arms, may you descend in those celestial charms...". Zeus immediately felt a pang of dread, for no mortal could bear to look upon a god in his full glory, too fiery to behold to mortal eyes. He longed to defeat her call, but he had given his word and dare not refuse.

Bacchus Enthroned
Painting by Rubens

So resigned to his beloved's fate, Zeus the Thunderer rose to Olympus. "To keep his promise he ascends, and shrouds his awful brow in whirlwinds and in clouds; whilst all around, in terrible array, his thunders rattle, and his light'nings play". The Son of Kronos to him summoned all ethereal powers of the Heavens, the very essence of a god, the powers which wove the Universe together, the power to rend it asunder, the power to level mountains and the power to induce love and hate, the power to shatter pride and citadel alike, the power to melt the Earth and freeze the Sea, the power to give rise to live and the power to obliterate it all. To him now he called these things, there to show the true power of no mere god, but the god of gods himself. Worked up to holy fire and divine conflagration, radiating with power, "the illustrious god, descending from his height, came rushing on her in a storm of light". As the mightiest tidal wave summoned from Poseidon's depths crashes upon the lowliest shell upon the beach, the power of Zeus fell upon mortal Semele now. To feeble her frame, to weak her sight, even with eyes closed, in face of ageless omnipotence and thunder's fury, amidst all the wonders she desired Semele was consumed, her mortal form blasted asunder as Hera knew it would be. So her vile schemes bore the accursed fruit, for her rival had been undone by the adulterer himself.

Torn with grief, a tear dropped from the eye of Zeus, until through saddened sight he saw one ray of hope. A child, where once Semele stood, lonely and alive amid the destruction screaming lay. Spared his poor mother's fate, for within his veins flowed the life force of the father, Bacchus drew his first breath. Yet the boy was not yet fully formed. Nine cycles of the moon had not yet come to pass since his conception:


                 " But, to preserve his offspring from the tomb,
                   Jove took him smoking from the blasted womb:
                   and, of on ancient tales we may rely,
                   Inclos'd th' abortive infant in his thigh... "
                         - ZEUS TAKES THE INFANT BACCHUS


So the Thunderer took his son under his alas omnipotent wing. Months passed and Zeus felt a pain in his leg. Knowing the time had come, to the land of the Niseans he came, and from the thigh of Zeus was Bacchus born again, complete at last. To the care of their people the Thunderer placed the babe, where in peace and serenity he would be raised nurtured on Nisean milk. But the adventures of Bacchus had all but begun, and the rage of Hera was far from quenched...

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses: A New Verse Translation (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

United States

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

The Great Bear

To the curious and logical human mind, all things must have reason, some purpose and indeed some explanation for existence. It is the inquisitive nature of man to seek the answers to these. Where Science fails, Mythology steps in to take up the slack. Few things were, are, and will continue to be more mysterious than the very stars themselves...

Zeus Disguided and Callisto
Painting by François Boucher

When one day the World was settled upon its course, wide around its celestial dome trod Zeus the Thunderer, Lord of the Sky and god of gods. Across the Earth far below he raked his omniscient eyes, across mountains tall, oceans deep and plains vast. Over the fair, unspoiled meadows of Arcadia he oft enjoyed to cast his gaze, for there was no more idyllic land in all Greece. Just then, in the shade of some Arcadian grove, the Son of Kronos saw her, and he was afire. A nymph, reclining upon a tree, though no ordinary spirit of the forest. Simply clad, dressed for the hunt, hair tied, quiver slung and spear ready. Daughter of accursed Lycaon, her name was Callisto, and she was a loyal and chaste follower of Diana, the lady of the hunt and goddess of the moon.

The Sun far above the mortal plain waxed strong now, burning heat pounding Arcadian fields.  The young nymph had been sent panting to the grove, and flung herself now upon the cool grass. Far above, Zeus spied 'the charming huntress unprepar'd, stretch'd on the verdant turf, without a guard'. Wary of Hera's prying gaze, Zeus cast an anxious glance to and fro before his move he made.
Sensing that this one would no easy catch be, his form he shifted. King of all gods no more, he took the shape of the lady Diana herself, softening his regal features and relaxing his dread visage. In the huntress' voice he spoke "How fares my girl? How went the morning chase?" to whom chaste Callisto replied "All hail, bright deity, whom I prefer to Zeus himself". Closer by far was the Thunderer than she thought, to her soon to come regret. With warm words and embrace Zeus worked his charm until the form of Diana could no longer hold the god of all gods, and the truth at last was bared. But when has a mortal ever had the power, or the will to resist the master of the Heavens? "Possess'd at last of what his heart desir'd, Back to his Heav'ns, th' exulting God retir'd". Fair Callisto, poor Callisto, rising from the grass that failed as her respite, with cast down eyes awash with shame as much as tears, flew from the guilty place, almost leaving her bow behind, such her haste.

