LP0017 - Procris and Scylla - Ovid's Metamorphoses -

Legendary Passages #0017 - Procris and Scylla - Ovid's Metamorphoses -

Last time, as the Athenians prepared for war with Minos, the hero Cephalus began his story about his wife Procris and the magic javelin she gave to him. This time we shall hear the end of this sad story, and then return to Minos, who is laying siege to the nearby city of Megara.

Cephalus and his wife have several years of blissful marriage. But neither has forgotten that he was abducted by a goddess, and both had suspected the other of infidelity.

While hunting alone with his magic javelin, Cephalus used to praise the cooling winds with a song. He is overheard praising 'Aura', as he called it, and someone tells his wife Procris . There is suspicion that he sings to another goddess or nymph, but she must see it with her own eyes, and heads off for the forest.

Cephalus hears a rustle in the bushes, and throws his javelin. It never misses.

His wife is mortally wounded. As she lay dying, Procris tells him not to forsake their love for this 'Aura'. He tells her the truth as she dies in his arms, content at the last.

As Cephalus finishes his tale all are moved to tears. But at last Aegina's troops are marshaled for war.

Minos is laying siege to Megara, ruled by King Nisus. Now King Nisus has a magic purple lock of hair that makes him invulnerable, and a daughter named Scylla. From atop the city walls the princess watches the besieging army, and falls madly in love with Minos.

She thinks his cause is just and his victory inevitable, but fears for her love. To ensure the victory of Minos, she sneaks into her father's room, and cuts off his lock of purple hair.

Next time we conclude this extended passage from Ovid's Metamorphoses, with King Minos, Daedalus, and Icarus.

http://www.theoi.com/Text/OvidMetamorphoses7.html#6

Procris and Scylla,
a Legendary Passage,
from Ovid's Metamorphoses,
translated by Brookes More.

Book 7 [796] - Book 8 [81]

...[I]t seemed he wished to stop, but Phocus said. 'What charge have you against the javelin?'

And Cephalus rejoined; 'I must relate my sorrows last; for I would tell you first the story of my joys.- 'Tis sweet to think, upon the gliding tide of those few years of married life, when my dear wife and I were happy in our love and confidence. No woman could allure me then from her; and even Venus could not tempt my love; all my great passion for my dearest wife was equaled by the passion she returned.

As early as the sun, when golden rays first glittered on the mountains, I would rise in youthful ardor, to explore the fields in search of game. With no companions, hounds, nor steeds nor nets, this javelin was alone my safety and companion in my sport.

And often when my right hand felt its weight, a-wearied of the slaughter it had caused, I would come back to rest in the cool shade, and breezes from cool vales- the breeze I wooed, blowing so gently on me in the heat; the breeze I waited for; she was my rest from labor.

I remember, 'Aura come,' I used to say, 'Come soothe me, come into my breast most welcome one, and yes indeed, you do relieve the heat with which I burn.' And as I felt the sweet breeze of the morn, as if in answer to my song, my fate impelled me further to declare my joy in song; 'You are my comfort, you are my delight! Refresh me, cherish me, breathe on my face! I love you child of lonely haunts and trees!'

'Such words I once was singing, not aware of some one spying on me from the trees, who thought I sang to some beloved Nymph, or goddess by the name of Aura- so I always called the breeze.- Unhappy man!

The meddling tell-tale went to Procris with a story of supposed unfaithfulness, and slyly told in whispers all he heard. True love is credulous; (and as I heard the story) Procris in a swoon fell down. When she awakened from her bitter swoon, she ceased not wailing her unhappy fate, and, wretched, moaned for an imagined woe. So she lamented what was never done! Her woe incited by a whispered  tale, she feared the fiction of a harmless name!

But hope returning soothed her wretched state; and now, no longer willing to believe such wrong, unless her own eyes saw it, she refused to think her husband sinned.

'When dawn had banished night, and I, rejoicing, ranged the breathing woods, victorious in the hunt, paused and said, 'Come Aura- lovely breeze- relieve my panting breast!'

It seemed I heard the smothered moans of sorrow as I spoke: but not conceiving harm, I said again; 'Come here, oh my delight!'

And as those words fell from my lips, I thought I heard a soft sound in the thicket, as of moving leaves; and thinking surely 'twas a hidden beast, I threw this winged javelin at the spot.-

It was my own wife, Procris, and the shaft was buried in her breast-

'Ah, wretched me!' She cried; and when I heard her well-known voice, distracted I ran towards her,- only to find her bathed in blood, and dying from the wound of that same javelin she had given to me: and in her agony she drew it forth,- ah me! alas! from her dear tender side.

I lifted her limp body to my own, in these blood-guilty arms, and wrapped the wound with fragments of my tunic, that I tore in haste to staunch her blood; and all the while I moaned, `Oh, do not now forsake me- slain by these accursed hands!'

'Weak with the loss of blood, and dying, she compelled herself to utter these few words, 'It is my death; but let my eyes not close upon this life before I plead with you!- By the dear ties of sacred marriage; by your god and mine; and if my love for you can move your heart; and even by the cause of my sad death,- my love for you increasing as I die, - ah, put away that Aura you have called, that she may never separate your soul,- your love from me.'

