Tuesday, 18 June 2019

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A ROMAN BOY

(N.B. This story is dedicated to Hector and Wilbur Metcalfe.)

Chapter 1.  Lucius and Marcus wake up. 


One summer morning, in the year 3 B.C., that is seven hundred and fifty years after the foundation of Rome, twelve year old Lucius awakes in his bedroom in a comfortable mansion in the High Street, which runs through the north-west of the city towards the famous Colline Gate. It is still dark, but Lucius has woken in response to a gentle nudge from the family servant Daedalus, who is carrying an oil-lamp. "Wake up, young master! It's time to get ready for school." Rubbing his eyes, Lucius jumps out of bed on to the floor. In the bunk below him is his younger brother, Marcus, aged seven, whom Daedalus is also trying to arouse. "Come on, both of you, "he says, "It'll soon be light, and we mustn't be late for school!" Marcus, too, scrambles out of bed, although a little less nimbly than his brother.

Chapter 2.  Lucius' family background.

The two boys are the latest offspring of the clan 'Veturia', and come from patrician stock. Patricians are descended from those noblemen who had advised the ancient kings of Rome, who had ruled the city until 510 B.C., when King Tarquin the Proud had been expelled and replaced by a republic, headed by by two annually elected consuls. To begin with only patricians could be elected consul, but in 367 B.C., after a long political struggle, candidates from the common people, known as the plebeians, became  eligible for the consulship. However, for a number of years after that, the power of the old patrician families ensured that only patricians were elected. Eventually a law was passed which required that every year one of the two consuls had to be a plebeian. From then onwards the influence of the old patrician families began to decline, a process which was accelerated by the fact that many of them have died out. In the case of the clan 'Veturia', it has managed to survive, but only just, since Lucius' father, Publius, and an elderly distant cousin of his, are the only two adult members of it left. Like most respectable freeborn Romans, Lucius has three names: 'Lucius' is his first name, the equivalent of our Christian name; his 'clan' name is 'Veturius'; and his third, or 'family' name is 'Philo'. So, Lucius full name is 'Lucius Veturius Philo'.  

Young Lucius is very proud indeed of his name and of his family, and the fact of its ancient, and noble, origin. A particular focus for his pride are the wax masks of his two consular ancestors, who held office as long ago as 222 and 206 B.C. respectively, which have been handed down within his family, and which are hanging on the wall of the family shrine in the 'atrium', or hall, of their house. The fact that both of these ancestors had the forename Lucius only increases his sense of pride in their achievements. Lucius is also extremely proud of his father, Publius, now aged thirty-eight, who has been a member of the Senate for eight years. His father, or 'Pater', as he calls him, gained his seat in the Senate by winning election to the important financial post of 'quaestor'. He now attends Senate meetings regularly and has made a number of speeches, when the opportunity to do so has arisen. Furthermore, he is planning to put his name forward soon for the very significant post of 'praetor', and, if he is successful in this, he can then be considered for election to the consulship. Lucius is very confident that his father will become consul, which is the ambition of every Roman nobleman. For 'Pater' is a close associate of Rome's first emperor, Caesar Augustus, who is a keen promoter of the interests of patrician families, having become a patrician himself, when he was adopted by the great Julius Caesar in his will, which was published after his dreadful murder in 44 B.C.  

Chapter 3.  The boys get dressed.

But let us go back to that early morning in the summer of 3 B.C. Both Lucius and Marcus wash their hands in bowls of cold water and scrub their teeth with powdered pumice-stone. Then, they get dressed. First they put on a linen vest, and then a short-sleeved belted woollen tunic, which reaches down to their knees. Their legs are bare, but, since they are about to go out, they dispense with the sandals, or 'soleae', which they always wear within the house, and put on their outdoor leather walking-shoes. Lucius is particularly proud of his pair of leather shoes, which were given to him on his twelfth birthday, because they are marked with the peculiar crescent-shaped moon designs which only patricians are permitted to wear.

Finally, Daedalus comes back with a clean toga for Lucius - Marcus is still too young to wear one - and lays it on his bed. The toga is a large woollen garment, semi-circular in shape, about twelve feet long along its straight edge, and with a diameter of about five feet in Lucius' case, although more in the case of an adult. As Lucius is a child, the straight edge is marked with a purple band, and he will continue to  wear such a toga until he reaches the age of sixteen, when he will don the 'all white' toga of a man. Daedalus is there to help him, but actually Lucius is quite adept at putting his toga on: he drapes it around his body, then under his right-arm, and twice over his left shoulder, leaving a fold in front as a pocket and a loose end at the back. Nevertheless, Lucius finds the palaver involved in donning his toga rather annoying: "I do wish I didn't have to put on this clumsy great toga; it's so awkward to wear," he moans. "Yes, but you've got to get used to wearing it every time you go outside," says Daedalus. "The toga is the mark of the great Roman civilisation which rules the world, and one day you will be very proud you are wearing it." 

The boys' final act before leaving their bedroom is to adjust the circular gold chain that each one is wearing around his neck. This is called a 'bulla', and it contains an amulet intended to bring good luck. Like other boys they received it on the ninth day after the day of their birth, when they were given their first name, and they will continue to wear it until they put on the manly toga. 

Chapter 4.  Lucius and his brother get ready to go to school. 

The boys' bedroom is a room in a floor on the first storey above the left-side of the house, overlooking the street. At the bottom of the stairs, as they come out into the atrium, the main hallway of the house, a slave brings them their breakfast on a tray. This is a light meal, consisting of bread, cheese, fruit and honey, with a cup of wine mixed with water. Sometimes they have to eat this on the way to school, but today there is time for them to eat it while sitting in chairs against the wall of the atrium. As they finish gulping down their meal, who should come to see them, but their mother, Foslia. Foslia is five foot six inches in height, quite tall for a Roman lady. She has long black hair, dazzling white skin, which she keeps like that by taking care to keep out of the sunlight, and splendidly dark  brown eyes, which focus lovingly on the faces of her two sons. 

"I do hope you slept well last night, my darling boys," she says, "and I hope you have a good morning at school today."

"Oh, Mater, you do look very nice this morning," says little Marcus, and he is rewarded for this compliment by a loving kiss on the lips from Foslia.

"And thank you for reading us that exciting story last night before we went to sleep," ventures Lucius. "I really do enjoy those stories about the Trojan War, and, although I like some of the Greeks, particularly that clever Ulysses, I do so admire the Trojan prince Hector for being so brave."

"Yes, he was very brave, wasn't he?" replies Foslia, "but he was also a very kind husband and father. Perhaps you will grow up to be just like him! Don't forget that old belief of my family, the Foslii - we are patricians also - that we are descended from the Trojan royal family."

"Oh, Mater, I do hope that's true," says Lucius with a big smile. He, too, receives a loving kiss from his mother, and then the two boys follow Daedalus down the narrow vestibule, and out through the front-door into the street. Bringing up the rear is another household servant, called Gildo, and he shuffles after them, carrying his young masters' school books in two circular wooden boxes.

The two men accompanying them are very important in the lives of the two boys. Both of them are slaves, and therefore the personal property of their father. Daedalus, who is Greek, is their 'pedagogue' or tutor, and, ever since they outgrew the need for a nurse, he has been responsible for their education, both moral and linguistic. He speaks very good Greek, and thanks to his efforts Lucius has become bilingual in both Latin and Greek; indeed, he speaks Greek just as well as he speaks Latin. Marcus is still struggling a little with his Greek, but under Daedalus' expert guidance he is making good progress. Gildo, the other of their two companions, is also a slave; however, unlike Daedalus, he is illiterate, and is responsible for more mundane physical tasks. He is called the boys' 'satchel-slave', and has the job of carrying their books, their food, and indeed anything else they may need, to school with them.

Chapter 5.  The journey to school.

Today, as they leave the house it is getting light, and therefore they do not need to take an oil-lamp with them, as they do in winter. They have in front of them a twenty minute walk, which will bring them to their schools, which are situated in Long Street, adjacent to the famous Roman 'Forum' or market-place. Marcus attends a primary, or elementary, school, which concentrates on the basics of education, reading, writing and arithmetic, while his elder brother Lucius is enrolled at a secondary, or grammar, school, which is a short distance further down the Long Street. This secondary school is concerned with teaching the poets, particularly the Greek poet Homer, who is Lucius' favourite, although the recently published poems of the Latin authors, Virgil and Horace, are now becoming increasingly important too.

Today, Daedalus has decided to stay with Marcus in the primary school, where he will sit at the back of the class together with the pedagogues and servants of the other young pupils. So Lucius, followed by Gildo, walks on to the neighbouring secondary school, which he reaches in about two minutes' time. The secondary school, like Marcus' primary school, is located in a fairly substantial recess, covered by a thick linen awning, and it is only separated from the street by a long woollen veil or curtain. Lucius pushes through this, and sits down on a stool and takes his writing tablet and 'stilus' pen out of the wooden satchel which Gildo has now passed to him. Lucius has agreed that Gildo, who, being illiterate, finds the lessons terribly boring, can slip off for a while to go sight-seeing in the Forum, which, as Lucius knows perfectly well, probably means looking for a gladiatorial contest or a glass of strong wine.

Chapter 6.  The search for Lydia.

Anyhow, Lucius is getting ready for the lesson to start, when suddenly he notices his friend Sextus coming through the curtain wall with a desperately anxious look on his tear-stained face. "O Lucius," cries Sextus, "we've lost Lydia!" Now, Lydia is a chubby little black puppy - like most Roman canine pets, she is a bitch - and is a great favourite of Sextus, and, indeed, of all his family.

"Why, what's happened to her?" asks Lucius.

"Well, when I left for school this morning, Lydia managed to escape from the house" - Sextus' home is much nearer to the school than Lucius's - "and started to follow me down the road. I smacked my hands together and said to her, 'Go home, you naughty girl!' and she scampered off in the right direction, but when Ordo joined me outside the school to give me my books - Ordo is the name of Sextus' satchel-slave - he told me that Lydia had not returned, and that the whole household was in state of total uproar, due to their anxiety about her. I think she must have followed me after all, but now she's nowhere to be seen."

"Don't worry, Sextus," says Lucius reassuringly, "we'll go and look for her!" So, Lucius gets up again, and, together with Sextus and Ordo, goes out into the street, and they walk up and down, searching for Lydia and calling out her name, and asking passers-by whether they've seen a little black puppy anywhere. They all shake their heads, until a certain female slave, who is carrying a flagon of water, which she has gathered from a nearby fountain, says, "Yes, I did see a little black dog - she probably was a puppy - sniffing around in that alley over there." The three of them run into the alley, and crying out, "Lydia, Lydia, where are you?" they search for her with increasing desperation. "I think we must have lost her. Perhaps someone has stolen her. She's so sweet after all !" groans Sextus. They are on the verge of giving up the search, when suddenly Lucius hears what seems to be a faint yelping sound. He can't tell exactly where this sound is coming from, but he follows the direction of it, and then he espies a little uncovered drain at the side of the alley-way. He looks down into it, and about three feet below the ground he sees Lydia desperately kicking her little legs in the rain-water at the bottom of the drain.

"Here she is!" shouts out Lucius joyfully, and lying down flat on the ground, he stretches his hands down into the drain and pulls out little Lydia, soaked in rain-water as she is. After giving her a little pat, he hands her to Sextus. Lydia emits a small squeak of delight, and, despite the dirty water covering her, Sextus gives her a big kiss, and cuddles her close to his chest.

"We've got to take her home!" says Sextus. "I know we'll be late for the lesson, but we really can't lose her again!" So, Sextus and Lucius, followed by Ordo, who, just like the two boys, has a big beam on his face, run down the road to Sextus' family home which is about five to ten minutes away. When they get there, joy is unbounded. Sextus' mother and his little sister let out cries of delight, as do a number of the household slaves, with whom Lydia is a great favourite too. "Oh, Mater!" says Sextus to his mother, "Lucius found Lydia! She had fallen down a horrible drain-hole, and, if it hadn't been for him, I think she would have drowned."

"Thank you so much, Lucius!" says Sextus' mother. "I can't tell you how grateful we all are to you. We're all so very fond of little Lydia, and we'll really have to make sure she doesn't manage to escape again. Perhaps you would like to come round to lunch here some day next week, so we can give our thanks to you properly. I'll send Ordo down to your villa with a written invitation, and, if your mother agrees, you can bring that nice little brother of yours with you  - Marcus, that's his name, isn't it? I'll make sure we have some lovely baked bread, followed by fruit pudding. I know lunch is normally supposed to be rather a light meal, but I think we can make an exception on this occasion, as we're all so delighted little Lydia is safe - thanks to you! But now you must go back to school, mustn't you?"

Chapter 7.  Lucius and Sextus are punished for their lateness. 

So, Lucius and Sextus, still followed by Ordo, walk hurriedly back to the secondary school in Long Street.They slip in quietly through the curtain, and go straight to their stools, hoping that their absence won't be noticed, but their hopes are in vain.  For the lesson is in full swing. The 'grammaticus', or grammar teacher, a grey-haired old gentleman named Florus is seated on a big throne-like armchair on a raised stage, or dais, from which he looks down on his thirty or so pupils below, who are sitting on their stools."Lucius, Sextus, why are you so late?" barks Florus. "You know I won't tolerate lateness in any of my pupils."

"It, it's really all my f-fault," stammered poor Sextus in reply. "I lost one of my favourite possessions" - he didn't dare mention the puppy directly, because he was afraid Florus would be antagonised by any reference to a dog - , "and Lucius helped me find it."

"I don't care if you lost the crown jewels. That's still no excuse to be so late for my lessons. Your fathers haven't paid me my fees, so that boys like you can wander in whenever you feel like it. No, I'm now going to teach you a jolly good lesson! Both of you, come up here and stand before me on the dais!" So, poor Lucius and Sextus have to stand on the dais with their backs to the rest of the class. Then 'Flogger' Florus - he had been given this nickname due to his fondness for thrashing his pupils - gives first Sextus, and then Lucius, three hard strokes on the tops of their backs with a whippy ply-wood cane. Sextus lets out a cry after each stroke, and comes down off the stage with tears coursing down his cheeks. Lucius is made of sterner stuff, however, and grits his teeth together to avoid making any sound, and, although the tears do start to well up in his eyes after he receives his second stroke, he just manages to get back to his stool without any tears flowing.

"Well, let that be a lesson to the both of you!" shouts out 'Flogger' Florus. "And may the rest of you see what will happen to you, if you are ever late for my lessons! Now, after this unavoidable interruption, let us get on with the lesson!"

So, Lucius and Sextus, despite the soreness of their backs, try to compose themselves, and prepare to resume their studies. Meanwhile, at the back of the class, Sextus' satchel-bearer, Ordo, clenches his fists together in his suppressed rage at the fierce treatment of his young master, and staring hard at Florus, he whispers to himself under his breath, "How I hate that horrible man! I'd like to kill him, if I could!"

Chapter 8.  The end of the lesson.

So, the lesson continues. Fortunately for Lucius the subject of the lesson is a passage from Book VI of Homer's 'Iliad', his favourite book of poetry. This passage features Lucius' hero, Hector, picking up and kissing his infant son Astyanax, who is initially frightened by his father's fearsome helmet, and then praying to Zeus to make his son a valiant warrior. The passage itself portrays a cheerful scene that demonstrates the happy family life of Hector, together with his wife Andromache, and their son, but it also contains an undercurrent of deep sadness, as we all know that Hector is soon to be slain by Achilles, little Astyanax is to be hurled to his death from the walls of Troy, and his mother is to become a slave at the hands of her Greek captors.

Returning to the progress of the lesson, Florus reads out the passage aloud, and explains the main difficulties of grammar and vocabulary in it, and then each boy in turn has to read out some sentences, and then explain their grammatical structure. Eventually, it is Lucius' turn to perform. "Now, Lucius, "says Florus, "it is your turn to 'construe' " - this is a term that means to both 'read' and 'translate'. Lucius is an outstanding pupil, and loves Homer's poetry. He reads a whole paragraph of Greek without error, translates it into Latin, and then answers Florus' questions about the structure of the sentences, what are their subjects, objects and main verbs, etc., and he does this so well that by the end of the lesson he is fully restored to his teacher's favour. Poor Sextus, however, is less fortunate, and, when he makes a slip-up in the pronunciation of the piece he is reading, he receives another stroke of the cane on the palm of his hand from 'Flogger' Florus as a punishment for his supposed carelessness.

At midday the lesson ends, and the boys prepare to go home for their lunch. "I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble, Lucius, and I do hope those strokes of the cane aren't still hurting you too much!" says Sextus with a worried look on his face.

"Don't worry about it," replies Lucius. "It was all worthwhile to save your little Lydia, and, when you get home and see her again, I'm sure you'll cheer up and forget what happened here this morning. And I'm certainly looking forward to coming round to your house with Marcus next week, and having that lovely lunch your mother has so kindly promised us." The two friends exchange hugs, and then Lucius, accompanied by Gildo, who has by now returned from his sight-seeing trip around the Forum, goes down the road to the primary school, where Marcus and Daedalus are waiting for them. Gildo is aghast when he is told by Ordo about what happened earlier, but, on Lucius' instruction, he agrees not to tell Daedalus anything about it.

