Dialogues of the Gods

Perseus Greek · Perseus Greek · 287 sections

1.1.1
My dear Hermes, have you heard Zeus’ threats? How proud and preposterous they are! “If I please”, says he, “I’ll let a cord down from heaven; you’ll be hanging on it, trying with all your might to pull me down, but you’ll be wasting all your efforts, for you’ll never succeed. And, if I choose to tug up, it won’t be only you, but I’ll pull up the earth and the sea into the bargain, and leave the lot dangling in mid-air.” He goes on and on like that. You’ve heard it all too. I’ll admit that he’s more than a match and too strong for any one of us, but that he’s too much for all of us put together, so that, even if we have the earth and the sea with us, our weight wouldn’t overpower him—that I’ll never believe.
1.2.1
Hush, Ares. It isn’t safe to talk like that, or we may be sorry for our silly chatter.
1.2.2
Do you think I’d have said that to just anyone, or only to you? I knew you would hold your tongue. But I must tell you what struck me as most ridiculous as I listened to his threats. I remember, just the other day, when Poseidon and Hera and Athena rebelled, and were plotting to catch him and clap him in irons, he was crazy with terror though there were only three of them. And in irons he would have been, thunder and lightning and all, if Thetis had not been sorry for him, and called in to his help Briareos with his hundred hands. When I thought of that, I had to laugh at his fine talk.
1.2.3
Quiet, I tell you. It’s dangerous for you to talk like that, and for me to listen.
2.1.1
Good day to you, Hermes, Daddy mine.
2.1.2
And a bad day to you. But how am I your daddy?
2.1.3
Aren’t you Hermes of Cyllene?
2.1.4
Yes. How, then, are you my son?
2.1.5
I’m your bastard boy, your love-child.
2.1.6
Oh quite so, when some billy-goat, I suppose, led a nanny astray! How could you be mine, you with your horns and ugly snout and shaggy beard and a goat’s cloven hooves and a tail over your behind?
2.1.7
When you jeer at me, daddy, you’re mocking your own son, or rather yourself for producing such creatures as your children. It’s not my fault.
2.1.8
Who do you say your mother was? Perhaps I led a nanny astray without knowing it.
2.1.9
No, not a nanny. But try to remember if you ever forced your attentions on a freeborn girl in Arcadia. Why are you biting your nails and thinking so hard? Why so puzzled? I’m speaking of Icarius’ girl, Penelope.
2.1.10
Then what possessed her to produce in you a child not like me but like a goat?
2.2.1
I’ll tell you what she said herself. When she was packing me off to Arcadia, she said, “My boy, I, Penelope, a true blue Spartan, am your mother, but your father, let me tell you, is a god, Hermes, son of Maia and Zeus. Don’t worry because you have horns and a goat’s shanks, for when your father came courting me, he made himself into a goat so that no one would notice him. That’s why you’ve turned out like the goat.”
2.2.2
Ah, yes. I do remember doing something like that. Am I, then, to be called your father? I, who am so proud of my good looks! I, who’ve still got a smooth chin! Am I to be laughed at by all for having such a bonny boy?
2.3.1
But I won’t disgrace you, father. I’m a musician and play the pipe loud and true. Dionysus is lost without me, and has made me his companion and fellow-reveller; I’m his dance-leader, and if you could see how many flocks I have around Tegea and on Parthenium, you’d be delighted. I’m lord and master of all Arcadia. Besides that, the other day, I fought so magnificently on the side of the Athenians at Marathon that a prize of valour was chosen for me—the cave under the Acropolis. Anyhow, go to Athens and you’ll soon find out what a great name Pan has there.
2.4.1
Tell me, are you married yet, Pan? Pan’s the name they give you, isn’t it?
2.4.2
Of course not, daddy. I’m romantically inclined, and wouldn’t like to have to confine my attentions to just one.
2.4.3
No doubt, then, you try your luck with the nanny-goats?
2.4.4
A fine jest coming from you! My lady-friends are Echo and Pitys and all the Maenads of Dionysus, and I’m in great demand with them.
2.4.5
Please do me a favour, son. I’ve never asked one from you before.
2.4.6
Tell me what you want, daddy, and let me see to it.
2.4.7
You may come here and pay your respects to me, but please don’t call me daddy when anyone can hear.
3.1.1
What can we make of it? Won’t we have to admit that Eros and Hermaphroditus and Priapus, though sons of the same mother, are utterly different in appearance and habits? Eros is really handsome, and an archer invested with great power, and lord of all. Hermaphroditus is an effeminate pansy, half one thing and half the other in appearance, for you can’t tell whether he’s boy or girl; whereas Priapus is quite indecently masculine.
