Metamorphoses VIII.376-500
The Heroes defeat Diana's boar, but a squabble over the spoils leads to a double homicide.
vulnera fecissent, nisi saetiger inter opacas
nec iaculis isset nec equo loca pervia silvas.
persequitur Telamon studioque incautus eundi
pronus ab arborea cecidit radice retentus.
dum levat hunc Peleus, celerem Tegeaea sagittam 380
inposuit nervo sinuatoque expulit arcu:
fixa sub aure feri summum destrinxit harundo
corpus et exiguo rubefecit sanguine saetas;
nec tamen illa sui successu laetior ictus
quam Meleagros erat: primus vidisse putatur 385
et primus sociis visum ostendisse cruorem
et ‘meritum’ dixisse ‘feres virtutis honorem.’
erubuere viri seque exhortantur et addunt
cum clamore animos iaciuntque sine ordine tela:
turba nocet iactis et, quos petit, impedit ictus. 390
ecce furens contra sua fata bipennifer Arcas
‘discite, femineis quid tela virilia praestent,
o iuvenes, operique meo concedite!’ dixit.
‘ipsa suis licet hunc Latonia protegat armis,
invita tamen hunc perimet mea dextra Diana.’ 395
talia magniloquo tumidus memoraverat ore
ancipitemque manu tollens utraque securim
institerat digitis pronos suspensus in ictus:
occupat audentem, quaque est via proxima leto,
summa ferus geminos derexit ad inguina dentes. 400
concidit Ancaeus glomerataque sanguine multo
viscera lapsa fluunt: madefacta est terra cruore.
ibat in adversum proles Ixionis hostem
Pirithous valida quatiens venabula dextra;
cui ‘procul’ Aegides ‘o me mihi carior’ inquit 405
‘pars animae consiste meae! licet eminus esse
fortibus: Ancaeo nocuit temeraria virtus.’
dixit et aerata torsit grave cuspide cornum;
quo bene librato votique potente futuro
obstitit aesculea frondosus ab arbore ramus. 410
misit et Aesonides iaculum: quod casus ab illo
vertit in inmeriti fatum latrantis et inter
ilia coniectum tellure per ilia fixum est.
at manus Oenidae variat, missisque duabus
hasta prior terra, medio stetit altera tergo. 415
nec mora, dum saevit, dum corpora versat in orbem
stridentemque novo spumam cum sanguine fundit,
vulneris auctor adest hostemque inritat ad iram
splendidaque adversos venabula condit in armos.
gaudia testantur socii clamore secundo 420
victricemque petunt dextrae coniungere dextram
inmanemque ferum multa tellure iacentem
mirantes spectant neque adhuc contingere tutum
esse putant, sed tela tamen sua quisque cruentat.
Ipse pede inposito caput exitiabile pressit 425
atque ita ‘sume mei spolium, Nonacria, iuris,’
dixit ‘et in partem veniat mea gloria tecum.’
protinus exuvias rigidis horrentia saetis
terga dat et magnis insignia dentibus ora.
illi laetitiae est cum munere muneris auctor; 430
invidere alii, totoque erat agmine murmur.
e quibus ingenti tendentes bracchia voce
‘pone age nec titulos intercipe, femina, nostros,’
Thestiadae clamant, ‘nec te fiducia formae
decipiat, ne sit longe tibi captus amore 435
auctor,’ et huic adimunt munus, ius muneris illi.
non tulit et tumida frendens Mavortius ira
‘discite, raptores alieni’ dixit ‘honoris,
facta minis quantum distent,’ hausitque nefando
pectora Plexippi nil tale timentia ferro. 440
Toxea, quid faciat, dubium pariterque volentem
ulcisci fratrem fraternaque fata timentem
haud patitur dubitare diu calidumque priori
caede recalfecit consorti sanguine telum.