Diana and Callisto unveiled
Painting by Titian

But now Diana, the fiercely virgin goddess, returned to the glade, close in tow her hunter's train. The oblivious goddess called to Callisto, who when she saw her mistress, quaked with fear. Suspecting some other fraud, some deception of the flesh, she trod carefully, flushed in her face. Terror cursing her every step, she joined the parade, her defilement to all others yet concealed.

Nine months in the world of men passed, until a warm day once more came to pass. Diana wiped the sweat from her heavenly brow, and commanded her maids to join her in the bathe, the sentinel careful to see that no prying eye might look upon them in their modesty. All maids comply, all joyful but one. For when they as one cast their tunics aside, the plight of Callisto was revealed, her form swollen with child. The eyes of Diana flashed dangerously. Wrath burned through her veins, and in that moment, Tartarus had no fury more terrible than hers. "Begone!" the goddes cried with outrage, "Begone! nor dare the hallow'd stream to strain". Tears streaming from her eyes, writhing with injustice, Callisto fled for her life, forever banished from Diana's presence.

Far above Hera, Queen of the gods, heard the commotion, and the nymph's cries. Long had she bided her time, awaiting the moment when she might punish her husband for his infidelities, and her rage she now directed upon the nymph with whom he had lain. To fire her more, the pains of labour struck Callisto now, as the fruit of Zeus' advance was born. A flash of lightning and Hera's wrath was vented upon the nymph. Sensing some dark craft, Callisto raised her hands in mercy, but before her eyes, her arms grew thick and shaggy with hair, her nails warped and stretched into evil claws:


               'Her hands bear half her weight, and turn to paws;
                her lips that once cou'd tempt a god,
                begin to grow distorted in an ugly grin .
                And, lest the supplicating brute might reach
                The ears of Jove, she was depriv'd of speech:
                Her surly voice thro' a hoarse passage came
                In savage sounds...'
                   - CALLISTO CURSED


Her form twisted to that of a towering and ferocious bear, but her mind remaining, she begged of Zeus for aid, desperate now, but all that came forth was an echoing roar that caused birds to flee the canopies in fear. How such fear flew within her now, with such dread she though of roaming the meadows she once called her own, with blinding terror from her own hounds she fled, thinking to avoid poor Actaeon's fate. How she felt for her father Lycaon now, their forms both horribly mutated now, one by Zeus, one by the deeds of Zeus.

Fifteen long summers passed on the earthly plain, and the son of Callisto was growing into a mighty boy. Like his mother before him he was skilled at the hunt, and from her he had taken fine reflexes and a deadly aim. Conqueror of the plains vast and mountains high, to the depths of the forest he stalked in search of prey. By chance he came across his mother where she lay, broken hearted and overflowing with sorrow. One eyelid flickered, and she caught sight of the hunter. Fondly she gazed, 'she knew her son, and kept him in her sight'. She moved to approach, eager to embrace the boy she long thought lost. But a cruel hand had Hera dealt, for only fright rippled through the boy, as a rampaging bear he saw toward him bound. He nocked an arrow on his bow and pulled it tight, aiming at his own mother's heart...

But it was then that Zeus the Thunderer, hidden from Callisto for so many years by Hera, saw at last the scene below. Fifteen years of guilt and pity boiled to their head, and anger at Hera's callous spite. The string of the bow strained, and the boy's grip began to loose. A lone tear welled in the eye of the bear. But Zeus forbade this crime, and with all godly haste he flashed down to the earth, taking both mother and son into his grasp. Looking to his own domain, the son of Kronos fixed them both in the vault of the sky to watch forever over the cosmos, forever united side by side. The mother, the Great Bear, came over time to be called by the Latin race Ursa Major, the son Ursa Minor, and still today can both be seen clearly in the night sky. But Hera looked above too, and saw her rival glowing among the stars, and burned with rage anew. To Oceanus, the Titan of the seas, she turned. Oceanus welcomed the Queen of the gods, and begged of her the reason for her unusual visit. Hera commanded Oceanus to never grant Callisto or her kin the simple pleasure of water, that they might never meet the surface of his domain. That is why Ursa Major and Ursa Minor never sink below the horizon...

Ursa Major - The Great Bear

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses: A New Verse Translation (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

United States

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

The Trident and the Spear

Every city which rises to greatness does so from humble beginnings. So high can a nation rise that so mythic can her origins seem. Every great thing, be it a nation, a person, even an idea, has to start somewhere. To our ancestors of old, greatness was a sure sign of favour from on high. For the hand of a god must surely have been at work when one of the most influential cities in human history, for better or worse, was born.

