Metamorphoses XI.577-690
Juno, sick of listening to Alycone's prayers, sends Morpheus to her in the guise of Ceyx.
omnibus illa quidem superis pia tura ferebat,
ante tamen cunctos Iunonis templa colebat
proque viro, qui nullus erat, veniebat ad aras
utque foret sospes coniunx suus utque rediret, 580
optabat, nullamque sibi praeferret; at illi
hoc de tot votis poterat contingere solum.
At dea non ultra pro functo morte rogari
sustinet utque manus funestas arceat aris,
‘Iri, meae’ dixit ‘fidissima nuntia vocis, 585
vise soporiferam Somni velociter aulam
exstinctique iube Ceycis imagine mittat
somnia ad Alcyonen veros narrantia casus.’
dixerat: induitur velamina mille colorum
Iris et arquato caelum curvamine signans 590
tecta petit iussi sub nube latentia regis.
Est prope Cimmerios longo spelunca recessu,
mons cavus, ignavi domus et penetralia Somni,
quo numquam radiis oriens mediusve cadensve
Phoebus adire potest: nebulae caligine mixtae 595
exhalantur humo dubiaeque crepuscula lucis.
non vigil ales ibi cristati cantibus oris
evocat Auroram, nec voce silentia rumpunt
sollicitive canes canibusve sagacior anser;
non fera, non pecudes, non moti flamine rami 600
humanaeve sonum reddunt convicia linguae.
muta quies habitat; saxo tamen exit ab imo
rivus aquae Lethes, per quem cum murmure labens
invitat somnos crepitantibus unda lapillis.
ante fores antri fecunda papavera florent 605
innumeraeque herbae, quarum de lacte soporem
Nox legit et spargit per opacas umida terras.
ianua, ne verso stridores cardine reddat,
nulla domo tota est, custos in limine nullus;
at medio torus est ebeno sublimis in antro, 610
plumeus, atricolor, pullo velamine tectus,
quo cubat ipse deus membris languore solutis.
hunc circa passim varias imitantia formas
Somnia vana iacent totidem, quot messis aristas,
silva gerit frondes, eiectas litus harenas. 615
Quo simul intravit manibusque obstantia virgo
Somnia dimovit, vestis fulgore reluxit
sacra domus, tardaque deus gravitate iacentes
vix oculos tollens iterumque iterumque relabens
summaque percutiens nutanti pectora mento 620
excussit tandem sibi se cubitoque levatus,
quid veniat, (cognovit enim) scitatur, at illa:
‘Somne, quies rerum, placidissime, Somne, deorum,
pax animi, quem cura fugit, qui corpora duris
fessa ministeriis mulces reparasque labori, 625
Somnia, quae veras aequent imitamine formas,
Herculea Trachine iube sub imagine regis
Alcyonen adeant simulacraque naufraga fingant.
imperat hoc Iuno.’ postquam mandata peregit,
Iris abit: neque enim ulterius tolerare soporis 630
vim poterat, labique ut somnum sensit in artus,
effugit et remeat per quos modo venerat arcus.
At pater e populo natorum mille suorum
excitat artificem simulatoremque figurae
Morphea: non illo quisquam sollertius alter 635
exprimit incessus vultumque sonumque loquendi;
adicit et vestes et consuetissima cuique
verba; sed hic solos homines imitatur, at alter
fit fera, fit volucris, fit longo corpore serpens:
hunc Icelon superi, mortale Phobetora vulgus 640
nominat; est etiam diversae tertius artis
Phantasos: ille in humum saxumque undamque trabemque,
quaeque vacant anima, fallaciter omnia transit;
regibus hi ducibusque suos ostendere vultus
nocte solent, populos alii plebemque pererrant. 645
praeterit hos senior cunctisque e fratribus unum
Morphea, qui peragat Thaumantidos edita, Somnus
eligit et rursus molli languore solutus
deposuitque caput stratoque recondidit alto.
