The White Raven

Coronis
Painting by Adam Elsheimer

Though a beautiful land of vast plains and towering mountains, Thessaly, in northern Greece, held a dread curse over her ruling house. The house of Phlegyas was damned by Olympus, as the King of the Thessalian Lapith tribe had blasphemed terribly against the most high. Both children of Phlegyas would feel the wrath of gods. The King's son, Ixion, dared vengeance upon Zeus himself, and was now condemned to be bound to a wheel of fire that roared through the vaults of Heaven until the end of times. The fate of the King's daughter, Coronis, hung in the balance...

The maiden of Larissa, the hand of Coronis was sought after far and wide, by mortal, and immortal. But far from winning the hand of any earthly prince, she won something more - the heart of the Sun god himself, Apollo the son of Zeus. While travelling with her father to the land of the Epidaurians deep in the Argolid, when alone one night, the son of Zeus came down to her from on high. Finding the Thessalian princess alone from her kin, out of sight and out of earshot, the god made his strike. Coronis, overwhelmed by the glory of an immortal god, succumbed to the allure of the son of Zeus.

Some months passed, and soon time bore witness to the swell in the belly of the Larissan maid. Apollo, son of Zeus and lord of light, rejoiced at the coming of his child. Commanding his faithful servant, a raven of purest white, he bade the bird keep watch on Coronis, and bring tidings of her to Olympus. Down to the earthly plain it flew, a glimmer of white, for in those days of old the raven was as white as the first winter snow, and 'soft as the swan'.


              " But his own bird the raven chanc'd to find
                The false one with a secret rival joyn'd
                Coronis begg'd him to suppress the tale,
                But could not with repeated pray'rs prevail "
                     - THE RAVEN UNCOVERS THE INFIDELITY OF CORONIS


Grim were the tidings indeed, for it seemed the absence of Apollo had hit Coronis hard. The Thessalian princess had since fallen for Ischys, a Thessalian boy, and it was her meeting with the lad that the snowy raven caught sight of now. Cold dread flooded him icier than the snows like which he seemed. The raven agonised over what to do, should he defend his master's honour, and furiously peck the stranger away? Should he chastise Coronis for dishonouring the father of her unborn child? Should he do nothing? At length, the mischievous nature of the raven took flight, and the snowbird soared to the skies, hurtling to the Kingdom of the Sun.


            " The raven to her injur'd patron flew,
               And found him out, and told the fatal truth
              Of false Coronis and the favour'd youth "
                   - THE RAVEN REVEALS CORONIS

Terrible was the fury of the god, cuckolded by a mere mortal, and worse, when the lady was with his child. All colour drained the Sun god's ever youthful complexion bar the red of rage. Madness of jealous anger flooded him, banishing afar reason and good sense. His radiant hand as a flash of his father's lightning darted toward his bow, the dread of giants and all creatures of darkness. With a scream, he wrenched the string back, feathered arrow nocked, and released. Sure and true, the golden dart raced through the Heavens and Earth, and transfixed itself in the breast of Coronis. Where once the sun god had touched in life, he now struck in death. To her knees fell the maiden of Thessaly, gentle groans, and no words, as her life-force trickled out from the burning wound. Apollo's fire grew not cooler, but hotter still, as he found no release from grief at his fell deed. As her soul leaked from her wound, Coronis cried with her last breath:


          " Ah cruel god! Tho' I have justly dy'd,
            What has, alas! my unborn infant done,
            That he should fall, and two expire in one? "
                    - CORONIS' PLEA

The Argolid
Photograph taken by the author

With that, her noblest words, she departed life, as the fires of the sun god's dart consumed her mortal form. Her words pierced both fire and sky, and reached Apollo's ears. A thundering remorse pulsed through him, as he was seized with grief and regret. So great was the heat that emanated from within him the snowy raven was scorched, his magnificent plumage, once pure as hope, now blackened with grief. Charred deeply, from that day the raven and all his descendants would bear the mark of that day, and that is why the raven has black feathers. Soaring down to her body, the sun god heard the cries of a baby, and resolved to protect the child. The son of an immortal god, the child could not die, alas her mother bore not the same shield against Death. From amongst the embers, the screaming child was ripped, a ray of the sun god's hope. To him was given the name of Asclepius, who would one day be the god of healing and rejuvenation. Apollo set him in the land which conceived him, the land of the Epidaurians in the Argolid, there to be raised by the finest tutor of the age, the centaur, Chiron, who had taught Achilles himself. For the god of healing, it was the beginning....

