Dialogues of the Gods

Perseus Greek · Perseus Greek · 152 sections

1.1.1
A good-looking lover they say you have, Galatea, in this Sicilian shepherd who’s so mad about you!
1.1.2
None of your jokes, Doris. He’s Poseidon’s son, whatever he looks like.
1.1.3
What of it? Though it was a son of Zeus himself that had so wild and hairy an appearance and, most hideous thing of all, only one eye, do you think his birth would help him to be any better-looking?
1.1.4
His wild and hairy appearance, as you call it, isn’t ugly. It’s manly. And his eye goes very nicely with his forehead, and it sees just as well as if it were two.
1.1.5
My dear Galatea, from the way you’re praising him, it looks as if your Polyphemus is more loved than loving.
1.2.1
That’s not true; but the way you all criticise him annoys me. If you ask me, I think you’re jealous of the day when, looking after his sheep, he caught sight of us from his watch-point, as we were playing on the shore at the foot of Etna, where there’s a long stretch of beach between the mountain and the sea. He didn’t even look at you, but thought me the prettiest of us all, and was all eye for me and me only. That’s what’s annoying you; because it proves that I’m better than any of you, and that I deserve to be loved. None of you got so much as a glance.
1.2.2
Do you think people should be jealous of you, just because a shepherd with bad eyesight thought you pretty? Anyhow, what could he see to praise in you but your white skin? And he only likes that, I imagine, because he’s used to cheese and milk, and so thinks everything like them pretty. .
1.3.1
Apart from all that, any time you want to find out what your face really looks like, take a peep into the water from a rock when it’s calm and look at yourself. You’re nothing but white skin. Nobody thinks much of that, unless there’s some rosy colour as well to show it off.
1.3.2
Still, though I am unrelieved white, I have got a lover, even if it’s only Polyphemus. But not one of you has any shepherd or sailor or boatman to admire her. Besides, Polyphemus is musical.
1.4.1
You’d better not talk about that, Galatea. We heard his singing the other day, when he came serenading you. Gracious Aphrodite! Anyone would have taken it for the braying of an ass. And as for the lyre itself! What a thing it was! The fleshless skull of a stag! Its horns served as the arms of the lyre and he’d joined them with a yoke, and fitted on his strings, without bothering to twist them round a peg, so that his performance was scarcely tuneful or harmonious, with him roaring away himself in one key, and his lyre accompanying him in another. So we just couldn’t help laughing at such attempts at a love song. For even Echo, who’s such a chatterbox, wouldn’t so much as answer his bellowing, but was ashamed to be caught imitating such a rough, ridiculous song.
1.5.1
And your Prince Charming was carrying in his arms as his little plaything a bear-cub just as hairy as himself. Who wouldn’t envy you such a lover, Galatea?
1.5.2
Well, Doris, let us see your own lover. Obviously he’s handsomer, more musical and a better player of the harp.
1.5.3
I’ve not got one. I don’t pride myself on being a charmer. But as for a fellow like your Cyclops, that smells as rank as any he-goat, and, by all accounts, eats his meat raw, and makes a meal of visiting strangers—may you keep him for yourself, and ever return his affection.
2.1.1
What terrible treatment, father, I’ve had from that foreigner, curse him! Made me drunk and blinded me, setting on me in my sleep!
2.1.2
Who dared to do that, Polyphemus?
2.1.3
At first he called himself Noman, but once he’d escaped and was out of range, he said his name was Odysseus.
2.1.4
I know whom you mean—the fellow from Ithaca. He was sailing back from Troy. But how did he manage it, for he’s no hero?
2.2.1
When I got back from the pastures, I caught quite a few of them in my cave, obviously with designs on my flocks. For after I’d put the lid on my doorway—I’ve a huge rock for that—and had got my fire going with a tree I had with me from the mountain, I saw them, though they were trying to hide. I grabbed a few of them and ate them up, as was only natural, seeing that they were robbers. Then that out-and-out scoundrel, be his name Noman or Odysseus, gave me a drink which he’d drugged. It tasted and smelt nice, but was right treacherous and landed me in a heap of trouble. For the moment I’d drunk it, everything seemed to whirl round and round, and the cave itself started to turn upside down, and I began to lose my bearings, and in the end was overcome by sleep. And he, after sharpening that stake, yes, and making it red-hot in the fire, blinded me while I was asleep, and it’s thanks to him that you’ve a blind son, Poseidon.