Ille volat nullos strepitus facientibus alis 650
per tenebras intraque morae breve tempus in urbem
pervenit Haemoniam, positisque e corpore pennis
in faciem Ceycis abit sumptaque figura
luridus, exanimi similis, sine vestibus ullis,
coniugis ante torum miserae stetit: uda videtur 655
barba viri, madidisque gravis fluere unda capillis.
tum lecto incumbens fletu super ora profuso
haec ait: ‘agnoscis Ceyca, miserrima coniunx,
an mea mutata est facies nece? respice: nosces
inveniesque tuo pro coniuge coniugis umbram! 660
nil opis, Alcyone, nobis tua vota tulerunt!
occidimus! falso tibi me promittere noli!
nubilus Aegaeo deprendit in aequore navem
auster et ingenti iactatam flamine solvit,
oraque nostra tuum frustra clamantia nomen 665
inplerunt fluctus.—non haec tibi nuntiat auctor
ambiguus, non ista vagis rumoribus audis:
ipse ego fata tibi praesens mea naufragus edo.
surge, age, da lacrimas lugubriaque indue nec me
indeploratum sub inania Tartara mitte!’ 670
adicit his vocem Morpheus, quam coniugis illa
crederet esse sui (fletus quoque fundere veros
visus erat), gestumque manus Ceycis habebat.
ingemit Alcyone lacrimans, motatque lacertos
per somnum corpusque petens amplectitur auras 675
exclamatque: ‘mane! quo te rapis? ibimus una.’
voce sua specieque viri turbata soporem
excutit et primo, si sit, circumspicit, illic,
qui modo visus erat; nam moti voce ministri
intulerant lumen. postquam non invenit usquam, 680
percutit ora manu laniatque a pectore vestes
pectoraque ipsa ferit nec crines solvere curat:
scindit et altrici, quae luctus causa, roganti
‘nulla est Alcyone, nulla est’ ait. ‘occidit una
cum Ceyce suo. solantia tollite verba! 685
naufragus interiit: vidi agnovique manusque
ad discedentem cupiens retinere tetendi.
umbra fuit, sed et umbra tamen manifesta virique
vera mei. non ille quidem, si quaeris, habebat
adsuetos vultus nec quo prius, ore nitebat: 690
She dutifully burns incense to all the gods; but most of all she worships at Juno’s shrine, praying for the man who is no more, that her husband may be kept safe from harm, that he may return once more, loving no other woman more than her. And only this prayer of all her prayers could be granted her.
But the goddess could no longer endure these entreaties for the dead. And that she might free her altar from the touch of the hands of mourning, she said: “Iris, most faithful messenger of mine, go quickly to the drowsy house of Sleep, and bid him send to Alcyone a vision in dead Ceyx’ form to tell her the truth about his fate.” She spoke; and Iris put on her cloak of a thousand hues and, trailing across the sky in a rainbow curve, she sought the cloud-concealed palace of the king of sleep.
Near the land of the Cimmerians there is a deep recess within a hollow mountain, the home and chamber of sluggish Sleep. Phoebus can never enter there with his rising, noontide, or setting rays. Clouds of vapour breathe forth from the earth, and dusky twilight shadows. There no wakeful, crested cock with his loud crowing summons the dawn; no watch-dog breaks the deep silence with his baying, or goose, more watchful than the dog. There is no sound of wild beast or of cattle, of branches rustling in the breeze, no clamorous tongues of men. There mute silence dwells. But from the bottom of the cave there flows the stream of Lethe, whose waves, gently murmuring over the gravelly bed, invite to slumber. Before the cavern’s entrance abundant poppies bloom, and countless herbs, from whose juices dewy night distils sleep and spreads its influence over the darkened lands. There is no door in all the house, lest some turning hinge should creak; no guardian on the threshold. But in the cavern’s central space there is a high couch of ebony, downy-soft, black-hued, spread with a dusky coverlet. There lies the god himself, his limbs relaxed in languorous repose. Around him on all sides lie empty dream-shapes, mimicking many forms, many as ears of grain in harvest-time, as leaves upon the trees, as sands cast on the shore.