3.1.2
There’s no need to be surprised, Apollo. It’s not Aphrodite’s fault, but the fathers were different. Why, even when the father’s the same, the one mother often has both boys and girls in her family. Take for example your sister and yourself.
3.1.3
Quite so, but we are alike and have the same interests. We’re both archers.
3.1.4
The same as far as the bow goes, Apollo, but no farther, for Artemis kills visitors in Scythia, while you are a prophet and healer of the sick.
3.1.5
What? Do you think my sister likes her Scythians? Why, the moment a Greek reaches Taurica, she’s all ready and waiting to sail off with him, in disgust at their human sacrifices.
3.2.1
And the best thing she could do. But now as for Priapus—I’ll tell you something really funny. The other day—it was in Lampsacus—I was passing the city, when he invited me home with him, and put me up for the night. Now we’d gone to sleep in his dining-room, after and were pretty well soaked, when about midnight up gets our bold lad—but I’m ashamed to tell you.
3.2.2
And made an attempt on you, Dionysus?
3.2.3
Something like that.
3.2.4
How did you deal with the situation?
3.2.5
What could I do but laugh?
3.2.6
The best thing too, no bad temper or violence. He’d some excuse for making an attempt on you. You’re so good-looking.
3.2.7
As far as that goes, he might make an attempt on you too, Apollo. You’re so handsome and have such a fine head of hair, that he might assault you, even when he was sober.
3.2.8
Oh no, he won’t. I have arrows as well as long hair.
4.1.1
Is there a god in heaven, mother, more miserable than I am?
4.1.2
Hermes, dear, you mustn’t talk like that.
4.1.3
Why shouldn’t I, when I’m so busy—and the only one that does a hand’s turn, too—quite distracted with so many different jobs? I must be up at crack of dawn, and sweep the dining-room, seeing to the cushions on the couch and tidying everything up, and then be at Zeus’ beck and call, a courier to carry his messages high and low, and the moment I’m back, I’ve to lay out the ambrosia, without even time for a wash; and before his latest acquisition, thi nectar as well. But worst of all, it’s just the same at night. I’m the only one that loses hiss wine waiter, arrived, I used to pour out the sleep, and must be busy then too—for Pluto, this time, acting as guide of souls and usher of the dead, and then be on duty with Justice Rhadamanthys. My day’s work isn’t enough for me, it seems, on the go in the wrestling schools, announcing in parliament, and training speakers, but I’ve to help out with the dead as well, for they all want their share of me.
4.2.1
Yet Leda’s children can take turns at being in heaven and Hades on alternate days, but I must carry out all those jobs every day in both places. Yes, and the sons of Alcmena and Semele, whose mothers were only women, and came to a bad end, can gorge themselves without a care in the world, while I, the son of Maia, the daughter of Atlas, must wait on them hand and foot. Now I’m just back from Cadmus’ daughter at Sidon, where he sent me to see how things were with her, and, without giving me time to get my breath back, he’s sent me off again to Argos to have a look at Danae, and “Then”, says he, “you’d better go on from there to Boeotia, and take a peep at Antiope on your way”. But I’m quite fagged out already. If only it were possible, I’d gladly have asked to be sold in the market, like slaves on earth who find their lot too bad.
4.2.2
Enough of that, my lad. You must do everything your father wants. You’re still a youngster. Off with you now to Argos, as you were told, and then to Boeotia, or you may get a whipping for dawdling. Lovers have sharp tempers.
5.1.1
Free me, Zeus. I’ve suffered terribly already.
5.1.2
I’m to free you, am I? You ought to have had heavier chains, and all of Caucasus on your head, and a whole sixteen vultures to tear at your liver, and dig your eyes out too, for making such creatures as humans to plague us, and stealing fire and producing women. For need I mention how you tricked me in serving out the meat, by serving me with hones wrapped in fat, and keeping the better portion for yourself?
5.1.3
Well, haven’t I already been punished enough for that, nailed all this time to Caucasus, with that accursed eagle feeding on my liver?
5.2.1
That’s not the tiniest fraction of what you deserve.
5.2.2
But you shall have your reward for my freedom. I’ll give you some very vital information, Zeus.
5.2.3
You’re trying to trick me, Prometheus.
5.2.4
What good will that do me? You’ll still know where Caucasus is, and still have plenty of chains left, if I’m caught up to any tricks.
5.2.5
Tell me first what is this vital reward I’ll have from you?
5.2.6
Suppose I tell you what you’re after in your present expedition, will you trust the rest of my prophecies?
5.2.7
Yes, indeed.
5.2.8
You’re off to Thetis, to make love to her.
5.2.9
So far you’re right, but what’s to follow? For I think what you say will prove true.