Athena
2nd century AD Roman bust  from Velletri

The Olympians had fought a terrible fight for mastery of the Cosmos. Their forefathers and creators of the Universe, the Titans had not yielded their divine grip easily. After so great a struggle, the harmony of the World was worth more than anything to the gods, even to Zeus the Thunderer, King of the gods and Lord of the Sky. Now fidelity was one thing that Zeus the Thunderer knew not, and many a hero of the ancient world owed his existence to the philandering adventures of the god of gods. It was little surprise therefore, when Zeus undertook a clandestine affair with the beautiful Titaness Metis. However, when the Fates prophesied that the child of Metis would be mightier in spirit and wiser in understanding than its father, Zeus the father of gods and men was convulsed with fear. Long ago, his father Kronos had heard similar words, with dire consequences. The Heavens had groaned under the Titanomachy, and could ill afford so ruinous a war for a second time. So Zeus the Thunderer decided on a little evil for a greater good. Weaving his divine powers of transfiguration, the shape of Metis he shifted to that of a common fly, and the god swallowed her whole, so that she may never give birth to this legendary child.

Time passed, but troubles did not for the Lord of Olympus. As the days grew late, a terrible pain struck the god inside. What began as an ache inside his royal head, soon swelled to a pounding agony that would not die. Time soon came when even the Thunder himself, conqueror of Typhon and Heaven could bear the torment no more, and summoned to his side Hephaestus, the god of the forge and weaver of fire. "Take up thy hammer and rend asunder this head that pains me so, lest this torture afflict me for all the ages to come", said Zeus. The lame god of the smith stood dumbstruck by this command - split open the head of Zeus? But the father of gods and men was inexorable, and irresistible. So Hephaestus took up his hammer and tongs, and with a mighty strike, he breached the Divine Crown. A roar of thunder and a flash of light rolled over the skies. Then, in a blur of speed an apparition appeared. From the fissures in the skull of Zeus there leapt a figure, strongly built yet distinctly feminine, agile yet fully armed, wise yet ready for war, a new goddess entered the cosmos. Athena, goddess of wisdom, mistress of stratagem, lady of the spear and patron of heroes.

Around this time, far below on the mortal plain, the tribes of Attica came together under their King, Cecrops. Born of Mother Earth herself, Cecrops taught the Atticans the still young arts of reading and writing, of literature, of burial and brought the institution of marriage to the tribesmen. Civilisation as we know it, was being born. Soon, however, the simple villages of Attica groaned under the advance of the people, and a new home was needed. Under the leadership of their vibrant King, the Atticans set off through the harsh landscape of Attica, where open plains give way to beaten rock. After a time they came to a place in the West, largely flat yet punctuated by towering pinnacles of rock. The sea lay yonder, yet wise Cecrops knew that to build their new city on the shore itself was too dangerous in an era of rampant piracy on the high seas. Away from the shore then, yet near enough for trade, the people set foot upon a mount with a commanding position over the plain and the sea. Here would be founded their new city, and grandiose would it be. But every new city needed a patron god, but who?

Poseidon
The Artemision Bronze

Word reached Olympus of the gathering under Cecrops upon the Mount. Just then,  the Fates declared that the city that would be founded upon that place would rise to a greatness rivalling the best of all Greece. Glory and honour would walk hand in hand to whomsoever should become her patron. A frenzy gripped Mount Olympus, and the all the divine array wondered. Two among them immediately took the floor. Athena, ever ready with sharpened word and thought, leapt to her newborn feet. But Poseidon, god of the sea, shaker of the earth and lord of horses, bowed to few. Even Zeus himself, King of all gods kept a close eye on his ambitious younger brother, for most vexed was Poseidon when he lost the Heavens in the division of the cosmos. Torn between loyalty to his brother, however unruly, and care for his daughter, despite the danger she posed as his successor, Zeus decreed that the people should decide the patron of their city. Immediately, the two deities spirited down from Olympus and made landfall upon the mountain. With a blinding flash and a roar of thunder, the people cowered at the sight of the divine array. Fearful lest they choose one over the other, the people knew not what to do. Cecrops their King, however, decided. Turning to his gods, he declared that the patronage of the new city would belong to the one who presented the greatest gift to it. Poseidon and Athena, uncle and niece, eyed each other, and readied their contest.

