Dialogues of the Gods

Perseus Greek · Perseus Greek · 287 sections

9.5.2
What nonsense! The cloud could never become Hera or you a cloud. Ixion will be deceived, that’s all.
9.5.3
But humans are all so ill-bred. Perhaps he’ll start boasting down on earth, telling his story to everyone and claiming that he’s been keeping company with Hera, and sharing Zeus’ bed; perhaps he may even say I’m in love with him, and they’ll believe him, not knowing he was with a cloud.
9.5.4
Very well, if he says anything bike that, he’ll be thrown down to Hades and tied to a wheel—he won’t like that a bit—and carried round and round with the wheel for ever, and suffer torment without end, not as a punishment for his love—for that’s no crime—but for boasting.
10.1.1
Come now, Ganymede. We’ve got there, so you can give me a kiss right away, and you’ll know I’ve no crooked beak now, or sharp claws or wings, as you thought when you took me for a bird.
10.1.2
Mister man, weren’t you an eagle just now? Didn’t you swoop down, and carry me away from the middle of my flock? How, then, have your feathers moulted? You look quite different now.
10.1.3
It’s no man you see here, my lad, nor eagle either. No, I’m the king of all the gods, but I’ve changed my shape for the moment.
10.1.4
What’s that? Are you Pan himself? How is it, then, you’ve no pipe or horns or shaggy legs?
10.1.5
Is he your only god?
10.1.6
Yes, and we sacrifice one of our best billies to him, taking it to the cave where he has his statue. But you’re just a kidnapper, if you ask me.
10.2.1
Tell me, have you never heard the name of Zeus? Never seen his altar on Gargaron —the one who sends rain, thunder and lightning?
10.2.2
Oh, sir, do you mean you’re the one that poured down that tremendous hailstorm on us the other day, the one they say lives up top and makes all the noise, the one my father sacrificed the ram to? What harm have I done you, mister king of the gods, that you’ve carried me off up here? Perhaps the wolves will fall on my sheep now that they’re unprotected, and tear them to pieces.
10.2.3
What? Still worrying about your sheep? You’re an immortal now and will be living up here with us.
10.2.4
What’s that? Won’t you be taking me back to Ida today?
10.2.5
Of course not. That would mean I’d changed from god to eagle all for nothing.
10.2.6
Then my daddy will be looking everywhere for me and getting cross if he doesn’t find me, and I’ll get a thrashing by and by for leaving my flock.
10.2.7
How so? Where will he see you?
10.2.8
Please don’t go on with it, for I miss him already. If only you take me back, I promise you you’ll get another ram from him, sacrificed as my ransom. We have the three-year-old one, the big one that leads the way to the pasture.
10.3.1
How simple the child is, how innocent he is! Still just a child, that’s what he is. Look here, Ganymede, you can say good-bye to all those things and forget all about them—about your flock and about Ida. You’re one of heaven’s company now, and can do a lot of good to your father and country from here. Instead of your cheese and milk, you’ll have ambrosia to eat and nectar to drink, only you’ll have to serve the nectar to the rest of us too with your own fair hand. And most important of all, you won’t be human any more, but immortal, and I’ll make your own star—the prettiest one shining in the sky—and you’ll enjoy perfect happiness.
10.3.2
But what if I want to play? Who will play with me? There were a lot of us who were of my age on Ida.
10.3.3
You have someone to play with here too—there’s Eros over there—and lots and lots of knucklebones as well. Only you must cheer up and be a bit more pleased with life, and stop longing for things below.
10.4.1
But how could I possibly be any use to you? Will I have to look after a flock here too?
10.4.2
No, you’ll pour wine, and be in charge of the nectar, looking after us at table.
10.4.3
That’s quite simple. I know how to pour milk, and hand round the milk bowl.
10.4.4
There he goes again. Keeps harping on his milk! Think’s he’ll be waiting on men! This is heaven, let me tell you, and, as I said just now, our drink is nectar.
10.4.5
Is that nicer than milk, Zeus?
10.4.6
You’ll know very soon, and once you’ve tasted it, you won’t miss your milk any more.
10.4.7
Where shall I sleep at night? With Eros, my playmate?
10.4.8
No, that’s why I carried you off up here; I wanted us to sleep together.
10.4.9
Can’t you sleep alone? Will you prefer sleeping with me?
10.4.10
Yes, when it’s with a beautiful boy like you.
10.5.1
But how will you sleep better because of my beauty?
10.5.2
It’s sweet and soothing, and brings softer sleep.
