Book 38

38. The thirty-eighth book, where with the blazing brand you have the doom of poor Phaethon the charioteer.

The contest was dissolved; and the peoples went to the haunts of the thicket, and gathered each in his own quarters; and the country-ranging Pans lodged in their cleft-rock chambers, dwelling in the self-built caves of the lonely lioness, at evening; and the Satyrs, sunk into the bear's den, with sharpened claws and not with cutting iron hollowed out a scant rocky bed upon the ground, until the light-bearing dawn shone forth, and freshly risen the light of calm Morning rose for both, for Indians and for Satyrs; for then, at the circling turn, the spiral of time stretched out a respite from the Mygdonian war and the Indian battle-din; and for them there was no slaughter, no strife then; and far from the fight lay the cobwebbed six-year ox-hide shield of Bacchus.

But when the Seasons brought the seventh year of the wars, then a heavenly sign, a herald, appeared to wine-dark Bacchus, an incredible marvel; for darkness in mid-day, unforeseen, was spread out, and in a blackening robe the noonday mist held Phaethon hidden, and as the ray was stolen the hills were shadowed over; and many a wandering torch fell here and there, streaming down from the heavenly chariot; and the tops of the earth a numberless rain drenched, and the rocks billowed with the showers from the air, until at last, scarcely, high upon his car, the fiery Hyperion rose again in lofty splendor. And to grieving Bacchus through the air there flew a favorable sign, a high-coursing eagle, carrying a horned serpent in its sharpened claws; and the serpent, bending its bold neck, fell head-first, rolling of itself, and slipped into the Hydaspes. And a trembling silence held the whole numberless host; but Idmon of varied counsel, since he had learned the rites of the heavenly Muse, who knows the well-rounded circle of the stars, stood alone unafraid, since he had learned by skillful art the shadowed orbs of the Moon interwoven with Phaethon, and the gleaming flame beneath the dark-shaped cone of stolen Phaethon's unseen passage, and the thunderous crash of the colliding clouds, the bellowing of the upper air, and the lightning comet, and the beam of the meteors, and the fiery leap of the thunderbolt; such works, learned from the goddess Urania, he stood with a heart of courage; but the limbs of every man were loosened; and the prophet, the old man, with a smiling face, Idmon, holding steadfast persuasion upon his lips, heartened the whole people, since after the long battle-din he knew that victory was near, to come after a little while. And Erechtheus questioned the much-knowing Phrygian seer, watching for the tokens of Zeus on high, whether the fight was of good omen for the enemy or for Dionysus the slayer of Indians, not so much longing for the issue of the battle as to hear the tale of Olympus dear to the mystic discourses, and the ranks of the starry coils and the circling Moon, and the daytime setting of the Phaethontian light bereft of its gleam when stolen away. For always, concerning god-spoken tales, the citizens of ancient Attica are eager to learn. Nor did the old prophet neglect him, but shaking the Euian wand of Lyaios and not the Panopean laurel, he uttered such a prophetic word from his throat: "Do you wish to hear a heart-charming tale, Erechtheus, which the gods alone, the dwellers of Olympus, know? I will tell it, as my laurelled Apollo taught me. Do not tremble at the lightning, do not fear the wandering torch, nor the dark course of the Sun, nor the bird of Olympus, the first herald of the victory that shall be Lyaios's; for as it was wounded by the points of sharpened claws, pierced by the keen talon of the seizing bird, the horned serpent slipped into the river's mouths, and old Hydaspes hid the dead crawling thing, so the ancestral flood will cover Deriades, who has a form like his bull-horned father." Such words the god-speaking old man uttered; and at the tale of the prophet the whole host rejoiced; but beyond the rest the citizen of motherless Athena mingled joy with wonder, being so disposed in sweet hopes, as if in the midst he were reveling at Marathon after the war of Deriades.