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 Labours Continue

Today we return to the story of Heracles, who, desperate for salvation, embarked on a grueling series of tasks to prove himself worthy of immortality - the Labours of Heracles. King Eurystheus, acting by the will of Hera, determined that Heracles should never complete his task, and concocted the Labours as impossible for a mortal man to achieve (for the beginning of this sage, please click here). But, defying belief, Heracles had slain the Lion of Nemea, and the Hydra of Lernaea, both fearsome monsters descended from Typhon himself.

Heracles captures the Ceryneian Hind
Painting in the New Museum, Berlin.

Returned to the mighty walled city of Tiryns, Heracles shouted with frustration when Eurystheus declared the slaying of the Hydra void, since Heracles had achieved it with help. Secretly, the King was afraid that Heracles might prove successful in the tasks he had planned, and crafted ever more daring ones to come. Having conquered two of Typhon's brood (for more about Typhon, the greatest monster in Greek Mythology, please click here), Heracles had proved himself as a warrior, but now it was to be his endurance which would undergo trial. For his Third Labour, Eurystheus commanded Heracles to trap and bring to him the Hind of Ceryneia, without inflicting any injury on the creature. This was no ordinary deer however. The Hind was sacred to the goddess Artemis, Lady of the Hunt. It was said that the Hind bore horns of purest gold, and was as swift as the winds, able to outrun even an arrow in flight. Heracles accepted the challenge, and set forth from strong walled Tiryns, entering the forests of Greece in search of the creature. Awoken one morning by a strong reflection in the forest, Heracles peered through the bushes and saw the magnificent beast. Light shining off its gilded antlers, the Hind charged off through the scrub, as the hero looked on in dismay at the cloud of dust left behind. Undeterred nonetheless, Heracles set off in pursuit. Another sighting, another failed attempt, the Hind bounded off once more. Again, and again, Heracles got only a glimpse of a flash of gold, and the creature was gone. This would not be an easy, or quick, affair. For a whole year man and beast played cat and mouse through the forests of Greece. What Heracles lacked in speed, however, he made up for in sheer endurance. The Hind, exhausted, came close to Mount Artemision, beginning to falter. As it approached the River Ladon, Heracles took a desperate shot with his bow. The arrow struck the ground just before the Hind, and the creature's forelegs stumbled. Sprinting over before it could recover, Heracles heaved the Hind over his shoulders, triumphant. On his return journey, an angered Artemis appeared before Heracles, chastising him for his desecration of her sacred property. Pleading that he caught the Hind not for himself, but for another, however, allayed the goddess' anger. Eurystheus, knowing that the Hind was the goddess' property, secretly hoped Artemis would strike Heracles down, but was foiled again.

Heracles and the Erymanthian Boar
Sculpture in the Lützowplatz, Berlin.

