Perseus and Andromeda

A great consolation to them in their altered form
Was their grandson, worshipped now in conquered India,
And adored as well in Achaean temples.
Only Acrisius, son of Abas, born
Of the same stock as the god, still banned him
From his city, Argos, campaigning against him
And refusing to admit he was Jupiter's son.
Nor would he admit that Perseus, whom Danae
Had conceived in golden rain, was Jupiter's son.
But truth has its own power, and Acrisius
Soon regretted that he had repulsed the god
And not acknowledged his grandson. The one
Had now been installed in heaven; the other
Was soaring through thin air on whistling wings,
Bearing the snake-haired monster's memorable spoils.
As the victor hovered over the Libyan desert
Bloody drops from the Gorgon's head fell down
And were received by Earth, who reanimated them
As various species of snakes, and this is why
The land there swarms with poisonous vipers.

From there he was driven by conflicting winds
Like a raincloud through vast regions of air.
He flew over the whole world, looking down
From dizzying heights on distant lands. Three times
He saw the cold stars of the Bears, and thrice
The Crab's claws. He was blown more than once
Beyond the western horizon, and into the east,
And now as the day faded, wary of the night
He put down in the farthest reaches of the west,
In Atlas' kingdom, hoping to catch a few hours sleep
Before the Morning Star summoned Aurora
And Aurora in turn the chariot of Day.

Here Atlas,
Son of Iapetus, who for sheer bulk
Exceeded all men, ruled the edge of the world
And the sea that welcomes the Sun's panting horses
And his weary chariot. He had a thousand flocks,
And as many herds of cattle, wandering
Grassy plains that stretched on without borders.
And there was a tree whose golden leaves
Concealed golden branches and apples of gold.
"My lord," Perseus said to him, "if high birth
Carries any weight with you, mine is from Jupiter;
Or if you admire great deeds, you'll admire mine.
I ask for hospitality and a place to rest."

But Atlas remembered an ancient prophecy
Given to him by Themis on Mount Parnassus:
"Atlas, a day will come when your tree will be stripped
Of all its gold, and a son of Jupiter will take the credit."
Fearing this, Atlas had enclosed his orchard
With massive walls, and set a huge dragon to guard it,
And he kept all strangers away from his borders.

Now he said to Perseus, "Get out of here,
Or your supposed glory and that Jupiter of yours
Will be long gone." His heavy hands backed up
The threat with force. Perseus interspersed
Gentle words into his heroic resistance,
But finding himself outmanned (who could outman
Atlas himself?) he said to him, "Well, now,
Since you are able to show me so little kindness,
Here's a little kindness for you!" And turning away,
He held out on his left the horrible head
Of the Gorgon Medusa. As big as he was,
Atlas immediately turned into a mountain
Of just the same size. His hair and beard
Were changed into trees, and into ridges
His shoulders and hands. What had been his head
Was now a summit, and his bones became stones.
Then every part grew to an enormous size-
For you gods wished it so -and the entire sky
With all its many stars now rested upon him.

Aeolus, son of Hippotas, had confined the winds
Under Mount Etna, and the Morning Star,
Who rouses us to work, shone brightest of all
In the eastern sky. Perseus strapped on
His feathered sandals, slung on his scimitar,
And cut through the pure air in a blur of winged feet.
Leaving in his wake innumerable nations,
He now had a clear view of Ethiopia
And the lands of Cepheus. There Jupiter Ammon
Had unjustly ordered that innocent Andromeda
Pay the penalty for the arrogant tongue
Of her mother, Cassiopeia. When Perseus,
Abas' great-grandson, first saw her chained to the rock,
He might have thought she was a marble statue,
Except that a light breeze was rippling her hair,
And warm tears flowed down from her eyes. Perseus
Was stunned. Entranced by the vision
Of the beauty before him, he almost forgot
To keep beating his wings. As soon as he had landed,
He said,
"Surely you do not deserve these bonds,
But those that tie true lovers together. Please,
Tell me your name, and the name of your country,
And tell me why you are wearing these chains."

