The Wonders Venus Wrought

Of all the strange and wonderful things that happened in the days of the ancient gods and goddesses, the most marvelous of all took place one spring morning near the island of Cyprus.

Spring always brings surprises: new leaves unfold on bare branches, wild birds return to nest and sing, and the sunshine feels warmer than it has in months. But the wonder that appeared off the coast of Greece that day was beyond anyone’s understanding. Even now, no one can fully explain or comprehend it.

There was hardly a breeze to ripple the deep blue sea. The water lay smooth and still, like a turquoise mirror. Suddenly, the fishermen who were casting their nets along the shore noticed a bright, rosy cloud trembling in the sky. It slowly descended, lower and lower, until it floated lightly on the surface of the sea. The cloud was so soft and airy that it seemed the faintest breath would scatter it, yet it rose and fell like mist, almost as if it were alive.

No one spoke. They watched in silence as the cloud began to take on a shape. It truly seemed to breathe, and then it blossomed into the most beautiful woman who had ever been seen on earth—or even on Mount Olympus. Her hair was as bright as sunlight, and her face glowed with a warm color like the rosy cloud from which she had come. Her flowing garments were as soft and lovely as the tinted sky at sunrise, and she stretched her slender white arms toward the shore.

At once, the four Zephyrs of the west, who had not been anywhere before, surrounded this radiant being. With their help, she glided gracefully toward the island of Cyprus. The four Seasons descended from Mount Olympus to meet her there, while the people of Cyprus watched and marveled at the wonder.

“Can it be possible that this divine being has come to stay with us?” they asked one another.

Even as they wondered, a second strange thing happened.

Vulcan, the smith of the gods, had a workshop on Cyprus. Every day from sunrise to sunset, the ringing of his anvil could be heard as he shaped and fitted together the parts of a golden throne for Jupiter. With his skillful hands, he also crafted weapons and armor for the gods and heroes, as well as thunderbolts for Jupiter. Vulcan was a lonely smith, made more solitary by his lameness, and he seldom went anywhere except to deliver his finished work to Mount Olympus.

But on that long-ago spring morning, the lovely person born from the sea foam made her way to Vulcan’s home with amazing grace. She was Venus, the goddess of love, sometimes called Aphrodite. She had come to be the wife of Vulcan—for despite his lameness, he was the god of fire.

The world became very different after Venus arrived. People everywhere, without knowing it, had been longing for her. Now she was here, ready to tend to matters of the heart. One of the first things the goddess of love did was to deal with the troublesome case of Atalanta, a princess whose willfulness had caused much sorrow among the heroes of Greece.

Atalanta was a princess, but she was neither fully a girl nor entirely a boy in her ways. Many heroes wished to marry her, but she loved her free, wild lifestyle too much to give it up for spinning and household chores. To every prince or hero who asked for her hand, Atalanta gave the same reply:

“I will be the prize for whoever beats me in a race—but a grim fate awaits all who try and fail.”

It was a harsh decree, for Atalanta could run like the wind. No one, not even the swiftest boy, had ever been able to match her. The breezes seemed to give her wings. Her bright hair streamed behind her, and the colorful fringe of her dress fluttered as she sped along. But as she raced, the healthy glow of her skin seemed to fade, and she grew as pale as marble, because her heart turned cold. Every suitor was left far behind, and each met the terrible fate she had promised.

Then came Hippomenes, a brave and daring young man. He had been forced to act as judge and condemn many of his friends whom Atalanta had defeated, yet he decided to risk his life in the race. He asked Venus to help him.

In Venus’s own garden on Cyprus, there grew a tree with golden leaves, golden branches, and fruit of pure gold. The goddess secretly gathered three of these golden apples and gave them to Hippomenes, instructing him how to use them.

