Book 8

8. The eighth holds the shifting-worded, savage jealousy of Hera, and the fiery marriage of Semele, and Zeus the slayer.

So speaking, the god went to Olympus; but in the high-roofed

hall his mind wandered near his bride,

holding a sting for Thebes greater than for heaven; for to the son of Cronos

heaven was lovely, the house of Semele, and about the wedding-chamber

the handmaids of Cadmus were the swift-footed Seasons of Zeus.

And with the marriage-droplets of the Zeus-sent wedding,

pressed by its swelling, the womb of Semele heaved;

and, as witness of the birth of garland-loving Dionysus,

she delighted her heart with a wreath, and on her flower-tressed head

she plaited the self-twining ivy of a maenad in her hair,

like a prophetess of the Bassarids, and to brides to come,

near their childbearing, she gave the late name of ivy.

And bearing the heavy weight of the god-begotten birth,

if ever some old shepherd made music on his pipe,

hearing the song of neighbouring Echo, the lover of the fields,

in her single tunic she went out of the chamber with maenad rush;

if the sound of the double flute was heard, the wanderer of the hills,

leaping unsandalled from the high-roofed halls,

self-bidden she went out to the ridge of the lonely woodland;

if a cymbal clashed, she was stirred with a throb of her feet,

bounding her curving step beneath her slanting sandal;

and if she heard the long-horned bull lowing,

with a like imitation she bellowed the cry of an ox from her throat;

often, beneath the shepherd's ridge, with maenad voice

she sang a song with Pan, and Echo joined her cry,

and, answering the country sound of the horned flute,

she bent her step into the dance; and the unborn, wise child

with hidden leaps bounded along with the mother who bore him,

a flute-maddened imitation, and a self-taught song,

half-formed, he sounded forth, pouring an echo from within her womb.

So he was swelling with the weight of the womb that bore a son,

the herald of gladness, a thoughtful babe; and about the boy

the Seasons, handmaids of the son of Cronos, crowned heaven.

And Envy, gazing on the marriage-bed of high-ruling Zeus

and the birth-pangs of Semele, the god-begotten labour,

took on a jealousy of Bacchus while he was yet within the womb,

self-suffering, loveless, smitten by his own venom.

And in his crafty mind he devised a twisted plan,

bearing the lying form of an Ares opposed to him

in counterfeit armour, and, as if with a stream of blood,

with a poisonous flower he scored the back of an ox-hide

with a feigned droplet, and, as though from slaughtered men,

dipping his treacherous fingers in like-coloured red,

he reddened his hands with a bastard, ruddy gore;

and from his throat he belched a nine-thousand-fold din,

pouring from his fearful mouth a man-rending voice;

and with thieving whispers he startled Athena,

and goaded jealous Hera yet more to wrath;

he provoked them both, and with such words he reproached them:

Seek for yourself another, new bridegroom in heaven, Hera,

another, since Semele has snatched away yours, who for the grace of her bed

treads the wedded ground of seven-gated Thebes

and rejects the seven-zoned heaven; and in your stead

he delights to hold in his arms an earthly, pregnant bride.

Where has my mother's jealousy gone? Can it be that even

the wrath of Hera herself has been softened toward the marriage of Semele?

Where are your stings, your unsparing gadfly? No longer in the sea

is the heifer driven, sea-frightened? No longer does the herdsman

Argus, with his sleepless, far-scattered eyes,

keep watch over the newer bed of the marriage-thieving son of Cronos?

But what is this Olympian crowd to me? Going down to earth

I will leave my father's heaven, and dwelling in our own

Thrace I shall not see the sorrows of my grieving mother,

nor Zeus the marriage-thief; and if ever he comes

to our land, desiring a Bistonian maiden,

he shall learn what Ares is when he is angered; for, bearing our own

death-bringing spear, the slayer of the Titans,

I will drive the woman-mad son of Cronos out of Thrace;

and taking as my pretext that he drags a maiden to his bed,

self-bidden I shall be the avenger of my own marriage,

because, consorting with earth-born weddings,

he has filled the dappled heaven with his loves.

May heaven be gracious, the house of mortals; do I tread the pole of stars?

Callisto wheels along Olympus, where the circle shines

of the high-crested Bear, named for the Arcadian.

I hate the course of the seven-pathed Pleiad; for in Olympus

Electra troubles me, flashing together with Selene.

Why are you now at ease? You afflicted Apollo, the son of Leto,

yet within the womb, and you do not stir against Dionysus?

