Demeter and Persephone — Reworked from the Homeric Hymn#
A version of Hymn to Demeter, translated by Hugh G.Evelyn-White, 1914 in three reordered parts. The telling might also incorporate another part somewehere, of Orpheus and Eurydice, and how they come to meet Hades and Persephone, and the tale, which is another tale, of how Persephone came to be there.
Original book: Hesiod, the Homeric hymns, and Homerica; with an English translation by Hugh G. Evelyn-White, 1914
The original has an introduction with notes on each of the poems, which it might be worth reviewing.
As ever, the following is written as it might be heard in a free telling, not as it might be read from the printed page.
Part I — Doso and Metanira#
In the town of Eleusis, there was much to rejoice in the household of Lord Celeus, the well-regarded leader of that place. For his wife, Metanira, though thought to be past child bearing age, had given birth. To a son. But there was concern too, because the child that was born, to Celeus and Metanira, was not born a strong child.
One day. Metanira’s three daughters went down to the well to fetch water for their mother.
When they reached the well, they saw an old woman sitting there, beside it, beneath the spreading branches of an old olive tree.
They politely asked who she was, where she had come from, where she might be going.
“Doso is my name” she said, her voice carrying with it much weariness, much sadness. “I was captured on an island, far, far away; I was captured, by pirates, and brought to this land. We made camp on the shore, to cook; then we would sail again, to where I would be sold into slavery. But I escaped. And I fled. And now I am here, under this tree, beside this well. And if anyone could give me work that befits my age — keeping a household, teaching other women, even nursing a child — I would do it gladly. And the Gods of Olympus would surely look favourably upon anyone who employed me so.”
Having filled their jugs from the well, the three daughters returned home, where they told their mother Doso’s sad tale. She bade them to fetch the old woman, so she could help nurse Metanira’s child.
The girls went back to the well, and returned with Doso. But a great sorrow seemed to weigh upon her even as she followed on behind them.
Doso entered the house, her dark cloak covering her head. But as she stood in the doorway, it seemed to Metanira that Doso’s head reached up to the roof, and Metanira felt a sense of awe and wonder that she could not explain.
Doso sat down, her eyes downcast, saying nothing, unsmiling, refusing both food and drink.
One of Metanira’s daughters tried to cheer up their guest: joking, laughing, offering her red wine.
“Just a little barley, mixed with water,” she said, “and mint”, and that was all she would accept.
Metanira watched closely. “I can see you are of noble birth, by your grace, by your dignity. Please nurse my child. We will repay you, howsoever we can. And if you can bring him to his youth, your reward will be the envy of many.”
Doso looked at Metanira, thanked her, and said she would surely help the child. That she knew many charms that would protect him. “And the Gods will surely reward you too.”
Doso then took the boy, and she nursed him, but she did not give him milk. Instead, she fed him ambrosia, the food of the Gods. And he grew strong. And he grew healthy. And he grew quickly.
But this was not the only magic that Doso worked on the child.
One night, Metanira thought to see her young son, but as she did so, she saw Doso pick up the boy, as she did every night, walk over to the fire, as she did very night, and then hold the boy over the flames..
“Stop!” shouted Metanira, “what are you doing? What are you doing to my child?” Full of fear, full of panic, fearing for the safety of her son, as any mother would.
Doso turned, surprised. She glared at Metanira, took that boy, that boy who had grown stronger, and faster, than every other mortal child before him, the boy who had grown quite remarkably: and threw him to the ground.
“What have I done? What have you done?”
And as Metanira watched, Doso, the old woman, transformed before her very eyes: the years of age fell from her face, and she glowed as if with some divine light.
“Don’t you realise? Can’t you see? I would have made your son deathless. But now? Now? Now, there is no way he will avoid the death that is suffered by every child born of man. And though he will be honoured, strife and war will plague the sons of Eleusis ever more.”
And as she spoke, a beautiful scent filled the air.
“Do you not realise who I am? I am Demeter. Goddess of the harvest, the greatest help and source of joy to the undying Gods and to mortal men.” And when she mentioned the Gods, she appeared to sneer at them.