So, by those dying words I knew that she had heard me call the name of Aura, when I wished the cooling breeze, and thought I called a goddess,- cause of all her jealous sorrow and my bitter woe.

Alas, too late, I told her the sad truth; but she was sinking, and her little strength swiftly was ebbing with her flowing blood. As long as life remained her loving gaze was fixed on mine; and her unhappy life at last was breathed out on my grieving face. It seemed to me a look of sweet content was in her face, as if she feared not death.'

In tears he told these things; and, as they wept, in came the aged monarch, Aeacus, and with the monarch his two valiant sons, and troops, new-levied, trained to glorious arms.

Now Lucifer unveiled the glorious day, and as the session of the night dissolved, the cool east wind declined, and vapors wreathed the moistened valleys. Veering to the south the welcome wind gave passage to the sons of Aeacus, and wafted Cephalus on his returning way, propitious; where before the wonted hour, they entered port.

King Minos, while the fair wind moved their ship, was laying waste the land of Megara. He gathered a great army round the walls built by Alcathous, where reigned in splendor King Nisus - mighty and renowned in war - upon the center of whose hoary head a lock of purple hair was growing. - Its proved virtue gave protection to his throne.

Six times the horns of rising Phoebe grew, and still the changing fortune of the war was in suspense; so, Victory day by day between them hovered on uncertain wings.

Within that city was a regal tower on tuneful walls; where once Apollo laid his golden harp; and in the throbbing stone the sounds remained.

And there, in times of peace the daughter of king Nisus loved to mount the walls and strike the sounding stone with pebbles: so, when the war began, she often viewed the dreadful contest from that height; until, so long the hostile camp remained, she had become acquainted with the names, and knew the habits, horses and the arms of many a chief, and could discern the signs of their Cydonean quivers.

More than all, the features of King Minos were engraved upon the tablets of her mind. And when he wore his helmet, crested with gay plumes, she deemed it glorious; when he held his shield shining with gold, no other seemed so grand; and when he poised to hurl the tough spear home, she praised his skill and strength; and when he bent his curving bow with arrow on the cord, she pictured him as Phoebus taking aim, - but when, arrayed in purple, and upon the back of his white war horse, proudly decked with richly broidered housings, he reined in the nervous steed, and took his helmet off, showing his fearless features, then the maid, daughter of Nisus, could control herself no longer; and a frenzy seized her mind.

She called the javelin happy which he touched, and blessed were the reins within his hand. She had an impulse to direct her steps, a tender virgin, through the hostile ranks, or cast her body from the topmost towers into the Gnossian camp. She had a wild desire to open to the enemy the heavy brass-bound gates, or anything that Minos could desire.

And as she sat beholding the white tents, she cried,  'Alas! Should I rejoice or grieve to see this war? I grieve that Minos is the enemy of her who loves him; but unless the war had brought him, how could he be known to me? But should he take me for a hostage? That might end the war - a pledge of peace, he might keep me for his companion.

'O, supreme of mankind! she who bore you must have been as beautiful as you are; ample cause for Jove to lose his heart. O, happy hour! If moving upon wings through yielding air, I could alight within the hostile camp in front of Minos, and declare to him my name and passion! Then would I implore what dowry he could wish, and would provide whatever he might ask, except alone the city of my father. Perish all my secret hopes before one act of mine should offer treason to accomplish it.

'And yet, the kindness of a conqueror has often proved a blessing, manifest to those who were defeated. Certainly the war he carries on is justified by his slain son. He is a mighty king, thrice strengthened in his cause. Undoubtedly we shall be conquered, and, if such a fate awaits our city, why should he by force instead of my consuming love, prevail to open the strong gates? Without delay and dreadful slaughter, it is best for him to conquer and decide this savage war.

'Ah, Minos, how I fear the bitter fate should any warrior hurl his cruel spear and pierce you by mischance, for surely none can be so hardened to transfix your breast with purpose known. Oh, let her love prevail to open for his army the great gates. Only the thought of it, has filled her soul; she is determined to deliver up her country as a dowry with herself, and so decide the war!

'But what avails this idle talk. A guard surrounds the gates, my father keeps the keys, and he alone is my obstruction, and the innocent account of my despair. Would to the Gods I had no father! Is not man the God of his own fortune, though his idle prayers avail not to compel his destiny? Another woman crazed with passionate desires, which now inflame me, would not hesitate, but with a fierce abandon would destroy whatever checked her passion. Who is there with love to equal mine? I dare to go through flames and swords; but swords and flames are not now needed, for I only need my royal father's lock of purple hair. More precious than fine gold, it has a power to give my heart all that it may desire. '

While Scylla said this, night that heals our cares came on, and she grew bolder in the dark. And now it is the late and silent hour when slumber takes possession of the breast. Outwearied with the cares of busy day; then as her father slept, with stealthy tread she entered his abode, and there despoiled, and clipped his fatal lock of purple hair.

http://www.theoi.com/Text/OvidMetamorphoses7.html#6