At first she was silent, a virgin not daring
To address a man, and out of modesty
She would have hidden her face with her hands
If they had not been fastened behind her.
All she could do was let her eyes fill with tears.
Only when he had asked again and again,
And only because she did not wish to create
The impression of concealing a fault of her own,
Did she tell him her name, the name of her country,
And how overconfident her mother was
In her own beauty. The girl was still speaking,
When the sea roared, and a monster rose from the deep,
Breasting the waves as it came toward the shore.
The girl screamed; her grieving father and mother
Stood at her side, both wretched, the mother perhaps
With more justification. They bring no aid,
Only tears and laments to suit the occasion
As they clasp her fettered body. Then the stranger speaks:

"There will be plenty of time for tears
But only a brief hour to come to the rescue.
If I asked for this girl's hand as Perseus,
Son of Jupiter and that imprisoned Danae
Whom the god impregnated with his golden rain;
The Perseus who conquered the snake-haired Gorgon;
Who braved the stratosphere on soaring wings-
Surely I would be preferred to all other suitors
As your son-in-law. Now, if the gods favor me,
I will try to add meritorious service
To what else I bring, my bargain being
That the girl, saved by my valor, will be mine."
Her parents accept the proposal (who would refuse it?)
And promise a kingdom, as well, for a dowry.

Behold now the monster cutting through the waves
Like a warship driven to ramming speed
By the sweat-covered arms of a crew of rowers.
When it was as far from the cliff as a Balearic sling
Can fire a lead bullet through the air, the young hero
Pushed off hard and ascended high among the clouds.
When the shadow of a man appeared on the water,
The sea monster savaged the apparition;
And, as Jupiter's eagle, when it sees a snake
Sunning its mottled back in an open field,
Seizes it from behind, eagerly sinking its talons
Into its scaly neck lest it twist its fangs back,
So the descendant of Inachus, swooping down
Through empty space, attacked the bellowing monster's back,
Poised at its right shoulder, and buried his curved blade
Up to the hilt in its neck. Gravely wounded,
It reared high in the air, then dove underwater,
And then turned like a boar when a pack of hounds
Is baying around it. Perseus evaded
The snapping jaws on flashing wings, his scimitar
Slashing the monster wherever it was exposed-
Its barnacled back, its ribcage, and where its spine
Tapered into the tail of a fish. The beast belches
Seawater mixed with purple blood, and Perseus' wings
Are becoming so soggy with all the spume
That he can no longer trust them. He spots
A ledge exposed when the sea is calm, but hidden
Whenever the waves run high. He steadies himself here,
Taking hold of the rock face with his left hand,
And plunges his sword three times and once more
Into the monster's gut.

The shore is filled
With wild applause that reaches the heavens.
Cassiopeia and Cepheus rejoice
And hail Perseus as their son-in-law,
The pillar of their household and its savior.
Forth from her chains steps Andromeda unbound,
The motive for Perseus' feat and the prize.
The victor washes his hands in a basin of water,
And so the hard sand won't hurt that viperous face,
He makes a bed of leaves, strews seaweed on top,
And rests upon this the head of Medusa,
Daughter of Phorcys. The seaweed's porous tendrils
Absorb the monster's power and congeal,
Taking on a new stiffness in their stems and leaves.
The sea nymphs test this wonder on more tendrils
And, delighted to find the result confirmed,
Scatter these tendrils as seeds in the sea.
Even now coral has retained this property,
So that its sterns, pliant under water,
Turn to stone once exposed to the air.

Perseus now builds three turf altars, one for each
Of three gods: the left for Mercury, the right
For you, virgin warrior, the center for Jove.
He sacrifices a heifer to Minerva,
A calf to the winged god, and to you,
O greatest of gods, a bull. Then he claims
Andromeda, without a dowry, as the reward
For his heroic act. Hymen and Amor
Shake the marriage torches; the fires are fed
With rich incense; flowers hang from the roofs;
Lyre, flute, and chorales permeate the air,
Giving sweet testimony of joyful hearts.
The massive double doors swing open to reveal
The golden central court with tables already set,
And noble Ethiopians stream in to the banquet.

When they had finished the feast and their spirits
Were swimming in wine, Bacchus' generous gift,
Perseus inquired about the local customs,
Who the people were and what they were like.
The guest who answered said to him in turn,
"Now tell us, Perseus, by what prowess, what arts,
You made off with that head and its curls of snakes?"

And so the hero in the line of Agenor
Told them about a cave hidden in the rock
Under the frozen slopes of Atlas. At its entrance
The Graiae lived, twin daughters of Phorcys,
Who shared the use of a single eye, which the hero
Cleverly stole as they passed it back and forth.
Then he made his way through trackless lands,
A barren landscape of blasted trees and rocks,
To where the Gorgons lived. In the fields there
And along the paths he saw the shapes of men
And of animals who had been changed to stone
By Medusa's gaze. But he managed to glimpse
Her dread form reflected in the polished bronze
Of a circular shield strapped to his left arm.
And while the snakes and Medusa herself
Were sound asleep, he severed her head from her neck,
And the winged horse Pegasus and his brother,
The warrior Chrysaor, were born from her blood.