“Now go. Go and build me a temple. And I will teach you the rites by which you shall worship me so that you may win the favour of my heart.”
By this time, Metanira’s daughters, woken by the commotion, had come to see what the trouble was. One of them picked up her young brother, and tried to comfort him, but she did not have the skill that Doso — that Demeter — had had.
After a night spent quaking with fear, they told Celeus what had happened the night before: of how the Goddess Demeter had revealed herself to them, and what they must now do: they must build a temple to her.
And so they did as they must.
But rather than repay the gifts and the offerings of the Eleusinians with a bountiful harvest, the sorrow that Doso had carried as she sat as an old woman at the well under the spreading olive tree, the anger that had remained hidden, was now released with a cold and hostile fury that prevented the spring from coming, that caused the harvest to fail, and that caused all to suffer famine.
Rather than acting as the Goddess of Harvest, she had become as if a Goddess of Death.
And that is the end of Doso’s tale, although it is just part of Demeter’s.
Part II — Descent and Search#
One day, as Zeus, the King of the Gods, was sitting on Mount Olympus, who should he notice coming up the mountainside but Hades, his younger brother; Hades, ruler of the lower of the three realms; Hades, who rarely came up from the underworld that was his kingdom.
At one point, Hades stopped, and appeared to be watching something, or some one. Ah… some of the younger Goddesses, and some of the nymphs too… Hera, Zeus’s wife, would often see Zeus watching them, and more, and she did not approve.
But Hades was a bachelor…. and: “who’s she?” Hades pointed. “She’s beautiful…”
“Which one? That one? Or, oh, that one. That’s Persephone. Your niece. Our sister’s daughter. Come to think of it, my daughter. Well, one of them, at least.”
In those days, for the Gods, well… there weren’t that many other Gods and Goddesses around that you could start a family with.
“She’s lovely….”
They talked. And they plotted. And they planned.
Persephone’s mother wouldn’t approve, of course. So they’d best keep it secret, at last until Persephone was Hades’ wife.
The plan was made.
The plan was simple…
One day, when Persephone was out with the other goddesses and nymphs, Zeus would make sure that she was separated from the others: he could guarantee she’d be tempted away by a path of beautiful flowers that she could pick: irises, and hyacinths, and narcissus, yes, narcissus, she would surely want to pick Narcissus; and then…
A chasm appeared, and from it rode Hades, pulled on a golden chariot from the underworld by his undying horses. He grabbed Persephone, turned the horses around, and return with his unwilling bride to the underworld.
Persephone screamed, seeing the earth, the sky, all she knew of loved disappearing behind her. Screamed to those she had just been with. Screamed to her father. Screamed for her mother.
The chasm closed. And Persephone had gone.
That first scream? Persephone was was already too far away for her friends to hear it.
That second scream, to her father? Zeus had got his plausible deniability excuse in place. He was in the Temple, accepting sacrifices to him.
That third and final scream? Persephone’s mother may not have heard it, but she felt it; she knew, as mother’s often do, that there was something troubling her child, some danger she was in, and she went to look for her.
But there was no sign of her.
For nine days, she sought her daughter. For nine days, there was no sign of her.
But then, on the tenth day, Hecate, Goddess of the Moon, Hecate, who straddles the liminal space between the three worlds, she told Persephone’s mother that she had not seen what had happened, but that she had heard the screams.
And so together they went to see Helios, the Sun God who sees all that happens during the day.
And Helios, seeing the deep despair of Persephone’s mother, took pity on her; and told her what he knew, as I have told you: that Zeus had given Persephone to his brother; that Hades had seized her, had forced her into his chariot, had taken her screaming, down to the underworld to be his wife.
“But he’s not that bad, really,” said Helios. “He does love her, and he’ll surely treat her well. And he is Zeus’s brother, I mean to say, he’s even your brother. And he is the lord over one of the three realms, so quite a catch, really…”
But this did not placate Persephone’s mother at all. And even though she was a Goddess herself, and a sister to Zeus, she took herself far away from Olympus, to Eleusis, where she took the form of an old woman, and sat down by a well, under an old olive tree.