5.2.10
Have nothing to do with that daughter of Nereus, for if she brings you a child, it will treat you just as you treated—
5.2.11
Do you mean that I’ll be cast out of my kingdom?
5.2.12
I hope not, Zeus, but something of the sort threatens if you tamper with her.
5.2.13
Goodbye, then, to Thetis; and you, Prometheus, must be released by Hephaestus for this.
6.1.1
Even if I have done something wrong, Zeus, please forgive me, for I’m only a child, and still without sense.
6.1.2
You a child, you Eros, who are far older than Iapetus ! Just because you have no heard or grey hairs, do you really think you should be considered a babe in arms, you old villain?
6.1.3
What great harm have I, old villain as you call me, done you, that you even think of putting me in chains?
6.1.4
Curse you, do you think it no great harm when you make such a fool of me that you’ve turned me into everything under the sun—satyr, bull, shower of gold, swan, eagle? Yet you’ve never made one woman fall for me in my true colours, and, as far as I know, I’ve not got you to thank for any of my conquests, but I’ve to practise black magic to win the ladies, hiding my true self. They’ve plenty of affection for the bull or the swan, but if they see me as I really am, they’re frightened to death.
6.2.1
That’s only natural. The sight of your face is too much for mortal women like them.
6.2.2
How, then, is Apollo so popular with Branchus and Hyacinthus?
6.2.3
And yet even he had Daphne run from him, for all his flowing locks and beardless face. But if you want them to fall for you, you mustn’t go shaking that shield of yours or carrying your thunderbolt around with you, but make yourself as attractive as you can and tender to behold. Let your hair grow down in curls, do them up with a ribbon like Bacchus, wear a purple robe and golden slippers, and come dancing in to the music of pipes and timbrels, and you’ll find you have more of them running after you than all his Bacchantes put together.
6.2.4
Be off with you. I’d rather they didn’t fall for me, if I’ve to be like that.
6.2.5
Then give up all ideas of romance, Zeus. That’s a simple enough way out.
6.2.6
Oh, no! I want my women, but I want success with them without so much trouble. Promise me just that, and I’ll let you go.
7.1.1
Hermes, do you know Inachus’ daughter, the one that’s so pretty?
7.1.2
Yes. You mean Io, don’t you?
7.1.3
She’s not a girl, but a heifer now.
7.1.4
Wonders will never cease! How this change?
7.1.5
Hera did it out of jealousy. But that’s not all. She’s played another nasty unheard-of trick on the poor girl. She’s put a herdsman called Argus with ever so many eyes in charge of her. He keeps an eye on her as she grazes, and he never goes to sleep.
7.1.6
Well, what are we to do about it?
7.1.7
You must fly down to Nemea—Argus is on his beat thereabouts—and kill him. Then take Io over the sea to Egypt, and make her into Isis. Hereafter let her be goddess of the folk there, raising the waters of the Nile, sending them their winds, and preserving seafarers from harm.
8.1.1
Since you’ve brought this lad up here, Zeus, this Phrygian you carried off from Ida, you’ve been neglecting me.
8.1.2
What, Hera? Jealous already? Of him too, though he’s so simple and harmless? I thought you were only down on my various lady friends.
8.2.1
It’s bad enough and quite out of place for you, the master of all gods, to desert me, your lawful wife, and go down to earth, turning into gold or satyr or bull, to commit adultery. But your women do stay on the earth, but as for this boy from Ida, you grabbed hold of him and flew him up here, my fine king of the birds, and you’ve brought him into our family over my head, “as wine-waiter”, you say. Were you so badly in need of wine-waiters? Have Hebe and Hephaestus, then, gone on strike? And you can’t take the cup from him, without kissing him first before all our eyes, and you find his kiss sweeter than the nectar, and so you keep on and on asking for a drink, even when you’re not thirsty. Sometimes, too, you just take a sip, and give him the cup, and when he has drunk, you take it back and drain it, from the side he’s drunk from and touched with his lips, so that you can be drinking and kissing at the same time. And the other day, you, the king and father of all, laid aside your aegis and thunderbolt, and sat down playing dice with him, you with that great beard on your face! I see it all. Don’t think you’re hoodwinking me.
8.3.1
And what’s so terrible, my dear, in kissing a pretty boy like that while I’m drinking, and enjoying both the kiss and the nectar? Why, if I let him kiss you just once, you’ll never again blame me for preferring his kiss to the nectar.
8.3.2
Admirers of boys may talk like that, but I hope I’ll never be so mad as to give my lips to that Phrygian softie. Oh, the effeminate creature!
8.3.3
Please don’t abuse my little darling, noble Hera. This effeminate foreigner, this softie, is more delightful and desirable to me than—I won’t say it, for fear that I make you still angrier.