Dona deum templis nato victore ferebat, 445
cum videt exstinctos fratres Althaea referri.
quae plangore dato maestis clamoribus urbem
inplet et auratis mutavit vestibus atras;
at simul est auctor necis editus, excidit omnis
luctus et a lacrimis in poenae versus amorem est. 450
Stipes erat, quem, cum partus enixa iaceret
Thestias, in flammam triplices posuere sorores
staminaque inpresso fatalia pollice nentes
‘tempora’ dixerunt ‘eadem lignoque tibique,
o modo nate, damus.’ quo postquam carmine dicto 455
excessere deae, flagrantem mater ab igne
eripuit ramum sparsitque liquentibus undis.
ille diu fuerat penetralibus abditus imis
servatusque tuos, iuvenis, servaverat annos.
protulit hunc genetrix taedasque et fragmina poni 460
imperat et positis inimicos admovet ignes.
tum conata quater flammis inponere ramum
coepta quater tenuit: pugnat materque sororque,
et diversa trahunt unum duo nomina pectus.
saepe metu sceleris pallebant ora futuri, 465
saepe suum fervens oculis dabat ira ruborem,
et modo nescio quid similis crudele minanti
vultus erat, modo quem misereri credere posses;
cumque ferus lacrimas animi siccaverat ardor,
inveniebantur lacrimae tamen, utque carina, 470
quam ventus ventoque rapit contrarius aestus,
vim geminam sentit paretque incerta duobus,
Thestias haud aliter dubiis affectibus errat
inque vices ponit positamque resuscitat iram.
incipit esse tamen melior germana parente 475
et consanguineas ut sanguine leniat umbras,
inpietate pia est. nam postquam pestifer ignis
convaluit, ‘rogus iste cremet mea viscera’ dixit,
utque manu dira lignum fatale tenebat,
ante sepulcrales infelix adstitit aras 480
‘poenarum’ que ‘deae triplices, furialibus,’ inquit
‘Eumenides, sacris vultus advertite vestros!
ulciscor facioque nefas; mors morte pianda est,
in scelus addendum scelus est, in funera funus:
per coacervatos pereat domus inpia luctus! 485
an felix Oeneus nato victore fruetur,
Thestius orbus erit? melius lugebitis ambo.
vos modo, fraterni manes animaeque recentes,
officium sentite meum magnoque paratas
accipite inferias, uteri mala pignora nostri! 490
ei mihi! quo rapior? fratres, ignoscite matri!
deficiunt ad coepta manus: meruisse fatemur
illum, cur pereat; mortis mihi displicet auctor.
ergo inpune feret vivusque et victor et ipso
successu tumidus regnum Calydonis habebit, 495
vos cinis exiguus gelidaeque iacebitis umbrae?
haud equidem patiar: pereat sceleratus et ille
spemque patris regnumque trahat patriaeque ruinam!
mens ubi materna est? ubi sunt pia iura parentum
et quos sustinui bis mensum quinque labores? 500
And they would have struck the boar had not the bristly monster taken refuge in the dense woods, whither neither spear nor horse could follow him. Telamon did attempt to follow, and in his eagerness, careless where he went, he fell prone on the ground, caught by a projecting root. While Peleus was helping him to rise, Atalanta notched a swift arrow on the cord and sent it speeding from her bent bow. The arrow just grazed the top of the boar’s back and remained stuck beneath his ear, staining the bristles with a trickle of blood. Nor did she show more joy over the success of her own stroke than Meleager. He was the first to see the blood, the first to point it out to his companions, and to say: “Due honour shall your brave deed receive.” The men, flushed with shame, spurred each other on, gaining courage as they cried out, hurling their spears in disorder. The mass of missiles made them of no effect, and kept them from striking as they were meant to do. Then Ancaeus, the Arcadian, armed with a two-headed axe raging to meet his fate, cried out: “Learn now, O youths, how far a man’s weapons surpass a girl’s; and leave this task to me. Though Latona’s daughter herself shield this boar with her own arrows, in spite of Diana shall my good right arm destroy him.” So, swollen with pride and with boastful lips, he spoke: and, heaving up in both hands his two-edged axe, he stood on tiptoe, poised to strike. The Boar made in upon his bold enemy, and, as the nearest point for death, he fiercely struck at the upper part of the groins with his two tusks. Ancaeus fell; his entrails poured out amid streams of blood and the ground was soaked with gore. Then Ixion’s son, Pirithoüs, advanced against the foe, brandishing a hunting-spear in his strong right hand. To him Theseus cried out in alarm: “Keep away, O dearer to me than my own self, my soul’s other half; it is no shame for brave men to fight at long range. Ancaeus’ rash valour has proved his bane.” He spoke and hurled his own heavy shaft with its sharp bronze point. Though this was well aimed and seemed sure to reach the mark, a leafy branch of an oak-tree turned it aside. Then the son of Aeson hurled his javelin, which chance caused to swerve from its aim and fatally wound an innocent dog, passing clear through his flanks and pinning him to the ground. But the hand of Meleager had a different fortune: he threw two spears, the first of which stood in the earth, but the second stuck squarely in the middle of the creature’s back. Straightway, while the boar rages and whirls round and round, spouting forth foam and fresh blood in a hissing stream, the giver of the wound presses his advantage, pricks his enemy on to madness, and at last plunges his gleaming hunting-spear right through the shoulder. The others vent their joy by wild shouts of applause and crowd around to press the victor’s hand. They gaze in wonder at the huge beast lying stretched out over so much ground, and still think it hardly safe to touch him. But each dips his spear in the blood.