Chapter 9.  Lucius and his brother return home for lunch.

Lucius, his shoulders still smarting a little from the pain of the caning, and Marcus walk home together with Daedalus and Gildo, and join their mother for a light middle meal in the garden at the back of their house in a court which is called the 'peristyle'. This lunch, or 'prandium' consists of cold meat, vegetables, unleavened bread and watered wine. During this snack, they are joined by their father, who has spent much of the morning, advising the many 'clients' of his who have come to see him to ask for his advice and support. "Lucius, don't forget that you are coming to the public baths with me this afternoon. First, however, I think we should go to the Field of Mars and play ball."

"Oh, yes, Pater," replies Lucius, "I haven't forgotten that we are going bathing later, and I'd love to go with you to the Field of Mars first."

"I'd like to go too," pipes up little Marcus.

"No, I'm afraid you're still too young, little man," says Publius. "But one day, when you're about ten, you will be able to join us." For a moment Marcus looks sad, but soon he is engrossed in his favourite pastime, in which a team of six white mice are dragging along a little wooden chariot, which Gildo, who is very skilled with his hands, has made for him.

"Go, go," shouts out Marcus, "you've got to win the race!" and the mice scuttle busily across the floor with their chariot in tow.

"Hush!" says his mother. "Don't make such a noise, Marcus! You'll disturb some of our servants, who are having their siesta. Indeed, I rather think it's time for my siesta." And so Foslia gets up and goes to her bedroom, a large room, adjoining the atrium at the front of the house, which she shares with her husband.

Chapter 10.  Lucius and his father take their exercise on the Field of Mars.

While his mother goes for her afternoon nap, Lucius and his father remove their togas, put on fresh tunics and leave the house. They walk down the High Street in a southerly direction, and go out through the City walls by means of the small western gate. Going in a westerly direction, they cross a major north-south road, known as the Via Flaminia, and come to the field of Mars, situated between the City Walls and the River Tiber. Traditionally, it was the place where the Roman army used to parade before marching out to war, and where Roman soldiers used to practice their military skills. Hence it was called the Field of Mars, who is the Roman god of war. This plain used to be completely open, but now its eastern part has become the site of a number of magnificent new buildings. Firstly, they come to the Saepta Julia, a big rectangular edifice, coated with marble, with colonnades on its western and eastern sides. What is the purpose of this big building, Pater," says Lucius, "and why are there so many people coming in and out of it?"

"It's a voting enclosure, Lucius," says Publius, "and it's the place where Roman citizens come to cast their votes when elections are being held, or laws are being passed. It was originally planned by the great Julius Caesar - that's why its called 'Julia' - and it was finished and dedicated for use a little over twenty-five years ago by Marcus Agrippa, the Emperor's chief lieutenant and expected successor, although he sadly died about nine years ago. But, since the Emperor Augustus has taken over, elections and other votes are less important than they used to be, and so this splendid building can be used for other purposes, such as gladiatorial contests, for instance. And the reason why there are so many people here today is because Augustus has used it to exhibit an exciting wild beast which he has had specially imported from Africa recently. It's called a rhinoceros, which means 'horn-nose', and it's a massive creature, not as big as an elephant perhaps, but even fiercer and more powerful! The sight of it is very exciting, which explains why so many people have come to see it."

"Can we take a look at it?" asks Lucius, "and what's going to happen to it in the end?"

"We haven't got time to look at the rhinoceros today, says his father, "but I'll try to arrange for us all to make a visit to see it soon. I'm sure your mother and Marcus would like to see it too! As for its future, I'm not sure what the Emperor has in mind. My fear is that it will be made to fight other wild beasts, such as lions or leopards. Personally, I hate bloody spectacles of that sort, but there are many people who will pay large sums of money to watch such things, and this may persuade those around Augustus to suggest this to him."

"Perhaps you should raise this in the Senate, Pater, and suggest that such contests between animals should be banned," says Lucius.

"Yes, Lucius, I'd certainly like to do just that, but, unfortunately watching animals fighting each other has become so popular with the public that anyone wanting to become praetor, as I do, would probably be wise not to express a contrary view too publicly."

As Lucius ponders the implications of Publius' remark, they both walk on past the nearby Pantheon, the temple to all the gods, also built by Agrippa and completed a few years after the Saepta Julia. Looking northwards they can see the Horologium, a tall solar clock, or sundial, erected only a few years before, in 10 B.C., and immediately to its right they can see the beautiful Altar of Augustan Peace, built to celebrate the peace which Augustus has brought to the whole Roman empire after so many years of terrible civil strife. The Horologium has been designed, so that on the day of the Emperor's birthday in August the pointed shadow thrown by the sun will point straight to the front entrance of the Altar of Peace. Having passed just to the north of the Pantheon, they come to the western part of the Field of Mars, free of buildings as it still is. Leading down to the River Tiber, in which many people still swim after exerting themselves, is the sandy grassland on which the citizens of Rome traditionally take exercise.   

As he walks along beside his father, Lucius looks around with great interest at the various activities which are in progress around them. Some athletic-looking youths are training in preparation for joining the army at the age of eighteen: they are running, jumping, riding horses, driving chariots and wrestling. Others are fencing with wooden staves, or tilting at posts. Then, there are those throwing the discuss, and weight-lifters, and men exercising with dumb-bells. But it is the ball-games that most interest Lucius and excite his attention. The most spectacular of these is a game, like net-ball, involving two teams of seven-a-side and which makes use of a small hard ball. This game is called 'harpastum', and today such a game is going on, watched by a number of cheering spectators. At the same time, a little further off and nearer to the Tiber, a number of middle-aged and elderly men are playing with larger and lighter leather balls. One of these balls, called a 'paganica' is stuffed with feathers, and another, called a 'follis', is inflated with air. Then, they see three men, standing in a triangle, and throwing three 'follis' balls to one another in quick succession. One of these three men recognises Publius, and knows what a distinguished senator he is.

"If you, Veturius, and your son  - I take it that good-looking young man is your son - are looking to play a game, why don't you come and join us?" Publius happily accepts this kind offer on behalf of them both - Lucius looks keen enough too - , and, with the help of two other gentlemen who are standing nearby, they form a circle of six, with the seventh person in the middle. The six men in the circle take it in turns to throw a 'follis' at the one in the middle. After each round the one in the middle exchanges his position with one of those in the circle, until all seven players have been tested in succession. They then repeat the process for a second time. The winner is the person who drops the ball the least times. Needless to say, Publius, who catches all twelve balls directed at him, is the winner. Lucius also does well, only dropping the ball twice.

At the end of their game, Publius thanks the other contestants for giving him and Lucius such a pleasant time, and then turns to his son and says, "Well, I think it's time we went to the baths, and I think we can make use of the Baths of Agrippa, which are just over there to the south of the Pantheon." So, retracing their footsteps back to the eastern side of the Field of Mars, they begin to make their way to the baths. However, as they are walking past a crowd of ball-players, mostly young men, they notice that an elderly gentleman, who appears to be struggling somewhat in his movements, has become the object of laughter and jeers from a number of the young men. The elderly man, probably about seventy years old, is taking part in another game with a 'follis' ball, called 'palla'. This involves throwing the ball backwards and forwards over a piece of netting, with three players on each side. The old man, who was clearly suffering from a slight limp, had dropped the ball on a number of occasions, and, as Publius and Lucius approach the group of people playing and the spectators surrounding them, he slips and falls forward flat on his face. As he was slowly getting back on his feet with the help of one of his fellow-players, he was greeted by yells of laughter and some quite unpleasant sneering from a number of the spectators. "Oh no, granddad, not again! You're really much too old and clumsy to be playing this game. Surely you must see that your day is done, you silly old fool!" cried out one spectator, a youngish man of around twenty-five, and a number of rude and derogatory comments from some of the other spectators followed this.

Then, a thunderous look comes over Publius' face, for he has just recognised the old ball-player as a fellow-senator called Aufidius, and before the game of 'palla' can be restarted, Publius walks right into the middle of the group, and says with a very stern expression on his face, "Show some respect, will you! Don't you know who you're talking to? This is Gaius Aufidius. He's not only a very distinguished former  tribune of the people, who did a lot to help a number of fellow-citizens, people just like you, whom the law had mistreated, but as a young man he saved the life of a fellow-soldier and was awarded the civic crown, our country's greatest honour, because of his gallantry. And yet you young men are laughing and sneering at him, when you should be applauding him for his courage and determination in playing at all at his advanced age, and, despite that limp of his, which he acquired as a honourable wound in battle while fighting for his country. Shame on you all!"

When Publius finishes his reproof, Lucius notices that the crowd has now gone quiet and that the faces of many of the young men are displaying some very uncomfortable looks. "Thank you very much for standing up for me, Veturius, " says Aufidius. "But I'm afraid these young men are probably right. Perhaps, I should retire from the field at last. But, despite my age, I do so enjoy playing 'palla'."

"I think you should go on playing for as long as you like, Aufidius," replies Publius, "and I do hope I can still play ball-games, if I ever reach your age." Then, Publius shakes hands with Aufidius, and he and Lucius continue their walk to the Baths of Agrippa, while Aufidius and his friends resume their game, and some of the spectators begin to shuffle off with looks of embarrassment on their faces.

Chapter 11.  Lucius and his father visit the baths.

"Well then, Lucius," says his father, "we'll soon arrive at the Baths. Do you know they are actually the very first public baths to be built in our city? Our great emperor, Augustus, has vowed to change Rome from a city of brick into a city of marble, and in doing this he certainly received a great deal of help from good old Agrippa, may God bless his soul! We've gone past the Saepta Julia and the Pantheon, for the construction of which he was responsible, but he also built these lovely public Baths, which are now available to every Roman citizen."

When they get to the Baths, Lucius' father pays the entrance fee for both of them, a nominal charge of a 'quadrans' each. A 'quadrans' is Rome's smallest copper coin, worth a farthing or even less. Then. Lucius follows Publius into the 'tepidarium', or 'warm room', where they undress and hand over their clothes to the attendant, who knows Publius quite well. "Good afternoon, sir!" says the attendant. "Is this your son?"

"Yes," replies Publius. "He's my elder son, and his name is Lucius. He has learned to swim, but this is his first visit to these splendid baths."

"I do hope you enjoy yourself, young sir," says the attendant with an encouraging smile, "and that you don't find the changes in temperature too much of a shock." Feeling very excited, Lucius follows his father into the 'caldarium', or 'very hot room', and they jump into a hot bath, where, despite the other bathers - for the pool is quite crowded - they have a good time, splashing about and swimming one or two lengths. After about ten minutes they climb out, and sit on a bench, while they perspire heavily in the hot air circulating upwards, coming from the coal-fire, or 'hypocaust' burning under the floor. They sit there sweating, and get so hot that they have to ask an attendant to pour cold water over them to cool them down. After about twenty minutes, Publius says, "I bet you're feeling very hot now, Lucius. Let's go and have our cold plunge!"

So, up they get, and go to the 'frigidarium', or 'cold room', where there is another swimming pool, this time full of cold water, into which they jump. At first, this cold water comes as quite a shock to Lucius, and he lets out a little cry. "Oh, Pater, it's really freezing, isn't it?" "So it is," says his father, "but you'll soon get used to it, and it'll certainly wash away all that sweat that we got in the 'very hot room'." Soon, Lucius, becoming acclimatised to the cold water, starts to enjoy himself again, but they don't stay in this pool for very long. Getting out, they return to the 'warm room', where they had got undressed.

"Now," says Publius, "comes the most important part of our visit to these baths; we're going to get our 'rub-down'! Lucius looks round to the opposite corner of the room, where he sees a number of raised couches, on which there are gentlemen of all shapes and sizes, lying on their backs or stomachs, while the attendants or masseurs, standing over them, are anointing them with olive-oil, which they then proceed to rub well into the men's bodies, pounding and pummelling away at them. As soon as one of the couches becomes available, Lucius jumps on to it and lies flat on his stomach. His masseur is a big black man, a slave like the other bath attendants. "Well, helloo dair, young gen'leman! Your father tells me this is your first visit to these baths. I think you're gonna enjoy this massage." He then pours olive-oil on to Lucius' back, and rubs this well into his flesh, firstly on his back and hind-legs, and then, after he has turned over, his chest, stomach and thighs. For Lucius, a young lad with no surplus flesh, this is quite a pleasant experience, but some other of the attendants' customers are finding it much less comfortable. Lying on the couch next to Lucius is a rather portly gentleman, who lets out a number of moans and groans as his masseur rubs hard at the deposits of fat all over his body.

After about ten minutes, Lucius' initial massage comes to an end, and his attendant picks up a metal scraper, called a 'strigil'. "Now, you must lie very still, young master," says he, "so the strigil doesn't cut you!" The black attendant then proceeds to scrape his front and back in order to remove any surplus oil, sweat or dust. At the end of this process, Lucius receives a final 'rub-down' with a towel and then returns to the other end of the 'warm room', where his clothes have been stored. There, he joins his father, and they put on their clothes once more. Lucius is relieved that his father hasn't noticed the red marks on his back, inflicted by 'Flogger' Florus earlier in the day.

After Publius has generously tipped the two masseurs who have been working on them, he and Lucius are preparing to leave the changing area, when suddenly they hear a loud commotion coming from the adjoining corridor. Publius looks out, cautiously, and sees a rather scruffily dressed man with long tousled hair running down the corridor towards him, while grasping in one hand what appears to be a kind of leather bag. Behind him, Publius hears some loud shouts: "Fur!" "Furcifer!" - words meaning 'Thief', and 'Rogue destined for the gallows' - and "Stop thief! That man's stolen my purse!" Such is the hue and cry following the footsteps of this unkempt looking man! As the man approaches the spot where he is standing, Lucius' father quickly takes a step back into the entrance to the changing area, and then, as the would-be fugitive runs past him, he suddenly sticks out his foot. The thief trips up over it, and goes flying head over heels on to his face. The purse too falls to the floor, and coins, both silver and copper, spill out of it in all directions. Before he can get up, the thief is jumped upon by the man whose purse he has stolen and two or three bath attendants responsible for security, and is hauled off to the city gaol to face justice.

Lucius is somewhat shaken by this nasty incident, but is full of admiration for his father's quick-thinking, which has certainly led to the thief's downfall. Publius is thanked profusely by the owner of the stolen purse and by the chief security guard, and then he and Lucius leave the Baths of Agrippa for their journey home. Despite the alarming incident at the end of their visit, Lucius has really enjoyed his first experience of the public baths, and he walks home with his father, feeling full of vigour and glowing with health.

Chapter 12.  Lucius prepares for his first dinner party.

When Lucius and his father get back to their house on the High Street, Lucius, with an admiring look on his face, tells his mother how his father had stopped those insolent young men from jeering at that gallant old ball-player on the Field of Mars, and the clever manner in which he had brought about the downfall of the fleeing thief in the Baths of Agrippa. Foslia congratulates her husband on his actions, and tells Lucius to be sure to follow his father's good example in his future life. Then, she turns to Lucius and says, "You know we're having a dinner-party this evening, don't you?"

"Yes," replies Lucius, "but who's coming to it?"

"Well, we're holding the party to celebrate the engagement of your cousin Aemilia to her fiancé, young Aulus Papirius Carbo. Aemilia's mother, your aunt, Foslia Major" - Roman women do not have first names like the men do, and are only differentiated by quantitative adjectives such as Major and Minor - "is coming of course, together with her husband, Marcus Aemilius Scaurus, who, because he is an ex-consul, will have the seat of honour at the banquet. Also present will be young Papirius' father, Gaius, and his second wife, Vera - poor Aulus' mother died shortly after he was born."

Lucius carefully counted up the number of guests his mother had said were invited. The usual number of people attending a dinner party like this is nine, but, including herself and her husband, Foslia had only listed eight people. "But, Mater, including Pater and yourself, you've only mentioned eight people. Who's going to be the ninth person?"

"A very good-looking young man, called Lucius Veturius Philo, provided that he behaves well, and takes himself off to bed when the plates are cleared."

"Oh Mater, Pater, can I really come to the feast?" cries Lucius, who is really thrilled at the prospect of attending his first dinner party. "Oh, how exciting!"

"I'm glad you're so pleased," says Foslia, "and I know your cousin Aemilia will be very glad that you're there.  You're certainly a great favourite of hers, you know! But now you must go upstairs and get dressed for the party, which will be starting in about twenty minutes." So Lucius runs happily upstairs, and dons a smart blue tunic, which has been laid out for him to wear.

After he has put this on, and brushed his hair, Lucius comes down again into the atrium, which he crosses, and then hurries into the dining room, or 'triclinium', at the back of the house. This is adjacent to the peristyle, where the garden is, and beside it is the kitchen or 'culina', although there is no direct access from the kitchen to the dining room in order that any unpleasant smells should be avoided. It's about quarter past four in the afternoon. In Roman households, dinner or 'cena', which is the main meal of the day, often begins as early as three o'clock, but today's banquet is scheduled to begin at about 4.30 p.m. "What are we having for dinner this evening, Gordianus?" Lucius asks their head steward, who is arranging the flowers on the 'mensa', the square table in the middle of the room, surrounded by the three couches which have been set out in the traditional manner, with one couch facing three of the tables' four sides, and one side being left free for the servants to lay down the food. "I do hope we're having something nice!" adds Lucius.

