Deucalion and Pyrrha

While the people of the Age of Bronze still lived on the earth, reports of their wickedness reached Jupiter. The god decided to see for himself if these reports were true, so he came down to earth disguised as a man. Everywhere he went, he found that the reports were far milder than the truth.

One evening, in the late twilight, he entered the inhospitable shelter of King Lycaon of Arcadia, a ruler known for his wild behavior. By several signs, Jupiter let it be known that he was a god, and the crowd fell to their knees in worship. But Lycaon mocked their pious prayers.

"Let us see," he said, "whether he is a mortal or a god."

So he decided to kill his guest that very night while he lay sleeping, not expecting death. But before doing so, he slaughtered a poor hostage whom the Molossians had sent to him, cooked the half-living limbs in boiling water or broiled them over a fire, and placed them before the guest as his evening meal.

But Jupiter, who knew all this, rose from the table and sent a raging fire through the castle of the godless man. Frightened, the king fled into the open fields. His first cry was a howl; his clothes turned to fur, his arms to legs, and he became a bloodthirsty wolf.

Jupiter returned to Olympus and held counsel with the gods, deciding to destroy the reckless race of men. At first, he wanted to hurl his lightning bolts all over the earth, but he feared that the heavens would catch fire and destroy the very axle of the universe. So he set aside the thunderbolt that the Cyclopes had forged for him and decided instead to send rain from heaven to flood the earth and wipe out all mortals.

Immediately, the North Wind and all the other cloud-scattering winds were locked in the cave of Aeolus, and only the South Wind was let out. The South Wind swooped down upon the earth. His frightful face was wrapped in darkness, his beard heavy with clouds, and from his white hair streamed the flood. Mists hung upon his brow, and water dripped from his chest. He seized the clouds and squeezed them until thunder rolled and floods of rain burst from the heavens. The standing corn was flattened to the earth; the farmer's hope was destroyed, and the weary work of a whole year came to nothing.

Even Neptune, the god of the sea, came to help his brother Jupiter in the work of destruction. He called all the rivers together and said, "Give full rein to your torrents; enter houses; break through all dams!"

They obeyed his command, and Neptune himself struck the earth with his trident, letting the flood pour in. Then the waters streamed over the open meadows, covered the fields, and swept away trees, temples, and houses. Wherever a palace stood, its gables were soon hidden beneath the water, and the highest turrets disappeared in the torrent. Sea and earth were no longer divided; all was flood, one unbroken stretch of water.

Men tried to save themselves as best they could. Some climbed the high mountains; others took to boats and rowed—now over the roofs of fallen houses, now over the hills of their ruined vineyards. Fish swam among the branches of the tallest trees; the wild boar was caught in the flood. People were swept away by the water, and those who survived the flood died of hunger on the barren mountains.

One high mountain in the country of Phocis still raised two peaks above the surrounding waters. It was the great Mount Parnassus. Toward this mountain floated a boat containing Deucalion, the son of Prometheus, and his wife Pyrrha. No man or woman had ever been found who surpassed them in righteousness and piety. When Jupiter, looking down from heaven, saw that only this single pair of mortals remained out of the many thousands upon thousands, both blameless and devoted servants of the gods, he sent forth the North Wind, recalled the clouds, and once again separated the earth from the heavens and the heavens from the earth.

Even Neptune, lord of the sea, laid down his trident and calmed the flood. The ocean returned to its shores; the rivers went back to their beds; forests stretched their slime-covered treetops out of the deep; hills followed; at last stretches of level land appeared, and the earth was as before.

Deucalion looked around him. The country was laid waste, wrapped in a silence like the grave. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he said to his wife, Pyrrha, "Beloved, solitary companion of my life, as far as I can see through all the surrounding country, I can discover no living creature. We two must repopulate the earth; all the rest have been drowned in the flood. But even we are not yet certain of our lives. Every cloud I see strikes terror into my soul. And even if danger is past, what shall we do alone on this forsaken earth? Oh, that my father Prometheus had taught me the art of creating men and breathing life into them!"

Then the two began to weep. They threw themselves on their knees before the half-destroyed altar of the goddess Themis and prayed, saying, "Tell us, O goddess, by what means we can replace the race that has disappeared? Oh, help the earth to new life!"

"Leave my altar," sounded the voice of the goddess. "Uncover your heads, ungird your garments, and cast the bones of your mother behind you."

For a long time, Deucalion and Pyrrha wondered over the puzzling words of the goddess. Pyrrha was the first to break the silence. "Pardon me, O noble goddess," she said, "if I do not obey you and cannot consent to scatter the bones of my mother."

Then Deucalion had a happy thought. He comforted his wife. "Either my reason deceives me," he said, "or the command of the goddess is good and involves no impiety. The great mother of all of us is the Earth; her bones are the stones, and these, Pyrrha, we will cast behind us!"

Both mistrusted this interpretation of the words, but what harm would it do to try? Thereupon they uncovered their heads, ungirded their garments, and began casting stones behind them.

Then a wonderful thing happened. The stones began to lose their hardness, became soft and pliable, grew, and took form—not definite at once, but rough figures such as an artist first hews out of marble. Whatever was moist or earthy in the stones was changed into flesh; the harder parts became bones; the veins in the rock remained as veins in the bodies. Thus, in a little while, with the aid of the gods, the stones that Deucalion threw assumed the form of men, and those that Pyrrha threw took the form of women.

And to this day, the race of men does not deny this humble origin. They are a hardy people, accustomed to work. Every moment of the day, they remember from what sturdy stock they have sprung.