He went on to tell of his long journeys
And the dangers he faced-all of this true-
The seas and the lands he had seen far below,
And the stars he had brushed with his beating wings.
When he finished his tale they still wanted more,
And one of them asked why Medusa alone
Among her sisters had snakes in her hair.
The guest replied:
"Here's the reason, a tale in itself.
She was once very beautiful and sought by many,
And was admired most for her beautiful hair.
I met someone who recalled having seen her.
They say that Neptune, lord of the sea,
Violated her in a temple of Minerva.
The goddess hid her chaste eyes behind her aegis,
But so that the crime would not go unpunished,
She changed the Gorgon's hair to loathsome snakes,
Which the goddess now, to terrify her enemies
With numbing fear, wears on her breastplate."

5.1-289

While Danae's heroic son was speaking
Among the Ethiopians, the royal halls
Were filled with an uproar, not the kind of sound
That goes with marriage songs, but that announces
Armed strife. The feast was in sudden tumult.
Not unlike the sea when raging winds
Roughen its quiet water to churning waves.
Front and center was Phineus, the king's brother
And a born troublemaker, brandishing an ash spear
Tipped with bronze.
"Take a good look," he said,
"At the man who will avenge the theft of his bride.
Your wings won't get you out of this, nor will
Jupiter, changed to fool's gold!" He was on the verge
Of hurling his spear when Cepheus cried out:
"What are you doing, brother? What madness
Is driving you to crime? Is this how you repay
Extraordinary service? Is this the dowry
For saving the girl's life? If you want the truth,
It was not Perseus who took her away from you,
But horned Ammon, the Nereids' dread deity,
And the sea monster who came to glut himself
On my own flesh and blood. It was when she was
Doomed to death that you lost her, unless perhaps
It is her death now that you cruelly demand,
To ease your grief with mine. It was not enough
For you to look on without lifting a finger
While she was being chained, uncle though you were
And promised husband. No, you'll take it hard
That someone did save her, and rob him of his prize.
If the prize seemed so great, you should have taken it
From the rocks where it was chained. Now let the man
Who did take it-and saved me from a childless old age-
Keep what he has earned and has been promised him,
A man preferred not to you but to my daughter's death."
Phineus said nothing, but kept shifting his gaze
Between Cepheus and Perseus, undecided
Where to aim his spear. After a short delay
He hurled it at Perseus with all the strength
Wrath could give it, but the throw came to nothing,
And the spear stuck in the bench. Perseus then
Furiously returned the throw and would have hit Phineus
Right in the heart, but the wretch had sought refuge
Behind the altar and unworthily found it there.



Two hundred warm bodies survived the battle;
The Gorgon's gaze turned two hundred to stone.
Phineus now repents. The battle was unjust.
But what can he do? He sees figures
In various postures and recognizes his men.
He calls them by name, asks for their help,
And not trusting his eyes he touches those
Closest to him. They were marble. He turns away
And stretching out sideways suppliant hands
That admit defeat, he says,

"Perseus,
You win. Just remove that petrifying thing,
Whatever it is, that Medusa, just take it away,
I beg you. It wasn't hatred or lust for the throne
That drove me to war. I fought for my wife.
Your claim was better, mine just earlier.
It's all right; I yield. I only ask for my life,
O bravest of men, and all the rest is yours."
As he spoke he did not dare to look
At the man he was supplicating, who said,
"Phineus, most cowardly of men,
What I can give you-and it is a great good thing
For a slug like you-I will certainly give.
You will not die by my sword. Instead you will be
A monument that will last through the ages
And always on view in my wife's father's house,
A statue to remind her of her plighted lo
He spoke, and brought the Gorgon's head around
Where Phineus had turned his terror-stricken face,
And even as he tried to avert his eyes, his neck
Stiffened, the tears on his cheeks hardened to stone,
And the cowardly face, the suppliant expression,
The pleading hands, and the guilty look
Are all permanent in the marble statue.
Victorious Perseus now enters with his bride
His ancestral city, and to avenge his grandfather,
Who did not deserve vengeance, he wages war
Against his uncle, Proetus, who had driven out
His brother Acrisius and seized the citadel.
But neither Proetus' armed might nor his possession
Of the citadel, which he had unjustly seized,
Could resist the dread gaze of the snake-crowned monster.
And you, Polydectes, ruler of tiny Seriphos,
Were mollified neither by the proven valor
Of the young hero, nor by his suffering,
But remained hard in your inexorable hatred,
Nor was there an end to your iniquitous wrath.
You withheld praise, denied honor, and even claimed
That the death of Medusa was only a lie.
"We will give you certain proof," Perseus said
To the king; and then to his friends, "Shield your eyes!"
And with the face of the Gorgon Medusa
He changed the king's face into bloodless stone.