When the maiden entered there and with her hands brushed aside the dream-shapes that blocked her way, the awesome house was lit up with the gleaming of her garments. Then the god, scarce lifting his eyelids heavy with the weight of sleep, sinking back repeatedly and knocking his breast with his nodding chin, at last shook himself free of himself and, resting on an elbow, asked her (for he recognized her) why she came. And she replied: “O Sleep, thou rest of all things, Sleep, mildest of the gods, balm of the soul, who puttest care to flight, soothest our bodies worn with hard ministries, and preparest them for toil again! Fashion a shape that shall seem true form, and bid it go in semblance of the king to Alcyone in Trachin, famed for Hercules. There let it show her the picture of the wreck. This Juno bids.” When she had done her task Iris departed, for she could no longer endure the power of sleep, and when she felt the drowsiness stealing upon her frame she fled away and retraced her course along the arch over which she had lately passed.
But the father rouses Morpheus from the throng of his thousand sons, a cunning imitator of the human form. No other is more skilled than he in representing the gait, the features, and the speech of men; the clothing also and the accustomed words of each he represents. His office is with men alone: another takes the form of beast or bird or the long serpent. Him the gods call Icelos, but mortals name him Phobetor. A third is Phantasos, versed in different arts. He puts on deceptive shapes of earth, rocks, water, trees, all lifeless things. These shapes show themselves by night to kings and chieftains, the rest haunt the throng of common folk. These the old sleep-god passes by, and chooses out of all the brethren Morpheus alone to do the bidding of Iris, Thaumas’ daughter. This done, once more in soft drowsiness he droops his head and settles it down upon his high couch.
But Morpheus flits away through the darkness on noiseless wings and quickly comes to the Haemonian city. There, putting off his wings, he takes the face and form of Ceyx, wan like the dead, and stands naked before the couch of the hapless wife. His beard is wet, and water drips from his sodden hair. Then with streaming eyes he bends over her couch and says: “Do you recognize your Ceyx, O most wretched wife? or is my face changed in death? Look on me! You will know me then and find in place of husband your husband’s shade. No help, Alcyone, have your prayers brought to me: I am dead. Cherish no longer your vain hope of me. For stormy Austei caught my ship on the Aegean sea and, tossing her in his fierce blasts, wrecked her there. My lips, calling vainly upon your name, drank in the waves. And this tale no uncertain messenger brings to you, nor do you hear it in the words of vague report; but I myself, wrecked as you see me, tell you of my fate. Get you up, then, and weep for me; put on your mourning garments and let me not go unlamented to the cheerless land of shades.” These words spoke Morpheus, and that, too, in a voice she might well believe her husband’s; he seemed also to weep real tears, and his hands performed the gestures of Ceyx. Alcyone groaned tearfully, stirred her arms in sleep, and seeking his body, held only air in her embrace. She cried aloud: “Wait for me! Whither do you hasten? I will go with you.” Aroused by her own voice and by the image of her husband, she started wide awake. And first she looked around to see if he was there whom but now she had seen. For her attendants, startled by her cries, had brought a lamp into her chamber. When she did not find him anywhere, she smote her cheeks, tore off her garment from her breast and beat her breasts themselves. She stayed not to loose her hair, but rent it, and to her nurse, who asked what was her cause of grief, she cried: “Alcyone is no more, no more; she has died together with her Ceyx. Away with consoling words! He’s shipwrecked, dead! I saw him and I knew him, and I stretched out my hands to him as he vanished, eager to hold him back. It was but a shade, and yet it was my husband’s true shade, clearly seen. He had not, to be sure, his wonted features, nor did his face light as it used to do.