by Daisy Dunn
But Centaurs, and such creatures, there neither were, nor ever can be; for there can never exist an animal formed of a double nature and of two bodies; an animal made up of such heterogeneous members that the power in the opposite portions of the frame cannot possibly be equal. This you may learn, with however dull an understanding, from the following observations.
First, the horse, when three years of his age have passed, is flourishing in full vigour; the boy, at this time of life, is by no means so, but will even often seek in his sleep the milky teats of his mother’s breast. Afterwards, when, in old age, his lusty vigour and stout limbs are failing the horse, (growing torpid as life is departing,) behold, at that very period, the young man’s age being in its flower, youth prevails in him, and clothes his cheeks with soft down; so that you cannot possibly imagine that Centaurs can be composed or consist of a man and the servile seed of a horse; or that there can be Scyllae, of half-marine bodies, cinctured with fierce dogs; or other monsters of this sort, whose parts we observe to be incompatible with each other; parts which neither grow up together in their bodies, nor acquire vigour together, nor lose their strength together in old age; and which are neither excited by the same objects of affection, nor agree with the same tempers, nor find that the same kinds of food are nutritious to their bodies. For you may observe that bearded goats often grow fat on hemlock, which to men is rank poison.
Since, too, the flame of fire is accustomed to scorch and burn up the tawny bodies of lions, as well as every kind of creature on earth that consists of flesh and blood, how was it possible that a Chimaera, one animal compounded of three bodies, the fore part a lion, the hinder a dragon, the middle a goat, could blow abroad at its mouth a fierce flame out of its body?
For which reason, he who supposes that such animals might have been produced, even when the earth was new and the air fresh, (leaning for argument only on this empty term of newness,) may babble, with equal reason, many other hypotheses of a like nature. He may say that rivers of gold then flowed everywhere over the earth, and that the groves were accustomed to blossom with jewels; or that men were formed with such power and bulk of limbs, that they could extend their steps over the deep seas, and turn the whole heaven around them with their hands. For though, at the time when the earth first produced animal life, there were innumerable seeds of things in the ground, this is yet no proof that creatures could have been generated of mixed natures, and that heterogeneous members of animals could have been blended together. Since the various kinds of herbs, and fruits, and rich groves, which even now spring up exuberantly from the earth, can nevertheless not be produced with a union of different kinds. But they can readily be produced, if each proceeds in its own order, and all preserve their distinctions according to the fixed law of nature.
And that early race of men upon the earth was much more hardy; as it was natural that they should be, for the hard earth herself bore them. They were internally sustained with bones both larger and more solid, and furnished with strong nerves throughout their bodies; nor were they a race that could easily be injured by heat or cold, or by change of food, or by any corporeal malady.
And during many lustres of the sun, revolving through the heaven, they prolonged their lives after the roving manner of wild beasts. No one was either a driver of the crooked plough, or knew how to turn up the fields with the spade, or to plant young seedlings in the earth, or to cut, with pruning-hooks, the old boughs from the lofty trees. That supply which the sun and rain had afforded, or which the earth had yielded of its own accord, sufficiently gratified their desires. They refreshed themselves, for the most part, among the acorn-laden oaks. The earth, too, then furnished abundance of whortle-berries, even larger than at present, which you now see ripen in winter, and become of a purple colour. And many rude kinds of nourishment besides, ample for hapless mortals, the florid freshness of the world in those days produced.
The rivers and fountains then invited them to quench their thirst, as the echoing fall of waters from the high hills now calls, far and wide, the thirsty tribes of wild beasts. Afterwards they occupied the sylvan temples of the nymphs, well known to the wanderers; from which the goddesses sent forth flowing rills of water, to lave with a copious flood the humid rocks, trickling over the green moss, and to swell and burst forth, with a portion of their streams, over the level plain.
Nor as yet did they understand how to improve their condition by the aid of fire, or to use skins, and to clothe their bodies with the spoils of wild beasts. But they dwelt in groves, and hollow mountains, and woods; and, when compelled to flee from the violence of the wind and rain, sheltered their rude limbs amid the thickets.
Nor could they have regard to any common interest, or understand how to observe any customs or laws among themselves. Whatever prize fortune had thrown in the way of any one, on that he seized; each knowing only to profit by his own instinct, and to live for himself.
And Venus united the persons of lovers in the woods; for either mutual desire reconciled each female to the intercourse, or the impetuous force and vehement lust of the man overcame her; or acorns and whortle-berries, or choice crabs, were the purchase of her favours.
And, relying on the extraordinary vigour of their hands and feet, they pursued the sylvan tribes of wild beasts with missile stones and ponderous clubs; and many they overcame, while a few escaped them in their dens; and, when surprised by night, they threw their savage limbs, like bristly boars, unprotected on the earth, covering themselves over with leaves and branches.