The signal was given, and Atalanta darted forward along the sandy shore near Venus’s temple, with Hippomenes at her side. Hippomenes was a swift runner; his steps were so light it seemed he could skim across water or a field of waving grain without leaving a footprint. At first he gained ground. Then he felt Atalanta’s breath warm on his shoulder, and the goal was still not in sight. That was the moment Hippomenes dropped one of the golden apples.

Atalanta was so surprised that she paused. She stooped to pick up the apple, and as she did, Hippomenes shot ahead. But Atalanta doubled her speed and soon caught up. Again, he dropped a golden apple. Atalanta could not bear to abandon it, so she stopped once more to scoop it up before racing on. Hippomenes was nearly at the finish line when Atalanta overtook and passed him. In another instant she would have won—but Hippomenes let fall the third golden apple. It glittered and shone so brightly that Atalanta could not resist. She hesitated for the third time, and in that moment, Hippomenes crossed the goal and won the race.

The two were very happy. Hippomenes rejoiced in his success, and Atalanta delighted in her precious fruit. She immediately wanted a house in which to keep it. When Hippomenes built her one, Atalanta began to spin and weave, taking great pride in making her home beautiful and comfortable. Venus had known this would happen. She understood that it was better for Atalanta to forget her cruel races, so she gave her the golden apples to show her the rewards that love can bring.

The goddess of love had even more work to do on earth. She was especially fond of her garden in Cyprus, and she spent many days tending to a strange new bush, encouraging it to grow and blossom. This bush was unlike any plant seen before. It was tough, dry, and covered with sharp thorns that pricked whoever touched them, drawing blood like the tips of spears. But Venus handled and trimmed the stalks without any fear. The bush spread its branches, climbing up and covering the wall of her temple like a vine. It was noticed that new shoots and leaves pushed up from beneath some of the thorns, which then dried up and dropped off. Soon, flower buds appeared where there had once been sharp prickles. When summer dressed Cyprus in its finest green, these buds opened into the loveliest blossoms the earth had ever seen.

Their fragrance filled the island, and their color was exactly like that of the rosy cloud from which Aphrodite had first appeared.

That flower was the rose—Venus’s own special bloom—destined to be the most beloved flower on earth forever.

Venus watched over everything that was beautiful in the world. This is why she felt sorry that Pygmalion, a king of Greece, was so hardhearted. Pygmalion was not only a king but also a gifted sculptor. He could model likenesses of the gods of Mount Olympus from clay and marble. Yet he closed his heart to other people and believed that no woman alive was worthy to share his kingdom.

One spring, Pygmalion decided to carve a statue from ivory. When it was finished, it was so exquisite that no such beauty had ever been seen before—except for that of Venus herself. Pygmalion was proud of his creation, and as he admired it, Venus planted a gentler feeling in his heart. He placed his hand upon the statue to see if it might be alive, and he began to wish that it were not cold ivory. He named her Galatea.

Pygmalion brought Galatea the kinds of gifts that a young girl of Greece would love: bright shells and polished stones, songbirds in golden cages, flowers of many colors, beads, and amber. He dressed her in silk and adorned her fingers with jewels. He hung a necklace around her neck, and she wore earrings and strands of pearls. When all this was done, Venus rewarded him. Returning home one day, Pygmalion touched his statue, and the ivory felt soft and yielding under his fingers, as if it were warm wax. Its whiteness gave way to the bloom of living skin. Galatea opened her eyes and smiled at Pygmalion.

From that day on, all of Cyprus was transformed for the king who had been so selfish and hardhearted. He could hear the silvery song of his garden fountain, which he had never noticed before. He began to love the forests, the flowers, and his people, for Venus had given him Galatea to share his life and his kingdom.

Venus and Vulcan came to spend nearly as much time on earth as they did among the gods, though Mount Olympus was their true home. Venus brought her roses there to adorn her handmaidens, the Graces, who oversaw the banquets, dances, and arts of the gods. Yet she always kept a watchful eye on mortals, for she knew that they would forever have need of her.