Gallery: Atalanta and Hippomenes, by Guido Reni
"Straightway there rose up against him [Hippomenes] the trim- ankled maiden [Atalanta], peerless in beauty: a great throng stood round about her as she gazed fiercely, and wonder held all men as they looked upon her. As she moved, the breath of the west wind stirred the shining garment about her tender bosom; but Hippomenes stood where he was: and much people was gathered together. All these kept silence; but Skhoineus cried and said: 'Hear me all, both young and old, while I speak as my spirit within my breast bids me. Hippomenes seeks my coy-eyed daughter to wife; but let him now hear my wholesome speech. He shall not win her without contest; yet, if he be victorious and escape death, and if the deathless gods who dwell on Olympos grant him to win renown, verily he shall return to his dear native land, and I will give him my dear child and strong, swift-footed horses besides which he shall lead home to be cherished possessions; and may he rejoice in heart possessing these, and ever remember with gladness the painful contest. May the father of men and of gods grant that splendid children may be born to him [text missing] ... And on them was laid an unenviable struggle: for she, even fair, swift-footed Atalanta, ran scorning the gifts of golden Aphrodite; but with him the race was for his life, either to find his doom, or to escape it. Therefore with thoughts of guile he said to her: 'O daughter of Skhoineus, pitiless in heart, receive these glorious gifts of the goddess, golden Aphrodite.' [text missing] ...
But he, following lightly on his feet, cast the first apple: and, swiftly as a Harpyia, she turned back and snatched it. Then he cast the second to the ground with his hand. And now fair, swift-footed Atalanta had two apples and was near the goal; but Hippomenes cast the third apple to the ground, and therewith escaped death and black fate." - Hesiod, Catalogues of Women Frag 14 (from Papiri greci e latini, 2 No. 130)
"When her [Atalante’s] father tried to talk her into getting married, she went off to a place that could be used as a race-track, placed a three-cubit stake midway in it, and had her suitors race ahead of her from there, while she ran fully armed. If she overtook her opponent, he paid with his life; if not, he reward was marriage. After many had already died, Melanion fell in love with her and entered the race. He brought along golden apples from Aphrodite, and as he was being pursued he let them drop. Atalante, by picking up the scattering apples, lost the race, and Melanion consequently married her." - Apollodorus, The Library 3.10
"You may perchance have heard how in the races a girl outran the men who ran to win. That was no idle tale; she always won. Nor could one say her girt of glorious speed was more surpassing than her loveliness. An oracle that once she had consulted about a husband had declared ‘No husband, fair Atalanta, is for you; refuse a husband’s kisses; yet you’ll not refuse, and you, while still you live, yourself shall lose.’ The fate foretold appalled her, and she lived alone, unwedded in the shady woods, and angrily repulsed the pressing throng of suitors with a challenge: ‘No man’s wife am I’, she said, ‘unless he wins the race. Contend with me in speed. For speed the prize is wife and wedlock; for the slow the price is death: upon that rule the race is run.’ Her heart was pitiless, yet, such power of beauty, on that rule rash lovers thronged. To watch the unequal race Hippomenes sat in his seat and scoffed ‘Would any man at such dire peril wish to win a wife?’ And blamed the young men for their love’s excess. But when he saw her face and, now unrobed [she raced naked], her body’s beauty ... he marvelled and, with hands upraised, exclaimed ‘Forgive my censuring words; I had not know the peerless prize you seek.’ And with his praise love burgeoned and he prayed that none would run faster than she, and fear and envy filled his heart. ‘But why’, he thought, ‘do I not try myself my fortune in this rivalry? The gods help those who dare.’ And, while he mused, on winged feet the glorious girl flew by. And though her speed seemed like an arrow’s flight, yet more he marvelled at her glowing grace - and running gave her graze; the breeze blew back the ribbons from her ankles and her knees in fluttering colours; down her ivory back her long hair streamed behind; a rosy flush painted the girlish pallor of her limbs ... These things the newcomer Hippomenes marked well; and then the final lap was run and Atalanta with the festal wreath of victory was crowned; the losers groaned and duly paid the appointed penalty. But young Hippomenes was undismayed by the others’ fate and in the midst stood forth and fixed his eyes upon the girl, and said ‘Why seek an easy fame defeating sluggards? Contend with me. If fortune favours me, there’ll be no shame to yeild the victory. My father’s Megareus Onchestius; his grandfather was Neptunus [Poseidon]; great-grandson of Ocean’s king am I, nor does my birth exceed my prowess - or, if I should fail, the victor of Hippomenes shall win a memorable name, a great renown.’ And as he spoke Schoeneia [Atalanta daughter of Skhoineus] gazed with tender eyes and doubted in her heart whether this time she wished to win or lose. ‘What god’, she thought, ‘who envies beauty’s charms, desires his death and bids him seek a bride at hazard of his own dear life? So much is more than I am worth. It’s not his beauty that touches me (though that could touch me too); but he is still a boy; it’s not himself that moves me but his tender years, his youth. Think of his courage, unafraid of death, his lineage, fourth from mighty Origo Aequorea (Ocean’s lord) [Poseidon], his love that counts our wedlock worth so much that he would die, if fate denied my love. Go, stranger, while you may! Blood stains my bed; oh cruel bane were I your bride! - But you none will refuse; some wiser girl than I one happy day will wish to be your bride. But why do I care for you, when other men have died before, so many, for my sake? So fend then for yourself! Yes, let him die since by so many deaths he is not warned and wearies of his life! - Then shall he perish because he longed to live with me, and pay the price of love in death so undeserved? My victory will bring more bitterness than I can bear! And yet the fault’s not mine! Would that your heart might change, or, since your heart is crazed, you might outrun me in the race! Oh, how his boy’s fair face is like a girl’s! Oh, poor Hippomenes, that you should ever have looked on me! How you deserved to live! Were I not so ill-starred, would fate but yield and not deny me marriage, you alone I’d choose to be companion of my bed.’ Artless she was, and when at last love came, she burned, but never thought it was love’s flame. And now her father and the townspeople called for the usual race, and Neptunus’ [Poseidon’s] prince, Hippomenes, with anxious voice, invoked my [Aphrodite’s] help and prayed: ‘Come, lovely Cytherea [Aphrodite], prosper the deed I dare and with thy grace nourish the flame of love that thou has lit.’ A kindly breeze wafted his charming prayer; it moved me [Aphrodite], I admit, and little time was left to succour him. There is a field the people call the close of Tamasenus, the richest part of all the isle of Cypria, which long ago was hallowed in my name and added as endowment to my shrine. A tree stands in the close with leaves of gold and golden branches rustling in the breeze. On my way thence it chanced that in my hand I held three golden apples I had picked and I stood by Hippomenes, unseen except by him, and taught the apples’ use. The trumpets sound the start; both crouching low flash from their marks and skim the shady course with flying feet; it seemed that they could race dry-shod across the surface of the sea and over the standing heads of harvest corn. The shouting crowd cheered on the newcomer: ‘Run, run, Hippomenes! Now is your chance! Now! Faster! Faster! Run with all your speed! You’re going to win!’ And hard it was to know who liked their words the more, Heros Megareius [Hippomenes] or Schoeneia [Atalanta]. Many a time she slowed when she might pass and gazed into his eyes, and with heavy heart left him behind. And now he flagged, his breath came fast and dry and there was far to go; so then he threw one of the three gold apples from the tree. She was amazed and, eager to secure the gleaming fruit, swerved sideways from the track and seized the golden apple as it rolled. He passed her and the benches roared applause. She with a burst of speed repaired her waste and soon again left him behind. He threw the second apple and again she stopped, and followed, and again ran past. And so the last lap came. ‘Be with me now, Goddess’, he prayed, ‘who gavest me the gift.’ And then with all the strength of youth he threw the shining gold far out across the field, the longer to delay the girl; and she seemed undecided, but I [Aphrodite] made her chase the rolling apple and increased its weight, and by its weight alike and loss of speed I hindered her." - Ovid, Metamorphoses 10.560
"Schoeneus is said to have had a most beautiful daughter, Atalanta, who by her swiftness used to surpass men in the race. She asked her father that she might remain a virgin. And so, since she was sought by many in marriage, her father set up a contest, that her suitors should contend with her first in a foot-race; then a limit being set, that the man, unarmed, should flee, and she should pursue him with a weapon; the one she overtook within the limits of the course, she should kill, and fix his head up in the stadium [Hyginus is perhaps confusing the story with that of the barbaric contest for Hippodameia in Elis]. When she had overtaken and killed many, she was finally defeated by Hippomenes, son of Megareus and Merope. For he had received from Venus [Aphrodite] three apples of exceptional beauty, and had been instructed how to use them. By throwing them down in the contest. He had slowed up the speed of the girl, for as she picked them up and admired the gold, she lost time, and gave victory to the youth. Schoeneus willingly gave him his daughter because of his ingenuity, but as he was taking her home ... [continues with the wrath of Aphrodite]." - Hyginus, Fabulae 185
Atalanta and Hippomenes, circa 1612 Giclee Print
Reni, Guido
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