2.3.1
How soundly you must have slept, my son, if you didn’t jump up while he was blinding you! But how did Odysseus escape? I’m sure he couldn’t have moved the rock from the doorway.
2.3.2
No, I did that myself; I thought it’d be easier for me to catch him as he went out. I sat down by the doorway, with my hands stretched out to feel for them. It was only my sheep I let out to the pasture, and I told my ram everything he’d to do for me.
2.4.1
I see it all. They slipped out under your sheep. But you should have called in the other Cyclopes to look for him.
2.4.2
So I did, father, and they came. But when they asked the name of the fellow responsible for the trick, and I said it was Noman, they thought I was out of my mind and went off home. Thus he outwitted me by that name, curse him. But what’s annoyed me most of all, is that he taunted me with my misfortune and said, “Not even your father, Poseidon himself, will be able to cure you”.
2.4.3
Cheer up, son. I’ll punish him. I’ll teach him that, though I can’t cure blindness, I do have control over the fortunes of sailors. He’s still at sea, remember.
3.1.1
What’s all this, Alpheus? When you run into the sea, you’re the only one that doesn’t mix with the salt water like all the other rivers! You don’t disperse and give yourself a rest, but go through the sea without disintegrating, and keep your water fresh! You dive right down like a gull or a heron, and hurry on, I don’t know where, undiluted and pure. I suppose you’ll pop up again somewhere and show yourself once more.
3.1.2
It’s a matter of love, Poseidon; so no questions, please; you’ve been in love often enough yourself.
3.1.3
Is it a woman you love, Alpheus, or a Nymph or a Nereid from the sea?
3.1.4
No, Poseidon, a fountain.
3.1.5
And where on earth does she have her waters?
3.1.6
In an island—in Sicily; they call her Arethusa.
3.2.1
I know Arethusa, and she’s not at all bad-looking. She’s translucent and gushes up pure. Her water makes a pretty picture along with her pebbles, all of it gleaming above them like silver.
3.2.2
You certainly do know my fountain, Poseidon. Well, I’m off to her.
3.2.3
Off with you, then, and good luck in your love. But tell me, where did you see her? You’re from Arcadia, and she’s at Syracuse.
3.2.4
I’m in a hurry, Poseidon, and you’re delaying me with these pointless questions.
3.2.5
Well spoken. Away with you to your beloved, come up from the sea, mingle with your fountain and become one water.
4.1.1
I’m willing to believe you turn into water, Proteus, since you come from the sea, and I can even put up with your becoming a tree, and even your changing into a lion is not quite beyond the bounds of belief—but that you can actually become fire, although you live in the sea, I find quite amazing and incredible.
4.1.2
Well you mustn’t, Menelaus, for it’s true enough.
4.1.3
I saw it with my own eyes. But I’ll tell you what I think. I think it’s all a trick, and you cheat the eyes of the onlookers, and don’t turn into any of these things.
4.2.1
How could there be any deception when everything’s so clearly visible? Weren’t your eyes open when you saw all my changes? If you don’t believe it, and think it’s all a fraud and an optical illusion, just try touching me with your hand, my fine fellow, when I turn myself into fire. That will teach you whether I’m only to be seen with the eyes or can burn as well.
4.2.2
That would be dangerous, Proteus.
4.2.3
I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen an octopus, Menelaus, or know what happens to that sort of fish?
4.2.4
I have seen one, but please tell me what happens to it.
4.3.1
Whenever it goes to a rock and puts its suckers on it, clinging tight with the full length of its arms, it makes itself just like that rock, changing its colour to match it; thus it escapes the notice of fishermen, by blending with its surroundings, thereby remaining inconspicuous and looking just like the stone.
4.3.2
So people say. But your goings on, Proteus, are much harder to believe.
4.3.3
I don’t know what else will convince you, Menelaus, if you won’t believe your own eyes.
4.3.4
I admit I saw it. But it’s quite miraculous for one and the same person to be fire and water.
5.1.1
It’s greatly to the credit of you dolphins, that you’ve always been kind to men. Long ago you caught up Ino’s son after his fall with his mother from the Scironian cliffs, and carried him to the Isthmus. And now one of you has picked up this harper from Methymna, and swum away with him to Taenarum, robes and harp and all, stopping those seamen from murdering him.
5.1.2
Don’t be surprised, Poseidon, that we’re kind to men. We were men ourselves, before we became fishes. It wasn’t very nice of Dionysus to change our shape after he’d beaten us in that sea-battle; he ought merely to have reduced us to submission as he did to all the others.
