I
was once a nymph. Then a bear, before almost being cut down by a
javelin, and then turned into a constellation, which I've been for
many years now.
I
once roamed forests, now my place is fixed in the skies, where if
spied from the northern hemisphere I never disappear below the
horizon. I never get to plunge in the ocean's baths. Instead, from my
ox-drawn wagon, I watch the Hunter, my old companion, bathing with
her virgin nymphs, and giving chase to and shooting wild beasts.
Although
I only shine at night I'm here all the time, wheeling in this wagon.
It's
my penance, I suppose, though it has kept me safe from Artemis' and
Hera's further vengeance. I should have known better than to be
seduced by Father Zeus, even disguised, which then disgraced me, in
his daughter's eyes; she, who has taken a vow of chastity and only
accepts virginal attendants.
But
Zeus! How could I have been so blind! He does this all the time:
beguiles, in disguise, daughters of gods and mortal wives of
king-like men to lie with them. These Olympian gods, they all act the
same! Dazzle you with their gifts and good looks, and whisper their
sweet nothings into persuadable ears.
Had
I been an ordinary woman or a queen, wedded or betrothed, my eventual
condition might have been overlooked, welcomed even. A child of Zeus'
planted in me would have, in all likelihood, been accepted as his own
by my husband, so great is Zeus in men's hearts.
But
no, I had to conceal this pregnancy. And then bear him, discreetly,
under a tree, and walk away. Though my secret, at the time of his
birth, had already been revealed. By my sisters, who had noticed,
over some months, my figure changing.
And
then Artemis was angry with me. At me! Just because I'd laid with
somebody, not because I was, very obviously, then, with child. It
didn't matter that my seducer was Zeus, nor that I'd been tricked
since he'd taken on the likeness of another. She's all about purity,
the goddess of the hunt, and in her eyes I had sinned; I was a fallen
nymph.
So,
I was ousted. Left to fend for myself in the forest. On berries and
grubs. And river water. No manna from the gods. Though my belly
continued to swell to bursting point.
Zeus,
it seemed, had also abandoned me, and would not be roused. Perhaps
his gaze had been turned in another direction...or he was trying to
pacify Hera, because I know this much she was told. And it wouldn't
have been by almighty Zeus. No, she would have found out by some
other way. Either from a winged messenger, or from Artemis herself.
Those two plotted, I'm sure.
But
Zeus, as always, saved the day. Stepped in at the last moment to foil
that pair. After years of being persecuted as a bear.
The
baby was a boy. A son, a son of Zeus, Cronus' son, and my mark of
shame. I don't know what happened to him, though I've heard it tell
since (you hear everything up here) that he was the man that was
going to shoot me with a javelin before Zeus intervened: flung me
far, far away from Hera's long-held wrath.
I've
heard my son was also flung, at the very point he would have thrown
his lethal javelin. Selene, the radiant goddess of the moon, when she
rose one night, told me that (though she shouldn't have) he was
turned into a minor star.
We
don't shine alongside one another. I'm not sure I'd recognise him
even if we did, not as the son I bore, all those years ago. Mother
and son, as we are, were, then, never destined to cross paths. To
know, maybe even grow to love, each other. And I've never longed for
that meeting.
I
wonder if Zeus, for all his wisdom, was right. I'm pleased he saved
the boy from anything else Hera might have planned. But me? Would it
not have been better if I'd been shot, then forgot, rather than live
out this deathless sentence?
These
four spoked wheels spinning, spinning, spinning through the nights.
And rolling on, more slowly, though the days.
Picture credit: Callisto on Jupiter's chariot, ceiling decoration from 'Sala di Galatea', Baldassare Peruzzi (source: myartprints.co.uk).
All posts published this year were penned during the last.