The Sea of Olives, Delphi
Photograph taken by the author

Both god and goddess, stood aside the towering pinnacles of the Acropolis, poised for the prize of glory. Poseidon, shaker of the Earth, took the first move. Raising his mighty Trident high into the air, with a rush of godly strength he plunged the three blades into the mountain side. A deafening rumble rippled across the Earth, and the people were thrown to the ground, terrified. There, where the central prong penetrated the summit (a place today commemorated by the Erechtheion), the wounded rock spat forth a spring of water thick with brine. The Emperor of all Oceans granted to the people the gift of the sea itself, and the assurance that one day they would master it. A fabulous gift indeed. Next the virgin goddess stepped forth. The eyes of Athena looked into the souls of all mortals present, and she senses their hopes and fears. Confident, and unyielding, the daughter of Zeus took up her spear and flung it into the mount. The people watched, entranced, for before their eyes the lance began to shift. The wooden shaft lengthened and broadened, from the blade branches sprang forth, rich with the bounty of its dark fruit. To the people Athena gave the gift of the humble olive tree. Poseidon looked on, bemused and anxious.

Athens at her height
Painting by Leo von Klenze

The primordial Athenians looked on the lowly sprig with wonder and amazement, as the goddess instilled some of her divine wisdom in their minds. Cecrops beckoned his people round to cast their vote. Poseidon's gift was mighty indeed, as was his promise. Mastery of the Ocean? 'Tis the dream of empires! A great destiny had been given to them. But that all looked a long way off to the primitive people, as they looked to and fro, and saw naught but barren rock. One citizen splashed some of the water over his face, and recoiled at its salty taste. The people turned to the sapling, Athena's gift. One fellow took a blackened grape from its boughs, and crushed it in his hands, and oil splashed across his palm. Into his mouth he tossed the olive and pleasing was its taste. Seeing the thick and robust trunk too, he saw the greatness of Athena's gift. Poseidon had given them a taste of great nations, but Athena had given them a source of food, of wood and oil, and something they could trade with others. The people sank to their knees with joy, and hurled themselves at the foot of Athena, daughter of Zeus and maiden of Olympus. Poseidon, god of the seas, was infuriated, but his niece had won the day. Cecrops declared Athena the one true patron of their new city. He declared that this place, the Acropolis, would ever be sacred to her. He declared too, that in her honour the city would be named. To the roar of approval from the first Athenians, he named the city. Athens, the glory of Athena...



United Kingdom

The Library of Mythology:
Library of Mythology
(A vast collection of the myths of old Greece, written in ancient times, and a great intro)

United States

The Library of Mythology:
Library of Mythology
(A vast collection of the myths of old Greece, written in ancient times, and a great intro)

Hyacinthus

Envy is a terrible thing. It tears friendships asunder, levels cities and topples nations. An emotion the gods of the pagan world were no less susceptible to than their human subjects. Mortality was never a barrier to jealously, as the curse to never be content with one's lot in life afflicted the Olympians as much as men. Sometime the gods even envied their own worshippers. Here is the story of one.

Zephryus the West Wind
Painting by William-Adolphe Bouguereau

Long ago, before the high days of ancient Greece, in the days before even Agamemnon the High King, the city state of Sparta was in its infancy. Long before the days when Spartans reigned inexorable on land, the richly destined city was little more than a village, deep in the valley of the Eurotas in the shadow of Mount Taygetus. King Amyclas ruled over a modest realm of simple folk, pious and rustic. One day a boy was born to the royal house of Sparta, Prince Hyacinthus was his name. Joy erupted in verdant Sparta, and Spartans far and wide flocked to catch a glimpse of the handsome Prince. Spartan mothers were swift to sing the praises of the boy's beauty, Spartan fathers of the strength in his arms. Not even the Olympians were blind to the event, all celebrating the birth of such a fine heir, and the great grandson of Zeus the Thunderer himself. The spirits of the cosmos were no less taken, and one above others, Zephryus the lord of the West Winds. In the days of the Classical World, it was the societal practice for an older man to take a young boy under his wing, and teach him the ways of the world, free from the constraints and biases of the boy's family. No less so at Sparta, renowned for this custom. The West Wind took a shine to the boy, and moved to greet the Prince.

Apollo & Hyacinthus
Painting by Jean Broc

But it was the golden rays of the Sun which smiled most fondly upon the Prince. Apollo the keen eyed archer, father of the arts, was smitten at once with the Spartan Prince, and moved without delay. "Phoebus Apollo for thee too, Hyacinth, design'd a place among the Gods, had Fate been kind...". In Hyacinthus Apollo 'plac'd his Heav'n, and fix'd his joy". The Sun shone brighter than ever before on the golden valley of the Eurotas, and the Spartans bathed in warmth. The god's hands forgot the string of the bow and chords of the harp, as Apollo's mind was turned to the Spartan Prince. All the while the West Wind blew a gentle breeze, Zephryus pursuing young Hyacinthus, eager to take the boy under his celestial wing. But young Hyacinthus, awed by the light, turned to Apollo of the golden mount. Phoebus Apollo was overwhelmed with joy, delight that his should be the fate of the Spartan Prince. Meanwhile Zephryus lurked in despair and grief, soon to turn to envy and wrath.