"Here is our menu for tonight, young master," says Gordianus, who as head steward is responsible for the work of all the male slaves in the household, and he reads out the details of the three courses which the chef, a slave, who cost a large sum of money to purchase, has noted down on a piece of papyrus:

'1. First course (or hors d'oeuvre'): Eggs, garum (i.e. a strong fish pickle), olives, radishes, lettuce, leeks.

2. Main course: Roast kid, pheasant, ham, meat balls, a fish (lamprey and turbot), with the following vegetables ; sprouts, asparagus, olives, mushrooms and truffles, together with appropriate sauces.

3. Dessert: apples, pears, grapes, figs, strawberries, walnuts and almonds.'

"I hope you approve, Master Lucius," says Gordianus. "Castor, our chef, is used to preparing even more elaborate meals than this, but your father has made it clear that, as this is only an informal family meal, the food, although good, must be relatively simple."

Then, the visitors begin to arrive, and a footman announces their names, as they come down the vestibule into the atrium. Lucius' cousin, Aemilia, is only a year and a half older than Lucius, and proudly shows him her new engagement ring, made of gold, worn on the third finger of her left hand, which Aulus Papirius has given her as a token of their betrothal. Aulus, himself, is a handsome young man of twenty-four, and has already distinguished himself as a junior army officer on the staff of a Roman general in Spain. Aemilia is evidently in awe of her fiancé, and gazes at him with a look of adoration, while Lucius is delighted to meet his cousin's future husband, and thinks she has done very well to win him.

When his aunt Foslia Major and her famous husband, the consular Scaurus, enter the atrium, the guests are ushered into the dining room, where Gordianus escorts them to their places. Facing the 'mensa', the square table in the middle of the room, is the 'Central Couch', and the right hand of its three places is reserved for Aemilia's father, Scaurus, with Aemilia herself in the middle of this couch, next to her father, and her fiancé, Aulus Papirius, in the place on her left. The couch to the left of the 'mensa' is the 'Low Couch', on which are placed, in order, Aulus' step-mother Vera, the hostess, Lucius' mother Foslia Minor, and at the end, Aulus' father, Gaius Papirius. To the right of the 'mensa' is the 'Low Couch', on which are placed in descending order, the host, Lucius' father Publius, sitting next to Scaurus, the guest of honour, then Lucius' aunt Foslia Major, and, finally, Lucius himself in the bottom place, facing Aulus' father on the opposite couch. The three couches are made of wood engraved with ivory, and each one is covered by a mattress and some brightly coloured coverlets, with a cushion for each table guest. Each of the four adult male participants 'reclines' in the traditional manner, lying on their left sides and leaning on their left elbows. The ladies, however, are permitted to sit on their cushions, as is Lucius, as he is still too young to recline at table, and needs more time to practise this way of eating. He does, however, slip off his sandals like the other guests, and, then, looking very smart in his blue tunic, he takes his place beside his aunt and waits for the food to be brought in.

Chapter 13.  Lucius enjoys the dinner party. 

Lucius certainly finds most of the food very good. Perhaps he doesn't really enjoy the garum, or fish-pickle, very much, popular as it is with most of the other guests because of its very strong taste, but he does enjoy the roast kid, the pheasant, and the ham. Slices of all of these are brought to him on a silver plate by an attendant, who has been specially assigned to look after him, after they have been carefully carved at a side-table by an expert carver called Andron. He only has a little of the lamprey, as he is rather wary of fish, but he really likes the asparagus and the mushrooms, especially the latter as they are served in a really delicious sauce. After the first course, or hors d'oeuvre, is served, the attendants bring round cups of so-called 'honey-wine', and no other wine is served during the meal itself. At some Roman banquets wine is served in large quantities throughout the meal, but, in accordance with Publius' instructions, only this moderate honey-wine is made available at this stage of the dinner, and Lucius' mother has ensured that in his case it is diluted with plenty of water.

During the meal, Lucius is careful to remember his manners, and only to speak when he is spoken to; but he does chat happily to his aunt, the elder Foslia, who is sitting next to him. When she asks what sort of day he has had, he tells how he found Sextus' puppy in a drain, and how much he enjoyed playing ball in the Field of Mars and then going to the Baths of Agrippa afterwards. His aunt listens with interest, particularly when he tells her about his father's courage in standing up to those young men who were teasing poor old Aufidius so cruelly, and how he also managed to up-end the flying thief in the corridor of the bath house.

Apart from conversation, the guests are entertained during the dinner, firstly by a professional singer, who accompanies his song with a lyre, and then by Lucius' pedagogue Daedalus, who reads a passage from Book VI of Homer's 'Odyssey', a book which Lucius likes almost as much as the 'Iliad'. This reading tells how the shipwrecked and semi-naked Ulysses wakes up on the beach on the island of Scheria (now known as Corfu), and is encouraged by the beautiful princess Nausicaa to come out of hiding and accompany her back to the palace of her father, Alcinoüs, King of the Phaeacians. Lucius loves this story, which he has heard Daedalus read many times before, and which he himself has now learned to recite. "Do you know, I think Aemilia is just as pretty as Nausicaa must have been!" says Lucius to her mother, who is sitting beside him, and his aunt smiles proudly at this suggestion.

The dinner-party is a great success, and the guests talk happily to one another in the midst of so much delightful food. However, towards the end of the main course, and after Daedalus has finished his reading, Aulus Papirius' father Gaius, suddenly gets up, and, after a choked apology, rushes from the dining room holding his somewhat chubby belly, while his wife Vera and Aulus look on with rather awkward looks on their faces. Before this happens, Lucius had noticed that Gaius, who was reclining on the couch immediately opposite him, seemed to be eating a great deal, and gulping his mouthfuls rather too quickly. When Gaius has left the dining room, Lucius turns to his aunt and says, "What's the matter with Aulus' pater? I do hope he's all right!"

"Oh, don't worry, Lucius!" replies Foslia Major. "He's only going to the 'vomitorium'. She is quite right. In common with a number of Roman men, Gaius takes emetic tablets, designed to make him vomit, so that he can eat and drink as much as he likes, be sick in the vomitorium, and then come back and eat and drink still more. After he has left the dining room, Gaius is assisted by the chief steward Gordianus into a small room adjoining the peristyle, from where, having vomited once or twice, and, having drunk a little water, which Gordianus helpfully gives him, he returns to the dining room. "I feel much better now," says Gaius, smiling happily. "Roll on  the dessert!"

Sure enough, when the dessert is brought in and placed on the 'mensa', Gaius tucks in readily, together with everyone else. Lucius particularly enjoys the pears, which are served together with some lovely cream. But when the fruit is taken away by the attendants, and  a big 'crater' or mixing-bowl of red wine is put on the table, Lucius feels sad, as he realises that the drinking phase of the dinner is about to begin, and that he will therefore have to say farewell to the guests and withdraw to his bedroom. But his pretty cousin Aemilia, supported by her father Scaurus, asks that Lucius should be permitted to stay for long enough to drink to the good health of the betrothed. Much to his delight, his parents agree, which means that he can stay at the table for half an hour longer.

As he is the host, Publius assumes the role of 'master of ceremonies', and decides that the wine will be diluted by three measures of water to everyone of wine, and he also decides the maximum number of cups that each person can drink. This he limits to five, although in Lucius' case it is only two. Each guest proposes a toast to the health of the engaged couple; Lucius' turn come last. He stands up, and says, "Good health to you Aemilia! Good health to you too, Aulus!" and drains his cup in one draught in the prescribed manner. Then, at his mother's behest, he calls for his sandals and asks for permission to retire. After saying good night to his parents and all the guests and giving Aemilia a polite little kiss, he leaves the dining room and goes upstairs. The party, however, is scheduled to last for another hour at least.

Chaper 14.  Lucius goes to bed.

It is now beginning to get dark, and Daedalus meets Lucius in the atrium, and, giving him an oil-lamp, tells him to go to bed quietly and not to disturb Marcus who is already asleep. So, Lucius goes upstairs and takes his clothes off quickly, and puts on his night attire. Then, blowing out the lamp, he climbs quietly up on to his bunk above the sleeping Marcus. Despite the noise coming from the street below - in Rome nights are noisy because of the constant movement of horses and carts, which are banned from the streets during the day, and have to be used at night to make deliveries - , he quickly falls asleep, tired out no doubt by all the exciting things he has experienced during the day that has just passed.

He is not disturbed at all by the departure of the guests, but at about midnight he is awoken by a loud shouting noise in the street immediately beneath his window. "Help! Help! I'm being attacked!" is the voice of a late-night traveller, who is being assaulted by a footpad, who is probably after his money. "Help, Vigiles! Over here!" cries the traveller. The Vigiles are the firemen, recently recruited by the Emperor Augustus to extinguish fires and to prevent robberies such as this one. Luckily for the traveller, a number of Vigiles do appear on the scene quickly in response to his cry for help, and the footpad runs off hurriedly. But before peace can be restored, Lucius sees and hears a window opening in the top floor of the block of tenement flats opposite their house, and an angry citizen, indignant at being woken up by all this noise, cries out, "Cave faeces! (Beware the dregs!)", and then empties a basin or chamber-pot full of slops on to the head of anyone unfortunate enough to be standing directly underneath. Lucius listens with interest to the cries of disgust and the scuffling sounds which follow the splash caused by the landing of these slops, but then he also hears anxious noises coming from the bunk beneath him, It seems that the noise has woken Marcus up as well.

"Oh, Lucius!" says Marcus. "Are you really there! I hardly saw you at at all yesterday, and I really did miss you. And now all these horrid noises are making me very upset!"

Lucius thinks for a moment. Then, he realises that, despite all the exciting things that happened to him yesterday and the pleasure of attending Aemilia's engagement party, he, too, has missed his brother very much. "Well, then," says Lucius, "why don't you climb up on to my bunk, Marcus, and I'll give you a cuddle!" Quick as a flash, Marcus joins his brother on the top bunk, and, after a few moments, both boys, with their arms around one another, are sound asleep again.



APPENDIX:   CREDITS.

In the composition of the above story, use has been made of the following works about Roman life and society:

J.P.V.D. Balsdon: Life and Leisure in Ancient Rome (London,) 1969.
Jerome Carcopino: Daily Life in Ancient Rome (Paris,) 1939.
Humfrey Grose-Hodge: Roman Panorama (Cambridge,) 1946.
E.C. Kennedy and G.W. White: S.P.Q.R. The History and Social Life of Ancient Rome (London,) 1944.





























































































Tuesday, 11 June 2019

HOMERIC HYMNS: 2) TO DEMETER

Introduction:

The Hymn to Demeter is the second in a collection of thirty-three anonymous ancient Greek hymns celebrating individual gods, mostly dating to the seventh century B.C., shortly after the works of Homer and Hesiod had first been written down, and they are therefore among the oldest monuments of Ancient Greek literature. In antiquity they were uncritically attributed to Homer, the earliest reference to them coming from Thucydides (see Bk III. 104). Although it is now clear they were not written by Homer, they were composed in the old epic style, i.e. in dactylic hexameters and in a dialect closely resembling that of Homer. Most of them are very short, if not fragmentary, but four of them, i.e. hymns 2-5, are more lengthy: (2) to Demeter 495 lines; (3) to Apollo 546 lines; (4) to Hermes 580 lines; and (5) to Aphrodite 293 lines.

The Hymn to Demeter is one of the main sources for the legend of the rape of Persephone (Proserpina in Latin) by her uncle Hades, who, with the encouragement of his brother Zeus, who was also Persephone's father, took her down with him to the Underworld, where he installed her as his queen. Persephone's mother Demeter (Ceres in Latin), the Goddess of the Crops, looks for her desperately, and, when she finds out what has happened, is so angered by her daughter's fate that she stops the crops growing. As a result human-beings starve, and the gods are denied their much valued sacrificial rights. At Zeus' request, Hades allows Persephone to return to the arms of her mother in the world above, but, because he has tricked her into eating a morsel - a pomegranate seed - , Persephone's reinstatement to the world cannot be total. Zeus, however, arranges for her to spend a third of the year, i.e. the winter months, with Hades in the Underworld, and the other two-thirds of the year with her mother and the other gods on Mount Olympus, and he then prevails upon their mother Rhea to persuade Demeter to accept this compromise solution. Calm is then restored to the world of the immortals, and the crops are allowed to grow again, much to the relief of all. This entertaining legend provided the ancients with a mythical explanation of the seasons, and was also the foundation of the Eleusinian mysteries, sacred to Demeter, which were so greatly valued by the inhabitants of Athens, and many others in antiquity, including the Emperor Hadrian.

The text for this translation is taken from "Homeric Hymns", edited by Hugh G. Evelyn-White, Harvard University Press, published by William Heinemann, London (1914), and is available on the 'Perseus' website, sponsored by the Classics Department of Tufts University.


Ll. 1-39.  Hades carries off Persephone with the connivance of Zeus.

I begin to sing of that revered goddess, fair-haired Demeter, and of her daughter with the long tapered ankles (i.e. Persephone), whom Aidoneus (i.e. Hades) carried off, and (whom) the far-seeing and loud-thundering Zeus had given him. Separated from Demeter, with her sword of gold and the bearer of beautiful fruits, she was playing with the deep-bosomed daughters of Oceanus and gathering flowers from a soft grassy meadow: roses, and crocuses, and beautiful violets, and irises, and hyacinths, and the narcissus which, at the will of Zeus, the Earth brought forth (as) a marvellous gleaming snare for the blushing maiden to please the Host of Many (i.e. Hades): indeed, (it was) a thing of awe for all the deathless gods and mortal men to see: and from its root there grew a hundred heads: its odour smelled most sweetly, and all the wide heaven above, and the whole earth, and the sea's salt swell laughed (for joy). And then the (maiden) was amazed and reached out with both her hands together to take the lovely toy; but the wide-pathed earth gaped open (there) in the plain of Nysa, and the All-Receiving king, the many named son of Cronos, with his immortal horses (i.e. Hades), sprang upon her.

And he caught (her) up and, against her will, he bore her off, lamenting: then, she cried out in a shrill voice, calling upon her father, the most high and most excellent son of Cronos (i.e. Zeus). But no one among the immortals or among mortal men heard her voice, nor (did) the rich fruit-bearing olive-trees, but only the bright head-banded Hecate, the tender-hearted daughter of Perses, from her cave, and the lord Helios (i.e. the Sun), Hyperion's brilliant son, heard the maiden as she called upon her father, Cronos' son (i.e. Zeus): but he was sitting some distance apart from the gods in his temple where many people pray, receiving sweet offerings from mortal men. Then, at the bidding of Zeus, her father's brother, the much-named son of Cronus, the Ruler of Many (and) Host of Many (i.e. Hades), bore her off against her will by means of his immortal horses.

And so, as long as she, the goddess (i.e. Persephone), beheld the earth and the starry heavens and the strongly-flowing sea full of fish and the rays of the sun, and still hoped to see her dear mother and the tribes of the eternal gods, so long does hope dispel her great heart of all its anxiety: and the tops of the mountains and the depths of the ocean echoed with her immortal voice: and her queenly mother heard her.

Ll. 40-86.  Assisted by Hecate in her search for her daughter, Demeter meets Helios, who tells her how Hades has seized Persephone and taken her down into the Underworld.

A sharp pain took hold of her heart, and she (i.e. Demeter) rent asunder the veil around her divine hair, and cast down the dark cloak from both her shoulders, and sped like a large bird over land and sea in search (of prey): but no one, either among the gods or among mortal men, would tell her the truth, nor did any bird come to her (as) a messenger of the truth. Then, for nine days, queenly Deo (i.e. Demeter) wandered here and there across the earth, holding flaming pine-torches in her hands, and, in her grief, she never tasted any ambrosia or sweet nectar, nor did she sprinkle her body with bathing water. But then, when the tenth light-bringing dawn had come upon her, Hecate, holding a torch in her hands, met her, and then, bringing the news to her, she spoke the following words: "Queenly Demeter, bringer of the seasons, (and) bestower of splendid gifts, what heavenly god or mortal man has carried off Persephone, and caused your dear heart such grief? For I heard her voice, yet I did not see with my eyes who it was: but I shall quickly tell you everything that is true."

So Hecate spoke thus: and the daughter of fair-haired Rhea (i.e. Demeter) did not answer her in words, but sped away swiftly with her, holding flaming pine-torches in her hands. Then, they came to Helios, watchman of the gods and of men as well, and they stood in front of his carriage, and the goddess among goddesses inquired of (him): "Helios, may you have pity on me, goddess as I am, if I have ever melted your heart and soul by word or deed: through the barren air I have heard that shrill voice of the daughter whom I bore, that sweet child in lovely form, like one who has been violently seized, and yet I saw nothing with my eyes. But you, for with your beams you look down upon the whole earth and over the sea from the heavenly ether, must tell me truly of my beloved child, if you have seen her anywhere, what god, or mortal man even, has taken (her) by force (and) against her will, and is gone off (with her)."