And then to lonely, crag-loving Dionysus, set apart, his brother came from heaven, Hermes the messenger of Zeus, and spoke a word, comforting him about his victory: "Do not tremble at this sign, even though there was a daytime night; this your father Cronion has revealed to you, fearless Bacchus, as a herald of your Indian-slaying victory; for to the sun flashing forth I liken light-bearing Bacchus second to it, and the bold black-skinned Indian to the murky mist; for in the sky this likeness is the same; and as the gloom dimmed the light of the bright dawn when it was hidden, and again, rising high upon his fire-gleaming car, the sun shot away the gloomy mist, so you too, having shaken far away from your eyelids the gloomy, unseen darkness of the Tartarean Fury, will flash in battle a second time, like Hyperion. So great a marvel old Aion the nurse never brought, since the time when, struck by the breath of the demonic fire, half-burned Phaethon fell head-first from the light-bearing car of the Sun and was hidden in the Celtic river; and beside the brows of Eridanus the Heliades still mourn the bold youth with their wailing leaves." So he spoke, and Dionysus rejoiced in the hope of victory; and he questioned Hermes, and wished the more to hear the tale of Olympus dear to the Western Celts, how Phaethon rolled through the upper air, or from what cause the very Heliades beside the stream of mournful Eridanus were changed into a plant, and from their fair-leaved trees let gleaming tears drip down into the streams. And to him as he questioned gentle Hermes opened his mouth and uttered a wondrous word to inquiring Bacchus: "Dionysus, shepherd of human life that delights mortals, if the sweet sting of ancient stories drives you, I will tell in order the whole tale of Phaethon. Loud-sounding Ocean, girdled by the rim of the world, leading the earth-encircling water round the watery turning-post, having joined in the primal marriage of Tethys, the watery bridegroom begot Clymene, whom once Tethys nursed, greater than the Naiads, at her moist breast, a younger maiden of fair arms, at whose beauty the Sun, wheeling round the twelve-month year, journeying garland-wise round the seven-zoned rim of the air, the steward of fire grew faint with another fire; and the flame of his car and the gleam of his rays the torch of the Loves overpowered, when over the horn of reddening Ocean, bathing his fiery body in the Eastern waters, he saw the maiden near his path, when, naked, she swam, sporting in her father's streams, and as she bathed she flashed; and she was like, as when filling the wheeling brightness of her double horn, the bountiful evening Moon shines through the water. Half-seen, unsandaled, in the waters stood the girl, shooting at the Sun with her rosy cheeks; and in the streams the shape of her body was traced; no girdle then covered the maiden's breast, but, lighting up the pool, the fair-rounded rim of her silvery breasts grew red. And the father yoked the girl to the heavenly driver; and the fair-footed Seasons sang aloud the marriage-song of Clymene and the light-bearing wedding of the Sun; and round about the Naiad Nymphs danced; and beside the watery bridal chamber, in a flashing wedding, the girl, with happy travail, was wed, and with her cold limbs received her hot bedfellow. And the gleam of the starry host was the bride-chamber's attendant, and the star of Cypris wove a song for the marriage-hymn, the Morning Star, leader of the union; and instead of the pine-torch the Moon held a bridal ray to deck the wedding; and the Hesperides shouted; and along with his bride Tethys Ocean sounded a song with his many-fountained throat. And the womb of Clymene swelled with the fruitful wedding; and travailing with the child as the birth ripened she bore a wondrous, light-bearing son. And round the boy as he was born the ancestral air sang a song; and the daughters of Ocean, as the son leaped forth from the birth, washed him clean in his grandsire's baths; and they wrapped him in swaddling-clothes; and the stars with fiery leap darting into the stream of accustomed Ocean circled round the boy, and the Moon, as Eileithyia, sent forth a light-bearing gleam; and the Sun gave his son to bear his own name with a witnessing form that fitted it; for on the flashing face of the youth shone the kindred splendor of his sire the Sun. Often in his child-nursing haunts, gently playing, Ocean lifting Phaethon, whirling him round again, held him up by the middle of his belly, and through the high-coursing path he received the boy back from the air into his palm, restless, self-whirling, running with the wandering breeze, and again hurled him up; and the boy with wheeling spin of his well-twisting hand, swerving from Ocean, fell with a whirling eddy into the black water, a prophet of his own death; and the old man groaned as he