Sunlight flooded Eurotas, as Apollo and Hyacinthus ran in the ancient plains. The wisdom of a god Hyacinthus gained from Apollo, the innocence of youth Apollo from Hyacinthus. Then came a day, a day of days, when Hyacinthus was old enough to learn the ways of a man. To the young Prince Apollo yearned to teach the feats of the martial body and of athletic glory. To the noble sport of the discus the sun god turned, a majestic sport for a Spartan boy, to build good strength and competitive spirit. Hyacinthus marvelled at the golden disc, as though the Sun obeyed Phoebus in his hand. Apollo bade the boy watch him well, and took a deep breath and poised for the throw. Divine sinews groaned, and godly muscles unfurled for the feat. With a cry,

 " A well-pos'd disk first hasty Phoebus threw,
   It cleft the air, and whistled as it flew;
   It reach'd the mark,a  most surpising length;
   Which spoke an equal share of art, and strength.
   Scarce was it fall'n, when with too eager hand
   Young Hyacinthus ran to snatch it from the sand... "
          - APOLLO'S DEADLY THROW

The Death of Hyacinthus
Painting by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo

Awed by the supernatural throw, swift footed Hyacinthus ran in pursuit, eager to fetch the discus for his master. To the young Prince the sun god called, but in vain, for Hyacinthus alas could not be swian. Zephryus the Western Wind, his jealousy raw, took a deep breath and blasted raw. The wind then blew the discus from the straight and true, and Apollo looked on, helpless as the mighty disk, flew now a weapon of death. The metallic star slammed into Hyacinthus' head, and with a scream of final innocence, the boy fell to the land, never to rise again. The West Wind smiled in spiteful malice. Apollo shouted in disbelief, and ran over to the dying youth. The coldness spread through the Spartan Prince, and the light left his eyes, as Phoebus Apollo raised his head to the stars and wailed his grief. Taking the nearby herbs of Taygetus, he to the lethal wound vainly applied. "The wound is mortal, and his skill defies". Just as a wilting lily lowers its head, so too now Hyacinthus bowed to Death.

But Apollo would not his Fate accept. "O thou art gone, my boy, Apollo cry'd, defrauded of thy youth in all its pride!". Not now would Hades take his fill, not from so fair a spirit so cruelly snuffed out. "On my tongue thou shalt forever dwell; thy name my lyre shall sound, my verse shall tell". In that moment the sun gods power the young body transfigured. Youthful Prince white in the clutches of Death no more, now a beautiful flower, as yet unnamed, blood from the fatal wound, its petals coloured, mingled with the tears of the god of the Sun. Forever, Apollo decreed, would it bear the boys name. The flower we call Hyacinth today...


United Kingdom

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses: A New Verse Translation (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

United States

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

The Blood of Adonis

Many a time in ancient lore did a mortal fall afoul of the gods, for offences slight or grievous. Often did the Olympians strike back with overwhelming vengeance, so as to discourage insubordination in the future, and preserve the pristine honour of Heaven. But just sometimes, that vengeance rebounded upon its creator, and gods would know the pain of mortals. The story of Adonis is one such example.

The Birth of Adonis
Painting by Marcantonio Franceschini

There was once Cinyras on the throne of Assyria, with his adoring Queen Cenchreis. The family had just one heir, their young daughter, Princess Myrrha. As they watched their daughter grew, the Royal Family and the Assyrians marvelled at her beauty. Some called it Heaven bestowed. Others good fortune. But when the time came when Myrrha came of age, Queen Cenchreis proudly boasted that her daughter's beauty surpassed even that of Venus herself. A glowing compliment for a daughter. A blasphemous offence to a goddess. High on Mount Olympus, the goddess heard her. Never had so terrible a wrath been wrought upon so innocent a crime. Such fury behind the fair face of Heaven's most beloved daughter. The goddess' righteous fury sped down from Olympus as a flash of lightning, delivering forbidden passion into the mind of the Princess. Venus condemned her, rebounding her natural passion upon her own family, and thereafter she would forever have eyes for only her father. Overcome with frenzied passion, disguised by her loyal maids, Myrrha pursued her father with all her energy, employing every trick of deception to fool him of her true identity. Dark was the hour of man when at last she caught her quarry. The following day, when King Cinyras discovered the identity of his seducer, he tore the sword from his scabbard and pursued her, devastated and outraged by her perverse corruption.

Maddened by grief and the affliction that cursed her mind, Myrrha resolved to end her life. She had just prepared the rope from which she would swing when her handmaiden stayed her hand. High on Olympus, Vengeful Venus at last knew pity, and decided to end her suffering. At the goddess' command, the Princess shifted and became a beautiful tree. Ever after mortals would call it the fairest in the grove, the most beautifully scented, the myrrh tree.