10.5.3
But Daddy would get annoyed with me when I slept with him, and kept telling us first thing in the morning how he couldn’t sleep for me tossing and turning, kicking out and talking in my sleep; so he usually sent me to sleep with mummy. So, if that’s why you brought me up here, as you say it is, the sooner you put me back down on earth again, the better, or you’ll have a terrible time with sleepless nights. For I’ll be an awful nuisance to you, tossing and turning all night long.
10.5.4
That’s just what I’ll like best—staying awake with you, kissing and hugging you again and again.
10.5.5
You can find out by yourself. I’ll go to sleep and leave the kissing to you.
10.5.6
We’ll find out how to manage, when the time comes. Take him off now, Hermes, and let him have a draught of immortality, and when you’ve shown him how to offer the cup, bring him back to serve our wine.
11.1.1
Have you seen how bonny Maia’s newborn baby is, Apollo, and what a nice smile it has for everyone? You can see already it’ll be a real treasure.
11.1.2
That baby a real treasure, Hephaestus? Why, it’s already older than Iapetus when it comes to mischief.
11.1.3
What harm could it do? It was born only the other day.
11.1.4
Ask Poseidon—it stole his trident—or Ares—it filched his sword out of his scabbard—not to mention myself—it disarmed me of my bow and arrows.
11.2.1
What? That newborn infant, which can hardly stand up, and is still in its baby-clothes?
11.2.2
You’ll see for yourself, my dear fellow, if he gets near you.
11.2.3
But he’s already been near me.
11.2.4
And what happened? Still got all your tools? None gone?
11.2.5
All present and correct, Apollo.
11.2.6
All the same, have a really good look.
11.2.7
Good heavens, I can’t see my tongs.
11.2.8
No, you’ll see them in his baby-clothes.
11.2.9
Can he have been practising stealing in his mother’s womb, that he’s so light-fingered?
11.3.1
Well, haven’t you heard him speaking? He already has a glib and fluent tongue. And he wants to be our message boy. And yesterday he challenged Eros to wrestle with him, and in no time at all took his feet from under him somehow and had him on the ground. When they were still congratulating him and Aphrodite gave him a hug for winning, he stole her girdle, and, before Zeus had stopped laughing, his sceptre into the bargain; and if his thunderbolt hadn’t been too heavy and scorching hot, he’d have had that too and nobody any the wiser.
11.3.2
The child’s too sharp for words, by your account.
11.3.3
Yes, and he’s already shown he’s musical.
11.3.4
How can you tell that?
11.4.1
He picked up a dead tortoise somewhere, and made himself a musical instrument out of it; he’s fitted arms to it, with a yoke across, then driven in pegs, fitted a bridge, and stretched seven strings across; he plays a dainty melody with it, Hephaestus, well in tune, so that even I am green with envy for all my years of practice on the harp. Even at night, Maia was telling me, he wouldn’t stay in heaven, but would go all the way down to Hades out of curiosity—to steal something from there, I’ve no doubt. He has wings on his feet, and has had someone make him a rod with marvellous powers, and with it leads down the souls of the dead.
11.4.2
I gave him that for a toy.
11.4.3
Well, he’s paid you back for that good and proper—the tongs, you know.
11.4.4
Thanks for reminding me. I’ll go and get them back, if they’re to be found, as you say, in his baby-clothes.
12.1.1
May I have a word with Zeus, Hermes?
12.1.2
Impossible, Poseidon.
12.1.3
Just tell him I’m here.
12.1.4
Don’t bother us, I tell you. It’s not convenient. You can’t see him just now.
12.1.5
He’s not with Hera, is he?
12.1.6
No, it’s something quite different.
12.1.7
I know what you mean. He’s got Ganymede in there.
12.1.8
No, it’s not that either. He’s poorly.
12.1.9
How come, Hermes? That’s surprising.
12.1.10
I’m ashamed to tell you; it’s so awful.
12.1.11
There’s nothing wrong with telling Uncle Poseidon.
12.1.12
He’s just had a baby, uncle.
12.1.13
Nonsense. How could he? Who’s the father? Was he a man-woman, then, without us knowing? His belly didn’t show he was pregnant.
12.1.14
True enough; the child wasn’t there.
12.1.15
Oh, I’ve got it. He produced it out of his head again, just as he did Athena. He’s got a prolific head.
12.1.16
No, it was from his thigh that Semele’s child came.
12.1.17
Bravo! He’s a fine one for you. Gets pregnant from head to toe. Breeds all over his body. But who is Semele?
12.2.1
She’s from Thebes—one of Cadmus’ daughters. He got her into trouble.