understood, knowing the oracles, but hid them in wise silence, lest he should wound the griefless heart of child-loving Clymene by foretelling the bitter threads of Phaethon's Fate. And the boy, lately reared, with the first down on his lip, now tended the house of his Clymene, now also he went to the meadow of Thrinacia itself, where often, lingering, he stayed with Lampetie, herding the oxen and the flocks . . . Carrying a longing for his godlike father the charioteer, he fitted an axle with skillful binding of timbers, rounding out a wheel's shape for a make-believe car; and fashioning traces, and from flower-tressed gardens plaiting with slender osiers a thrice-twined whip, he set new bridles upon four rams; and making a fine counterfeit Morning Star of white flowers, like a wheeling circle, he set it before his well-greaved wagon, bearing the shape of the Eastern star; and about its mane, fixing a fiery brand upright here and there, with mimic rays he imitated his sire, riding garland-wise round the sea-beaten rim of the island. But when he grew up, bearing fair-flowering youth, often he laid hold of his father's flame, and with a small hand lifted the hot traces and the star-spangled whip, and tended the wheel, and handling the horses' bodies with snowy palms the boy delighted in his play; and with his right hand he touched the fire-stricken bridle. He was mad, holding a longing for horsemanship; and sitting at his father's knees, shedding suppliant tears, he asked for the fiery car and the course of the heavenly horses. And the father refused; but the more, with sweet speech, asking, he entreated; and consoling the young son about the high-coursing car, with a loving voice he said: "O child of the Sun, dear offspring of Ocean, seek another gift; what have you ever to do with the car of Olympus? Let alone the unattainable course of horsemanship; for you cannot guide my car, which I myself scarcely drive. Never has impetuous Ares been armed with the fiery thunderbolt, but he strikes a tune on the trumpet and not the thunder; Hephaestus does not gather the clouds of his father, nor is he called the cloud-gatherer like Cronion, but beside the hearth he strikes the iron anvil, pouring out a man-made breeze with man-made bellows; Apollo has the winged swan, and not the swift horse; Hermes does not lift up the fiery lightning of his father, holding his wand, nor raise his father's aegis. But you will say: To Zagreus he gave a spark of the thunderbolt. Zagreus lifted up the bolt, and met with destruction. Have a care, child, lest you too suffer like sufferings." He spoke, and did not persuade him; and the boy, stinging his father, wet his tunics with hotter tears; and with his hands he touched his father's fiery beard, crouching on the ground, bending his bowed neck, in supplication; and the father pitied his son as he watched. And wailing Clymene asked the more; but he in his heart, firmly knowing the unalterable threads of Fate, grieving, gave his consent, and wiping with his tunic the rain from the joyless eyes of weeping Phaethon he kissed his son's lips, and spoke so great a word: "Twelve in all are the houses of the fiery upper air, fixed upon the rim of the rounded zodiac circle, ranged in order, close-set, in which alone lies the slanting, much-winding path of the wandering planets that never stand still. And each house spiral Cronos changes, crawling heavy-kneed, until at last, scarcely, late, he completes thirty circuits of the returning Moon, above the rim of the seventh zone; and high above the sixth Zeus, set opposite, holds a swifter course than his father, and runs his course in a year; and in the third . . . in sixty days fiery Ares passes, the neighbor of your father; and rising in the fourth I myself garland-wise cut through the whole pole with my car, driving the many-curved circles of the heavenly Coils, bearing the measures of time, wheeled round by the four Seasons, about the same turning-post, until I journey through the whole house, filling out the accustomed month to its completion; nor, leaving my course unfinished, do I journey on a backward path, nor again on a forward one, since the other much-curving stars run their opposite ever-wandering courses, and again reining back, both forward and behind, they keep the half-done, ever-loosened measures of the path, receiving from both sides my otherward-darting gleam; among whom the horned Moon, whitening the pole, having filled out the whole circle, with wise fire brings the month to birth, half-shown, then waxing, then full with her whole face; and opposite to the Moon I, wheeling spherewise, the brightness that feeds the sheaf-bearing birth, journey the endless circle round the zodiac turning-post, begetting the measures of time, and changing house to house, and having completed one circle I bring round the whole year. But beware the ends of the