So she spoke, and the son of Hyperion (i.e. Helios) answered in these words: "Queen Demeter, daughter of fair-haired Rhea, you will learn the truth: for I greatly revere you, and pity (you) greatly in your grief concerning your daughter with the long tapered ankles: no one else among the gods (is) to blame but cloud-gathering Zeus, who gave her to his own brother Hades to be called his buxom wife: and he seized (her) in his chariot and drove (her) crying loudly down into his murky land of darkness. But, goddess, do cease your loud wailing: you must not keep such fruitless terrible anger: Aidoneus (i.e. Hades), the Ruler of Many, (is) not an unfitting son-in-law for you among the immortals, (being) your own brother and sprung from the same stock (as you): and, with regard to honour, he happened to receive the third share, when the lots were taken at the beginning, and he was assigned to be king of those among whom he dwells."

Ll. 87-117. Saddened and angry, Demeter abandons meetings with the gods on Mount Olympus, and, disguised as an old woman, she sits down by a well near Eleusis, where she is questioned by the daughters of Celeus. 

Speaking thus, he called to his horses: and, at his chiding, they pulled his nimble chariot swiftly along like long-winged birds. But grief, more terrible and more uncontrollable came into her heart: then, she was so angry with the cloud-wrapt son of Cronos (i.e. Zeus) that she forsook the assembly of the gods and high Olympus, and went to the cities and the rich fields of men, (while) softening her appearance for some time: and no one among the men and the low-girt women recognised (her) when they looked at (her), until the time when she came to the house of wise Celeus, who was then the lord of fragrant Eleusis. Saddened in her heart, she sat down by the roadside, by the Maiden well from which the citizens drew (water), in a shady (place), but above which there grew an olive-grove. (She looked) like an old woman, who is prohibited from child-bearing and (receiving) the gifts of garland-loving Aphrodite, like those who are the nurses of the children of justice-dealing kings and the housekeepers of their echoing halls. There the daughters of Celeus, son of Eleusis, saw her as she was coming for easy-drawn water in order to carry (it) in copper pitchers to their father's house; there were four (of them), like goddesses in the flower of their youth, Callidice, and Cleisidice, and lovely Demo, and Callithoë, who was the eldest of them all: they did not recognise (her): for the gods are discerned by mortals with difficulty. But standing near (her), they spoke winged words: "Who, and from where, are you, old lady? (Do you come) from people born long ago? Why then have you gone far away from the city, and not draw near to the houses? There in the shadowy halls (there are) women of just such an age as you, and there are some who were born younger (than you) who would certainly welcome you, both by word and by deed also."

Ll. 118-144.  Demeter tells the daughters of Celeus that she has arrived in Eleusis as a fugitive, having escaped from a gang of pirates, who had enslaved her. She asks for their help in finding a suitable household where she could work. 

Thus they said: and she, that queen among goddesses answered (them) with these words: "Dear children, whoever you are among the gender of women, greetings! I shall tell you my (story): (it is) not unseemly that I should tell you what you ask. My name is Doso: for my queenly mother gave it (to me). Now, indeed, I have come from Crete over the sea's wide back, not willingly, but pirates carried (me here) against my will by brute force. Then, they brought their swift ship into land at Thoricus, (and) there the women disembarked on the shore in a throng, and began to prepare supper beside the stern of the ship: but my heart did not crave a delicious meal, and by stealth I rushed off across the dark countryside in flight from my overbearing masters, so that they should not carry me, unbought, across the seas, in order to benefit from my purchase price. And so I came here in my wanderings, not knowing at all what land this is, and who are its inhabitants. But may all those who have dwellings on (Mount) Olympus give you men (as) husbands and children to be born (to you), as parents desire: and, then, have pity on me, maidens, and advise me clearly about this, so that I may learn, to the house of what husband and wife I may gladly go, dear children, so that I may willingly perform for them such tasks as an elderly woman can undertake: I could certainly well nurse a new-born child, holding (it) in my arms, and take care of the house and spread out my master's bed in a corner of his well-built bedchamber, and I could certainly teach women their tasks."

Ll. 145-183. At her daughters' suggestion, Metaneira agrees that the disguised goddess should come to work in her household.  

Thus spoke the goddess: and straightway the unwedded maiden Callidice, the best-looking of Celeus' daughters, answered her: "Good mother, we mortals suffer the gifts of the gods, and of necessity we grieve very much: for they are much stronger (than we are). But (now) I shall tell you clearly about all these (things), and name those men who have great power and honour here, and are chief among our people, and the diadems of our city are held (by them) in honour of their (good) counsels and upright judgments. With regard to discreet Triptolemus, and Diocles, and Polyxeinus, and noble Eumolpus, and Dolichus, and our heroic father, the wives of all of them manage in their house: not one of them would dishonour your figure at first sight and turn you from the house, but they will welcome you: for, indeed, you are godlike. But if you are willing, stay here, so that we can go to our father's house and tell our deep-bosomed mother, Metaneira, everything in full, so that she may bid you come to our (house) and not the houses of the others. Her only son, our brother, late-born, (but) much-desired and welcome, is being reared in our well-constructed house. If you could bring him up and he could reach a measure of youth, anyone of the female gender who saw (you) would certainly wish to emulate you: such (gifts) would she give you for bringing him up!"

So she spoke, and the (goddess) nodded her head (in assent): and they filled their shining vessels with water, and carried (them) off rejoicing. Quickly they came to their father's great house, and immediately told their mother just what they had seen and heard. Then she told (them) to go very quickly and summon (her to come) for a boundless hire-fee. As hinds or heifers may bound around a meadow in spring time, their stomachs sated with pasture, so they, holding the folds of their lovely garments, darted down the hollow pathway: and their hair bounced around their shoulders like a crocus flower. Then, they found the noble goddess near the roadside where they had left (her) just before: so then they led (her) to their father's house: and then she, distressed in her heart, walked behind (them) with her head veiled: and a dark shawl wound itself around the goddess's slender feet.

Ll. 184-211. Demeter enters the house of Celeus, and, despite some initial difficulties, she accepts Metaneira's hospitality. 

Soon, they came to the house of Celeus, cherished by Zeus, and they went through a portico, where their queenly mother was sitting beside a pillar of the thickly fitted roof, holding her son, her young scion (i.e. Demophoön), to her bosom; and they ran to her, but the (goddess) walked to the threshold, and her hair reached the roof and she filled the entrance with a heavenly radiance. Then, awe and reverence, and pale fear, took hold of her (i.e. Metaneira): and she gave up her couch and bade (her) be seated. But Demeter, the bringer of seasons, (and) the bestower of splendid gifts, would not sit down upon the gleaming couch, but stayed silent with her lovely eyes cast down, until (the moment) when the trusty (and) knowing Iambe (i.e. the witty but lame girl who was also a daughter of Celeus) placed a fixed seat for her, and threw a silver fleece over the top of (it). Sitting down there, she (i.e. Demeter) held her veil in her hands; she sat upon the stool for a long time without speaking due to her sorrow, and greeted no one either by word or deed, but lingered (there), never smiling (and) abstaining from food and drink, as she pined away with longing for her deep-bosomed daughter (i.e. Persephone), until the trusty and knowing Iambe, entertaining her with jokes, moved the holy queen to smile and laugh and be of a cheerful heart; then, indeed, she pleased her by her humour afterwards also. Then, Metaneira filled a goblet with sweet wine and offered (it) to her; but she refused (it): for she said that (it was) not permissible (for her) to drink red wine: and then she bade them mix barley-meal and water with soft mint and give (it to her) to drink. Then, she (i.e. Metaneira) prepared the potion and offered (it) to the goddess, as she had been instructed: then the great queen Deo (i.e. Demeter) received it in order to observe the sacrament (N.B. the drinking of this potion was central to the initiation ceremony of the Eleusinian mysteries and was the basis of communion with Demeter).

Ll. 212-247. Demeter is asked by Metaneira to become the nurse of her newly-born son, Demophoön. This Demeter gladly agrees to do, and under her care the boy grows up looking like a god, until Metaneira discovers that Demeter is placing him in the fire at night. 

Then, the well-girded Metaneira began to speak the following (words): "Hail, lady, for I do not think that you come from poor parents, but from noble (ones): dignity and grace are conspicuous in your eyes just as they would also be (in the eyes) of kings who administer justice. Yet we mortals have, of necessity, to endure the gifts of the gods, grieved though we be: for a yoke is put upon our necks. But now, since you have come here, you shall have whatever I (can give you). And raise for me this child, whom the immortals sent late-born and unexpected, yet (who) is much desired by me. If you should bring him up and he should reach a measure of youth, anyone of the female gender would certainly envy (you): such great (rewards) would I give you for bringing him up!"

Then, well-girded Demeter answered her once more: "You also, lady, all hail! And may the gods give you good (fortune): gladly will I take your son to (my breast), as you are urging me (to do); I shall nurse him, and neither, I trust, through any folly of his nurse, shall witchcraft hurt him, nor the Undercutter (i.e. a worm supposed to cause teething pains): for I know a remedy much stronger than the Woodcutter (i.e. a charm intended to address teething pains), and I know an excellent safeguard against witchcraft."

Then, when she had so spoken, she took (the child) in her fragrant bosom with her immortal hands; and his mother was glad in her heart. So, the (goddess) nursed in the palace Demophoön, wise Celeus' splendid son, whom the well-girded Metaneira had brought into the world; and he grew like a god, and thus not eating food or sucking his mother's milk. For each day the beautifully-crowned Demeter would anoint (him) with ambrosia as if he were born of a god, as she breathed sweetly upon (him) and held (him) in her bosom; but at night she would hold (him) in the heart of the fire like a brand, without his parents' knowledge: it was a source of great wonder to them that he became so precocious; for face to face he looked like a god. And she would have made him ageless and immortal, if the well-girded Metaneira had not kept watch by night from her sweet-smelling bed-chamber, and spied (on them); and she wailed and smote both of her thighs (in terror), fearing for her son and greatly distraught in her heart, and so she lamented and uttered these winged words:

Ll. 248-291.  Metaneira's anxiety about Demeter's treatment of Demophoön causes the goddess to become very angry.

"Demophoön, my child, this strange (woman) is burying you deep in the fire, and is causing me grief and bitter sorrow."

Thus she spoke in a mournful voice: and the goddess among goddesses heard her. Then, the beautifully crowned Demeter was (so) provoked by her that she snatched her son, to whom she had unexpectedly given birth in the palace, from the fire with her immortal hands and cast (him) from her to the ground, so terribly angry (was she) in her heart. So then, she addressed the well-girded Metaneira at the same time: "Unprepared and witless (are you) mortals to foresee your appointed lot, whether for good or for bad: for now in your folly you (have wrought) damage beyond healing. For may the relentless waters of the Styx bear witness to an oath of the gods, I would have made your beloved son deathless and ageless all his days, and (upon him) I would have bestowed imperishable honour: but now he cannot, by any means, escape death and destruction; yet unfailing honour will always be upon (him), for the reason that he lay upon my knees and slept in my folded arms. But then, as the years revolve around him in their seasons, the sons of the Eleusinians shall ever wage war and dread battle with one another constantly. Yet, I am that esteemed Demeter, who is the greatest source of support and joy to immortals and mortals (alike). But come, let all the people build me a great temple and an altar below it beneath the city, and a high wall upon a rising hillock above Callichorus. Then, I myself will lay down my rites, so that hereafter you may perform them perfectly and appease my heart."

When she had thus spoken, the goddess changed her stature and her looks, thrusting old age away from (her): beauty spread both around and about her, and a lovely smell was wafted from her fragrant robes, and a lustrous light from her immortal body shone afar, and her golden tresses lay upon her shoulders, and as a result that compact house was filled with sunlight (and) lightning; and she went right through the palace. And straightway her (i.e. Metaneira's) knees were loosened, and she became speechless for a long while, and she completely forgot to pick up her darling child from the floor. But his sisters gave heed to his pitiable voice, and so leapt down from their well-spread beds ; then one of them took up the child with her hands and laid him on her bosom, while another one kindled the fire, and a third rushed on her tender feet to arouse their mother from her fragrant bed-chamber. And they gathered together around him, and washed (him) as he struggled, and embraced (him) lovingly: but his spirit was not comforted: for now less skilful feeders and nurses were handling him.

Ll. 292-345. In her fury, Demeter causes a famine across the earth, and Zeus sends divine messengers to her to seek to persuade her to desist. 

All night long they tried to appease the glorious goddess, as they quaked with fear, but, as soon as dawn began to appear, they told the wide-ruling Celeus the truth, just as the goddess, the beautifully-crowned Demeter, commanded. So he called his numerous people to an assembly, and bade (them) construct a goodly temple to fair-haired Demeter and an altar upon the rising hillock. And they applied themselves with all speed, and they hearkened to his words and did as he commanded. And the (child) (i.e. Demophoön) grew like a divine being.

Now, when they had completed (their work) and ceased from their toil, they went, each (man) going to his own house: but golden-haired Demeter sat there apart from all the blessed (gods), and stayed pining with longing for her deep-bosomed daughter. Then, she caused a most terrible and most shameless year for mankind over the much-nourishing earth: the ground would not allow any seed to sprout, for the richly crowned Demeter kept (it) hidden; and in the corn-fields the oxen drew many a curved plough in vain; and much white barley fell upon the earth to no purpose; and so she would have totally destroyed the race of articulate speaking man by a grievous famine, and have deprived those who have their dwellings on (Mount) Olympus of the glorious honour of their offerings and sacrifices, if Zeus had not perceived and pondered (these things) in his heart. Firstly, he aroused golden-winged Iris to call upon fair-haired Demeter, the possessor of such a lovely form. Thus he spoke: and she obeyed Zeus, the dark-clouded son of Cronos, and she ran swiftly on her feet across the space between (heaven and earth). Then, she came to the citadel of fragrant Eleusis, and found dark-veiled Demeter in her temple, and, addressing her, she uttered these winged words: "Demeter, father Zeus, whose knowledge is infinite, calls you to come and join with the tribes of the immortal gods. Come now, and may not this word I bring from Zeus be in vain."

Thus she spoke, entreating (her): but her heart was not persuaded. Then again the father (i.e. Zeus) sent out all the blessed and eternal gods one after another: and they came in succession, and they kept on calling (her) and giving (her) many very beautiful gifts and such honours as she might wish to choose among the immortal (gods). But no one was able to win over her mind and will, (so) angry (was she) in her heart: and she firmly rejected their advice. For she affirmed that she would never set foot upon fragrant Olympus or let fruit spring from the earth, until she saw her fair-faced daughter with her own eyes. Now, when the far-seeing and loud-thundering Zeus heard this, he sent the Slayer of Argus (i.e. Hermes) with his golden wand to Erebus (i.e. the Underworld), so that, having won over Hades with soft words, he might lead forth the pure Persephone from the murky darkness to join the divine beings, and so that her mother, having seen her with her own eyes, might renounce her anger. And Hermes did not disobey, but straightway rushed speedily downwards to the depths of the earth, leaving his abode on Olympus. And he found that the king (i.e. Hades) was within his house, seated on a couch together with his tender wife, unwilling (though she was), through yearning for her mother: but she (i.e. Demeter) was far away pursuing her dread design, through the deeds of the blessed gods.

Ll. 346-397.  At Zeus' bidding, Hades agrees to send Persephone back to be reunited with her mother in the world above.

Then, the mighty Slayer of Argus stood near and said: "Dark-haired Hades, lord of those who have departed, father Zeus bids me bring noble Persephone forth from Erebus to join them, so that her mother, having seen her with her own eyes, may renounce her anger and dread wrath with the immortals: for now she plans an awful deed, to destroy the feeble tribes of earth-born men (by) keeping seeds hidden beneath the earth, and to bring an end to the honours of the immortals: and she maintains her dread anger and does not mingle with the gods, but sits aloof in her fragrant temple, (while) dwelling in the rocky citadel of Eleusis."

So he said, and Aidoneus (i.e. Hades), the lord of those beneath the earth, smiled grimly, and did not disobey the behest of Zeus the king: and he vehemently urged the thoughtful Persephone (as follows):

"Go, Persephone, to your dark-veiled mother, but keep a kind spirit and heart in your breast, and do not be so very melancholy far beyond all others: I shall not be an unseemly husband for you among the immortal (gods), (as I am) an own brother to your father Zeus: and, while you are here, you shall rule all those that live and move, and you shall have the greatest honours among those immortals. And for those who have wronged (you), those who may not appease your power, (by) performing pure rites (in your name) and paying (you) fit gifts, there will be punishment (i.e. delivered by the Furies) for the rest of their lives."