When the Trito-born was born, Hephaestus, the labour-easer,

self-bearing Zeus shall bring to birth the son of a bastard wife,

bringing to labour another, higher birth in his male thigh,

and there is no more need of your axe. Yield, Athena,

cease crying out over the birth-arch of the head of Zeus,

because Dionysus disgraces the wise birth-pang of your

birth-perfecting head, in that, sprung from an earthly stock,

he will be self-born, an Olympian, like Athena,

hiding the boast of motherless Pallas. Nay, I myself

am ashamed far more, whenever some mortal says:

Zeus gave battle to Ares and gladness to Dionysus.

But leaving the pole of the son of Cronos to his bastard children,

I will come down from heaven, a wanderer; and let the water-frozen

Ister receive its sceptred lord roaming about,

before I see Ganymede here, the cup-bearer of Zeus,

the fair-haired herdsman, the citizen of Olympus after Pergamon,

handing the untouched cup of heavenly Hebe,

before I see Semele and Bacchus dwellers on Olympus,

and the star-wandering crown of earthly Ariadne

running with the Sun, the fellow-traveller of the dawn.

There I will stay, that I may not see the Sea-Monster, nor the sickle of Perseus,

nor the figure of Andromeda, nor the eye of the Gorgon Medusa,

which the son of Cronos may hereafter set in Olympus.

He spoke, and confounded the mind of self-born Athena,

and raised yet higher the wrath of heavy-jealous Hera.

And Envy darted swiftly off, and shaking his crooked knees

went by slanting paths through the air; and in his

eyes and his mind he rushed away, like smoke,

arming his telchin-mind for guile, for wickedness.

Nor did Hera, heavy in wrath, the consort of Zeus, grow slack;

but, darting along on her storm-swift sandal,

she ran through the dappled heaven adorned with bright stars,

through the countless cities, on a roaming sole,

seeking crafty Deceit, in case she might find her somewhere.

But when, high above the Dictaean rock of the Corybants,

she saw the birth-water of neighbouring Amnisus,

there the fickle mountain-roaming goddess met her;

for she always lingered by the false tomb of Zeus,

taking delight in the Cretans, since they were deceivers.

And about her loins flowed the Cydonian girdle,

in which lie all the cunning charms of mortals:

in it is crafty thievery, in it dalliance,

cajolery, in it manifold deceits, and in it also

the false oath that runs together with the airy winds.

And to crafty Deceit, with crafty speech, Hera

of cunning counsel made soft entreaty, warding off her consort:

Hail, goddess crafty-counselled, guile-wandering; not even

wheedling Hermes passes you by with his thieving whispers;

give me also the all-shifting girdle, which once Rheia

bound about her loins, until she deceived her consort.

I do not bear a rocky form against the son of Cronos,

nor do I beguile a consort with a deceitful stone,

but an earthly woman constrains me, for the grace of whose bed

raging Ares, heavy in wrath, refuses to dwell in heaven.

What profit is it that I am an immortal goddess? For a worthless

mortal holds my husband, whom no goddess, no Leto, snatched away;

it was not by Danae that rainy Zeus lay a second time,

but after the seal of the iron-bound chamber

the bride, blaming her golden marriage, sailed the sea,

and got for her love-gift the water of the salt sea; and in the deep

the chest, voyaging with her, swam upon the unsteady winds.

Nor after Crete did the bull of Olympus sail again,

he did not see Europa after her bed; but, soaked,

stung by the gadfly, horned Io swam.

Nor did a goddess have an unhindered marriage, but Leto herself,

bearing a burden in her womb, ran much-wandering,

restlessly gazing on the moving ankles of the wandering islands

and the unresting stream of the inhospitable sea,

and hardly did she see the free shoot of the birth-olive.

So much did Leto toil, and her consort did not help her;

and for the bed of one short-lived mortal bride

he refused the bed of his heavenly sister Hera.

I fear that the son of Cronos, my husband and my brother, hearing of it,

may drive me from heaven for the grace of a woman's bed,

and may make Semele the queen of his own Olympus.

But if you favour Zeus the son of Cronos rather than Hera,

and do not grant me your all-charming girdle,

so that my wandering son may come back to Olympus,

I will go to the farthest edge of Ocean,

leaving heaven for the grace of mortal weddings,

a hearth-fellow of first-born Tethys; thence I will come

to the house of Harmonia, and dwell near Ophion.

But you, honouring the all-mothering bride of Zeus,

grant me to have your helping girdle, that I may charm

raging Ares to flee and dwell in heaven once again.