bond, lest, creeping close, having wound the dark cone with your car, it should steal the whole light, shadowing your chariot; nor ride past the rim of the accustomed circle; nor, with the much-curving bond of the far-stretched coils, watching for the rim of the five parallel circles, have a frenzy, and leave your father's wonted turning-post, lest the roving horses lead you astray in the air; nor, gazing at the twelve circles of the journey, hasten from house to another house; and with your car riding the Ram do not seek to drive the Bull; do not seek out the neighboring herald of the chariot-pole, the star-faring Scorpion, driving him beneath the Balance, until you have filled out thirty degrees. But listen to my word; and I will teach you everything. The center of the whole world, the mid-navel star of Olympus, the Ram, holding which, rising high, I make the spring grow, and treading the tropic rim, the herald of the West wind, balancing the night equal to the morning, I guide the dewy course of the swallow-Season; and changing to the lower house opposite the Ram, in the twin Claws sending equal-day light, turning back I make the day equal-yoked with mist, and lead the leaf-shaking course of the autumn Season, driving with lesser light to the low turning-post in the leaf-shedding month; and to men I bring the rainy winter over the back of the fishy Goat, that for the countryfolk the earth may bring forth her life-giving gifts, having the rain as bridegroom and the dew as midwife; and I make ready the summer, the corn-tressed herald of harvest, lashing the fiery earth with hotter rays, high-stretched beside the turning-post when I drive in my course to the Crab, opposite the unwarmed Goat, making both the Nile and the grape-cluster grow together. And beginning your course, go after the neighboring Cerne, following the Light-bringer, guide of the unwandering path, the forerunner of horsemanship; and in alternating journey twelve circling Seasons guide your course." So speaking he set upon Phaethon's head the golden helmet, and crowned him with his own fire, twining seven-corded rays upon his locks, and wound garland-wise a white girdle about his waist; and he clothed him in his own fiery tunic, and bound his foot with a reddening sandal. And he gave the car to his son; and from the eastern manger the Seasons brought the fiery horses of the Sun; and bold Lucifer came to the yoke, and round the bright horse's neck he fastened the slave-collar with the trace. And Phaethon mounted; and the Sun his father gave him to wield the reins, the gleaming reins and the shining whip; and the Sun trembled in fearful silence, knowing his son short-lived; and near the bank, half-seen, Clymene, the child-loving mother, gazing at him mounting the fiery car, leaped for joy. And now the dewy Light-bringer gleamed, the star, and Phaethon rose, treading the Eastern rim, washed in the ancestral waters of his grandsire Ocean. And the bold high-running driver of the bright horses gazed upon the sky scored with the dance of stars, wheeled about with seven zones; he saw the wanderers running opposite, and saw the earth like a center fixed in the middle, raised up with long crags, everywhere towered round with vaulting winds; and he gazed at the rivers, and the brows of Ocean reining his stream back again into his own water. While he stretched his eye to the upper air and the pouring of the stars and the dappled tribes of the earth and the restless backs of the sea, gazing in circles at the seats of the boundless world, meanwhile the fiery horses, wheeling beneath the yoke, passed by the rim of the accustomed zodiac circle. And Phaethon, untaught, holding the fiery whip, seemed to lash the horses' crest; and they, gone mad, shrinking from the goad of the unsparing driver, unwilling, beyond the starting-line of the ancient path, the wandering horses ran past the axle's turning-post, expecting another stroke from their accustomed driver. And by the Southern goal and the northern back of Boreas there was tumult. And standing by the heavenly gate the fair-footed Seasons marveled at the strange counterfeit day; and the morning trembled; and Lucifer the star cried out: "Where are you carried, dear boy? Why do you madly drive the horse? Spare your haughty whip; and beware both the wandering stars and the chorus of the fixed, lest bold Orion slay you with his sword, lest old Bootes strike you with his fiery club; spare yet your wandering horsemanship, nor let the Whale of Olympus entomb you in its long belly in the air; nor let the Lion carve you, or the Bull of Olympus, arching his neck, strike you with his fiery horn; have a care for the Archer, lest from his stretched string he slay you with a fire-barbed arrow. Let there be no second chaos, and let the stars of the air appear while the day still stands, and to your car at noon let the restless morning