Deucalion and Pyrrha

Phocis separates the Aonian fields from those of Oeta, a fertile land while it was land, but at that time part of the sea, and a plain of sudden waters. There a mountain lifts its steep summit to the stars in twin peaks, named Parnassus, and its crest overtops the clouds. Here — for the rest was covered by the sea — Deucalion, carried in a small boat with the partner of his bed, landed: they worshipped the Corycian nymphs and the mountain gods, and prophetic Themis, who then kept the oracles: no man was better than he, none more loving of the right, none more fearful of the gods than she. When Jupiter saw the world sinking in liquid marshes and that one man was left of so many thousands lately, and one woman left of so many thousands lately, both innocent, both worshippers of the god, he scattered the clouds, and, the north wind driving away the rains, he showed the earth to heaven and the heavens to the earth.

Nor does the anger of the sea remain: the ruler of the deep, laying aside his three-pointed spear, soothes the waters, and calls the blue Triton, standing above the deep, his shoulders covered with the native purple shell, and bids him sound the waves and rivers back at the given signal: the hollow shell is taken by him, which, winding, grows wide in a spiral from its base — the shell which, when it takes in the air in mid-sea, fills with its voice the shores lying under either Phoebus. Then also, when it touched the mouth of the god, dripping with wet beard, and, blown, sounded the commanded retreat, it was heard by all the waves of earth and sea, and all that heard it, it restrained. Now the sea has a shore; the channel takes the full rivers; the rivers subside, and the hills seem to come out; the ground rises, the lands grow as the waters lessen, and after a long day the bare crests of the woods show, and hold the mud left on their leaves.

The world was given back; and when he saw it empty, and the deep silence of the desolate lands, Deucalion spoke thus to Pyrrha, with tears rising: "O sister, O wife, O only woman surviving, whom a common stock, and the origin of our fathers, and then the marriage bed joined, and now dangers themselves join us, of all the lands that the west and east behold, we two are the people: the sea possesses the rest. And even now this confidence of our life is not certain enough: the clouds still terrify my mind. What mind would you have now, miserable one, if you had been snatched by the fates without me? In what could you alone bear your fear? With whom could you console your grief? For I — believe me — if the sea held you too, I would follow you, wife, and the sea would hold me too.

O that I could repair the peoples by my father's arts, and breathe into the molded earth those souls! Now the mortal race remains in us two only. So it seemed good to the gods: we remain examples of men." He had spoken, and they wept: it pleased them to pray to the heavenly power, and to seek its aid by sacred lots. No delay: together they go to the waters of Cephisus, cutting the shallows — not yet clear, though now known — and when they had sprinkled their robes and heads with the tasted waters, they turned their steps to the holy shrine of the goddess, whose gables were pale with ugly moss, and the altars stood without fires. When they touched the steps of the temple, each fell prone on the ground, and gave kisses in fear to the cold stone, and so they said: "If the powers, conquered by just prayers are softened, if the anger of the gods is bent, tell us, Themis, by what art the loss of our race may be repaired, and bring aid, most gentle, to our drowned world!" The goddess was moved, and gave the oracle: "Depart from the temple, and veil your heads, and unbind the girded robes, and cast behind your backs the bones of your great mother!" They were stupefied a long while: and Pyrrha first broke the silence with her voice, and refused to obey the goddess's command, and begged pardon with trembling lips, fearing to hurt her mother's shades by the cast bones.

Meanwhile they seek again in blind hiding places the dark words of the given oracle, and turn them over between them. Then the son of Prometheus soothes the daughter of Epimetheus with gentle words, and says: "Either our skill is deceiving, or the oracles are holy and counsel no crime: the great mother is the earth: the stones in the body of the earth I think are meant by bones: we are bidden throw these behind our backs." Though the wife of Titan was moved by her husband's augury, still the hope is doubtful: so much do they both distrust the heavenly commands; but what harm in trying? They descend: they veil their heads, and unbind their robes, and cast the commanded stones behind their own footsteps. The stones — who would believe it, unless ancient custom were witness? — began to lay aside their hardness and their stiffness, and, softened by delay, becoming soft, to take on form.