To her speaking thus the goddess answered with persuasive words:

Mother of Enyalios, first-throned bride of Zeus,

I will give my girdle, and if you bid anything more

I obey, since you rule among the gods next to the son of Cronos.

Take this band; and clasping it about your bosom

you shall bring Ares to heaven; and if you wish,

charm the mind of the son of Cronos and, if need be, of Ocean

when he is angry; and leaving the wedding of earthly Loves

high-ruling Zeus shall come self-bidden to heaven,

bending his mind round with our deceitful girdle;

this puts to shame the heart-charming girdle of my Paphian.

So speaking, the crafty goddess fled, wind-borne,

passing through the air on her flying sandal.

And leaving the shield-brandishing cave of the Dictaean cliff

and the birth-grotto of the birth-perfecting goddess,

deceitful Hera came to the chamber of Semele,

snorting with jealousy; and, like a honey-tongued old woman,

she shaped her body to the form of a child-loving nurse,

a child-tender, whom Agenor himself had reared,

and gave her a portion, and bestowed the woman on a husband

as a father would; and she, repaying the grace of her keeping,

nursed Cadmus while he was yet an infant at her breast,

and cradled the babe Europa in her loving arms.

Taking a body equal to hers, Hera went into the house,

angry at Semele and Cypris and Dionysus

not yet having seen the light, and beside the newly-wedded chamber

she leaned her gaze toward the opposite wall,

turning aside her eye, lest she should behold the bed of Zeus.

Peisianassa, the handmaid of Semele, the offspring

of a Tyrian stock, seated her high upon a chair,

and Thelxinoe fitted carpets to the shining seat.

There the wily goddess sat nearby; and she found the maiden

heavy with the pang of her ripening childbirth;

and the birth, not touching the birth-perfecting Moon,

was proclaimed by the pale cheek of her unmarked womb

and the pallor before her wine-dark limbs; and as

lying Hera sat, her crafty body trembled with a feigned

throb, and below she bent down, nodding toward the ground,

her old neck bowed with hunched and pressing shoulders.

And hardly did she find a pretext; she groaned aloud in speech,

wiping a well-made tear from her face,

and she spoke a crafty word with a heart-charming voice:

Tell me, queen, why are your cheeks turned pale?

Where is that beauty of yours? Who, grudging your form,

has marred the purple sparks of your face?

And who has changed your roses into short-lived anemones?

And why do you, cast down, waste away? Can it be that you too

have heard those shameful things which the citizens cry out?

Perish the deadly mouth of women, the beginners of woe.

Tell me, do not hide from me the despoiler of your girdle;

which of the gods has defiled you? Who has snatched your maidenhood?

If secret Ares has wedded my maiden

and lay with Semele, scorning Aphrodite,

let him come to your bed, brandishing the marriage-spear;

your mother knows her steadfast sire.

But if swift-sandalled Hermes came reveling as your bridegroom

and for the beauty of Semele renounced his own Peitho,

let him grant his wand, the self-herald of your bed,

or let him adorn you with his golden sandals,

bringing a gift worthy of your bed, that you too

may be golden-sandalled, like Hera the consort of Zeus.

But if from heaven came a husband, fair Apollo,

and for the love of Semele forgot his Daphne,

without secret guile let him dance to you through the air,

delicate, riding the chariot of his singing swans,

bringing his lyre as the bride-gifts of your love,

a faithful sign of your chamber; for, beholding it,

Cadmus will recognize the heavenly cithara of Phoebus,

which he saw, shifting-voiced, beside the feast at his table,

singing the earthly weddings of Harmonia.

But if, mad for a woman, the dark-haired one constrained you,

and preferred you to the wise, far-sung Melanippe,

let him come reveling openly, and at the gates of Cadmus

let him fix the point of his bridal trident,

joining a like honour beside snake-haired Dirce,

as among the Argives, beside lion-feeding Lerna,

he set up a token of the marriage of Amymone, where still

a place is named after the trident of the Lernaean nymph.

But why do I call you the bedfellow of the Earth-shaker?

What signs have you of the bed of Poseidon?

With watery hands he embraced Tyro, poured out,

splashing in a deceitful stream, the counterfeit Enipeus.

But if also, as you say, your bridegroom is the son of Cronos,

let him come to your bed with the lovely thunderbolt,

armed with the wedding-lightning, that someone may say:

Thunderbolts are the bride-attendants of Hera and Semele.

Jealous though she is, the wife of Zeus will not be vexed at you;

for your mother's Ares would not allow it.