So he spoke, and the very thoughtful Persephone rejoiced, and hastily sprang up in her delight: but he on his part stealthily gave (her) sweet pomegranate seed to eat, arranging matters with regard to himself, so that she might not remain there continually with the august dark-veiled Demeter. Then, Aidoneus, the Ruler of Many, decked out his deathless horses at the front of his golden chariot. And she mounted the chariot, and beside (her), the mighty Slayer of Argus, took the reins and whip in his own hands, and drove out from the palace: and unconstrained they flew. Swiftly they came to the end of their long course: and neither the sea, nor river-waters, nor grassy glens, nor mountain-tops checked the career of the immortal horses, but they clove the deep air above them as they went. And, bringing them (to the place) where the well-crowned Demeter was staying, he halted (them) before her fragrant temple: and when she saw (them), she rushed forward, just as a Maenad (i.e. a Bacchanal) (does) down a mountain thick with woods. And on the other side, when Persephone saw her mother's beautiful eyes, she left the chariot and horses, and leapt down to run (to her), and fell upon her neck and embraced (her). But, (while) she was still holding her dear child in her arms, her heart suddenly sensed some snare, and so she trembled with a terrible fear and, ceasing her display of affection, she immediately asked (her) this question: "My child, surely you have not eaten any food while you were below? Speak out, (and) do not conceal (anything), so that we may both know: for, if that is the case, you may live apart from the loathsome Hades, and dwell with me and your father, the black-clouded son of Cronos (i.e. Zeus), and be honoured by all the immortal (gods).

Ll. 398-448.  Persephone tells her mother how Hades, with Zeus' encouragement, had carried her down to the Underworld, and it becomes clear that she must now spend a third of the year there as Hades' queen.  

"But, if you have eaten (any food), you must go back beneath the depths of the earth, and dwell (there) for a third part of the seasons every year, but for the (other) two (parts of the year), (you shall be) with me and the other immortals. But, when the earth shall bloom with every kind of spring's fragrant flowers, then you will come up once more from the murky darkness (as) a great (source of) wonder for gods and mortal men. And now tell (me) how the strong Host of Many (i.e. Hades) carried you off down into the murky darkness, and by what trick did he (manage to) deceive you?"

Then, the very beautiful Persephone answered her in reply: "Well then, mother, I shall tell you the whole truth: when Hermes the luck-bringer came, the swift messenger of my father, the son of Cronos, and the other heavenly ones, (bidding) me come back from Erebus, so that, having seen (me) with your own eyes, you might cease your anger and dreadful wrath against the immortals, I sprang up at once for joy: but he secretly put a pomegranate seed, honey-sweet food (that it is), in my (mouth), and forced me to eat (it) against my will. And I shall tell how, having snatched me up, he rushed off in accordance with the shrewd design of my father, the son of Cronos, and carried (me) off beneath the depths of the earth, and I shall relate the whole (story) just as you ask. We were all (i.e. Persephone was playing with the Oceanids, or the daughters of Oceanus, who are here listed) playing in a very lovely meadow, Leucippe and Phaeno, and Electra and Ianthe, and Melita and Iache, and Rhodea and Callirhoë, and Melobosis and Tyche, and Ocyrhoë with her sweet countenance, and Chryseïs and Ianeira, and Acaste and Admete, and Rhodope and Pluto, and charming Calypso, and Styx and Urania, and lovely Galaxaura, and Pallas, aroused by battles, and Artemis, the shooter of arrows, and we were gathering sweet flowers in profusion in our hands, both soft crocuses, and irises, and hyacinths, and rose-buds, and lilies, marvellous to see, and the narcissus, which the wide earth made to grow just like a crocus. Indeed, I plucked (it) in my joy: but the earth parted from below, and from there sprang forth the strong lord, the Host of Many, and, bearing (me) in his golden chariot much against my will, he went down beneath the earth; and then I cried out in a shrill voice. All this (is) indeed true, yet it grieves (me) to tell (it)."

So then, having a united spirit all day long, they greatly cheered one another's heart and soul, and shared embraces: and their hearts ceased sorrowing. And they received joys from one another, and gave (them). Then, Hecate with her bright-coloured head-band came near to them: and often did she lovingly embrace the chaste daughter of Demeter: from that (time) the lady became her attendant and companion. Then, far-seeing and loud-thundering Zeus sent them rich-haired Rhea (as) a messenger to bring dark-veiled Demeter to join the company of the gods, and he promised to give (her) whatever honours she should choose among the immortal gods. And he agreed that her daughter (should go) down to the murky darkness for the third part of the revolving year, but that, for the (other) two (parts, she should remain) with her mother and the other immortals. Thus he spoke: nor did the goddess (i.e. Rhea) disobey the commandments of Zeus.

Ll. 448-495.

Swiftly, she rushed down from the peaks of Olympus, and then she came to (the field of) Rarus (i.e. the place, sacred to Demeter, where tillage was first practised), (which was) once the most fertile and fruitful corn-land, but then, not fruitful at all, it was lying idle and utterly leafless: and so the white barley was being kept hidden by the design of Demeter with the beautiful ankles: but then, as spring waxed, it was soon destined to be decked with long ears of corn, and its rich furrows to be laden with ears of corn (lying) on the ground, and the (rest) to be bound in the bands of corn-sheaves. There she landed, the very first (being) from the barren ether: and they saw each other with gladness, and were cheered in their hearts. Then, Rhea with the bright head-band addressed her (i.e. Demeter) thus: "(Come) hither, my daughter, (for) the far-seeing (and) loud-thundering Zeus is calling you to go to join the company of the gods, and he has promised to give (you) whatever honours you may wish for among the immortal gods. And he has agreed that your daughter (should go) down to the murky darkness for the third part of the revolving year, but that for the (other) two (parts she should remain) with you and the other immortals. So he has said that it will be thus arranged: and he has nodded his head (in agreement). But come, my child, and obey, and do not be so unceasingly angry with the dark-clouded son of Cronos. But let flourish forthwith the fruit which gives life to mankind."

So she (i.e. Rhea) spoke: and the well-crowned Demeter did not disobey (her): but straightway she made the fruit to spring up from the very fertile corn-lands; and the whole wide earth was laden with leaves and flowers. And she went to the justice-dealing kings, and showed Triptolemus, and horse-driving Diocles, and doughty Eumolpus, and Celeus, leader of the people, the conduct of her sacred rites, and she also taught her mysteries to all (of them), to Triptolemus and to Polyxeinus, and to Diocles (also), awful (mysteries), which no one way may in any way transgress, or pry into, or utter: for a certain deep awe of the gods checks one's voice. But (he) who (is) uninitiated into these sacred rites, and who has no part (in them), never has a share in such (good) things when he is quite dead down in the murky darkness. 

But, when the goddess of goddesses (i.e. Demeter) had taught (them) all, they set out to go to Olympus to the gathering of the other gods. And there they, awful and revered (goddesses), dwell beside Zeus, who delights in thunder; most blessed among men upon earth (is) the one whom they readily love: and forthwith they send Plutus (as) a guest to the great house, (he) who gives wealth to mortal men. But come now, holder of the land of fragrant Eleusis and seagirt Paros (i.e. a town on the coast of Cyprus) and rocky Antron (i.e. a town in Thessaly), revered queen Deo, bestower of splendid gifts (and) bringer of the seasons, (be) gracious, you and your daughter, the most beautiful Persephone, and grant (me) a well-pleasing substance for my song. And now I shall remember you and another song also.




































































   

Monday, 6 May 2019

OVID: "METAMORPHOSES": BOOK XIII

Introduction:


For an introduction to Ovid and the work as a whole, the reader is invited to look at the introduction to the translation of "Metamorphoses" Book I, published on this blog on 1st February 2018.


Book XIII, which, with its 968 lines, is very long, sees the continuation of the theme of the final quarter of the work which is concerned for the most part with stories relating to the quasi-historical context of the Trojan War and the subsequent journeys of Aeneas to Italy, although the last sections of the Book appear to revert to myths concerning the 'Pathos of Love,' the subject of the third quarter of the work. The Book includes the stories about the following: Ajax, Ulysses and the contest over Achilles' armour (this takes up the first 400 lines of the Book); the Fall of Troy; the deaths of Polyxena and Polydorus; Hecuba; Memnon; the journeys of Aeneas; the fate of the daughters of Anius, the cup of Alcon; the contest between the Cyclops Polyphemus and Acis for the love of Galatea; and Scylla and her rejection of Glaucus.

As is the case elsewhere in the work as a whole, such transformations, i.e. "metamorphoses," as occur in Book XIII are more incidental than central to the stories that are told. Hecuba becomes a barking dog; birds arise from Memnon's ashes, i.e. the Memnonides; the daughters of Anius are turned into doves; Acis becomes a river-god, and Glaucus a sea-god. However, these transformations tend to be postscripts to the tales that are told rather than the focus of them, and those first 400 hundred lines that deal with the contest of Ajax and Ulysses over the arms of Achilles do not involve any transformations at all. That having been said, however, the entertainment value of this book for the Romans, who would have heard its recitation, and whose previous education would have involved the acquisition of Greek myths and the legends of the Trojan War and its aftermath, was undoubtedly very high.

Ll. 1-122.  The debate over Achilles' armour: Ajax speaks.


(When) the chieftains are seated, and the rank and file were standing in a ring (around them), Ajax, the master of the seven-layered shield, rises up before them, and, as he was unable to contain his wrath, he looked back, with a fierce expression (on his face) at the Sigean shore (i.e. the promontory of Sigeum to the south-west of Troy) and the ships (drawn up) on the beach, and, pointing his hands (at them), he says, "(It is) in front of these vessels, by Jupiter, (that) I plead my case, and Ulysses is opposing me! And yet, he did not hesitate to give way to Hector's blazing (torches), which I resisted, (and) which I drove away from yonder fleet. But then it is safer to contend with lying words than to fight with fists, but (it is) not easy for me to speak, nor is it easy for him to act: and I am as strong in the stern conflicts of the battle-line as he is strong in talking. 

"I do not think, however, that I need to mention my deeds to you, Pelasgians (i.e. Greeks); for you have seen (them); let Ulysses tell (you) of his (deeds), which he carries out without witness, (and) of which only night is aware! I admit that the prize I am seeking (is) a great (one), but, (in) vying (with me), he detracts from the honour (of it); it is no great honour for Ajax to gain it, however great it may be, (if) Ulysses has aspired (to it); he has already won a prize now in this contest, because, when he is defeated, he can say that he has fought it out with me.  

"And I, (even) if the merit in my (case) were in doubt, should (still) excel in my noble birth, (being) the son of Telamon, (he) who, under brave Hercules, took the walls of Troy, and sailed to the shores of Colchis (i.e. the land to the south-east of the Black Sea, where the Golden Fleece was located) in the ship from Pagasae (i.e. the port in Thessaly where 'The Argo' was built and from where the Argonauts set sail); his (i.e. Telamon's) father is Aeacus, (he) who delivers justice among the dead in that region (i.e. Hades) where Sisyphus, the son of Aeolus, rolls his heavy stone; highest Jupiter recognises Aeacus and acknowledges (him) to be his son: so, Ajax (is) third (in line of descent) from Jupiter. Yet even this ancestry would not advance my cause, Achaeans, if I did not share it with the mighty Achilles: he was my cousin, I seek my cousin's (weapons)! Why should you (i.e. Ulysses), born from the bloodline of Sisyphus (n.b. according to one account, Ulysses was the son of Sisyphus, not Laërtes) and just like him in your deceit and trickery, intrude the names of that alien race in (the affairs of) the descendants of Aeacus?

"Am I to be denied this armour because I came to arms first and without anyone beckoning (me), and will he be thought the better (man), who took up arms last and withdrew from the campaign under the pretence of madness, until the son of Nauplius (i.e. Palamedes), shrewder than he, but not to his own advantage, exposed the fabrications of his cowardly plan, and dragged (him forth) to the arms (he had) shirked? Surely he may not take up the best (arms), because he was unwilling to take up any? And surely I shall not be without honour and not exhibit my cousin's gifts to the world, because I (was) the first to (confront) the dangers? 

"Now, if only that madness had been either real or believed, and that companion of ours had never come to the Phrygian (i.e. Trojan) fortifications to incite (us to do) wrong! (Then) Lemnos would not be holding you, the son of Poeas (i.e. Philoctetes), landed (there) to our shame! (You are the one) who, they say, (while) hidden in forest caves, now moves the (very) rocks by your groans, and brings down upon (the head of) Laërtes' son the curses which he deserves, (n.b. after Philoctetes had been bitten by a snake, the Greeks abandoned him on the isle of Lemnos on Ulysses' advice), (and) these curses, if there be any gods, (shall) not (be) in vain. And now, alas, that (man) (i.e. Philoctetes), sworn to (fight) in the same war as ourselves, and one of our chieftains, whom the shafts of Hercules own as his heir, (is) broken by disease and hunger, and, clothed and fed by the birds, he employs the arrows, intended by the fates for the Trojans, in shooting at the birds. Yet, he is (still) alive, because he did not accompany Ulysses (any further); luckless Palamedes would have preferred to have been left behind also: he would be living, or, at least, he would have won a shameless death, (but) that man over there, recalling all too unhappily the exposure of his madness, falsely accused him of betraying the Danaan (i.e. Greek) cause, and he proved the false accusation by revealing the gold, which he had already planted (there). So, by banishment (i.e. in the case of Philoctetes) or by death (i.e. in the case of Palamedes, who was stoned to death by the Greeks for his supposed treachery), he has stolen away strength from the Achaeans: thus Ulysses fights, thus (Ulysses) should be feared!

"Though he may surpass even trusty Nestor in eloquence, yet it will not come to pass that I should believe that his desertion of Nestor was anything (but) a crime; when he, slowed down by an injury to his horse, and weary with old age (as he was), implored Ulysses' (help), he was betrayed by his comrade; the son of Tydeus (i.e. Diomedes) is well aware that I have not invented this charge, and he repeatedly called (him) by name, (and) rebuked (him), and reproached his cowardly friend for his flight. The gods look down upon (the affairs) of mortals with just eyes! Look, he needs help who did not bring (any), and, as he had abandoned (his comrade), so he would have been forsaken: he, himself, had enunciated his own rule. He shouts out to his comrades: I approach, and see (him) trembling and pale with fear, and alarmed at his impending death. I set before (him) the mass of my shield, and covered (him) as he lay (there), and I saved his cowardly life - (though) there is little enough (cause) for praise in that. If you persist in this contest, let us return to that spot: revisit the enemy, and your wound, and your usual cowardice, and hide under my shield and contend with me under it! Yet, after I had rescued (him), he, whose wounds had not granted him the strength to stand, took to flight, not slowed by any injury at all.

"Hector approaches and leads gods (i.e. Apollo) with him into battle, and, when he rushes (onwards), not only you are terrified, Ulysses, but brave (men) too: he brings so much fear. As he was exulting in the success of his bloody slaughter, I cast him to the ground with a huge weight (hurled) from afar. When he demanded (a man) with whom he might meet (in single combat), I alone stood up to him: Achaeans, you prayed that the lot (might fall on) me, and your prayers prevailed. Should you ask about the outcome of the fight, (I can say that) I was not overcome by him. Behold, the Trojans bring forth fire and sword, and Jupiter (too) against the Danaan fleet: where now (is) the eloquent Ulysses? I certainly protected a thousand ships with my breast, (thus saving) the hope of your return: in return for all these ships, grant (me) the armour! But if I may be permitted to speak the truth, a greater honour is sought by them than by me, and my glory is linked (to them), and Ajax is sought by the armour, not the armour by Ajax.

"Let the man from Ithaca (i.e. Ulysses), compare the (killing of) Rhesus and of the unwarlike Dolon with the these (deeds), and also his capture of Priam's son, Helenus, and his theft of the image of Pallas (i.e. the Palladium): nothing (was) performed in daylight, nothing (was performed) in the absence of Diomedes; if ever you grant yonder armour for such mean services, divide (it up), and let Diomedes have the greater share of it.

"Yet, what (profit is there in) this (armour) for the Ithacan, who (always) undertakes things in secret, (and) who (is) always unarmed, and deceives the unsuspecting enemy with his tricks? The very gleam of the helmet, radiant with shining gold, will reveal his places of ambush and show (where he is) lying hidden: nor will the Dulichian's (i.e. Ulysses', the epithet being taken from Dulichium, an unidentified small island near to Ithaca) head beneath Achilles' helmet bear so great a weight, and the spear-shaft from Pelion (i.e. a mountain in Thessaly) cannot but be heavy and burdensome for arms (so) unused to war, nor will that shield, engraved with an image of the vast world, fit that cowardly left(-arm), born (as it was) for trickery: (you) perverse (man), why do you seek a gift that will cripple you? And, if some error of the Achaean people gives it to you, it will be the cause of you being despoiled, and not being feared, by the enemy, and that flight, in which alone you excel all others, you most cowardly (of men), would (soon) become a laggardly (one) in your (case), (as you would be) dragging so great a weight of armour. Add that that shield of yours, having experienced battle so rarely, is undamaged; for mine, which shows the evidence of countless wounds, (caused) by fending off spear(-thrusts), a new (one) must be found to take its place.

"Finally, - (for) what is the use of words? - let us be seen in action! Let the valiant warrior's armour be dispatched into the midst of the enemy: order (it) to be recovered from there, and equip the retriever with what he has retrieved!"

Ll. 123-381.  The debate over Achilles' armour: Ulysses speaks.