Part III — Return#
One of the things you may or may not know about the Greek Gods and Goddesses is this: they like to be worshipped. They love to be worshipped. In fact, more than that, they need to be worshipped. Without worship and sacrifice, they wither away and become forgotten, become as nothing.
Rather than give life, as befits a goddess of the harvest, Demeter was taking it.
Rather than go back to Olympus, Demeter remained in her temple at Eleusis.
Even as the people worshipped her, and performed her rites as she had taught them, she wreaked a terrible wrath over the world: harvests failed; famine spread across the land; the people suffered, and died. And if men die, then who will perform the rituals and the rites, who will worship and make sacrifice to the Gods?
From Olympus, Zeus sent one messenger after another to entreat Demeter to return Olympus, to enjoy the fruits of being a God, to restart the harvest.
But she would not come. She would not return until she saw her daughter again.
At this point, Zeus sent Hermes, trickster God, and messenger of the Gods, down to the underworld to talk to Hades; to tell him that Zeus wanted him to let Persephone return to her mother.
“I’ll do what I can”, said Hermes, “but you know the rule. If she’s eaten anything in the underworld that was given to her by Hades, a part of her at least will always remain there.”
And with that, he was gone.
When Hermes arrived at Hades’ Palace, he saw Hades sat upon a couch, with Persephone sat away to the side, shy and reluctant, desiring to return to her mother.
Hades listened to what Hermes had to say, smiled, and turned to Persephone, as charming and kind as only a God could be to his wife, and said to her: “go back to your mother. But you know I will not be an unfitting husband; you know that, by my side, you will rule over one of the three kingdoms. You know that anyone who crosses you will be punished for ever more.”
At the first of his words, Persephone had jumped up, smiling with joy. But just as she made to leave him, Hades stepped forward to wipe the tears from her face — of sadness? of happiness? of relief? I couldn’t quite tell. And his fingers brushed her lips, and placed a few sweet pomegranate seeds upon them. And she licked the seeds away, tasted their sweetness. Swallowed them. And a look passed between Hades and Persephone. And she knew that he had tricked her. Or maybe not…
Then Hades had his deathless horses harnessed to his golden chariot. Hermes took the whip, and returned with Persephone to the world above, to the land of men, to her mother Demeter’s temple at Eleusis.
As soon as she saw her, Demeter ran forward to embrace her daughter, even as Persephone jumped from the chariot and ran to her mother.
But as they embraced, as Demeter stroked her daughter’s hair, each sobbing into the other’s shoulder, Demeter asked with an urgency borne of fear: “what happened to you? what did he do to you? you didn’t, you didn’t eat anything whilst you were there, did you?”
And Persephone sobbed aloud, told her mother everything, told her about the abduction; about the descent; about the pomegranate seeds.
As each looked to the other, they knew that Persephone would have to return to the underworld. For one third of the year, she would spend time in the third realm with her husband Hades. And for that time, the earth would lament, and the earth would be be barren. But as Perspephone returned to the world above, the spring flowers would open and lead her out of the underwolrd, as they had originally led her towards it. And there she would spend two thirds of the year with her mother, Demeter; and with Zeus; and with all the other deathless Gods and Goddesses on Olympus.
And they Demeter and Persephone embraced ever more strongly.
And it was then that Hecate joined them: Hecate who would be adviser and companion to Persephone.
And then Zeus sent Rhea, his mother, and Demeter’s, down to Eleusis; and from there she brought mother and daugher, sister and nience, back to Zeus’s home on Olympus.
And so it was, and so it is, that ever since that time, Persephone has spent a third of the year in the underworld with Hades, and two thirds of the year on Olympus. And in the world of man and woman, we see that same pattern in the seasons: as Demeter mourns the loss of her daughter through winter, and rejoices at their time together through spring, and summer, and into autumn.
And that is the end of the tale.