meet the Moon." So he spoke, but Phaethon drove on the more, dragging his car to the South, to the North, near the West wind, close to the East. And there was tumult in the upper air, and it shook the harmony of the unmoved world; and the very axle, pierced through the middle, was set aslant in the whirling air. And scarcely lightening the self-turning pole of the stars, crouching, Libyan Atlas stood bent over, holding a greater burden; and outside the Bear, the equinoctial circle, grazing it with the winding drag of his belly, the Serpent hissed, running with the starry Bull; and to the Dog blazing as Sirius the Lion roared from his throat, warming the air with raging fire, and bold he stood driving the eight-footed Crab with shaggy-haired leap; and beside the hinder foot of the heavenly Lion the thirsty Tail lashed the Virgin near his path; and the winged maiden, darting past Bootes, came near the axle and consorted with the Wain; and by the western goal, sending wandering light, the Morning Star pushed the opposite Evening Star; and the morning wandered; and instead of the accustomed Hare fiery Sirius seized the thirsty Bear; and parting two ways, the one to the South, the other to the North, the starry Fishes leaped upon Olympus, neighbors of the Water-pourer; and with a tumbler's spring running with the Goat, the curling Dolphin danced; and the Scorpion, wandering from the curving Southern path, near his neighbor, touching his own sword, Orion trembled even among the stars, lest, creeping slowly, he should scrape the tips of his feet a second time with the sharp sting; and spitting from her face the half-finished gleam, darkening at her edge the noonday Moon leaped up; for no longer, stealing her counterfeit gleam from the male fire of opposite Phaethon, did she milk her brother's splendor; and the spiral seven-starred echo of the Pleiad host roared upon the seven-zoned sky with circling voice; and shaking forth a din from their equal-numbered throats the stars, running opposite, the wanderers, raved in bacchic frenzy; Cypris thrust Zeus, Ares thrust Cronos, and near the springtime Pleiad came my own migrant star, and mingling kindred light with the seven-coursing stars, half-shown, it rose beside my mother Maia, swerving from the heavenly car, with which it is ever either running together or the morning forerunner, and in the evening sends its later light when the Sun is setting; and when it journeys with an equal course, equal-portioned, the wise in stars have named it the heart of the Sun; and stretching his neck wet with dewy snowflakes the Bull of Olympus, the bridegroom of Europa, bellowed, straightening his curved foot to the course; and sharp-pointed, slanting his horn at Phaethon from his crooked forehead, he struck the heavenly rim with his fiery hooves; and bold Orion drew his sword aslant from the sheath upon his blazing thigh; and Bootes brandished his crook; and tossing aloft the knees of his starry foot Pegasus neighed, and shaking the pole with his hoof the half-seen Libyan horse ran past his neighbor the Swan, and in anger shook his wings, that again he might hurl another charioteer from the air, even as he himself shook Bellerophon from the heavenly rim, and no longer near the high-coursing Northern turning-post did the wheeling Bears dance upon each other's loins, but they mingled with the South, and beside the Western pool they washed their unwetted feet in the strange Ocean. But Zeus the father struck Phaethon down with the thunderbolt from on high, rolling of himself over the stream of Eridanus; and binding the harmony recovered again with its ancient bond he gave the horses back to the Sun, and the heavenly car he gave to the dawn-rising, and beside the ancient turning-post the fair-footed Seasons, attendants of Phaethon, ran their course. And the whole earth laughed a second time; and from the air the rain of life-begetting Zeus cleansed all the fields, and with its moist drop quenched the wandering torch, all that over the whole earth from their fiery throats the blazing horses, neighing, spat from heaven. And the Sun rose, guiding his car that ran its course again; and the seed grew, and the threshing-floors laughed again, receiving the former life-giving gleam of the air. And Zeus the father set Phaethon among the stars of Olympus, like the Charioteer, and named after him; and the heavenly gleaming Car, stretched out with his shining forearm, he holds in the likeness of the Charioteer darting to the race, as though again, even among the stars, longing for his father's car. And the fire-burned river rose up into the pole of stars with Zeus's approval, and in the starry circle the curved water of fiery Eridanus wheels round. And the sisters of the swift-fated, fallen charioteer changed their form into a plant, and from their mourning trees they let a rich dew drip from their leaves.