5.1.3
But what’s the true story about Arion, my dear dolphin?
5.2.1
Periander was fond of him, I believe, and would be continually sending for him to perform. But when the tyrant had made him a rich man, Arion became eager to sail off home to Methymna and show off his riches. So he embarked on a passage-boat, but the crew were scoundrels, and, when he let them see that he had a great deal of gold and silver with him, they plotted against him in mid Aegean. But—I heard it all, for I was swimming alongside the ship—he said to them, “Since your minds are made up, at least allow me to put on my robes and sing my own dirge, and then I’ll be willing to throw myself into the sea.” The crew agreed; he dressed up and sang a beautiful song, and jumped into the sea to ensure a quick death if nothing else. But I caught him up, and put him on my back and swam all the way to Taenarum with him.
5.2.2
Your love of music does you great credit. You paid him well for the song you heard.
6.1.1
Let this strait, where the girl fell from the skies, be called Hellespont after her. You, Nereids, take the body to the Troad, so that it can be buried by people there.
6.1.2
Please not that, Poseidon, but let her be buried here in the sea named after her. We feel very sorry for the pitiable way she was treated by her step-mother.
6.1.3
That would be wrong, Amphitrite, and it’s not quite the thing either to leave her lying here under the sand; no, she’ll be buried, as I said, in the Troad or the Chersonese. She’ll find it no small consolation that, before long, the same thing will happen to Ino; she’ll be pursued by Athamas, and plunge into the sea with her child in her arms from the heights of Cithaeron where a ridge runs down into the sea. But we must save Ino to please Dionysus; for she was his nurse and his nanny.
6.2.1
You shouldn’t save a bad woman like that!
6.2.2
But, Amphitrite, we mustn’t offend Dionysus.
6.2.3
But what came over her that she fell from the ram, while Phrixus, her brother, is having a safe ride?
6.2.4
That’s natural; he’s a young man and can withstand the speed; but she has no experience, and when she got on that strange mount, and looked down into the gaping depths beneath her, she was terrified, and, overcome at the same time by the heat, and growing dizzy at the speed of the flight, lost hold of the ram’s horns, to which she’d been clinging, and fell into the sea.
6.2.5
But shouldn’t Nephele, her mother, have helped her when she was falling?
6.2.6
Yes, indeed, but Fate is far stronger than Nephele.
7.1.1
Did you see, Galene, what Discord did yesterday at the banquet in Thessaly, because she wasn’t invited?
7.1.2
I wasn’t with you people in person at the banquet. For Poseidon had told me, my dear Panope, to keep the sea calm while it lasted. But what did the absent Discord do?
7.1.3
Thetis and Peleus had already left and gone to their chamber, escorted by Amphitrite and Poseidon. Meanwhile Discord had crept in unseen by all—that was easy enough, with the guests drinking, applauding, or listening to Apollo’s playing or the Muses’ singing—and she threw a beautiful apple amongst the guests—an apple of solid gold, my dear, with the inscription “For the queen of Beauty”. The apple rolled, as if aimed, to where Hera, Aphrodite and Athena were at table.
7.2.1
Then Hermes picked it up, and read out the inscription, but we Nereids held our tongues. What could we do when such august ladies were present? Each of them laid claim to the apple, insisting it should rightly be hers, and it would have come to blows, if Zeus hadn’t parted them, saying, “I won’t judge this matter myself”,—though they kept insisting he should—“but you go to Priam’s son on Ida. He knows how to decide between beauties, for he’s a connoisseur of beauty; his verdict is bound to be right.”
7.2.2
And what have the goddesses done, Panope?
7.2.3
They’ll be going to Ida today, I believe, and we’ll soon have a messenger with news of the winner.
7.2.4
I can tell you that now. Only Aphrodite can win, if she competes—unless the umpire is very short-sighted.
8.1.1
Poseidon, there’s a girl who comes to Lerna for water every day—ever such a pretty little thing. I don’t know that I ever saw a prettier girl.
8.1.2
Free, do you say, Triton, or a serving water-girl?
8.1.3
No servant, but a daughter of that Egyptian. She’s another of those fifty sisters, and is called Amymone. I asked after her name and family. Danaus brings up his daughters the hard way, and teaches them to fend for themselves, sending them for water and training them not to shirk hard work.
8.2.1
Does she come all that long way from Argos to Lerna alone?
8.2.2
Indeed she does, and Argos is a pretty thirsty place, as you know, so that she must for ever be carrying water.