The Birth of Venus
Painting by  Nicolas Poussin

Eight months passed, and the world it seemed, lay in peace. Then, on the ninth, the tree burst asunder, revealing a baby boy who would be the envy of all men - Adonis. Pity still afflicted Venus, but when she cast her godly eye over the myrrh tree, all was forgotten when she saw the boy. Knowing immediately that he would grow to become the most handsome man who ever lived, she was at once obsessed with the boy. Fearing for harm that may come to the boy, she bound him in an adamant casket and entrusted it to Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, for there was no safer place than the Underworld, where all the bounty of the Earth ultimately hails. For many a year, young Adonis grew up and grew strong away from the light, but safe.

Adonis in glory
Painting by Benjamin West

Time soon passed, and a boy he was no more. Venus made the journey to reclaim the boy, but found trouble lay ahead. For Persephone fell immediately for Adonis' astonishing beauty, and had no intention of relinquishing her charge. But when Venus saw Adonis, man at last, she was stunned. The goddess of love felt her own power take hold of her, as Cupid's arrow struck her with irresistible force - a thing never to happen before. Profane love indeed, for Adonis was a cursed man. Conceived through incest, a violation of nature, the Fates had spun a finite thread for the fairest of all men. Both goddesses quarrelled intensively over him, until Jupiter the Thunderer, lord of Heaven and Earth, was forced to intercede. The King of the Gods ruled that for Adonis, the year would be divided three ways. Four months he would spend in the Underworld with Persephone, four with Venus, and four were to be given to him to do as he will. Both goddesses bowed at this compromise and eagerly prepared for their turn.

Venus and Adonis
Painting by Francois Lemoyne

Over time, however, it became apparent to which goddess Adonis himself preferred. Having grown up neverknowing the feel of the sun, the touch of grass nor the sound of birds singing, he could not wait to escape the world of Underland. The four precious months of his very own he therefore decided to spend with Venus too. Persephone fumed in Hades, Venus rejoiced on Earth. Many an hour did man and goddess spend together walking the pastures and forests of the Earth. A naturally athletic man, Adonis took to hunting, a noble pastime for men of the age. Soon both men and gods began to envy him. Mortal men longed for his looks and his muscles. Gods resented the affections of a goddess directed at a mortal. Jealous of Venus, Persephone revealed the affair to Mars, god of war and deeply smitten with Venus. Furious, the lord of battles and bloodshed plotted his vengeance on this upstart mortal. But far down on the Earth, Venus and Adonis were oblivious to all others, each perfect in all ways. Venus liked to watch Adonis hunt, but feared for him as his quarries grew mightier and mightier in stature. Eventually, fearing for his safety, she begged him not to hunt the wildest and most dangerous beasts. "Thus cautious Venus school'd her fav'rite boy; but youthful heat all cautions will destroy... his sprightly soul beyond grave counsels flies..."

The Death of Adonis
Painting by Luca Giordano

One hot summer's morning, Adonis awoke bright and early for the day's hunt. As the Sun rose higher in the day, the dogs caught a strange new scent, barking loudly. Adonis, eagerness peaked by the sound, seized his spear and set off on the chase into the scrub. The smell of sweat drew the hounds near, and there the object of his hunt lay. A mighty boar, powerfully built and sharply tusked, stood defiantly in the forest clearing. As soon as Adonis looked upon it, he was overcome with an urge to hunt it, claim it as the trophy of his prizes. No finer a beast had ever he seen, let alone caught. Some magic or other ill was at work that day, as thirst for glory drove the warnings of his beloved far from his mind. With a heart of valour, Adonis lifted his faithful spear, and with the strength of a hunter of prodigious skill, he hurled the metalled barb at the beast. A strange boar this war, for boar it was not. Shadow covered the glade, and in that moment the deception was laid bare. It was no common boar, nor any other beast of game, for there lay the war god himself in disguise. Terror chill gripped Adonis. Too late did he recall the words of Venus, and he turned to run. But one does not attack a god without consequence:


            " The trembling boy by flight his safety sought,
              and now recall'd the lore, which Venus taught;
              but now too late to fly the boar he strove,
              who in the groin his tusks impetuous drove,
              On the discolour'd grass Adonis lay,
              The monster trampling o'er his beauteous prey... "
                   - MARS' REVENGE

The Adonis River
Photograph taken by Adrien Valentine

A piercing scream rent the air apart and echoed through the valleys. To the godly bone it chilled Venus. Knowing all too well the voice, her heart froze. Fear gripped her fair body, an emotion few gods could say they knew, a terrible sensation at all times, yet worse when it is new. Immediately she sped to his side, as quietly Mars triumphantly stole away into the forest. Blood leaked from the tusk wound in the boy's side, and deathly was his pallor. Gentle groans emanated from his lips, tears from the eyes of Venus. The blood of Adonis ran through the nectar of the flowers, and where the droplets fell upon the earth, the anemone burst into life, brimming with colour. The river near where he lay ran red for many ages after, and to this day bears his name. So the curse of Adonis' family came to pass, and the ultimate revenge of Myrrha upon her tormentor. Ever after was Venus broken, though nine months later, she too gave birth, this time to daughter, Beroe. It is after this daughter that the city of Beirut is named...