Nor did they, trembling and wandering in the shades of night, seek to recall the day and the sun with loud cries throughout the fields, but, silent and buried in sleep, they waited till Phoebus, with his roseate beams, should again spread light over the heavens. For since they had always been accustomed, from their infancy, to see darkness and light produced at alternate seasons, it was impossible that they should ever wonder at the change, or feel apprehension lest, the beams of the sun being withdrawn for ever, eternal night should keep possession of the earth. But what rather gave them trouble, was, that the tribes of wild beasts often disturbed the rest of hapless sleepers; while, driven from their cell at the approach of a foaming boar or stout lion, they lied from their rocky shelter, and yielded up with trembling, at the dead of night, their couches of leaves to the savage intruders.
Nor yet did the race of men, in those days, leave with lamentations the sweet light of life in much greater numbers than at present. For though more frequently at that period, one individual of their number, being caught by wild beasts, and consumed by their teeth, afforded them living food, and filled, meanwhile, the groves, and mountains, and forests, with his shrieks, as he felt his bowels buried in a living tomb; while those whom flight had saved, with their bodies torn, and pressing their trembling hands over their grievous wounds, called on death with horrid cries, until, destitute of relief, and ignorant what their hurts required, cruel tortures deprived them of life. Yet, in those times, one day did not consign to destruction many thousands of men under military banners; nor did the boisterous floods of the sea dash ships and men upon rocks. But the ocean, though often rising and swelling, raged in vain and to no purpose, and laid aside its empty threats without effect; nor could the deceitful allurement of its calm water entice, with its smiling waves, any one into danger; for the daring art of navigation was then unknown. Want of food then consigned languishing bodies to death; now, on the contrary, abundance of luxuries causes destruction. The men of those times often poured out poison for themselves unawares; now persons of their own accord give it craftily to others.
Afterwards, when they procured huts, and skins, and fire, and the woman, united to the man, came to dwell in the same place with him; and when the pure and pleasing connexions of undivided love were known, and they saw a progeny sprung from themselves; then first the human race began to be softened and civilized. For fire now rendered their shivering bodies less able to endure the cold under the canopy of heaven;
and love diminished their strength; and children with their blandishments easily subdued the ferocious tempers of their parents. Then, also, neighbours, feeling a mutual friendship, began to form agreements not to hurt or injure one another; and they commended, with sounds and gestures, their children, and the female sex to each other’s protection; while they signified, with imperfect speech, that it is right for every one to have compassion on the weak. Such concord, however, could not be established universally; but the better and greater part kept their faith inviolate, or the human race would then have been wholly destroyed, and the species could not have continued its generations to the present period.
SULPICIA’S BIRTHDAY
Elegies
Sulpicia
Translated by John Heath-Stubbs, 2000
Poetry in ancient Rome was not only a man’s craft. We know of several female poets, but in most cases we have been deprived of the chance to read their work because it was not preserved. Fortunately, a handful of poems by Sulpicia, a poetess of the late first century BC, survived by accident, bundled together with those of a male poet called Tibullus. Although Sulpicia was well-born and well-connected, her poems reach beyond the confines of her status – and indeed her time – to speak clearly to us today. In this poem she writes of her misery at being parted from her beloved Cerinthus for her birthday.
Sulpicia’s Birthday
My dreaded birthday is looming, and I’ve got to spend it
There in the odious country without Cerinthus.
What is more agreeable than the city? Is a country estate
A fit place for a girl or the fields
By the cold river Arno? Stop fussing about me
Messala, my kinsman, you’re much too ready
To take me on an unnecessary journey.
Carried hence—I leave my soul and my senses behind
As I cannot exercise my own free will.
She Can Be At Rome, After All
Don’t you know that the burden of an unnecessary journey
Is lifted from your poor girl’s heart?
I can be at Rome, it now seems, for my birthday—
This comes to you by an unexpected stroke of luck.
THE TROJAN HORSE
Aeneid, Book II
Virgil
Translated by John Dryden, 1697
The Aeneid, a Latin epic by the Augustan poet Virgil (70 BC–19 BC), tells of the fall of Troy and escape of Aeneas, son of Venus, and a group of survivors, and of their coming to Italy to found a new home. Modelled on the epics of Homer, the poem provided Romans with the opportunity to view themselves as descendants of the families of Troy. The final moments of the Trojan War had been recounted only briefly in flashback in the Odyssey, allowing Virgil to develop the story in full. In this excerpt from his poem, translated in the seventeenth century by the great John Dryden, England’s first official Poet Laureate, the Trojans receive the gift of a wooden horse from the Greeks.
By destiny compell’d, and in despair,
The Greeks grew weary of the tedious war,
And, by Minerva’s aid, a fabric rear’d,
Which like a steed of monstrous height appear’d:
The sides were plank’d with pine: they feign’d it made
For their return, and this the vow they paid.
