His ally in that war was Telamon.
He, too—when they had won—received a prize:
Hesione—he gained a royal bride.
Alongside Telamon there also fought
his brother, Peleus; he, however, was
already famous as the man who’d won
a goddess as a wife: indeed, his father-
in-law inspired no less pride in Peleus
than his grandfather did: more than one mortal
could boast of having Jove as his grandfather,
but only Peleus had as wife a goddess.
It was old Proteus who had prophesied
to Thetis: “Goddess of the waves, conceive—
for you will bear a boy; and when he’s reached
his prime, he will outdo his father’s deeds;
and men will celebrate his name and fame
as one who puts his father’s might to shame.”
That prophecy made Jove most cautious: thoug
within his heart an ardent fire glowed
for Thetis, goddess of the sea, he shunned
Latin [208–26]
her arms, her couch; if Thetis bore a son
whom he had fathered, earth would harbor one
more mighty than himself. And so he bid
his grandson, Peleus, son of Aeacus,
to take the place of lover in his stead,
to seek and wed that virgin of the sea.
There is a bay in Thessaly that curves
much like a sickle; two protruding arms
of land enclose a cove that could indeed
serve as a harbor if it had more depth.
Instead, the sea lies shallow on the sands.
The shore is firm, and footsteps leave no trace;
there is no seaweed there to slow one’s pace—
one does not sink or slide. Beyond the beach
there is a grove of myrtles that can boast
bicolored berries thick upon the bough.
There is a grotto in that grove, and though
one cannot say with certainty that art
or nature was its maker, what it shows
seems more like artist’s work. It was this grotto
that often served you, Thetis: naked, you
would ride your bridled dolphin to that cave.
There, overcome by sleep, you lay, when he
surprised you, seized you; but—though he beseeched—
you would not yield to him; and so he tried
to force you, twisting both his arms around
your neck. If you’d not been adept in all
the arts of transformation, your honed skills,
he would have had his way; but you were now
a bird—and though he gripped a bird, he still
held fast; and now a tree, whose trunk might well
have crushed him—yet his clutch did not relent.
And so, as your third change, you chose to take
a spotted tigress’ shape. That was too much:
afraid, the son of Aeacus let go.
Latin [226–46]
Then Peleus left that cave: he went to pray,
to pour wine-offerings upon the waves,
to bring entrails of sheep, to burn incense,
to ask the sea-gods’ aid. At his behest,
old Proteus, the seer of Carpathus,
rose from the sea’s abyss to tell him this:
“O son of Aeacus, you will possess
the bride you so desire. There is but
one thing that you must do: when she lies down
in her cool cavern, while she is too numb
with sleep to notice anything, you are
to tie her with tenacious cords and knots.
And when she wakes, don’t falter; though she takes
a hundred lying shapes, hold fast, be firm
until she has regained her own true form.”
Now Proteus was done; he hid his face
beneath the waters, and he let a wave—
as it flowed back—enclose his final words.
The Sun was sinking low; his chariot sloped
down to the western sea; and now the fair
sea-goddess sought her grotto; there she slept
upon her customary couch. And when
she woke, she found her virgin body gripped
by Peleus—he’d attacked. At once she took
shape after shape, until she felt her limbs
were bound hard fast; her arms were pinioned, tied
apart and wide, one to each side. At last,
she moaned and said: “You never could have won,
had you not had a god as your ally.”
At that, she took on her own form; as Thetis,
the goddess yielded to the hero. Peleus
embraced her; he fulfilled his dream, and she
was pregnant with the seed of great Achilles.
Latin [247–65]