Prevod
Atlas felt the weight.—Nor had Eurystheus, son of Sthenelus, yet put aside his anger; he fiercely pursued the son with the hatred he had borne the father. But Alcmene of Argos, troubled by long years of care, now had Iole to hear an old woman’s laments, to whom she could recount her son’s labors, witnessed by all the world, and her own misfortunes. At Hercules’ command, Hyllus had welcomed Iole into his bed and heart and filled her womb with noble seed. And so Alcmene began: “May the gods at least be kind to you and cut short your delays when, your time fulfilled, you call on Ilithyia, who watches over fearful women in childbirth, whom Juno’s influence made so cruel to me.
For when the birth of Hercules, destined for toil, was near, and the sun had reached its tenth sign, my burden stretched my womb, and what I carried was so great that you could have guessed that Jove had fathered that hidden weight. I could no longer bear the pains: even now, as I speak, a cold shudder seizes my limbs, and remembering is part of the pain. For seven nights and as many days I lay in torment, worn out by suffering, stretching my arms to heaven, loudly calling on Lucina and her companions, the Nixi.
She came indeed, but already bribed, eager to give my life as a gift to unjust Juno. When she heard my groans, she sat upon that altar before the door, her left knee crossed beneath her right, her fingers interlocked like the teeth of a comb, and halted the birth. In a low voice she also uttered spells, and those spells checked the labor already begun. I strained, and in my madness hurled useless reproaches at ungrateful Jove, longing to die, pouring out complaints that would have moved the hardest flint. The women of Thebes stood by, offering vows and urging me on through my suffering.
One of my attendants, Galanthis, a woman of humble birth with golden hair, was there, quick to carry out my wishes, and dear to me for her service. She sensed that cruel Juno was contriving some mischief, and as she passed in and out of the doorway, she saw the goddess seated on the altar, her arms resting on her knees, her fingers clasped together. ‘Whoever you are,’ she said, ‘congratulate my mistress: Alcmene of Argos has given birth; her prayers are answered.’ The goddess who rules the womb sprang up in alarm and unclasped her hands: those bonds released, I too was delivered.
They say Galanthis laughed at having tricked a goddess. As she laughed, the savage goddess seized her by the hair and dragged her down; when she tried to lift her body from the ground, the goddess stopped her and changed her arms into forelegs. Her former quickness remains, and her back has kept its color, but her shape is no longer what it was. And since she helped a woman give birth by lying with her mouth, she gives birth through her mouth, and still haunts our homes as before.”
