But the Almighty Father now inspects
his heaven: he goes round the battlements
to see if any sector has by chance
been weakened by the fire’s violence.
And when he sees that they have all held fast
and kept the strength they had in ages past,
he goes to see the earth—how human tasks
and matters are proceeding. He attends,
above all, to Arcadia, the land
Latin [385–405]
most dear to him. There he restores the flow
of springs and rivers: they resume their course.
He gives the soil its grass again; the trees,
their leaves; the injured forests now grow green
at his command.
And as Jove came and went,
renewing that dear land, he saw a nymph,
a virgin of Arcadia, Callisto;
at once a flame erupted in his bones.
She was not one of those whose days were spent
in carding softened wool, nor was she bent
on elegant new ways to dress her hair.
Her robe was fastened by a simple clasp;
a plain white headband held her flowing hair.
When she held fast a bow or slender lance,
she seemed Diana’s warrior—in fact,
no nymph who roamed the slopes of Maenalus
was dearer to the goddess than Callisto.
But favor shown today can fade tomorrow.
The sun was high—it had just passed mid-course—
when the young nymph sought shade within a forest
whose ancient trees no ax had ever touched.
Callisto slid her quiver off her shoulder,
unstrung her bow, and stretched out on the grass;
she used the painted quiver as her pillow.
No sooner had he seen the weary girl—
lone, defenseless—than Jove told himself:
“This turn is one my wife won’t learn about!
But even if she were to hear of it,
this prize, in truth, is worth a fit or two
of Juno’s anger!” And Jove then assume
the aspect of Diana and her clothes.
He said: “O virgin, dearest friend, what slopes
have you been hunting on?” The girl leaped up
from her green resting-place as she replied:
Latin [406–28]
“Welcome, o goddess, you whom—even if
Jove’s self should hear me—I prize over him!”
He smiled, quite pleased to hear himself preferred
to his own self; and then he kissed the nymph
in fervent fashion—not as virgin’s lips
are usually kissed. And even as
the girl was just about to tell him where
she had been hunting, he—quite carnally—
broke in, embracing her; and in that act
the god revealed himself. Yes, she fought hard—
as much as any woman can when caught
(o Juno, had you seen Callisto then
you’d think of her in kinder terms): she fought,
but what girl—who, in fact, of any sort?—
could ever break the grip of the great Jove!
A victor, Jove returns to heaven. She
now loathes that forest, hates the grove of trees
that witnessed her disgrace, that infamy;
she almost leaves behind—in her retreat—
her quiver with its arrows, and the bow
she’d propped against a bough.
Just then, Diana,
together with her followers, comes down
the slopes of Maenalus; and she is proud
of all the game they’ve caught. Diana sees
Callisto; she calls out. At first the nymph
runs off, afraid that this might be great Jove
returning in disguise. But when she sees
that other nymphs are coming forward, she
takes heart; she knows this is not trickery
and joins her friends. But it is hard indeed
to show one’s face without appearing guilty!
She scarcely lifts her eyes; she does not stand
beside the goddess, as she always did,
nor does she take her place as the chief nymph;
she now is silent, but her blushes speak.
Latin [428–50]
And if Diana had not been a virgin,
there were a thousand signs she could have read;
the nymphs had sensed the truth—or so it’s said.
Since then, nine months had gone by—to the day.
Diana had been hunting; but the rays
shed by the Sun, her glowing brother, made
the goddess weary, and she sought the shade
of cool woods watered by a murmuring brook
that flowed across a sandy bed. The place
delighted her. Diana dipped her toes
into the stream—and that, too, pleased her so.
She said: “No one can see us! Shed your clothes!
Let’s bathe!”
Callisto blushed. They all disrobed—
she was the only one who would delay.
And since she hesitates, the other nymphs
snatch off her robe—she’s naked now, her shame
is plain to see. “Be off!”—the goddess cries—
“Do not defile this sacred spring!” With tha
the girl is banished from Diana’s band.
Though Juno had long since sensed all of this,
the goddess held off her harsh punishment
until the time was ripe. Now it had come;
there was no reason to delay: in sum,
her rival, adding wound to wound, had borne
a boy, Areas. As soon as Juno turned
her eyes and angry mind to this, she cried:
“As if I had not had enough, this, too,
was needed: you, adulteress, bore this fruit—
a son; the wrong you’ve done me now is known
to all—the living proof of how my Jove
behaved! But, shameless, you shall pay; I’ll take
from you the shape that gives both you and, too,
my husband such delight.”
Latin [451–75]
So Juno said,
and then she caught Callisto by the hair
in front and pulled her, face down, to the ground.
The girl stretched out her arms, imploring pity:
but those same arms began to sprout rough, shaggy
black hairs; her hands began to curve and lengthen
into hooked claws—they now were feet; the face
that Jove had so admired now was changed
to lumpish jaws; that she might not implore,
the gift of speech was taken from her: hoarse,
her throat could only utter angry growls—
a frightening sound. And yet, though now a bear,
she still retains the mind she had before,
and shows her suffering with endless moans:
she lifts her hands, though they are hands no more—
up to the sky and stars; she means to say—
though without speech—that Jove had not kept faith.
How often, too afraid to lie at rest
on lonely forest slopes, Callisto roams
outside the home and through the fields that once
were hers! How often is she chased along
the rocks by barking dogs, for she who was
a hunter has become the hunted one—
a frightened fugitive. When beasts draw near,
she hides, forgetting how she now appears;
although she is a she-bear, she still fears
the sight of bears along the mountain slopes
and shudders when the wolves approach, although
Lycaon, her own father, is a wolf.