Carrying the majestic Hind back to Tiryns, Heracles proudly displayed his quarry to Eurystheus. Impressed that Heracles had chased - on foot - the swiftest creature that lived on the Earth, the King ordered the hero to acquire another beast of game. Rumours had reached Tiryns that the land of the city of Psophis was being devastated by a monstrous Boar, whose lair lay high on Mount Erymanthos. Eurystheus ordered Heracles to capture the Boar alive and bring it before him. Whereas the Ceryneian Hind was renowned for its speed, the Erymanthian Boar was notoriously ill tempered, having gored to death the last man who was unfortunate enough to cross its path. Setting forth once again, Heracles went on the hunt. Coming across his old friend, the Centaur Pholos, Heracles asked the wise and kindly being his advice. Brute strength and endurance alone would not prevail, came the reply, but wits would conquer the beast. Feasting together, Heracles asked his host for wine, and reluctantly, Pholos opened a jar. The intoxicating smell wafted out of the cave, and filled the nostrils of the other Centaurs. Centaurs, usually docile (and descendants of the condemned Ixion, see here), were particularly susceptible to savagery when inebriated, and the smell alone was enough to achieve this. Mad and drunk, the Centaurs stormed the cave, but Heracles fended them off with burning branches, and arrows. Emerging from the cave, Pholos saw the bodies of so many of his kin and pondered how Heracles could have slain so many. Picking up one of the arrows from a body, he marvelled at how something so small could bring down so large a beast. Distracted by his musings, however, the arrow slipped from his grip and grazed his foot, killing him instantly. What Pholos had not realised was that Heracles' arrows were coated in the lethal poison of the Hydra, which spelled instant death for any mortal. Grieving at his friend's demise, Heracles buried the Centaur, and set off alone in pursuit of the Boar, conscious that he could not use arrows to stop it, as his orders were to capture it alive. High in the mountains, the snows began to fall, as Heracles stalked the Boar. Approaching near from behind a bush, Heracles let out a great shout, and the Boar, startled, fled into the peaks. In its eagerness to flee, the Boar charged straight into a vast snowdrift, and became stranded in its icy prison. Seizing his chance, Heracles bound the exhausted beast in strong chains of iron, and bore it back to Tiryns.

Heracles diverts the rivers
Mosaic in the National Archaeological Museum of Spain, Madrid.

Entering the palace of Eurystheus, Heracles carried the Boar upon his shoulders, hurrying to show the King his catch. The King, however, terrified by the beast, hid inside a jar, and assured Heracles he would accept the task as complete if he just got rid of it. This Heracles obediently did. Humiliated by Heracles glorious achievements, Eurystheus decided that for his next task, Heracles would embark upon something much less glamorous. The King ordered the hero, for his next Labour, that he must clean the stables of Augeias, King of Elis, in a single day without assistance. This was a far more grim prospect than it sounds. The largest stables in Greece, Augeias owned over a thousand cattle, and his stables had never been cleaned. The cattle were no ordinary livestock either. Divinely blessed with good health, they produced exceptional amounts of dung. The squalor and stench of the stables was legendary. Undaunted, Heracles set forth once again from mighty Tiryns. Coming to Elis, Heracles proudly came before Aegeias and his son Phyleus, and vowed to clean the stables in a single day, in return for a tenth of the cattle (cattle, then as much as today, were extremely valuable). Disbelieving, Augeias agreed. Seeing before him the unholy and nauseating sight of the stables, and loathe to perform such a mundane task as cleaning it by hand, Heracles once again turned to wit over weapons. Walking to the boundaries of the stables, the hero made a breach in the outer wall surrounding the cattle herds. Seeing the Alpheios and Peneios rivers flowing nearby, Heracles dug a fresh channel and diverted both rivers through the stables. The roaring torrents of the river carried off over thirty year's worth of filth, and the stables were sparkling. Returning proudly to Augeias, Heracles found the King irate. Never believing it possible, Augeias denied the deal had ever existed, and offered to submit to arbitration. In the court, the casting vote was won when Phyleus, an honourable man, testified to the deal having been made before the King. Furious, Augeias watched as Heracles departed triumphant, with a tenth of his cattle.

Back in Tiryns, King Eurystheus, too, was furious. Seeing Heracles untainted by the filth of the stables, and marching with pristine cattle, the King declared the Labour void, on the grounds that Heracles had undertaken it for payment. Enraged, Heracles for the second time witnessed all his hard work go to waste, bound as he was to Eurystheus word, at the command of the Oracle. But more was yet to come...

United Kingdom

The Library of Mythology:
The Library of Greek Mythology (Oxford World's Classics)
(A vast collection of stories of old Greece, written and compiled in ancient times)

United States

The Library of Mythology:
The Library of Greek Mythology (Oxford World's Classics)
(A vast collection of stories of old Greece, written and compiled in ancient times)

To Lower Hell

Shaken from the sight of the wrathful souls at war with each other, Dante is surprised to suddenly see before him in the distance a towering wall of stone (for the previous episode of this, please click here). Seized by curiosity, he sees great flames bursting upon its lofty battlements, just too far away to perceive. Before his questions can be answered however, an ancient craft appears in the dank waters of the Styx. A boat, ragged with age breaks the surf, steered by a fearsome man, bent with age. He is Phlegyas, boatman of the Styx (and also, in life, was the father of Ixion - for more see here).