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses: A New Verse Translation (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

United States

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

The Flute and the Flayed

Ancient lore is ripe with tales of gods and monster, heroes and heroines and their wars, affairs and voyages. Oft is fate written in the stars, virtue praised and pride punished. When mortals rise above their stations, they are punished. But the divine powers are flawed too. Sometimes even the gods could go too far...

Athena
2nd Century AD Roman copy of a Greek original

Legend says that a long time ago, in the Golden Age of the Olympians and heroes, the goddess Athena, daughter of Zeus the Thunderer, was wandering in the sunny vales of the forest of Phrygia. The goddess' chaste ears pricked up at the sound of the birdsong in the breeze, a soothing accompaniment to the percussion of the rustling leaves. Filled with a peculiar joy, she was filled with a passion to make merry in the forest. Taking from the leaf strewn earth the bones of a young doe, the goddess fashioned from them a strange instrument. Whittling a series of pipes from the matter, she lashed them together and considered her new craft. With a modest intrigue, she placed the pipes to her mouth and blew. What a fair sound it was indeed; a soft vibration, a gentle melody and hypnotising note. Spurred on, bolstered by the music of the forest, the virgin goddess could scarcely put them down. Soon her absence was noted on the snowy peaks of lofty Olympus, and gossip flew to and fro, from scheming god and intrigued goddess. All too happy to share her new art, Athena proposed to show them all the sweet sounds at a lavish banquet in Heaven's Halls.


The eve came and the resplendent array of the skies awaited, fascinated by what was to come. When the moment came, the goblets were empty, the ambrosia consumed, the goddess rose to her feet. Brimming with excitement and nerves, she began to play. In the beginning, all was well, as the dulcet tune serenaded the divine array, and seldom were such sweet tones heard in the Palace of Olympus. Zeus the father of gods and men looked merrily on, proud of his daughter's talents. Hephaestus, master of the forge, sat entranced by the music so seldom heard in the roar of the furnace. Ares, lord of war, for whom the screams of the dying were oft his cadence, could scarce hide his delight. But it was then that the eyes of Pallas Athena saw Hera and Aphrodite. Far from listening with rapture, it was with a fits of laughter they returned her song. Though fair and noble, terrible could be the warrior maiden's fury. In anger she departed, seeking solace in the wilderness. When strolling the paths of the Forest of Ida, she stopped by a great pool of glassy water, her joy poisoned by doubt. She took up the pipes once more, and for the last time did she play. In the soft ripples of the water did she see her image cast, and within was held the revelation she sought. She had not noticed until now that as she played, she puffed her cheeks out proudly, their oft white complexion soon a crimson red. Frustrated by the immaturity of her fellow goddesses, with whom she bore a ruinous rivalry, she cast her creation aside. Laying upon the pipes a curse, she vowed calamity upon whomsoever should play them again. Woe that her malediction should have found a mark.

Marsyas in the Forest
Painting by Pyotr Basin

One day, when the memory of the pipes had passed into legend, there lived a shepherd who made Forest of Ida his serene home. His name was Marsyas the son of Oeagrus, and no man was he, but a Satyr. A servant of the god Bacchus, the Satyrs lived a merry life of revelry, dancing and song, frequently spreading havoc and drunken anarchy where their cloven feet trod. Marsyas, however, possessed a gentler spirit, preferring the solitude of the forest to the chaos of the plains. There came a day, however, that neither the Satyr nor the forest would ever forget. Stumbling upon a clearing in the thick canopy of the trees, where lay a crystal pool of ice cool water, Marsyas stopped to refresh. Throwing the pleasant water over his face, he gave a sigh of satisfaction, droplets from his tangled beard breaking the mirror like reflection of the surface. Turning to dry his face, however, he spotted a strange yet curious thing cast in the bushes at the water's edge. Stained with earth and covered in moss, it seemed a relic of an ancient past. Picking the strange object up, the Satyr, acquainted as all Satyrs are with the ways of merriment, realised at once that it bore the form of an instrument. Scraping aside the grime and muck, dousing it in the clear water, he saw the simple pipes in their fresh glory.


