Dialogues of the Gods (10.1-12.1)

Take me to you, Sea, for I’ve suffered terribly. Please put a stop to my burning wounds.

What’s this, Xanthus? Who has burnt you?

Hephaestus. See how I’ve been charred to cinders all over, poor thing that I am, and am at boiling point.

Whatever made him attack you with his fire?

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.

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.

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!

Was it wrong for me, then, to feel sorry for my neighbours of Phrygia?

Or wrong for Hephaestus to be sorry for Thetis’ son, Achilles?

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?

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.

Is he still in love with her now she’s a heifer?

Very much so, my good fellow. That’s why he’s sent her to Egypt, and told us he doesn’t want any rough seas, until she swims across, so that, when she has her baby there—she’s expecting at the moment—both mother and child [*] may become gods.

The heifer a god?

Indeed she will be. According to Hermes, she’ll have power over those at sea and be our mistress, choosing for herself which of us to send out or to stop from blowing.

In that case we’d better be attentive to her, if she’s now our mistress. Then we’ll be sure of her good-will.

But look, she’s over now, and has swum ashore. See how she no longer walks on all fours, but has been straightened up by Hermes and changed back again into a most attractive woman.

How very strange, Zephyrus. No horns now, or tail or cloven hooves, but instead a lovely girl. But what’s come over Hermes, that he’s changed himself and given up his own fine face for that of a dog [*] ?

Let’s not be inquisitive. He knows his business better than we do.

Why are you crying, Thetis?

Oh, Doris, I’ve just seen a lovely girl [*] put into a box by her father along with her newborn baby. [*] He told his sailors to take the box and, when well away from land, to drop it into the sea, so that the mother should be killed, poor thing, herself and her baby.

Why, sister? Please tell me, if you have any definite information.

I have the whole story. Because she was ever so beautiful, her father Acrisius locked her up in a brazen room to keep her away from lovers. Then—I can’t say whether it’s true but it’s what they say—Zeus turned himself into gold and came pouring through the roof at her, and she received the god in her bosom as he came showering down, and became pregnant. When her father found out, the cruel, jealous old creature flew into a temper and, thinking she’d had a lover, threw her into the box just after her baby was born.