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Book 10: Orpheus sings of the Propoetides and of PygmalionReading time: 4 minutes. Word count: 800 words. |
'But if you should ask the Cyprian city of Amathus, rich in mines, whether it would have wished to have produced those girls, the Propoetides, it would repudiate them, and equally those men, whose foreheads were once marred by two horns, from which they took their name, Cerastae.
'An
altar, to Jove the Hospitable, used to stand in front of the gates: if any
stranger, ignorant of their wickedness, had seen it, stained with blood,
they would have thought that calves or sheep, from Amathus, were sacrificed
there: it was their guests they killed!
'Kindly Venus was preparing to abandon her cities, and the Cyprian fields, outraged by their abominable rites, but 'How,' she said, 'have my cities, or this dear place, sinned? What is their crime? Instead, let this impious race pay the penalty of death or exile, or some punishment between execution and banishment, and what might that be but the penalty of being transformed?' While she is deciding how to alter them, she turns her eyes towards their horns, and this suggests that she might leave them those, and she changed them into wild bullocks.
'Nevertheless, the immoral Propoetides dared to deny that Venus was the goddess. For this, because of her divine anger, they are said to have been the first to prostitute their bodies and their reputations in public, and, losing all sense of shame, they lost the power to blush, as the blood hardened in their cheeks, and only a small change turned them into hard flints.
'Pygmalion had seen them, spending their lives in wickedness, and, offended by the failings that nature gave the female heart, he lived as a bachelor, without a wife or partner for his bed. But, with wonderful skill, he carved a figure, brilliantly, out of snow-white ivory, no mortal woman, and fell in love with his own creation. The features are those of a real girl, who, you might think, lived, and wished to move, if modesty did not forbid it. Indeed, art hides his art. He marvels: and passion, for this bodily image, consumes his heart.
'Often, he runs his hands over the work,
tempted as to whether it is flesh or ivory, not admitting it to be ivory.
he kisses it and thinks his kisses are returned; and speaks to it; and holds
it, and imagines that his fingers press into the limbs, and is afraid lest
bruises appear from the pressure. Now he addresses it with compliments,
now brings it gifts that please girls, shells and polished pebbles, little
birds, and many-coloured flowers, lilies and tinted beads, and the
Heliades's
amber tears, that drip from the trees. He dresses the body, also, in clothing;
places rings on the fingers; places a long necklace round its neck; pearls
hang from the ears, and cinctures round the breasts. All are fitting: but it
appears no less lovely, naked.
He arranges the statue on a bed on which cloths
dyed with Tyrian murex are spread, and calls it his bedfellow, and rests its
neck against soft down, as if it could feel.
The day of Venus's festival came, celebrated throughout Cyprus, and heifers, their curved horns gilded, fell, to the blow on their snowy neck. The incense was smoking, when Pygmalion, having made his offering, stood by the altar, and said, shyly: "If you can grant all things, you gods, I wish as a bride to have..." and not daring to say "the girl of ivory" he said "one like my ivory girl."
'Golden Venus, for she herself was
present at the festival, knew what the prayer meant, and as a sign of the
gods' fondness for him, the flame flared three times, and shook its crown in
the air. When he returned, he sought out the image of his girl, and leaning
over the couch, kissed her. She felt warm: he
pressed his lips to her again,
and also touched her breast with his hand. The ivory yielded to his touch,
and lost its hardness, altering under his fingers, as the bees' wax of Hymettus
softens in the sun, and is moulded, under the thumb, into many forms, made
usable by use. The lover is stupefied, and joyful, but uncertain, and afraid
he is wrong, reaffirms the fulfilment of his wishes, with his hand, again,
and again.
'It was flesh! The pulse throbbed under his thumb. Then the
hero, of Paphos, was indeed overfull of words with which to thank Venus, and
still pressed his mouth against a mouth that was not merely a likeness. The
girl felt the kisses he gave, blushed, and, raising her bashful eyes to the
light, saw both her lover and the sky. The goddess attended the marriage that
she had brought about, and when the moon's horns had nine times met at the
full, the woman bore a son, Paphos, from whom the island takes its name.'
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Source: Ovid's Metamorphoses. English translation by A.S.Kline. 2000. "This work MAY be FREELY reproduced, stored and transmitted, electronically or otherwise, for any NON-COMMERCIAL purpose." Website: Ovid and Others. |
Modern Languages
MLLL-2003. World Literature: Frametales. Laura Gibbs, Ph.D.
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