8.4.1
Well, you can go ahead and marry him, for all I care. But I hope you remember how you’re showering tipsy abuse on me because of this wine-boy.
8.4.2
What nonsense! I suppose we ought to have our wine from your son, Hephaestus, hobbling about, straight from the forge, still filthy from the sparks, having just put down his tongs. I suppose I should take the cup from those dirty fingers of his, and between each mouthful of wine give him a kiss? Why, even you, his own mother, wouldn’t want to kiss his face, all black with soot. That would be nicer, wouldn’t it? Hephaestus was a much more suitable wine-waiter for the table of the gods, I suppose, and Ganymede should be packed off home to Ida? He’s too clean, and has rosy fingers, he’s not clumsy when he offers the drink, and what annoys you most of all, his kiss is sweeter than the nectar.
8.5.1
Oh, so now you complain that Hephaestus is lame, and his fingers aren’t good enough for your cup, and he is all sooty, and that the sight of him turns your stomach? You’ve been like that ever since Ida produced this long-haired darling. In the old days, you didn’t notice these things. The sparks and the forge didn’t stop you from taking your wine from him.
8.5.2
You’re only making yourself miserable, my dear, and me fonder of him, by being jealous. If you don’t like taking your drink from a lovely boy, you can have your own son serve you, and I’ll have you, Ganymede, all to myself, waiting on me, and giving me two kisses with each cup, one when you hold it out to me full, and a second when I give you it back. Hullo, not crying, are you? Don’t be afraid. Anyone that chooses to hurt you will regret it.
9.1.1
This Ixion, Zeus, what sort of a fellow do you think he is?
9.1.2
Why, an honest man, my dear, and grand company. He wouldn’t be our guest, if he were unworthy of our table.
9.1.3
But he isn’t worthy, for his behaviour’s outrageous. So don’t invite him again.
9.1.4
How’s it been outrageous? I think I should be in the know too.
9.1.5
Of course you should. But I’m ashamed to mention it. Such a thing to dare!
9.1.6
But if he’s tried to do anything shameful, that’s all the more reason for telling me about it. He’s not been making attempts on anyone, has he? I think I can guess the sort of shameful thing you wouldn’t like to mention.
9.2.1
It’s me he’s been after. Me of all people! And for a long time too! At first I didn’t know what it all meant, when he kept gazing hard at me. He would sigh and whimper, and whenever I gave the cup to Ganymede after drinking, he would ask for a drink from the same cup, and when he got it, would stop in the middle of his drink and kiss the cup, bringing it up to his eyes, and staring at me again. Presently I realised these were signs of love, and for a long time I was ashamed to mention the matter to you, thinking the man would get over his madness. But now that he’s actually dared to broach the subject with me, I’ve left him still weeping and grovelling on the ground, and, stopping up my ears so that I wouldn’t even hear his outrageous pleas, I’ve come to tell you. I leave his punishment in your own hands.
9.3.1
The enterprising old devil! Supplanting me! Aspiring to Hera’s affections! So drunk with the nectar! Well, it’s our own fault; we’ve been far too good to men, inviting them up to drink with us. So you can’t blame them, when they’ve had the same to drink as us, and seen the beauty of heaven’s ladies, the like of which they never saw on earth, if they fall in love and want such beauties for themselves. After all, Love’s a pretty violent thing, and gets the mastery not only of men, but sometimes even of us gods.
9.3.2
Love’s your master, good and proper. He drags you along, pulling you by the nose, as they say, and you follow wherever he leads you, and don’t mind changing into anything he bids you. Why, you’re nothing but love’s chattel and plaything. I can see already that you sympathise with Ixion, because you yourself once made free with his wife, and she brought you Peirithous.
9.4.1
What? Do you still remember every time I went down to earth to have some fun? Do you know what I think we should do with Ixion? We shouldn’t punish him or forbid him our table. That would be ill-bred. No, since he’s in love, and reduced to tears and suffers intolerable torment—
9.4.2
Quick, out with it; for I’m afraid you too will make some outrageous suggestion.
9.4.3
Nothing of the sort. No, let’s make a model of you out of cloud, and every night after dinner, when he can’t get to sleep for love, as is only natural, we can bring it and put it beside him. Thus he could be out of his misery, and imagine he’s got what he longs for.
9.4.4
Never! Curse him for lusting after what’s above him.
9.4.5
Still you must put up with it, my dear. What harm will the model do you, if Ixion makes love to a cloud?
9.5.1
But I’ll be mistaken for the cloud and so be put to shame, because we can’t be told apart.

Perseus Greek. CTS URN tlg0062.tlg068.perseus-eng3. Via the Perseus Digital Library / Open Greek and Latin TEI corpora. Licence: Available under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. Source.