The son of Telamon (i.e. Ajax) had finished, and the applause of the rank and file followed his final (words), until the heroic son of Laërtes stood up, and, having fixed his eyes on the ground for a while, he raised (them) up in the direction of the chieftains, and loosened his lips for his awaited speech, nor was grace lacking in his eloquent words.

"If my wishes, and yours, Pelasgians, had prevailed, the master of so great a contest would not be in doubt, and you would (now) have your armour, Achilles, (and) we (would still have) you, but, since an unjust fate has denied him (both) to me and to you," - and (here) he wiped his eyes with his hand, as though he were shedding tears at the same time - "who can better succeed the great Achilles than (the man) through whom Achilles joined the Danaans (in the first place)? Only, do not let it help him (i.e. Ajax) that he seems (as) dim-witted as he is, nor let it harm my (case) that my ingenuity has always been of benefit to you, Achaeans, and let this eloquence of mine, if such it be, which has spoken (so) often on your behalf, (and) now (speaks) for its master, be free from envy; let no man reject his own talents.

"(And) now, (as to) race and ancestors, and (deeds) which we have not achieved ourselves, I can hardly call these (things) mine, but actually, since Ajax has recalled that he is Jupiter's great-grandson, Jupiter is the founder of my bloodline also, and I am distant from him to the same degree: for Laërtes is my father, Arcesius is the former's (i.e. Laërtes') and Jupiter is the latter's (i.e. Arcesius'), nor is there a single banished criminal amongst them (n.b. Telamon, Ajax's father and Peleus, Ajax's uncle and Achilles' father, had been exiled from Aegina for killing their half-brother, Phocus); also, Cyllenius (i.e. Mercury, who was born on Mount Cyllene in Arcadia) is a second (source of) nobility for me, added through my mother (i.e. Anticleia, the daughter of Mercury's son, Autolycus): (so) there is a god in both my parents. But I do not claim the armour lying (there), because I am nobler through my mother's birth, or because my father is guiltless of a brother's blood: judge the case on its merits, provided that no credit should be given to Ajax because Telamon and Peleus were brothers, and let not line of descent, but respect for ability, be the focus of your inquiry in (making) this award! But if the next (of kin) and the nearest heir are being sought, (then) Peleus is the father, and Pyrrhus is his son: what (then is) the position of Ajax? The (armour) might be taken to Phthia (i.e. a city in Thessaly, ruled by Peleus) or to Scyros (i.e. an Aegean island off the coast of Euboea, ruled by Pyrrhus)! Teucer (i.e. Ajax's  half-brother) is no less Achilles' cousin than he is: yet, he doesn't ask for the armour, does he? (And,) if he did ask for (it), he wouldn't get it, would he?

"So, since the contest is merely about achievements, I have done more (things) than (those) which it is easy for me to recount in words, but I shall be led by the order of events.

"His (i.e. Achilles') mother, the daughter of Nereus (i.e. Thetis), foreseeing his coming death, conceals her son by (a change of) attire, and the deceptiveness of the clothes (he had) put on fooled everyone, amongst whom (was) Ajax. Amongst articles bought by women, I inserted some arms that would stir the spirit of a man, and the hero had still not discarded his girl's clothing when, as he was holding a shield and spear, I said, 'Son of a goddess, Pergama, doomed to be destroyed, is saving itself for you! Why do you hesitate to destroy mighty Troy?' I put my hand on (him), and sent the brave (man) forth to (perform) brave (deeds).

"So, his deeds belong to me: (it was) I (that) subdued the warring Telephus (i.e. the son of Hercules, and king of Mysia) with my spear, and healed (him with it), (when he had been) overcome and was begging (for help); it is through me that Thebes (i.e. a city in Mysia) fell; believe me, I took Lesbos, Tenedos (i.e. both islands in the Aegean), and the cities of Apollo, Chryse and Cilla (i.e. both towns in the Troad), and Scyros (i.e. a town in Phrygia) as well; think (too) about the walls of Lyrnessus (i.e. a town in the Troad, near to Mount Ida), shaken by my right(-hand), and thrown down to the ground, and, though I shall say nothing (about) other (cities), I certainly did give (you the man) who was able to destroy fierce Hector: (yes, it is) through me that glorious Hector lies low. I claim these arms for those arms by which Achilles was revealed: (what) I gave (to him, when he was) alive, I am reclaiming after his death.

"When the grief of one man (i.e. Menelaüs) came upon all the Danaans and a thousand ships gathered at Euboean Aulis, (and,) although the fleet waited for a long time, there were either no winds or contrary (winds). and a cruel oracle orders Agamemnon to sacrifice his innocent daughter (i.e. Iphigenia) to pitiless Diana. The father says no to this, and is angry with the gods themselves, and is still a father, even in a king. I, with my skill in words, turned a father's gentleness towards the common good. Now, I had, indeed, to argue a difficult case before - I confess (it) and may the son of Atreus (i.e. Agamemnon) pardon my confession - a partial  judge. But the people's good and his brother, and the important (duties) of the command (which had been) given (to him), moves him, so that he weighs (the need for) glory against (the claims of) blood. I am then sent to the mother (i.e. Clytemnestra), who could not be persuaded, but could be deceived by cunning: if Telamon's son (i.e. Ajax) had gone there, our sails would still be deprived of their winds. I am also sent (as) a bold envoy to the citadel of Ilium, and I saw and entered the council-chamber of lofty Troy - it was still then full of heroes - (and,) undaunted, I championed the common cause which the (whole of) Greece had charged me with, and I accuse Paris, and demand the return of Helen and the plunder (he had taken), and stir (the conscience of) Priam and Antenor (i.e. a Trojan elder), at one with Priam. But Paris, and his brothers, and those had plundered with him, could scarcely keep their impious hands (off me) - (all) this you know, Menelaüs - and that was the first day of peril to me and yourself.  

"It would take a long time (for me) to recount what I have usefully accomplished, by stratagem and by deed, during the time of this protracted war. After the first clash of arms, the enemy kept themselves within the walls of the city for a long time, nor was there any opportunity for open warfare; at last, in the tenth year, we have fought: meanwhile, what have you been doing, (you) (i.e. Ajax), who knows about nothing but battles? What use were you? Now, should you ask (what) I have been doing, I lay snares for the enemy, I surround our fortifications with a ditch, I encourage our allies to bear the tedium of a long campaign with patience of mind, I show how we can be supplied with food and arms, I am sent wherever necessity demands.

"Look, the King, deceived by a dream in his sleep, is ordering (us) at Jupiter's command, to give up the concern (that we had) at the beginning of the war; he can justify his words by this authority: let Ajax prevent it and demand that Pergama be destroyed, and let him fight as (only) he can (do)! Why does he not try to stop (those who are) about to go home? Why does he not take up his arms, (and) give (a lead) which the fickle mob can follow? This would not be too much (to ask of one) who never speaks but to boast. (But) what (of the fact) that he is fleeing himself? I saw (you), and was ashamed to see (it), when you showed your back and began to prepare your dishonourable sails; instantly, I shouted, 'What are you doing? What madness has urged (you) to forsake Troy, now that is on the point of capture! And what can you take home (with you) after ten years but your disgrace?' With such words, and others, in which my very anguish made (me) fluent, I turned (men) away from flight and led (them) back from the ships. The son of Atreus (i.e. Agamemnon) summons the allies, shaking with fear (as they were): even then, the son of Telamon (i.e. Ajax) does not dare to utter anything, while even Thersites (i.e. an insubordinate Greek from the rank and file) had dared to attack the kings with insolent words, (though) not without punishment from me! I rise to my feet and exhort my frightened countrymen to (confront) the enemy, and restore their lost courage with my words. From this time (onwards), however bravely that man over there may be seen to have performed, it is (due to) me, who dragged (him) back as he was turning to flight.

"In short, which of the Danaans praises (you) or seeks (you) (i.e. Ajax) out? Yet, the son of Tydeus (i.e. Diomedes) shares what he does with me, backs me up, and always trusts in his companion, Ulysses. It is (surely) something that one (man) is singled out by Diomedes from so many thousands of Greeks! No (drawing of) lots forced me to go: yet, scorning the perils both of the night and of the enemy, I slew Dolon of the Phrygian race, who had ventured the same (things) as we had (i.e. he was spying on the Greeks on behalf of the Trojans), but not before I had forced (him) to tell (me) everything, and I had learned what perfidious Troy was planning. I had discovered everything, and nothing had been left (me) to espy, and I could then have turned back (to receive) the glory (which had been) promised (me): (but,) not content with that, I sought out the tents of Rhesus (i.e. a Thracian king, concerning whose horses an oracle had said that Troy would never be taken if they drank from the River Xanthus), and slew him and his companions in their own camp (i.e. before their horses could reach the Xanthus). And so, having achieved (as) a victor what I had vowed (to do), I ride in his captured chariot, in imitation of a joyful triumphal procession. (Well then,) deny me the armour (of Achilles,) whose horses my enemy (i.e. Dolon) had demanded (as) a reward for his night's work; even Ajax had been more generous (than that). 

"Why should I mention the ranks of the Lycian Sarpedon, cut to pieces by my sword? Amid much blood, I cast down Coeranos, the son of Iphitus, and Alastor and Chromius, Alcander and Halius, and Noëmon and Prytanis, and I delivered to their destruction Thöon, together with Chersidamas, and Charopes and Ennomos, driven by inexorable fate, and (those) who (were) less well-known fell at my hand under the walls of the city. (Fellow-)citizens, I too have wounds, honourable by their very location; (but) do not believe empty words, look and see!" and he pulled open his tunic with his hand, and says, "Here is my breast, always busy in your affairs! But the son of Telamon has shed no blood for his comrades in all these years, and his body is without a wound!

"But what does it matter, if he declares that he took up arms on behalf of the Pelasgian ships against both the Trojans and Jupiter? I grant that he did - for it is not my (practice) to disparage beneficial actions grudgingly - , but do not let him claim alone the credit that (should be) shared, and let him grant some to you also. (For it was) the son of Actor (i.e. Patroclus), shielded beneath the guise of Achilles, (who) pushed back the Trojans from the ships, which were on the point of going up in flames, together with their defender (i.e. Ajax). Forgetful of the King (i.e. Agamemnon), and of the chieftains, and of me, (and) ninth to volunteer, and preferred in favour of the lot, he even thinks that he alone dared to meet the weapons of Hector. But, yet, what was the outcome of your struggle, (O) most valiant (of men)? Hector retreats without being harmed by any wound.

"Wretched as I am, with how much sorrow I am forced to recall that time when Achilles, the defence of the Greeks, fell! (Yet,) tears, grief and fear did not prevent me from lifting his body high up from the ground: on these shoulders, on these shoulders I say, I carried the body of Achilles, together with his armour, which I am now striving to bear away once more. I have the strength to manage such a burden, and I certainly have the mind to understand its worth: (was it) really for this reason that his sea-born mother (i.e. Thetis) was (so) sollicitous for her son that the gifts of heaven (and) the work of such great artistry should adorn a rude and witless soldier? For he (i.e. Ajax) knows nothing of the shield's engraving, and the Ocean, the earth, and the stars in the lofty sky, and the Pleiades, and the Hyades, and the Bear, immune from the waters, and the different planets, and the gleaming sword of Orion. He demands to take up armour which he does not understand.

"What (of the fact) that he accuses me of shirking the harsh duties of war, (and) of arriving late at a labour (already) begun, and does he not understand that he is reviling great-hearted Achilles as well? If you call (it) a crime to have pretended, we both pretended; if delay is a fault, I came earlier than he (did). A fond wife (i.e. Penelope) detained me, and a fond mother (i.e. Thetis) Achilles, and the first moments were given to them, and all the rest to you: I do not fear such an accusation, even if I cannot repel (it), when it is shared with so great a man: yet, (he was) revealed by Ulysses' cunning, but (he was) not (revealed) by (that) of Ajax.

"Let us not marvel that he pours out against me the invective of his foolish tongue, (since) he reproaches you also with (things) worthy of shame. Was it a disgrace for me to accuse Palamedes on a false charge, but proper for you to condemn (him)? But the son of Nauplias (i.e. Palamedes) could not refute so great, and so manifest, a crime, nor did you (only) hear the charges (brought) against him: you saw (it), and in the money his villainy was exposed.

"Nor do I deserve to be on trial, because Vulcan's Lemnos is holding the son of Poeas (i.e. Philoctetes) - defend your own action! for you agreed (to it) - but I shall not deny that I persuaded (him) to withdraw from the hardships of the war and the journey, and to try to relieve his dreadful agonies in rest. He agreed, and he (still) lives! Not only was this opinion given in good faith, but it also turned out well, although it was enough that it was given in good faith. Since our seers demand his (presence), for the destruction of Pergama, do not entrust me (to fetch him)! The Simois will flow backwards, Ida will stand leafless, Achaea will promise aid to Troy, and my mind will be idle on behalf of your interests, before the wit of stupid Ajax would benefit the Danaans. Although you are hostile to our king, and to our companions, and to me as well, (and,) although you execrate (me) and heap endless curses on my head, and, in your pain, you long that I should happen to be given into your (power), and to drink my blood, (and) that an opportunity may come to you (to deal) with me, as I had (to deal) with you, yet I would (still) go to you and strive to bring (you) back with me. And so, should Fortune favour (me), I should gain possession of your arrows, as I got possession of the Dardanian seer (i.e. Helenus), whom I captured, just as I revealed the oracles of the gods and fates of Troy, (and) just as I stole from the midst of the enemy, the remote image of Phrygian Minerva (i.e. the Palladium). And does Ajax (really) compare himself to me?

"Surely the fates prevented the capture of Troy without it: where (now) is valiant Ajax? Where are the great warrior's words? Why, then, are you afraid? Why does Ulysses dare to go beyond the sentinels and brave the night, and to enter not only the walls of Troy, but even its lofty citadel, through sharp swords, to snatch the goddess from her shrine, and bear (her) captive though the enemy (ranks)? If I had not done it, the son of Telamon (i.e. Ajax) would have carried the seven-layered bull's hide (shield) on his left(-arm) in vain. That night the victory over Troy was procured by me: I defeated Pergama then, when I made its conquest possible.

"Stop pointing out to us, by your looks and mutterings that the son of Tydeus (i.e. Diomedes) (was) my (partner): he has his share of praise in that! Nor were you alone, when you held up your shield in defence of the allied ships: you had a throng of companions; I had (but) one. If he did not know that a fighter is worth less than a wise (man), and that the prize was not due (merely) to a dauntless right(-hand), he himself would also be seeking it; the lesser Ajax (i.e. the son of Oileus) would (also) seek (it), and (so would) the warlike Eurypylus, son of the renowned Andraemon, and no less (so), Idomeneus, and Meriones, born of the same nation, (and) the brother of the elder son of Atreus would seek (it too): for in fact (these men), stout of hand, and in no way second to me in battle, have yielded to my counsels. Your right(-hand) is useful in war; it is your thought-process which needs my guidance; you have strength without intelligence; I have a concern for the future. The son of Atreus chooses the time for fighting with me; you only reveal your body, I my mind (also), and by as much as he who steers the boat surpasses the function of the oarsman, and by as much as the general (is) greater than the soldier, so I surpass you; and indeed in our body the head is more powerful than the hand: the vigour of the whole (lies) within it.

"But you, O chieftains, grant this prize to your sentry, for the care of so many years which he has passed with an anxious mind, grant (me) this honour as recompense for my services: now my labour is at an end; I have removed the obstructing fates, and, by making (it) possible to take lofty Pergama, I have taken (her). By our common hopes, and (by) Troy's walls, doomed to fall, and by the gods, which I recently took from the enemy, (and) by whatever else is left which needs to be done with wisdom, I pray that, if something bold and hazardous still needs to be attempted, (and,) if you think that something in relation to the fate of Troy remains (to be done), you may remember me! Or, if you do not give these arms to me, give them to her!" - and he points to the fateful statue of Minerva. 

Ll. 382-398.  The death of Ajax.

The company of chieftains was moved, and proved by their decision what eloquence can do, and the eloquent (man) bore off the brave man's armour. (But he) who had so often withstood Hector alone, and sword and flames and Jupiter (as well), could not withstand mere anger, and passion conquered the invincible hero: he draws his sword, and shouts "This, at least, is mine! Or does Ulysses claim this for himself as well? This I must (now) employ against myself, and (this sword,) which has (so) often been drenched in Phrygian blood, will now be drenched in its master's gore, lest any (man) but Ajax can (ever) conquer Ajax." 

He spoke, and plunged his lethal sword (deep) into his chest, which until then had never suffered a wound, which a sword had caused. No hand was strong enough to extract the the weapon (he had) implanted: the blood, itself, expelled (it), and the blood-stained ground bore a purple flower from the green turf, which had first sprung from the wound of the Oebalian (i.e. Spartan) (boy) (i.e. Hyacinthus); in the centre of the petals letters are inscribed, common to the boy and to the hero, the one (being) a name (i.e. AIAS), and the other a cry of woe (i.e. AI, AI).

Ll. 399-428.  The fall of Troy.