Blessed is Europa more than Semele, whom over his shoulders

horned Zeus lifted up; and on the love-stricken bull's

topmost hoof she ran dry over the water,

and so great a one was the boat of Eros. Ah, great marvel,

a maiden drove the charioteer of heaven.

I count Danae more blessed than Semele, through whose lap

golden, from the roof, rainy Zeus streamed down

in a rich droplet of woman-maddened snow;

yet the most blessed bride did not ask for golden gifts,

for she had her husband as the whole love-gift of Eros. But let there be

some silence between us, lest your sire Cadmus hear.

So speaking she left the house, and the bride still grieving,

holding the jealousy of Hera, of unmatched weddings,

blaming the son of Cronos; and by the back-returning path

she came within the heaven, and beside the heavenly seat,

beholding the weapons of Zeus lying apart from their bearer,

as though they could hear, with friendly speech she addressed them:

Thunder, has my cloud-gathering Zeus left you too?

Who has snatched you again, and stripped you of your bearer?

Thunder, you have been despoiled—Typhoeus is not the cause—

sharing the sufferings of Hera, my comforter; for rainy Zeus,

the bride-tender, rejects us both.

No longer is the earth dusted with snows, and, the moist-poured

rain failing, the drought feeds upon the furrow of the ploughland,

bearing a useless crop; and by the farmers

Zeus is called cloudless instead of dark-clouding.

Lightnings, break a fiery voice against the son of Cronos,

against woman-mad Zeus; friends, thunderbolts, cry out.

But you, the avengers of the heavy-jealous griefs of Hera,

go to Semele as bride-attendants, and as the gifts of her girdle

let her, entreating, receive her own flaming slayers.

Such things did Hera cry to the voiceless weapons of Zeus,

grieving, and the goddess heaved with jealous wrath.

And Semele, heavily bound by her newly-grieving heart,

longing for the lightning, the fire-bright escort of the Loves,

with blaming lips besought her consort,

wishing for the form of Hera's fire-crowned bed:

By Danae I beseech you, of the wealth-streaming weddings,

grant a favour, horned husband of Europa; for I am ashamed

to call you the consort of Semele, whom I saw as in a dream.

Acrisius is more blessed than Cadmus; but I myself too

would have wished, if I had seen the golden marriage, rainy Zeus,

had not the mother of Perseus snatched away this honour of yours;

I would have wished that you had carried me over the waters as a wandering bull

upon your shoulders, that my brother Polydorus too might wander

seeking the ravisher of the roaming bride,

like Cadmus, seeking my own son of Cronos as the bearer.

But what to me is the form of the cattle-marriage or of the snow?

I do not wish for an honour equal to that an earthly bride received.

Leave the bull to Europa, leave to Danae the shower of rain;

the jealousy of Hera's marriage alone holds me. If you honour me,

adorn my chamber with your heavenly fire,

darting the lovely gleam of the clouds, and as the lightning

show the bride-gift of my love to unbelieving Agave;

let Autonoe shudder beside my neighbouring chamber,

hearing the thunderous song of the bride-tending Loves,

the self-proclaiming token of your unannounced bed.

Grant me to embrace the dear flame and delight my heart,

touching the lightning and handling the thunderbolts.

Give me the wedded flame of your chamber; for every bride

has the torch as escort of marriage-perfecting weddings.

Am I not worthy of the thunderbolts of your marriage,

bearing the blood of Ares and of your Aphrodite?

Wretched am I; the marriage of Semele has short-lived fire

and earthly lamps, while, touching the thunderbolt

and handling the lightning, your Hera is wedded.

Bridegroom delighting in the thunderbolt, you in your many-gleaming chamber,

bearing your inspired form, go to the bed of Hera,

lighting up your bride with the lightnings of marriage,

fiery Zeus; but to Semele you come as a serpent or a bull;

she hears the heavy-thundering Olympian sound of the Loves,

but Semele, by a shadowy figure of form,

hears the bastard bellowing of a counterfeit bull;

soundless to my bed comes cloudless Zeus,

and the cloud-gatherer mingles with high-necked Hera.

And shunning the shame of his ill-married daughter, my sire,

shut indoors, your Cadmus, avoids the path of men,

ashamed to appear before the townsfolk, because the citizens

all mock at your secret weddings,

blaming Semele, that she had a stolen consort.

A fine love-gift you gave me, the reproaches of women;

and the band of handmaids blames me, and beyond others

I dread the headlong mouth of my unsilenced nurse.