Then Meleager, standing with his foot upon that death-dealing head, spoke thus to Atalanta: “Take thou the prize that is of my right, O fair Arcadian, and let my glory be shared with thee.” And therewith he presented her with the spoils: the skin with its bristling spikes, and the head remarkable for its huge tusks. She rejoiced in the gift and no less in the giver; but the others begrudged it, and an angry murmur rose through the whole company. Then two, the sons of Thestius, stretching out their arms, cried with a loud voice: “Let be, girl, and do not usurp our honours. And be not deceived by trusting in your beauty, lest this lovesick giver be far from helping you.” And they took from her the gift, and from him the right of giving. This was more than that son of Mars could bear, and, gnashing his teeth with rage, he cried: “Learn then, you that plunder another’s rights, the difference between deeds and threats,” and plunged his impious steel deep in Plexippus’ heart, who was taken off his guard. Then, as Toxeus stood hesitating what to do, wishing to avenge his brother, but at the same time fearing to share his brother’s fate, Meleager gave him scant time to hesitate, but, while his spear was still warm with its first victim’s slaughter, he warmed it again in his comrade’s blood.
Althaea in the temple of the gods was offering thanksgiving for her son’s victory, when she saw the corpses of her brothers carried in. She beat her breast and filled the city with woeful lamentation, and changed her gold-spangled robes for black. But when she learned who was their murderer, her grief all fell away and was changed from tears to the passion for vengeance.
There was a billet of wood which, when the daughter of Thestius lay in childbirth, the three sisters threw into the fire and, spinning the threads of life with firm-pressed thumb, they sang: “An equal span of life we give to thee and to this wood, O babe new-born.” When the three goddesses had sung this prophecy and vanished, the mother snatched the blazing brand from the fire, and quenched it in water. Long had it lain hidden away in a secret place and, guarded safe, had safeguarded your life, O youth. And now the mother brought out this billet and bade her servants make a heap of pine-knots and fine kindling, and lit the pile with cruel flame. Then four times she made to throw the billet in the flames and four times she held her hard. Mother and sister strove in her, and the two names tore one heart this way and that. Often her cheeks grew pale with fear of the impious thing she planned; as often blazing wrath gave its own colour to her eyes. Now she looked like one threatening some cruel deed, and now you would think her pitiful. And when the fierce anger of her heart had dried up her tears, still tears would come again. And as a ship, driven by the wind, and against the wind by the tide, feels the double force and yields uncertainly to both, so Thestius’ daughter wavered betwixt opposing passions; now quenched her wrath and now fanned it again. At last the sister in her overcomes the mother, and, that she may appease with blood the shades of her blood-kin, she is pious in impiety. For when the devouring flames grow hot, she cries: “Be that the funeral pyre of my own flesh.” And, as she held the fateful billet in her relentless hand and stood, unhappy wretch, before the sepulchral fires, she said: “O ye triple goddesses of vengeance, Eumenides, behold these fearful rites. I avenge and I do a wicked deed: death must be atoned by death; to crime must crime be added, death to death. Through woes on woes heaped up let this accursed house go on to ruin! Shall happy Oeneus rejoice in his victorious son and Thestius be childless? ‘Twill be better for you both to grieve. Only do you, my brothers’ manes, fresh-made ghosts, appreciate my service, and accept the sacrifice I offer at so heavy cost, the baleful tribute of my womb. Ah me, whither am I hurrying? Brothers, forgive a mother’s heart! My hands refuse to finish what they began. I confess that he deserves to die; but that I should be the agent of his death, I cannot bear. And shall he go scathless then? Shall he live, victorious and puffed up with his own success, and lord it in Calydon, while you are naught but a handful of ashes, shivering ghosts? I will not suffer it. Let the wretch die and drag to ruin with him his father’s hopes, his kingdom and his fatherland! Where is my mother-love? Where are parents’ pious cares? Where are those pangs which ten long months I bore?