8.2.3
My dear fellow, I’m really excited at what you’ve told me about her. Let’s go and find her.
8.2.4
Let’s do that. It’s just the time for her to be getting her water. She must be about halfway to Lerna by now.
8.2.5
Then get the horses into my chariot, or rather, since it takes too long harnessing the horses and getting the chariot ready, fetch me a quick dolphin. Riding on that, I’ll be able to get away most quickly.
8.2.6
Look, here’s the fastest dolphin you have.
8.2.7
Capital. Let’s be on our way; you can swim alongside, my good fellow. . . . Well, now that we’re at Lerna, I’ll lie in wait here somewhere, and you’ll have to keep a look-out, and when you see her coming—
8.2.8
Here she is now, not far off.
8.3.1
She is pretty, my dear fellow, a real beauty. We must get hold of her.
8.3.2
Where are you carrying me off to, fellow? You’re a kidnapper, that’s what you are. I’ve an idea Uncle Egyptus sent you. I’m going to scream for my father.
8.3.3
Silence, Amymone, it’s Poseidon.
8.3.4
Why do you say Poseidon? Why this force, fellow? Why are you dragging me into the sea? Oh, dear me, I’ll drown if I go under.
8.3.5
Don’t worry, you’re in no danger. I’ll give the rock a tap with my trident near the beach, and start a fountain that will have your name. You’ll be happy, and, unlike any of your sisters, you won’t have to carry water after death.
9.1.1
That wandering island, Poseidon, which was broken off from Sicily, and is still propelling itself about under water—Zeus says you are to make it stop now, and bring it into view. You are to fix it quite securely, and make it stand firm, clearly visible from now on in the middle of the Aegean. He wants it for something.
9.1.2
It will be done, Iris. But what use will it be to him by coming to light and ceasing its seafaring?
9.1.3
Leto must be delivered upon it. She’s already in distress from her birth pangs.
9.1.4
What of it? Hasn’t heaven room enough for bearing children? If not heaven, couldn’t all the earth accommodate her for the birth?
9.1.5
No, Poseidon. Hera has laid the earth under strict oath not to give Leto anywhere for her travail; thus this island is not bound by the oath, for it was not visible.
9.2.1
I see. Stop still, island. Come up again from the deep, and drift below the surface no more. Remain in a fixed position, and receive, most lucky of islands, my brother’s two children, the most beautiful of all the gods. And you, Tritons, give Leto passage to the island, and let all be calm. And the moment the babes are born, they’ll pursue the serpent that’s now maddening Leto with fright, and exact vengeance for their mother. And you, Iris, go and tell Zeus that all is ready. Delos is stationary. Let Leto come now and have her children.
10.1.1
Take me to you, Sea, for I’ve suffered terribly. Please put a stop to my burning wounds.
10.1.2
What’s this, Xanthus? Who has burnt you?
10.1.3
Hephaestus. See how I’ve been charred to cinders all over, poor thing that I am, and am at boiling point.
10.1.4
Whatever made him attack you with his fire?
10.1.5
It’s all because of the son of Thetis here. He was butchering the Phrygians, and I begged him to relent from his anger, but he wouldn’t; he only blocked up my stream with their bodies. Out of pity for the poor wretches, I attacked him, hoping to swallow him in a flood, and frighten him away from them.
10.2.1
Then Hephaestus, happening to be near, attacked me, with all the fire he had in his forge it seemed to me, yes, with all his fire in Etna, and burnt my elms and tamarisks, roasting my unhappy fish and my eels, and making me myself bubble all over, and nearly dry all up. You can see the state I’m in from my burns.
10.2.2
You’re muddy and hot, Xanthus, as is only natural, what with the blood from the bodies and the heat from that fire you’ve been talking about—and quite right too, when you had the cheek to attack my grandson though he was the son of a Nereid!
10.2.3
Was it wrong for me, then, to feel sorry for my neighbours of Phrygia?
10.2.4
Or wrong for Hephaestus to be sorry for Thetis’ son, Achilles?
11.1.1
Is it true, Zephyrus, about Zeus and this heifer that Hermes is escorting by sea to Egypt? Did he fall for her and have his way with her?
11.1.2
Yes, Notus; only she wasn’t a heifer then, but the daughter of Inachus, the river. But now Hera, in her jealousy, has turned her into this, because she saw Zeus was very much in love with her.
11.1.3
Is he still in love with her now she’s a heifer?

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