Remember who, weaving a treacherous doom for Typhon,

gave you back the spark of the snatched thunderbolt;

show my sire what he gave; for old Cadmus

demands of me a token of your bed.

I have not yet seen the true face of the son of Cronos,

nor the light-bringing ray of his eyelids, nor on his face

have I marked the gleamings and his flashing beard;

I have not yet seen your Olympian form, but I behold

a leopard or a lion, and I have not seen my consort a god.

I look on you as a mortal, though I am to bear a god.

I have learned of another fiery marriage; for the Sun,

setting with the wedding-fire, embraced Clymene his bride.

So she spoke, asking for her own doom; for, equal to Hera,

the short-lived bride hoped to look upon for her marriage

the gentle spark of a calm thunderbolt.

And Zeus the father, hearing, reproached the jealous Fates,

and pitied Semele, untimely; and about Bacchus

he knew the crafty wrath of pitiless Hera.

And he bade Hermes snatch from the flaming thunderbolt

the new son of fire-stricken Thyone.

And the father spoke a word to the high-necked maiden:

O woman, surely the jealous mind of Hera has deceived you with guile;

do you indeed, woman, think that thunderbolts are gentle?

Endure to wait another while, since you still bear the burden,

endure to wait another while, since you carry my son;

do not, before the birth, demand of me the fiery slayers;

I did not despoil the maidenhood of Danae wielding the lightning,

nor the crash of thunder, and the thunderbolts did not wed

the marriage of Europa, your Tyrian bride,

the Inachian heifer did not see the flash; but you alone,

a mortal, demand of me what no goddess, no Leto, asked.

Such a word he spoke, and was unwilling to strive

against the threads of the Fates; and through the airy gulf,

flashing, he was borne, and the entreaty of his bride,

unwilling, he fulfilled, the husband Zeus who rouses the lightning,

and he danced toward Semele, stretching out with downcast hand

the bridal sparks of the marriage-destroying thunderbolt;

and the chamber gleamed with lightnings, and with the breath of fire

Ismenus blazed, and all Thebes flashed.

And Semele, beholding her flaming slayers,

raised her proud neck and spoke with high-minded voice:

I have no need of the clear-sounding harp, no need of the flute;

thunders are born to me, the pipes of the Loves of Zeus,

this Olympian sound is my flute, and the firebrand

of the heavenly lightning is the torch of my chamber; and of worthless

torches I take no heed; thunderbolts are my torches.

I am the wife of the son of Cronos; Agave belongs to Echion;

let them call Autonoe the wife of Aristaeus;

Ino has Nephele, but Semele got Hera as her fellow-bride.

I did not become the wife of Athamas, and I did not bear

the short-lived Actaeon, torn by his hounds, the comrade of the woodland.

I have no need of a lesser lyre; for the heavenly

Star-Cithara sings the wedding of Semele.

So she spoke, glorying, and wished to handle with her hands

the destroying lightning, and, scorning Fate,

with a daring palm she touched the deadly thunderbolts;

and the marriage of Semele was death-bringing, for whom by a single ordinance

the Fury made the wedding-chamber a pyre and a tomb;

and with birth-bringing rays the bridal breath of the thunderbolt,

since Zeus did not spare, burned the whole bride to ashes;

and the lightning was her midwife, and the thunderbolts her Eileithyia;

and as Bacchus leapt forth from the blazing lap of the mother who bore him,

the heavenly flame, sparing, served as his midwife,

while the weddings withered in the mother-slaying spark;

and the half-grown babe of the unharmed birth

the thunderbolts bathed with sparing breaths;

and Semele, beholding her fiery end,

perished rejoicing in her birth-doom; and one might behold

Desire, Eileithyia, and the Furies in a single chamber.

And Hermes brought the half-finished babe, born to its sire,

its limbs washed in the heavenly fire.

And Zeus, turning the mind of heavy-jealous Hera,

soothed her savage, ever-renewing weight of menace,

and Semele, the fiery one, removing her to the pole of stars,

to have heaven as her house, he led up, the mother of Bacchus,

a hearth-fellow of the heavenly dwellers, as the kin of Hera,

as the offspring of Harmonia from Ares, from Aphrodite;

and washing her new body clean in the blazing fire . . .

and she held the imperishable Olympian life; and in place of Cadmus

and the earthly ground and Autonoe and Agave,

she found Artemis sharing her throne, and consorted with Athena,

and received heaven as her gift, sharing one table

with Zeus and Hermes and Ares and the Cytherean.