The victor (i.e. Ulysses) sets sail for the country of (Queen) Hypsipyle (i.e. Lemnos) and (her father,) the famous Thoas, a land notorious among the ancients for the murder (by women) of their husbands, to bring back those arrows, the weapons of the Tirynthian (hero) (i.e. Hercules). When he had returned them to the Greeks, accompanied by their master (i.e. Philoctetes), the final hand was at last dealt in the long drawn-out war. Troy falls, and Priam at the same time! The unhappy wife of Priam (i.e. Hecuba) lost her human form after everything else, and alarmed the alien breezes, (in the place) where the long Hellespont is enclosed within a narrow (strait), with a strange (kind of) barking (i.e. she is transformed into Maera, the maddened black bitch of Hecate).

Ilium burned, and the flames had not yet died down, and Jupiter's altar was soaking up old Priam's (stream of) blood, and Phoebus' chief priestess (i.e. Cassandra), as she was being dragged along by her hair, stretched out her hand-palms to the skies in despair; the victorious Greeks drag away the Dardanian (i.e. Trojan) women (as) enviable prizes, as they were thronging the burning temples and embracing the statues of their nation's gods while they (still) could; Astyanax is hurled from that (very) tower, from where he often used to see his father (i.e. Hector), shown (to him) by his mother (i.e. Andromache) fighting on his behalf and protecting his ancestral kingdom.

Now the North Wind urges (them on) their way, and their sails, moved by a favourable breeze, resound: the sailors are told to make use of the winds; the Trojan women cry out, "Farewell! Troy; we are being ravished." They kiss their native earth and abandon their smoking houses. Hecuba, found in the midst of her son's tombs, (is) the last to board ship - (O) pitiable sight! (There,) as she clung to their graves and kissed their bones, the hands of Dulichian (Ulysses) dragged (her) away; yet, she emptied one (sepulchre) and carried away with her Hector's emptied ashes on her breast; (and) on Hector's grave she left (but) meagre offerings to the dead, the grey hair from her head, her hair and her tears.

Ll. 429-480.  The deaths of Polydorus and Polyxena. 

There is a country opposite Phrygia, where Troy was, inhabited by the men of Bistonia (i.e. a people of Thrace): Polymestor's wealthy court was there, to which your father (i.e. Priam) secretly sent you, Polydorus, to be reared, and he withdrew you from Phrygian warfare; (this would have been) a wise plan, if he had not sent you great riches, as a reward for a criminal and a incitement to a greedy mind. When the fortunes of the Phrygians waned, the impious king of the Thracians (i.e. Polymestor) takes up his sword and stabbed his foster-son in the throat, and threw his lifeless (body) from a cliff into the waves beneath, as though murder could be done away by a corpse. 

The son of Atreus (i.e. Agamemnon) had moored his fleet on a Thracian beach, until the sea had calmed and the wind was kinder: here suddenly (the ghost of) Achilles rises from the wide gaping earth, as large as he used to be when he was alive, and he was just like he was on that day, when he fiercely challenged the unjust Agamemnon with his sword, and he cries, "You depart (then), Achaeans, forgetting me, and your regard for my courage is buried with me! Do not let it happen! Let the sacrifice of Polyxena appease Achilles' shade, so that my tomb is not without honour!"

He spoke, and, as his comrades obeyed the pitiless ghost, the maid, who was now almost her only comfort, was torn from her mother's breast, and ill-fated but braver than a woman (as she was), is led to the burial mound and becomes a victim of the dreadful funeral-pyre. When she, remembering who she was, was conveyed to the cruel altar, and she knew that the savage rites were being prepared for her, when she saw Neoptolemus (i.e. the son of Achilles) standing (there), holding his sword, and fixing his eyes on her face, she said, "Now, shed noble blood. Nothing is stopping (you); but may you bury your sword in my throat or breast," and she uncovered both her throat and her breast. "Polyxena certainly has no wish to be a slave to any (man). No god will be appeased by such a rite as this (one)! I only wish that my death could be hidden from my mother: my mother gets in the way of, and lessens my joy in death, though it is not my death, but my mother's living (that is so) terrible. Now, if what I am seeking is lawful, may you stand back, lest I may be prevented from going to the Stygian shades, and take the hands of man from my virgin flesh! My blood, freely given, will be more acceptable to him, whoever he is, whom you are trying to appease by my slaughter. But, if the last words of my mouth will move any (of you) - the daughter of King Priam is asking you, not a prisoner - , return my body to my mother without ransom, and let her pay for the sad privilege of my burial not with gold, but with tears! Then, when she could, she paid in gold as well."
 
She finished speaking, and and the people could not hold back the tears, which she held back; (then,) the priest, himself, also weeping, and against his will, pierced the breast (which she had) offered up with the sword (which he had) driven into (it). As her knees gave way, she sank to the ground, but she maintained her fearless look to the very last moment; even then, when she fell, she was careful to cover up the parts which should be kept hidden, and (thus) to preserve the honour of her chaste modesty.

Ll. 481-575.  Hecuba's lament and transformation into a dog.

The women of Troy take up (her body) and count up the lamented children of Priam, and (reckon) how much blood one household has surrendered; and they weep for you, maiden, and for you, O until recently called royal wife (and) royal parent, the image of flourishing Asia, now in evil circumstances, even for a hostage, whom victorious Ulysses would not have wanted to be his, but for (the fact) that you had given birth to Hector: Hector could hardly have imagined (such) a master for his mother! Embracing the body (now) empty of so brave a spirit, she sheds tears for her too that she had shed so often for her country, her sons and her husband; she pours tears over her wound, and covers her lips with kisses and beats her breast in the customary fashion; then plucking at her white hair, caked with blood, but tearing even more at her breast, she said as follows:

"Child - for what (else) is left (to me)? - your mother's last (source of) grief, you lie (there), child, and I see your wound (as) my wound: you also have your wound, so that I should not lose any more of my children without bloodshed; and, because you were a woman, I thought you safe from the sword: yet, you, a woman, died by the sword, and that same Achilles, the destroyer of Troy and the bereaver of my (children), has killed so many of your brothers, and you in the same way; yet, when he fell to the arrows of Paris and Phoebus, I said, 'Now surely Achilles is no longer to be feared': yet even then, I (still) needed to fear (him); his very ashes in the tomb are hostile to our race; we even feel his enmity in the grave: I have been fertile for the grandson of Aeacus (i.e. Achilles)! Mighty Ilium lies (in the dust), and in a grievous happening our ruined state is ended, but still it is ended; Pergama remains only in me. My grief is still in progress: a short time ago, (I was) endowed with the greatest possessions, and with so many descendants, and sons, and daughters-in-law, and a husband; now, I am dragged off, an exile, destitute, torn from the tombs of my (children), (as) a prize for Penelope (i.e. the wife of Ulysses), who, (while) pointing me out to the women of Ithaca, as I am spinning the wool (she has) given (me), will say, 'This is the famous mother of Hector, this is the wife of Priam.' Now, you (Polyxena), after so many have been lost, (you) who alone were able to comfort your mother's grief, have been sacrificed on an enemy's funeral-pyre! I have borne offerings to the enemy dead! Why do I remain (so) unyielding? Or why do I linger (here)? Why do you preserve me (in) my wrinkled old-age? Why, (you) cruel gods, do you prolong an old woman's life? Who would have thought that Priam could be happy, after Pergama was said to have been demolished? (Yet,) he is happy in his death, nor did he see you killed, my daughter, and he left his life and his kingdom at the same time. But, can I imagine that (you,) a royal maiden will be honoured with funeral rites, and that your body will be buried in our ancestral tombs? That is not the fortune of our house: your mother's tears will be your funeral gift, and draughts of foreign sand! We have lost everything: there remains (one reason) why I should continue to live for a short time, his mother's dearest child, now an only (one), Polydorus, once the youngest of my male stock, sent to these shores, to the king of (Mount) Ismarus (i.e. Polymestor). (But) meanwhile why do I delay washing with water your cruel wounds and your face bespattered with inexorable blood?"

She spoke, and made her way to the shore with the (feeble) steps of an old woman, tearing at her white hair (as she went). "Give (me) an urn, women of Troy!" (Thus) spoke the unhappy (woman), (wanting) to draw the flowing water: (there) she sees the body of Polydorus, thrown on to the beach, and the enormous wounds, inflicted by the Thracian spears; the Trojan women cry out, (but) she was dumb with grief, and her very grief obliterates both her power of speech and the tears (which were) welling up inside (her), and she stands stiff, and at one moment she fixes her gaze on the ground opposite, and at another she lifts her grim face to the sky. Now, she sees the face of her prostrate son, (and) now his wounds, especially his wounds, and her anger is aroused and grows in strength. Soon, it blazed forth, as though she were still a queen: she was determined to avenge (him), and her whole (mind) is (filled) with thoughts of punishment, and, like a lioness is maddened by the theft of an unweaned cub, and she follows her enemy, whom she cannot see, (and) the traces of his footsteps (which she has) discovered, so Hecuba, when she has mixed her anger with grief, not forgetting her rage, but forgetting her age, makes her way to Polymestor, the perpetrator of that dreadful murder, and seeks an interview (with him); for (she says) that she wishes to reveal to him a secret (hoard of) gold, abandoned (in the Troad), which she wished to restore to her son. 

The Odrysian (i.e. the Thessalian Polymestor) believed (her) and, accustomed (as he was) to a love of plunder, he secretly goes (with her): then, with smooth words, he cunningly said (to her), "Do not delay, Hecuba; give (me) the gift to your son! It will all be his, what you give and what you gave previously; I swear (it) by the gods." Grimly she looks at (him) as he speaks and swears his false (oath), and her seething anger boils over, and then she calls upon her train of captive women to attack (him), and she drives her finger(-nails) into his treacherous eyes and tears his eye(-balls) from their sockets - anger makes (her) strong - and she dips her hands and drinks, not (from) his eyes, sullied (as they are) with his guilty blood - for nothing (of them) remains - (but from) the holes (where) his eyes (had been).

The Thracian people, enraged by their king's disastrous fate, begin to attack the Trojan women by hurling spears and rocks (at them), but she chases the stones (they) threw with bites and a harsh growling (sound), and, as she prepares her jaws for words, she barked as she tried to speak: the place is still there, and takes its name (i.e. Cynossema, the Monument of the Bitch) from this, and, remembering her former longtime sufferings, she howls even now over the Sithonian (i.e. Thessalian) fields. Her misfortune moved the Trojans and their enemies, the Pelasgians, and all the gods as well, yes, all (of them), so that even Jupiter's consort and sister (i.e. Juno) said that Hecuba did not deserve such a fate. 

Ll. 576-622.  Aurora and the Memnonides.

Aurora (i.e. the Goddess of the Morning) had no time to be moved by the disasters and the fall of Troy and Hecuba, although she had supported their arms. A closer sorrow and a private grief torments the goddess, the loss of (her son), Memnon, whom she, his saffron-coloured mother, had seen being slain by Achilles' spear; she saw (it), and that colour, with which the time of the early morning is reddened, went pale, and the sky was covered in cloud. Now, his mother could not bear to look at his body, (which had been) placed on the top of the (funeral) fire, but, just as she was, with her hair dishevelled, she did not scorn to fall on her knees before mighty Jupiter, and she added these words to her tears:

"(I am) the least of all (those beings) whom the golden heavens sustain - for temples (dedicated) to me are the rarest in all the world - , yet I have come (as) a goddess, not that you may grant me sanctuaries, and sacrificial days, and altars due to be lit with fire; yet, if you consider how much I, (as) a woman, do for you at the time when I guard the borders of night at each new dawn, you might think I should be given some reward; but it is not my concern, nor (is it) my present purpose, to demand well-deserved honours for Aurora; I come (here), bereft of my (son), Memnon, who bore arms for his uncle (i.e. Priam), bravely (but) in vain, and was slain by the valiant Achilles - (for) so you willed (it to happen). Grant him, I beg (you), some (kind of) honour (as) a solace for his death, (O) great ruler of the gods, and lighten a mother's wounds!" Jupiter nodded in agreement, while Memnon's steep pyre collapsed in tall flames, and columns of black smoke darkened the light of day, just like when the Water-Nymph breathes out mist from the river, nor is the sunlight admitted from beneath (it); dark ash flies (upwards), and, gathering into a ball, it solidifies and takes shape, and draws heat and life from the fire - its own lightness gave (it) wings - and (something) like a bird at first, and then a real bird, it clapped its wings, (and) countless sisters, who had the same source of birth, made similar sounds. Three times they encircle the pyre, and three times their concordant clamour rises into the air, (but) on the fourth flight the flock divides; then, two fierce bands wage war from different sides, and cultivate their rage through their beaks and hooked talons, and they tire their wings and breasts in the struggle, and (at last) their bodies, kin to the buried ashes, fall as funeral offerings, and they remember that were sprung from a valiant warrior.

The source gives his name to these suddenly (created) birds: from him (they are) called the Memnonides (i.e. the birds sprung from Memnon's ashes, fated to re-enact annually the Trojan War as a ritual commemoration of Memnon) (and,) when the sun has passed through its twelve signs, they fight and prepare to die in the manner of their father.

So, (while) it seemed to others worthy of tears that the daughter of Dymas (i.e. Hecuba) was barking (like a dog), Aurora is intent on her own grief, and even now she sheds dutiful tears and distils dew on the whole world.

Ll. 623-629.  Aeneas begins his wanderings. 

Still, the fates do not permit the hopes of Troy also to be overthrown together with her walls: Cytherea's (i.e. Venus') heroic son (i.e. Aeneas) carries off on his shoulders her sacred (icons) and another sacred and venerable burden, (namely) his father (i.e. Anchises). He dutifully chooses that prize, and his (son) Ascanius from all of his riches, and from Antandros (i.e. a seaport in the Troad) he is carried over the sea in his fugitive fleet, and he quits the sinful thresholds of the Thracians, and its soil, drenched (as it is) in the blood of Polydorus, and, (with the help) of advantageous winds and a favourable tide, he comes with his company of friends to the city of Apollo (i.e. on the island of Delos).

Anius (i.e. son of Apollo and king of Delos), by whose rule the people were protected, and by whom, as chief priest Phoebus was duly worshipped, received him both in his temple and in his dwelling, and he showed (him) the city and the famous sanctuary, and the two tree-stumps clung to by Latona as she was giving birth (i.e. to Phoebus/ Apollo and Diana). After incense has been added to the flames, and wine poured on the incense, and the entrails of slaughtered oxen were burned in accordance with custom, they make for the royal palace, and, placed on high embroidered (couches), they receive the gifts of Ceres together with flowing wine. 

Ll. 640-674.  The transformation of Anius' daughters.

Then (says) pious Anchises: "O chosen priest of Phoebus, am I mistaken, or do I recall that you had a son and as many as four daughters, when I first saw this city of yours?"

Shaking his head, bound with its white (sacrificial) fillets, Anius says to him sadly: "You are not wrong, (O) mightiest of heroes; you saw (me), the father of five children, whom now you see almost bereft - such fickleness of fortune can disturb (all) men. For what help to me (is) my absent son (i.e. Andron), whom the land of Andros (i.e. an island in the Cyclades, south-east of Euboea) called by his name, has in place of his father, and who holds the place as his kingdom?  The Delian (god) (i.e. Apollo) has given him (the power of) augury, (and) Liber (i.e. Bacchus) gave my female offspring other gifts, greater than (anything) they could pray for or hope to gain: for at my daughters' touch, everything was turned into corn and liquid wine and olive-oil, and there was rich profit in them. When the son of Atreus (i.e. Agamemnon), the ravager of Troy, learned of this - lest you may think that we also have felt no share at all in your (violent) storm - , (by) using force of arms, he snatches my unwilling (daughters) from their father's bosom, and orders that they should feed the Argive (i.e. Greek) fleet through their celestial gifts. They each flee to wherever they could: Euboea was sought by two daughters, and their brother's Andros by the other two. Troops land and threaten war, unless they are surrendered. Family affection (is) overcome by fear: (and) he gave up for punishment the persons of his kin; and you could forgive the fearful brother: (for) Aeneas (was) not there to defend Andros, nor was Hector, through whom you were to hold out until the tenth year. And now they were preparing the chains for the prisoners' arms: they, stretching forth their arms to the sky, (while they were) still free, cried out, 'Father Bacchus, bring (us) your help!' and the instigator of their gifts brought (them) help, if it can be called help to lose one's (human) form in some strange manner, nor could I discover by what means they lost (it), nor can I tell of (it) now; (but) the end of this misfortune I did observe: they took wing, and were changed into snow-white doves, the birds of your consort, (Anchises)."


Ll. 675-704.  The cup of Alcon.

When they had completed the feast with these and other speeches, the left the table and sought sleep, and, when they rose at dawn, they went to the oracle of Phoebus, who bids (them) to seek their ancient mother and their ancestral shores; the king escorts (them) on their way and gives (them) gifts: to Anchises a sceptre, to Ascanius a cloak and a quiver; (and) to Aeneas a mixing-bowl, which Ismenian (i.e. Theban) Therses, a guest-friend, had once sent him from the Aonian (i.e. Boeotian) coast: Therses had sent it to him, (but) Alcon of Hyle had made (it), and had engraved (it) with a detailed story.