Tentatively, the Satyr put the pipes to his lips and blew. The note was rough, but charming. He blew again. Better, but a shade of the performance of the instruments original creator. For an age did Marsyas obsess over the pipes, unable to resist the allure he could not explain, the will to keep playing. Throughout the hours when the sun drenches the Earth did the Satyr practice anew, studious and assiduous. Day by day the Satyr's prowess grew, and with his talent came music sweeter than ever before. Birds began to perch upon nearby boughs, listening intently to Marsyas' song, the notes fairer even than their own. Creatures and being from far and wide began to marvel at the Satyr's song, but before long the curse began to manifest. Pride, the ruin of the great, wove its intoxicating spell in the Satyr's mind, as his humility could deflect the shower of praise no more. Time passed, and soon Marsyas declared himself a musician beyond compare in the world. The fatal hour arrived when the Satyr challenged Apollo, the god of music himself, to a contest.


High on Olympus, Apollo heard his challenge, and the god was angered by the daring of a mortal. Soaring down from the frozen summit, Phoebus Apollo came before Marsyas, and the admiring crowds scattered in fear and awe. Shaking with rage, Apollo declared the contest begun. The Muses, the spirits of the arts, were summoned to judge, and the terms were set. Whoever showed the greater mastery of music would triumph, and the victor won the right to treat the defeated as he pleased. Alas that Marsyas was deaf to the subtle warning that lay veiled within, as the curse brandished its edge, and the proud Satyr accepted. The stage was set. Marsyas took the pipes his beloved pipes, Apollo the lyre with which he was so skilled. The god played first. What ambience the grove had never known! With each pluck of the god's fingers upon the strings, soothed was the soul of all beings present, and the Muses sighed in awe of their master. When the god finished his piece, all gathered saw the end coming for the Satyr. But Marsyas, spurred on by the curse, boldly raised the pipes to his lips. With a jolt the gathered assembly was stunned into silence. With each honey soaked note, the very forest itself seemed to sing, vibrating with raw power. All earthly woes lay distant and forgotten for all mortals there that day, and warmed were the hearts of the Muses. Incensed by fire, alas, was the heart of Apollo. Just as the Satyr neared the boundary of the grove, victory near at hand, the god called to him. If the Satyr could play as he could now, Apollo would concede defeat. Intrigued, yet proud, Marsyas agreed. Without delay did the sun god spin his lyre around, striking a haunting melody, his instrument upside down. The Muses, delighted, applauded the god's performance, before turning to Marsyas, expectant. With a glint of malice in his eye, well did Apollo know that it was impossible to play the pipes upside down. Too late did the Satyr realise this too. His mouth went dry with terror, as the judges were struck with disappointment. To the son of Zeus was triumph assigned, and to the Satyr, ignoble defeat

Marsyas Flayed
Painting by Titian

Near dumbstruck, the Satyr watched helplessly as the god approached, vengeance that only a god could muster flaming in his eyes. Poor Marsyas searched for words but none could be found, none to quench the fire before him now. Hands grabbed him from all around, and terror flooded his veins. Thus was begun a punishment terrible to behold. Strapped to a nearby oak was the quivering Satyr, and tightly bound. The servants of Apollo seized their blades and descended upon poor Marsyas.







                  " 'Why do you tear me from myself, he cries?
                     Ah cruel! Must my flesh be made the prize?
                     This for a mere pipe?' He roaring said,
                     Meanwhile the skin from off his limbs were flay'd.
                     All bare, and raw, one large continu'd wound,
                     With streams of blood his body bath'd the ground.
                     The blueish veins their trembling pulse disclos'd,
                     The stringy nerves lay naked and expos'd;
                     His guts appear'd, distinctly each express'd,
                    With ev'ry shining fibre of his breast... "
                      - THE PUNISHMENT OF MARSYAS


His muffled screams were the last song of Marsyas, raw muscle and tendon bare to the elements now. Such was the justice of Apollo, so great the price of a mortal daring to raise himself above a god.

But not all beings shared Apollo's wrath. The fauns, silvans, nymphs, naiads and spirits of the forest, once serenaded by the Satyr's song, came to his mutilated corpse. Tears flowed from their eyes at their gaping loss, the knowledge that his pure song might never woo them again. It is said that even vengeful Apollo himself was later moved to regret, and not readily did he string his lyre in ages to come, remorseful of his act. "With their tears that flow'd, a kindly moisture on the earth bestow'd, that soon, conjoin'd, and in a body rang'd, sprung from the ground, to limpid water chang'd; which, down thro' Phrygia's rocks, a mighty stream, comes tumbling to the sea, and Marsya is its name..."

Like poor Actaeon before him, Marsyas felt the terrible fate of stumbling innocently in the path of a god. It was the folly of a fool to violate the laws of Heaven, but to challenge them openly, why only those blind to all other things would dice with such death. Nevertheless, even in the ancient world there were many who questioned the magnitude of poor Marsyas' punishment...

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses: A New Verse Translation (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

United States

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)