12.2.2
And then had the baby himself, instead of her?
12.2.3
Exactly, even if you do think it odd. The fact is that Hera—you know how jealous she is—talked Semele into persuading Zeus to visit her complete with thunder and lightning. He agreed, and came with his thunderbolt too; the roof caught fire, and Semele was burnt up, and he told me to cut open her womb, and bring him the half-formed seven-month child. When I did so, he cut a slit in his own thigh, and slipped it in to finish its growth there; now, two months later, he’s brought it into the world, and he’s ill from the birth-pains.
12.2.4
Then, where’s the baby now?
12.2.5
I took him to Nysa, and gave him to the Nymphs to bring up. His name is Dionysus.
12.2.6
Is my brother, then, both father and mother of Dionysus?
12.2.7
So it seems. But I’ll be off now to bring him water for his wound, and give him the other attentions usual after a confinement.
13.1.1
What do you want me to do, Zeus? Here I am, as you ordered, all ready with my axe at its sharpest, even if I must chop through stones with a single blow.
13.1.2
That’s grand, Hephaestus. Now, down with it on my head and cut it in two.
13.1.3
Are you trying to see if I’m mad? Tell me what you really want me to do.
13.1.4
You heard. I want my skull split. If you don’t obey, I’ll be angry—and you know what that’s like already. Hit away with all your might. Come on, hurry up. The birth-pangs shooting through my brain are killing me.
13.1.5
Take care, Zeus, or I may hurt you. My axe is sharp. You’ll find her a midwife that draws blood and quite different from Ilithyia.
13.1.6
Hit away, Hephaestus. Don’t be afraid; I know what’s good for me.
13.1.7
All right, here goes. How can I help it, when it’s your orders? Hullo, what’s this? A girl in armour? That was no small trouble you had in your head. No wonder you were short-tempered, breeding a big girl like that in your brain—and her with armour into the bargain. It wasn’t a head you had but a barracks, though we didn’t know it. She’s leaping up and down in a war-dance, shaking her shield and poising her spear, full of the spirit of battle; and, most wonderful of all, see how good-looking and grown-up she’s become in this short time; she’s got grey eyes, but they go very well with her helmet. So, Zeus, pay me for my services as midwife, by betrothing her to me this minute.
13.1.8
That’s impossible. She’ll want to remain single for ever, though for my part I’ve no objection to your request.
13.1.9
That’s all I wanted to hear. Leave the rest to me. I’ll be off with her right away.
13.1.10
Do so, if you can manage it, but I know that what you want is impossible.
14.1.1
Zeus says you’re not to go out driving today, Mr. Sun-god, or tomorrow or the next day. You’ve to stay at home, and all that time’s to be one long night; so the Hours can unyoke your horses, and you can put out your fire and have a nice long rest.
14.1.2
A strange message you’ve brought, Hermes. Why, I’ve never heard the like of it! He doesn’t think I’ve been going off my course and breaking bounds, does he? He’s not annoyed with me, that he’s decided to make the night three times as long as the day?
14.1.3
Not a bit of it. This won’t go on for ever; but for this once, it’s his personal wish that he should get a longer night at this time.
14.1.4
Where is he? Where were you sent from with this message?
14.1.5
From Boeotia, Mr. Sun, from Amphitryon’s wife. He’s been keeping company with her. He’s in love with her.
14.1.6
Isn’t one night enough, then?
14.1.7
Not at all. From this romance must come one who is mighty and fit for many labours; so they can’t do justice to him in a single night.
14.2.1
Well, I hope he makes a success of the job, though I must say, Hermes, this sort of thing didn’t happen in Cronos’ day. (It’s all right, we’re alone.) He would never sleep away from Rhea, or leave heaven for a bed in Thebes, but day was day, and night night, varying only within their proper limits with the seasons of the year, with none of these strange upheavals. No, Cronos would never have had anything to do with a mortal woman. Now, however, for some poor miserable woman, everything must be turned topsy-turvy, my horses become stiff for want of exercise, the road grows difficult, left untrodden for three days on end, and men must spend a miserable time in the dark. That’s what they’ll get from Zeus’ love-affairs. Why, they’ll have to sit waiting in darkness for hours, till he finishes his job on the labouring fellow you’ve been telling me about.
14.2.2
Quiet, Mr. Sun, or your words may get you into trouble. I’ll be off now to the Moon and to Sleep, and pass on Zeus’ instructions to them too, telling her to take her time, and Sleep not to leave men, so that they may not know the night’s been so long.

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.