There was a city, and you could pick out its seven gates: these served to (give it) a name, and to tell you what that (place) was; in front of the city funeral rites and tombs, fires and funeral-pyres, and women with streaming hair and bared breasts depict mourning; nymphs are also seen weeping and lamenting their dried-up fountains: bare trees stand stiff and leafless, and goats nibble at the dry gravel.

Look, (here) in the middle of Thebes, he (i.e. Alcon) shows Orion's daughters (i.e. Menippe and Metioche), one giving a wound, not suitable for a woman, to her bared throat, (and) the other stabbing a weapon into her valiant breast, dying on behalf of their people, and (then) being borne through the city in a glorious funeral procession to be cremated among a throng of mourners. Then two youths, whom fame names (as) the Coroni, spring from the virgins' embers, so that their race should not perish, and lead the procession (which is owed) to their mothers' ashes. Such (was) the bronze (bowl) with its gleaming figures, (while) the rim of the mixing-bowl was engraved with golden acanthus(-leaves).

Ll. 705-737.  Aeneas' journey to Sicily.

Thence, remembering that (they,) the Teucrians (i.e. Trojans) derived originally from the blood of Teucer (i.e. an early king of Troy who had come from Crete), they made for Crete, but unable to endure Jupiter's (plague), they leave the (land of) a hundred cities and desire to reach the harbours of Ausonia (i.e. Italy); the wintry storms rage and toss the heroes (around on the surface of the sea), and, having found refuge in the treacherous harbours of the Strophades (i.e. two small islands in the Ionian sea), the harpy Aëllo frightened (them). And now they were carried past the harbours of Dulichium, and Same (i.e. both small islands in the Ionian sea near Ithaca), and the houses of Neritos (i.e. a mountainous island near Ithaca), and Ithaca, the kingdom of the crafty Ulysses: they see Ambracia (i.e. a city in Epirus), (once) fought over by the strife of the gods, beneath the image of the judge turned to stone, (and) which is now renowned for its Apollo of Actium (i.e. a promontory in Epirus, with a temple dedicated to Apollo), and the land of Dodona (i.e. the town in Epirus which was the site of an oracle of Jupiter), which speaks through its oaks, and the harbours of Chaonia (i.e. a region of Epirus), where the sons of the king of the Molossus (i.e. Munichus) escaped the impious flames on the wings (which were) attached (to them). 

Next, they head for the country of the Phaeacians (i.e. the island of Scheria, possibly Corfu), planted with rich orchards, (and) they make for Buthrotos in Epirus, (a city) similar to Troy, and ruled by the Phrygian seer (i.e. Helenus).

Thence, assured of (things) to come, all of which Priam's son, Helenus had predicted in his reliable prophecies, they enter Sicanian (i.e. Sicilian) waters: this land runs down to the sea in three tongues (i.e. promontories), of which Pachynos is turned towards the rainy south winds, Lilybaeum faces the soft western breezes, (and) Peloros looks to the Bears, free of the waves (as they are), and the north wind. Here the Teucrians come, and through its oars and a favourable tide, their fleet attains the beach of Zancle (i.e. Messina) at night: Scylla disturbs the right(-hand) coast (i.e. of the straits of Messina), and restless Charybdis the left(-hand one): the latter swallows, and (then) spews forth, the ships (she has) caught, (while) the former girds her dark belly with savage dogs. She has a maiden's face, and, if the poets' (tales) are not all abandoned (as) fiction, (she), too, (was) once a maiden: many suitors wooed her, but she rejected them, and went to the sea-nymphs - (for) she was loved by the sea-nymphs - , and told (them) of the thwarted desires of these young men.   

Ll. 738-788.  Acis and Galatea. 

Once, while Galatea proffers her hair to be combed, she addresses the following words to her (i.e. Scylla), while repeatedly letting out sighs: "Yet, O maiden, no relentless breed of men is wooing you, and you can reject them, as you are doing, with impunity; but I, whose father is Nereus, (and) to whom the dark-blue Doris gave birth, though I am guarded by a crowd of sisters, am not allowed to escape the love of the Cyclops (i.e. Polyphemus), other than through grief," and tears obstructed the sound of her voice. When the maiden (i.e. Scylla) had wiped these away with her marble(-white) thumb, and had comforted the goddess, she said, "Do tell (me), O dearest (one), and do not hide the cause of your grief - for I am thus worthy of your trust!" The daughter of Nereus (i.e. Galatea) spoke these words to the daughter of Crateis (i.e. Scylla) in reply: "Acis was the son of Faunus and the nymph Symaethis, a great (source of) pleasure to both his father and mother, but even more (so) to me; for he united himself to me alone. (He was) handsome, and, having passed his sixteenth birthday, he had marked his cheeks with a faint down. I (sought) him, (while) the Cyclops (i.e. Polyphemus) endlessly sought me. Nor, if you were to ask, could I say (whether) hatred of him or love of Acis was the stronger (emotion) in me: both were equally (strong). O kindly Venus, how powerful is your rule (over us)! Surely that savage (being), dreaded by the very trees of the forest and who has never been seen by a stranger without punishment, and who scorns mighty Olympus and its gods, (now) feels what love is, and, overcome by his strong desire, he burns (with passion), and forgets his flocks and his caves. And now, Polyphemus, you have a care for your appearance, and now (you are anxious) to please, now you comb your bristling hair with a mattock, now you are pleased to cut your shaggy beard with a sickle, and to gaze at your face in the water, and to compose (your expression). Your love of slaughter, your ferocity, and your gigantic thirst for blood, subside, and the ships come and go in safety.

"Meanwhile, Telemus (i.e. the seer) came to Sicilian (Mount) Aetna, Telemus, the son of Eurymus, whom no (flight of) birds could deceive, approaches the terrible Polyphemus, and said, 'Ulysses will take from you that single eye which you have in the middle of your forehead.' He laughed, and said, 'O (you) most foolish of seers, you are wrong, (for) another (person, a girl,) has already taken (it).' So, he spurns (the one) warning (him)  in vain of the truth, and he either weighs down the shore by his giant tread, or he returns wearily to his dark cave.   

"A wedge-shaped hill, with a long spur, juts out into the ocean - the waves of the sea flow around (it) on both sides: the fierce Cyclops climbed up it, and sat in the middle (of its highest point); his woolly flock, no longer guided (by him), followed. When he had laid at his feet (the trunk of) a pine-tree, which served (him) in the function of a staff, (although it was) fit to bear the rigging of a ship, and he had taken up his panpipes composed of a hundred reeds, the whole mountain felt his pastoral piping sounds, (and) the waves felt (them too), I, hidden by a rock, was lying on the bosom of my (dear) Acis, (and although I was) afar off, I caught the following words in my ears, and, having heard (them), I kept (them) in my mind:
  

Ll. 789-869.  The song of Polyphemus.

" 'Galatea, (you are) whiter than the petals of the snowy privet, more flowery than the meadows, taller than a slim alder, brighter than crystal, friskier than a tender kid, smoother than shells (that are) polished by the constant tide, more welcome than the sun in winter (or) the summer shade, fleeter than a hind, more conspicuous than a tall plane-tree, more sparkling than ice, sweeter than a ripe grape, softer than the plumes of a swan and curdled milk, and, if you do not flee, more lovely than a well-watered garden.

" '(But) the same Galatea (is) wilder than untamed bullocks, harder than seasoned oak, trickier than the waves, more pliant than willow-twigs and white vine-branches, steadier than these rocks, more turbulent than a river, prouder than the much vaunted peacock, fiercer than fire, more prickly than star thistles, more ferocious than a pregnant bear, deafer than the waves, crueller than a trampled snake, and, (something) which I especially wish I could take away from you, (you are) not only (swifter) than a deer, driven by loud barking, but (you are) even swifter than the wind and the fleeting breeze!

" 'But, if you knew me well, you would regret your fleeing (from me), and you, yourself, would condemn your sojourns, and strive to hold on to me. I (now) hold part of this mountain, overhung by natural rock, (and) the caves, in which the sun is not felt in the midst of summer, nor (is) the winter felt (either); there are apples that weigh down the branches, there are grapes (that shine) like gold (i.e. white grapes) on their trailing vines, and there are purple (ones too): both the former and the latter I am keeping for you. With your own hands, you will pick soft strawberries, and autumn cherries, and plums, not only those which are blackened by their dark juice, but also the larger (ones) which imitate (the colour of) fresh wax (i.e. yellow), nor, with me as your mate, will you lack chestnuts or the fruit of the wild strawberry tree: every tree will (be there to) serve you.

" 'The whole of this flock belongs to me, and many (sheep) are roaming the valleys too; the woods are hiding many (of them), (and) many are penned in the caves, and, if you happened to ask (me), I could not tell you how many there are: it is the (mark) of a poor (man) to count his flock; concerning their quality, you do not have to believe me at all: being here, you can see (for) yourself how they can hardly move their legs, because of their swollen udders. There are in the sheep-folds the lambs of a younger brood. There are kids, too, of equal age in other folds. I always have (plenty of) snow-white milk: some of this is kept to be drunk, (and) the liquid rennet (i.e. a coagulant) hardens some (into curds).

 " 'You will not have easily-won pets, or (what are) merely vulgar gifts, (such as) does, hares and goats, or a pair of doves, or a nest taken from the top of a tree: (but) on the top of the mountain, I have found the twin cubs of a shaggy bear, which can play with you, (so) alike one another that you cannot tell (them) apart: I found (them), and I said, 'I shall keep these for my mistress.'

" 'Now, Galatea, just stretch forth your shining head from the dark-blue sea, and, come, do not scorn my gifts! I know myself at least, for recently I saw my appearance in the mirror of some clear water, and it pleased me to see (it). Look, how large I am! Jupiter, (up there) in the sky - for you are used to telling (me) that some Jupiter or other rules (there) - has no bigger body than this (one of mine); plentiful hair hangs down over my grim features, and cloaks my shoulders like a grove (of trees); do not think (it) shameful that my thickest of bodies stands stiff with wiry bristles: a tree without leaves (is) shameful, and a horse (is) shameful, unless a mane covers his golden neck; a beard and hairy bristles befit the body of a man. I have (only) one eye in the middle of my forehead, but (it has) the likeness of a huge shield. Well? Does not the mighty Sol (i.e the Sun) see all this from the heavens? Yet, Sol (has but) one orbit.
  
" 'Add (to that) that my father (i.e. Neptune) holds sway in your waters; I give you him as a father-in-law; only take pity (on me), and listen to the prayers of a suppliant! For I, who scorns Jupiter and his heaven, and his piercing thunderbolt, will submit to you alone: I fear you, daughter of Nereus (i.e. a sea-nymph), (for) your anger is fiercer than lightning. And I should be more tolerant of this contempt of yours, if you were to shun everyone; but why, having rejected a Cyclops, do you love Acis and prefer Acis to my embraces? Yet, he is pleased with himself, and, (something) that I do not want, he is allowed to please you (too), Galatea; may the opportunity just be given (to me), (and) he will know that I have strength as great as my body! I shall tear out his living entrails, and I shall divide up his limbs and scatter (them) over the fields and across those waves of yours - thus let him join you! For I am on fire, and, (as I am) wounded, a fiercer flame is boiling up, and I seem to be bearing (Mount) Aetna, transported with (all) his strength, on my breast: but you, Galatea, are unmoved.'

Ll. 870-897.  Acis is turned into a river-god.

"Having made such fruitless laments, he (i.e. Polyphemus) arises, and, as a bull, furious that his cow has been taken from (him), cannot stand (still), he wanders through the woods and his familiar pastures: when, in his wildness, he sees me and Acis, unaware and not fearing any such (thing), he cries out, 'I see (you), and I shall make sure that this is the last union of your love!' That voice (of his) was as loud as an angry Cyclops should have: (Mount) Aetna shook with the noise. And, terrified, I immerse myself under the nearby waters; the heroic son of Symaethis (i.e. Acis) had turned his back in flight, and cried, 'Bring me help, Galatea, I beg (you)! Parents (i.e. Faunus and Symaethis), (please) help me, and admit me to your kingdom as I am about to die!'

"The Cyclops pursues (him), and hurls (at him) a piece (of rock that he had) wrenched from the mountain, and, although (only) the farthest corner of the rock reached him, yet it buried Acis completely. Then, I arranged the only (thing) which the fates allowed (me) to do, (that is) that Acis should assume his ancestral powers. Crimson blood trickled from the rock, and within a very short time its redness begins to fade, and it becomes the colour of a river, at first swollen by rain, and (then) cleansed after a time; then, the rock (that had been) hurled cracks open, and through the fissure springs a live tall reed, and the mouth of the cavity in the rock echoes with leaping waters: then - a wonderful thing - suddenly a youth emerged up to the middle of his stomach, his fresh horns wreathed around with rushes, and he was Acis, except that he was larger, and that all of his face was dark-blue. But, even so, it was still Acis, changed into a river (god), and the river has kept his former name (i.e. there was a river in Sicily called the Acis)."

Ll. 898-968.  Glaucus tells Scylla of his transformation.  

Galatea had ceased to speak, and, their meeting having come to an end, the daughters of Nereus depart, and swim (away) through the calm waves. (But) Scylla returns (to the beach); for she does not dare to entrust herself to the middle of the ocean, and she either wanders naked over the parched sand, or, when she is tired, she finds the remote retreat of a pool and cools her limbs in its enclosed waters.

Look, there is Glaucus, skimming the waves, a fresh inhabitant of the deep sea, his body having been recently altered at Anthedon (i.e. a town in Boeotia) in the Euboean (gulf), and he lingers, due to his desire for the girl he has (just) seen (i.e. Scylla), and he says whatever words he thinks could stop (her) from running away; but still she flees, and, with the swiftness that comes from fear, she reaches the top of the mountain which stands close to the shore. It faces the deep sea, and is compressed into a single peak and its wooded summit slopes down far out over the waters: here she stops, (feeling) safe in this place, and, not knowing (whether) he is a monster or a god, she marvels at his colour and the hair that covers his shoulders and his back below (them), and the bottom of his groin which resembles (that) of a coiled fish. 

He saw (her), and leaning on a rock which stood nearby, he says, "Girl, I am not a monster or a wild beast, but a god of the sea: Proteus, and Triton, and Palaemon, the son of Athamas (i.e. other deities of the sea), have no greater authority in the sea (than I have). Yet, in the past, I was a mortal, but, destined no doubt for the deep seas, even then I was busying myself in them; for, at one moment, I was drawing in nets full of fish, and, at another, I (was) sitting on a rock, and casting my line from a fishing rod. There is a green meadow adjoining a beach, of which one side is enclosed by the sea, and the other side by grass, which horned cattle have not damaged by grazing, nor have you, placid sheep or shaggy goats, cropped (it); no bee, intent on gathering (pollen from) the flowers, has plundered (it), no nuptial garlands have been placed upon (anyone's) head, and no scythe-carrying hands have ever cut (it); I was the first to sit on that turf, while drying my wet fishing-lines, and, in order to count (them), I laid out in a line on top of (it) the fish (I had) caught, which either chance (had pushed) into my nets, or their innocence had driven on to my barbed hooks. This story (sounds) like something fictional, but what would I gain from inventing (it)? While touching the grass, my catch begins to stir and shift their sides, and to behave on land as if (they were) in the sea. While I hesitate and wonder at the same time, the whole shoal flees into their native waters, and they abandon their new master and shore.

"I was dumbfounded and in doubt for a while, and I search for an explanation: whether some god had done it, or the juice of some herb! 'Yet, what herb has got such power?' I say, and I gathered some plant in my hand and bit (what I) had gathered with my teeth. Well, scarcely had my throat swallowed the unknown sap, when I suddenly felt my heart trembling inside (me), and my breast was seized with yearning for that other natural element (i.e. the sea); I could not hold out for long, and I said, 'Land, which I shall never seek again, farewell!' and I sunk my body in the sea. The gods of the sea welcome (me), and consider (me) worthy of the honour of their company, and they ask Oceanus and Tethys to take from me whatever mortal (aspects) I might (still) bear: I am purified by them, and after a spell, which purges me of my guilt, is repeated over me nine times,  I am commanded to bathe my body in a hundred rivers; at once, streams flow from different directions, and all their waters are poured over my head. So much I can tell you of these marvellous events; thus far I can remember them, but my mind does not know anything else. When it (i.e. his mind) came back (to me), my whole body was different from what I had recently been, and I did not regain the same (things) in my mind. Then, I saw for the first time this dark green beard, and my hair which I sweep across the wide sea, and these huge shoulders and dark-blue arms, and legs that coil like the fins of a fish at their extremity. But what of this shape (of mine), what is the use of it pleasing the sea-gods, what is the use (of me) being a god, if you are not attracted by these (things)?"

While he (i.e. Glaucus) is saying these things, and is about to say more, Scylla leaves the god; he is enraged, and, provoked by her rejection (of him), he seeks the portentous halls of Circe, the descendant of Titans (i.e. she was the daughter of Sol, and the granddaughter of Oceanus).