Soon, when they had grown, and a milder nature had touched them, such that some shape could be seen, not clearly, but like the beginnings of a marble statue, not exact enough, most like to rude images — that part of them which was moist with some juice and earthy was turned to use for the body; what is solid and cannot bend is changed into bones; what had been a vein remained under the same name; and in a short space, by the power of the gods above, the stones thrown by a man's hands took the face of men, and the woman was remade from a woman's throw. From this we are a hard race, experiencing labor, and we give proof of the stock from which we are born. The earth brought forth the other animals in different shapes of her own accord, after the old moisture had been warmed through by the fire of the sun, and the slime and the rich marshes swelled with heat, and the fertile seeds of things, nourished in a living soil, as in a mother's womb, grew, and took on some shape in their settling.

So when the sevenfold Nile has deserted the soaked fields and given back his waters to his old channel, and the fresh slime has glowed in the ethereal star, the farmers find many animals in the turned clods, and among them some just begun in the very space of birth, some unfinished, and lacking their numbers, and often in one body one part lives, and the other part is raw earth. For indeed when moisture and heat have taken their measure, they conceive, and from these two all things arise; and though fire fights with water, humid vapor creates all things, and a discordant concord is fit for births. Therefore, when the earth, muddy with fresh deluge, was glowing warm in the ethereal suns and deep heat, she brought forth countless species; and in part she gave back their ancient forms, and in part created new monsters.

One man survived — Deucalion of Phocis — just, and a lover of what is right. He came to his father's temple, and Pyrrha came with him, his wife, dearest of all women to his heart. "What shall we do?" they said. "Where shall we hide, in so great a terror? Our hopes are small." And the great goddess pitied them and said: "Leave the temple. Veil your heads. Untie the belts of your robes, and throw the bones of your great mother behind your backs." They stood amazed, in silence; Pyrrha was the first to break it, and begged the goddess, with trembling lips, to forgive her — she was afraid to offend her shade by touching her bones. Meanwhile they turned the words over: the words were dark, the oracle obscure. Then Deucalion answered Pyrrha gently: "Either my judgment is wrong, or the oracles are holy, and no command tells us to offend our mother's bones. The earth is the great mother; I believe the stones in the body of the earth are what we are told to throw behind us." Pyrrha's heart was warmed by his reading, though the hope was faint. They did not yet believe — but what harm could it do? So they went out, veiled, their robes loosened, and threw the stones behind their steps, as they were told. And the stones — who would believe it, if ancient tradition did not tell it? — began to lose their hardness and their stony look, and after a while grew soft, and softer still, and their weight wore away. As they were carried along, the mass of them grew gentle, and took on shape: what looked like the form of man and woman was not yet clear — then each became flesh, and the stony parts turned to bone, and the veins kept the old name and shape of their stones. And in a moment, the stones the man had thrown took the forms of men, and the woman's stones were born again as women. From this comes the hardness of our race, and our endurance of labor, and the proof in us that we descend from stone.

And when the giver of all things saw that the earth was green again and the world stood out above the deep, he called the winds and told them to leave the lands and let the clouds go and show the sky. The ground, still wet with the scattered rain, shone in the sun, the heavens grew bright, and out of the sodden earth came the grasses; in a moment the branches put on fresh leaves, and the standing forest was green over all the world. Then the wild beasts returned to their homes and the open fields, and suddenly the earth was filled with every kind of wandering creature.

Here Deucalion — for everything else was sea — landed with the partner of his bed in a small boat, and worshipped the Corycian nymphs and the mountain gods, and Themis of the oracles, who then kept faith: no man was better than he, none loved what was right more, none feared the gods as she did. When Jove saw the world was one still lake, and that from many thousands one man was left, and one woman from those thousands, both innocent, both worshippers of god, he scattered the clouds, and, the north wind driving off the rains, showed the earth to heaven and heaven to the earth. The anger of the sea was over. The ruler of the deep laid down his three-pronged spear, smoothed the waters, and called the blue Triton, rising from the deep, his shoulders covered with his native shells, and told him to sound his echoing conch and give the sign to call back flood and river. Triton took the hollow shell that spirals wide and wide from its lowest coil, and blew: the seas and all the rivers heard and heard the sign, and ran away. The sea found shores again; the swollen rivers ran within their banks; the earth appeared, the ground soft like fresh mud, holding the water in its widening cracks; and after a little while the trees came back, and put fresh green leaves over all the world.