The Furies taunt Dante
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

His spiteful exhortations rebuked by swift words of Virgil, Phlegyas steps back to receive his crew. Our pilgrim notices that only when he places a foot in the skiff does it sink with the weight - the weight of the living. Sweeping across the Styx low in the waves, Dante spies in horror a slimy hand emerge from the dark depths. "Who are you, who come before your time?" the shade enquires. The poet recognises the dead man's face; it is Filippo Argenti, a man he once knew in life, an arrogant and foul man. "May you weep and wail, stuck here in this place forever, you damned soul!" Dante bravely replies. Argenti tries in vain to reach for the boat, but harsh words from Virgil lash him back to the depths. Virgil turns to his protégé and commends his rebuke of so vulgar a soul. Reaching the foot of the walls, they set foot upon land once more. A reddish glow seems to rise beyond the citadel. This is the city of Dis, a keep which guards the lower regions of Hell, reserved for graver crimes yet.

The bright glow Dante sees is that of the Eternal Fire burning beyond, maiming so many souls yet to come. Atop the battlements of Dis lurk many thousand Fallen Angels, who once rose in impious war against God himself (for this story, please click here). Intimidated by their jeers, Dante is reassured by Virgil, who tells him that none can harm him, by God's command, they are fearsome to the mind and eyes alone. Approaching the gate, they find their way barred by the demonic host. Awaiting aid, the two poets rest awhile, as Virgil once more strengthen Dante's resolve, reassuring him that he has passed this gate once before. Just then a new apparition appears, but it is no servant of Heaven. The Three Furies; Megaera, Alecto and Tisiphone, and in their wake the Gorgon Medusa (whose story is told here). Quickly clapping his hands over Dante's eyes, Virgil does not trust to chance that our poet may allow curiosity to defeat his fear. For one the glance of the Gorgon will ensure Dante never leaves this place. The fell spirits taunt and chide the pilgrim for his life, and his fear. But, just then, an angel arrives from Heaven, scattering the evil spirits and condemned shades afar. Denouncing the Fallen Angels for their futile resistance, the shining spectre opens the gates for the two poets, and their journey begins in Lower Hell.

The Heretics
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

The land of Hell is different here. 'A countryside of pain and ugly anguish' stretches before Dante's eyes. Scattered in the plain all about are countless graves, open too, their lids cast aside, and roaring flames pouring from within. To his anguish, Dante can just make out the screams of the tortured souls, bound in their deathly graves. Here, in the Sixth Circle of Hell, are condemned those who spread heresy in life. Just as their fiery tongues spread malice in life, so now they bathe in fire in Hell. False prophets of Christendom lie afire, as do ancient philosophers of the Epicurean school, who believed that the soul died with the body on Earth. Nor are the deep graves for one soul each. Each sarcophagus is home to many, all packed within the inferno. Yet another soul, Farinata, is one Dante knew in life, who was his enemy in Florence in days of old. The two speak of the ills of Florence and her scheming politics, as another soul rises from its fiery grave. He was once Cavalcanti in life, and begs Dante tell him of his son, does he still live? Shocked by the shade's emotion, Dante cannot speak. Misinterpreting his silence, Cavalcanti believes his son dead, and retires, weeping, to his ordeal, cursed to ponder it for all time. Dante begs Farinata to go and tell the spirit of Cavalcanti that his son is indeed alive on Earth, and that his silence was not meant as he took it. Seized by curiosity once more, Dante enquires as to why so many souls have asked him of the current affairs on Earth. The souls damned in Hell, Farinata tells him, are cursed to see the future, and future alone, and know nothing of the present, "this much the sovereign lord grant us here". When the Final Judgement comes, the future will be closed off to them, and all hope will be lost, left to see nothing but their own endless torment.

