Where Do We Begin!?
The versions, not only about his origins but also about his misadventures, are more than one — and they reflect the reckless life led by this rascal.
What is universally certain is the eternal torment he was subjected to, but we’ll get to that later.
Tantalus was born in Lydia, perhaps the son of Tmolus — the very one who acted as judge between Apollo and Pan — but let’s not digress and continue our story.
When he reached adulthood, he ascended the throne of Lydia and was considered one of the richest men in the known world. His very name could be associated with talanta, the Greek word for the highest unit of measurement for gold — the talent.
It’s no exaggeration: he actually dined on Olympus with all the gods, drinking nectar and eating ambrosia (we’ll see how that ends!). This honor was granted to him thanks to his friendship with none other than Zeus himself.
The man was famous for his daring and audacity.
One day, to repay the great honor he had received, he invited all the Olympian gods to a banquet in the capital of Lydia — the city of Sipylus, which he himself had founded. Some say it was in Corinth, but that matters little.
Here the tale takes a dark turn. Some say it was because he lacked enough food, but the more credible version is that, in order to astonish the gods, Tantalus had the body of his third-born son, Pelops, cut up, cooked, and served at the table.
The gods, thanks to their divine clairvoyance, immediately realized what was on their plates and indignantly refused the meal. The only one who took a bite — of what had been Pelops’ left shoulder — was Demeter, still in shock over the abduction of Persephone.
To call him a scoundrel would be an understatement. Tantalus was a blend of ambition, recklessness, and cynicism — in short, a true criminal.
The gods returned to Olympus in disgust, and Zeus pondered an exemplary punishment for Tantalus.
But it wasn’t over yet. Hermes, who was also the god of thieves, noticed that a certain amount of ambrosia had been stolen and given to men — thus depriving the gods of their exclusivity. Who else could it have been but Tantalus, the only mortal ever to set foot on Olympus?
Zeus was still reflecting on how to punish him when he learned of yet another misdeed by that bandit.
When the young Zeus had been hidden away in Crete, Hephaestus (Vulcan) had turned Rhea into a life-sized golden watchdog to guard the infant god. A certain Pandareus stole the dog and entrusted it to Tantalus for safekeeping (trust is good, but mistrust… is much better!). When things calmed down, Pandareus returned to Lydia to reclaim the dog, but Tantalus swore — falsely, upon Zeus himself — that he had never seen the animal. A thief and a perjurer!
At that point, Zeus decided enough was enough — and now comes the good part.
His kingdom was destroyed, and soon after, Tantalus descended into Hades — or rather, even lower, into Tartarus.
Almost everyone knows what the “torment of Tantalus” means: to long for something yet never be able to attain it.
But do you know exactly what form his punishment took? Here it is:
The scoundrel was suspended from a tree, suffering from hunger and thirst. A marsh surrounded him, but whenever he opened his mouth to drink, the water receded and left him dry-mouthed. The same thing happened if he tried with his hands. From the tree hung every kind of fruit — shining apples, pears, pomegranates, grapes — yet whenever Tantalus reached out, the fruits rose higher toward the sky.
Is that enough? Not quite. From the mountain above, a massive rock could at any moment come rolling down upon him. It was this constant threat that terrified Tantalus the most — a never-ending fear that consumed him forever.
How long did these torments last? The answer is simple: for eternity.
But Zeus wasn’t finished. For once, the gods showed kindness toward one who had suffered a terrible wrong — and what a wrong it was!
The Lord of Olympus summoned Hermes and ordered him to gather all the pieces of Pelops and place them in the same cauldron where he had been boiled before. Zeus uttered a magic formula, and Clotho, the goddess of fate, reassembled the boy’s shattered limbs. Demeter, in turn, gave him a solid ivory shoulder (the first prosthesis in myth) to replace the one she had eaten. Rhea breathed life back into Pelops, and Pan danced for him, resurrected.
There’s more. As soon as Poseidon saw him, he fell in love and took Pelops to Olympus as his cupbearer (and lover).
One might be tempted to say: all’s well that ends well. But in myth, that’s never quite the case. There is always a bitter aftertaste — and this story is no exception.
A father who kills his son and serves him as a meal to the gods, a thieving, murderous perjurer who gets away with it for most of his life.
Make no mistake — Tantalus is no Prometheus. He didn’t steal from the rich to give to the poor.
Tantalus was a shameless criminal who, by stealing the ambrosia, perhaps only wanted to mock the Olympians who had favored him so much. The depths and mysteries of the human soul are unfathomable. In any case, he deserved a punishment equal to his devious and arrogant behavior — and we can say, at last: justice was done.
Thieves, tricksters, the corrupt, and the complicit — we find them in abundance, both in today’s society and in those of the past.
Just turn on the news, and it’s a bubbling cauldron of real or presumed scoundrels. Sometimes it’s even the judges — careless or fame-hungry — who later backtrack and let their house of cards collapse.
How can we discern truth amid such contradictory reports?
Only by holding fast to one’s own honesty.
Tantalus, today, has plenty of company — we live in an age full of rogues.
The difference? Let me tell you right away:
Tantalus paid for his crimes — and for all eternity.
Vuoi che te la adatti in uno stile più letterario (da saggio o racconto mitologico moderno) o preferisci mantenerla come traduzione fedele e scorrevole come questa?
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