Now, having witnessed this, the Thebans—all
the men and all the women—fear the gods’
retaliation; and with more devotion,
they now adore the two twins’ awesome mother.
And since things recent call to mind things past,
the fate of Niobe led one to say:
“Just so, in Lycia’s fertile fields, of old,
the peasants had to pay harsh penalties
for their disprizing the divinity
of great Latona. While it’s true that tale
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is little known—for, after all, it’s told
by country folk—it is extraordinary.
But I myself have visited that pool
and seen the site that saw the miracle.
In fact, my father, who was then too old
to face that journey, had entrusted me
to drive down some fine bullocks from that country;
and he had given me as guide a Lycian.
And while, with him, I roamed the grazing lands,
we came upon a lake; an ancient altar,
blackened by many sacrificial fires
and ringed by quivering reeds, rose from those waters.
My guide stood still and whispered fearfully:
‘Have pity!’ And I mimed him with: ‘Have pity!’
I asked if this was once a Naiad’s altar,
a Faun’s, or else some local deity’s.
My Lycian comrade answered: ‘No, young man:
no mountain deity can claim this shrine.
The one who claims it as her own is she
whom Juno once had banished from the world.
She was the wanderer whose prayer for shelter
was answered by the wandering Delos when
it was a floating, shifting island mass.
There, even as she rested on two trunks,
a palm tree and an olive, she gave birth—
in spite of their stepmother—to a pair
of twins. And then—it’s said—Latona fled
with her two infants, both of them divine,
in order to escape the wrath of Juno.
And hugging those two infants to her breast,
she came to Lycia, the Chimaera’s land.
The sun was fiercely hot; the fields were scorched;
her journey had been long; her throat was parched;
she thirsted, for the heat did not abate;
her hungry babes had drained her breasts of milk.
Just then, she chanced to see a little lake
far off, in a deep valley, at the base;
and there the country folk were gathering reeds,
Latin [319–44]
bulrushes, and swamp grass. And when she reached
the banks and knelt along the ground to sip
cool water, all that rustic crowd would not
let Titan’s daughter drink. She asked them: “Why
do you deny me this? All have a right
to water: Nature never has declared
that sun or flowing water or the air
is private property. When I drew near,
it was a public good I came to share;
nevertheless, I ask you as a favor
to give me some. I did not come to bathe
my limbs and weary body in your lake
all that I wanted was to quench my thirst.
I speak, and yet my mouth is dry, my throat
is parched; the path my voice must take is hard.
For me, a sip of water will be nectar;
it’s life and water I’ll receive; for you,
in giving it to me, will give me life.
And, too, take pity on my infants—they
stretch out their little arms . . .” And then, by chance,
the children at her bosom did just that.
Who—hearing words so sweet—would not be moved?
But they, despite her prayers, still refused;
and then they added threats, and insults, too.
And as if that were not enough, they soiled
the water with their feet and hands, and jumped—
maliciously—to stir the bottom mud.
At that, Latona’s wrath postponed her thirst.
Indeed, by now she pleads no more with these
unworthy folk: she does not choose to speak
as other than her goddess-self. She lifts
her hands to heaven, and she cries: “Live then
forever in that pool.” Just as she wished
to have it, so it is. They love the water;
and now they plunge their bodies underneath
the surface of the pool’s concavity;
now they thrust forth their heads, and now they swim
along the surface. And they often halt
Latin [345–73]
along the banks and often dive again
into the chilly depths. They still persist
in bickering shamelessly with their foul tongues;
and when they’re under water, underwater
they try to curse each other. And their voices
are still hoarse, and their tumid cheeks swell up;
and those same bickerings puff out their jaws.
Their shoulders touch their heads, their necks have vanished.
Their backs are green; their bellies, which take up
most of their body, white; as new-made frogs,
they leap about within the muddy pool.’”