The Violent against people and property
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

Moving on at Virgil's bidding, and coming to a steep bank, a dreadful stench rises from a nearby pit. It is a vast grave, vomiting forth vile miasma. The inscription on the coffin lid nearby states "Within lies Anastasius, the Pope". Indeed, a great many men of the cloth are condemned in Hell, neither Pope nor Cardinal is safe from judgement. Coming to another ridge, they spy a monster, the Minotaur of Crete, lying at the edge of the abyss, guarding the Seventh Circle of Hell. Virgil cries out to the Bull, reminding him that he is cursed there too, cast down to the House of Death by Theseus long ago. The Minotaur writhes in rage, an anger so intense the beast cannot rise, shuddering pathetically by the Pit. Here, in the three rings of the Seventh Circle, are punished the violent, each guilty of malicious violence to a different being. Descending into the first ring, a vast river of boiling blood flows past in cruel torrents. Burning in this foul current are those who through violence injured other men or their property in life. Galloping around the rim of the river Phlegethon are a herd of Centaurs, who hunt with their arrows any soul which tries in desperation to claw its way up from the river. Our pilgrim recognises powerful men of old burning up to the eyebrows, he sees Alexander, the tyrant Dionysius, even Attila, King of the Huns and the Scourge of God, all tormented in the sanguine waves. Eyeing the two poets with suspicion, Chiron, leader of the Centaurs, demands their purpose, lest they be shot too. Once again, Virgil takes control, and asks guidance for the way beyond, ordered thus by the Almighty. Dante, as a living man, cannot touch the Phlegethon, and is borne across a ford by the Centaur Nessus, as they approach the second ring.

The Suicides
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

Reaching a grand forest, the poets enter the second ring. No leaf here was green however. Twisted, gnarled and entangled trees sprouted forth leaves of charcoal black, as cruel thorns of poison bloomed where flowers should be. This is a forlorn place, one of sorrow and melancholy. In the high branches, harpies stir, foul birds, shrieking eerie calls. Wails and lamentations of grief sounded all about, and Virgil eyes our pilgrim:




                       " And so my teacher said, 'If you break off
                                a little branch of any of these plants,
                                what you are thinking now will break off too'.

                        Then slowly raising up my hand a bit
                               I snapped the tiny branch of a great thornbush,
                               and its trunk cried: 'Why are you tearing me'... "
                                                           - DANTE UNCOVERS THE TORMENTED
                                                       
To his horror, Dante realised that all of the trees of this forest are souls, cruelly bound as trees. As blood spurts forth from the stump, the soul cries in pain. Here are punished the suicides. Just as they scorned the gift of their bodies in life, now they are denied their own form here in Hell. The soul reveals himself to have once been Pier delle Vigne, an advisor to King Frederick II of Sicily. He was once his most loyal servant, but due to the intrigues of jealous courtesans, fell from favour and was cast into jail. Lamenting his injustice and losing all hope, he took his own life, dashing his head against the cell wall. He came to Hell, and his earthly body was torn away from him, as King Minos hurled his soul down here. Just as he had shown no care for his body in life, no care was shown for his soul in Hell. His soul fell in this land, and germinated a tree. The Harpies relentlessly feed on his leaves, and their constant movements break off branches, leaving him in constant agony. Just then new souls run into the clearing, terrified and lost. They are profligates, who recklessly did violence to their own property in life. One hides in desperation in a thorny bush. Suddenly a pack of ferocious hounds charge in, snapping branches as they go, as they maul the poor soul, tearing his flesh with their fangs. The thorny bush laments in pain, a soul who was once a Florentine in life who hanged himself in his home. Dante is left to ponder the bond he feels to his native city, weeping at so many others like him now cursed in Hell... Yet much remained along the path of the Inferno...

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics:

Dante: Inferno (Penguin Classics)

(A nice edition which even has the original Italian on the left hand side of the page!)

Oxford World's Classics:

The Divine Comedy (Oxford World's Classics)
(Accessible and well annotated, also includes Purgatorio and Paradisio)

United States

Penguin Classics:
The Divine Comedy: Volume 1: Inferno (Penguin Classics) (Pt. 1)
(A nice edition which even has the original Italian on the left hand side of the page!)

Oxford World's Classics:
The Divine Comedy (Oxford World's Classics)
(Accessible and well annotated, also includes Purgatorio and Paradisio)