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“The Story of Coronis, and Birth of Aesculapius” (II) – Ovid

the-daughters-of-cecrops-finding-the-child-erichthonius

     “The Daughters of Cecrops Finding the Child Erichthonius (1640) 

 

               Jacob Jordaens

 

                   _________

 

 

                                 Once upon a time, 

 

something interesting happens here,

where earlier in this particular myth

we had a fable, a story in which 

animals play major roles, Aesop is 

famous for his, for instance, as is

Jean de la Fontainewith the

opening catchphrase above, a line

as old at least as Dryden, we’re

suddenly in the land of fairy tales,

structurally, technically

 

              The two-shap’d Ericthonius had his birth 
              (Without a mother) from the teeming Earth; 

 

Ericthonius, son of Minervagoddess 

of Wisdom, and of several other traits 

and abilities, and Hephaestus, god of 

Craftsmen, Metallurgy, Fire, among

other, again, areas of malleability 

and possibility

 

Without a mother, not in the usual,

mammalian, manner

 

two-shap’d, half human, half serpent,

don’t ask


              Minerva nurs’d him, and the infant laid 
              Within a chest, of twining osiers made. 

 

Minerva hid her fearsome child in  

a box, a chest, closed the lid, and 

entrusted the secret contents to a 

trio of sisters


              The daughters of king Cecrops undertook 
              To guard the chest, commanded not to look 
              On what was hid within.

 

king Cecrops, mythical founder and

first king of Athens

 

                                                               I stood to see 
              The charge obey’d, perch’d on a neighb’ring tree. 

 

I, the daw, the storyteller


              The sisters Pandrosos and Herse keep 
              The strict command; Aglauros needs would peep, 

 

Pandrosos, not to be cofused with 

Pandora, Herseand Aglauros, the

three daughters of Cecrops


              And saw the monstrous infant, in a fright, 
              And call’d her sisters to the hideous sight: 
              A boy’s soft shape did to the waste prevail, 
              But the boy ended in a dragon’s tail. 

 

there’s the ring here, nevertheless,

of Pandora’s tale, though this story

is not at all as dire for humanity as 

Pandora‘s fateful introduction of 

very evil into the world


              I told the stern Minerva all that pass’d; 
              But for my pains, discarded and disgrac’d, 
              The frowning Goddess drove me from her sight, 
              And for her fav’rite chose the bird of night. 

 

the bird of night, the owl, with which

Minerva is often associated, often

portrayed


              Be then no tell-tale; for I think my wrong 
              Enough to teach a bird to hold her tongue. 

 

and aptly, we learn the lesson a

fable is meant, by definition, to 

expose

 

 

R ! chard

 

 

 

 

“The Story of Coronis, and Birth of Aesculapius” – Ovid

a-saint-from-the-jackdaw-of-rheims-1868(1).jpg!Large

   “A Saint, from ‘The Jackdaw of Rheims’ (1868) 

 

           Briton Rivière

 

              _______

 

 

             The raven once in snowy plumes was drest, 
             White as the whitest dove’s unsully’d breast, 
             Fair as the guardian of the Capitol, 
             Soft as the swan; a large and lovely fowl; 
             His tongue, his prating tongue had chang’d him quite 
             To sooty blackness, from the purest white. 

 

the Capitol, the Temple of Jupiter, only 

portions of which remain, on exhibit in

the Capitoline Museums, on the 

Capitoline Hill, one of the Seven Hills 

of Rome

 

the guardian of the Capitol, the Vestalis

Maxima, or the greatest of the Vestals,

who were charged with ensuring the 

security of the city

 

the raven was white once, Ovid says, 

[f]air as the guardian of the Capitol, 

[s]oft as the swan, but it seems his 

prating tongue got him in trouble

 

prating, chattering, tattling

 

here’s what happened

 

            In Thessaly there liv’d a nymph of old, 
             Coronis nam’d; a peerless maid she shin’d, 
             Confest the fairest of the fairer kind. 
             Apollo lov’d her, ’till her guilt he knew, 
             While true she was, or whilst he thought her true. 

 

Thessaly, a region of Greece

 

contrary to what’s taken place in

these myths till now, Coronis, a 

nymph, in name only, it appears,

was found out to be untrue to 

Apollowho lov’d her

 

                   his own bird the raven chanc’d to find 
             The false one with a secret rival joyn’d. 
             Coronis begg’d him to suppress the tale, 
             But could not with repeated pray’rs prevail. 

 

the raven, Apollo‘s own bird, was not 

going to not tell his master about his 

mistress’ indiscretion, despite [t]he 

false one’s pray’rs not to

 

              His milk-white pinions to the God he ply’d;

 

pinion, the outer part of a bird’s wing,

including the flight feathers

 

             [A] busy daw flew with him, side by side, 

 

daw, jackdaw, a black bird related to 

the crow

 

              

             And by a thousand teizing questions drew
             Th’ important secret from him as they 
flew. 

 

teizing, teasing


             The daw gave honest counsel, 
tho’ despis’d, 

 
 

tho’ despis’d, though the honest

counsel would be unpleasant to 

hear

 

              And, tedious in her tattle, thus advis’d: 

 

listen, said the daw, cautioning

the raven 

 

              “Stay, silly bird, th’ ill-natur’d task refuse, 

 

silly bird, the raven 

 

              Nor be the bearer of unwelcome news. 
             Be warn’d by my example: 

 

pay attention, the daw insists, be 

wary, [b]e warn’d

 

                                                         you discern 
             What now I am, and what I was shall learn. 
             My foolish honesty was all my crime; 
             Then hear my story.

 

here’s what happened to me,

says the pitch black bird

 

                                             Once upon a time, 

 

 

to follow

 

 

R ! chard

 

psst: The Jackdaw of Reims, by

            Richard Harris Barham