Thus they pretend, but in the hollow side,
Selected numbers of their soldiers hide:
With inward arms the dire machine they load;
And iron bowels stuff the dark abode.
In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an isle
(While Fortune did on Priam’s empire smile)
Renown’d for wealth; but, since, a faithless bay,
Where ships expos’d to wind and weather lay,
There was their fleet conceal’d. We thought, for Greece
Their sails were hoisted, and our fears release.
The Trojans, coop’d within their walls so long,
Unbar their gates, and issue in a throng,
Like swarming bees, and with delight survey
The camp deserted, where the Grecians lay:
The quarters of the several chiefs they show’d—
Here Phoenix, here Achilles made abode;
Here join’d the battles; there the navy rode.
Part on the pile their wandering eyes employ—
The pile by Pallas rais’d to ruin Troy.
Thymoetes first (’tis doubtful whether hir’d,
Or so the Trojan destiny requir’d)
Mov’d that the ramparts might be broken down,
To lodge the monster fabric in the town.
But Capys, and the rest of sounder mind,
The fatal present to the flames design’d,
Or to the watery deep; at least to bore
The hollow sides, and hidden frauds explore.
The giddy vulgar, as their fancies guide,
With noise say nothing, and in parts divide.
Laocoön, follow’d by a numerous crowd,
Ran from the fort, and cried, from far, aloud:
‘O wretched countrymen! what fury reigns?
What more than madness has possess’d your brains?
Think you the Grecians from your coasts are gone?
And are Ulysses’ arts no better known?
This hollow fabric either must inclose,
Within its blind recess, our secret foes;
Or ’tis an engine rais’d above the town,
To’ o’erlook the walls, and then to batter down.
Somewhat is sure design’d by fraud or force—
Trust not their presents, nor admit the horse.’
Thus having said, against the steed he threw
His forceful spear, which, hissing as it flew,
Pierc’d through the yielding planks of jointed wood,
And trembling in the hollow belly stood.
The sides, transpierc’d, return a rattling sound;
And groans of Greeks inclos’d come issuing through the wound.
And, had not heaven the fall of Troy design’d,
Or had not men been fated to be blind, mind:
Enough was said and done, to’ inspire a better
Then had our lances pierc’d the treacherous wood,
And Ilian tow’rs and Priam’s empire stood.
Meantime, with shouts, the Trojan shepherds bring
A captive Greek in bands, before the king—
Taken, to take—who made himself their prey,
To’ impose on their belief, and Troy betray;
Fix’d on his aim, and obstinately bent
To die undaunted, or to circumvent.
About the captive, tides of Trojans flow;
All press to see, and some insult the foe.
Now hear how well the Greeks their wiles disguis’d:
Behold a nation in a man compris’d.
Trembling the miscreant stood: unarm’d and bound,
He star’d, and roll’d his haggard eyes around;
Then said, ‘Alas! what earth remains, what sea
Is open to receive unhappy me?
What fate a wretched fugitive attends,
Scorn’d by my foes, abandon’d by my friends!’
He said, and sigh’d, and cast a rueful eye:
Our pity kindles, and our passions die.
We cheer the youth to make his own defence,
And freely tell us what he was, and whence:
What news he could impart we long to know,
And what to credit from a captive foe.
His fear at length dismiss’d, he said, ‘Whate’er
My fate ordains, my words shall be sincere:
I neither can nor dare my birth disclaim:
Greece is my country, Sinon is my name.
Though plung’d by Fortune’s power in misery,
’Tis not in Fortune’s power to make me lie.
If any chance has hither brought the name.
Of Palamedes, not unknown to
fame,
Who suffer’d from the malice of the times,
Accus’d and sentenc’d for pretended crimes,
Because the fatal wars lie would prevent;
Whose death the wretched Greeks too late lament—
Me, then a boy, my father, poor and bare
Of other means, committed to his care,
His kinsman and companion in the war.
While Fortune favour’d, while his arms support
The cause, and rul’d the counsels of the court,
I made some figure there; nor was my name
Obscure, nor I without my share of fame.
But when Ulysses, with fallacious arts,
Had made impression in the people’s hearts,
And forg’d a treason in my patron’s name
(I speak of things too far divulg’d by fame),
My kinsman fell. Then I, without support,
In private mourn’d his loss, and left the court.
Mad as I was, I could not bear his fate
With silent grief, but loudly blam’d the state,
And curs’d the direful author of my woes.—
’Twas told again; and hence my ruin rose.
I threaten’d, if indulgent heaven once more
Would land me safely on my native shore,
His death with double vengeance to restore.
This mov’d the murderer’s hate; and soon ensued
The’ effects of malice from a man so proud.
Ambiguous rumours through the camp he spread,
And sought, by treason, my devoted head;
New crimes invented; left unturn’d no stone,
To make my guilt appear, and hide his own;
Till Calchas was by force and threatening wrought—
But why—why dwell I on that anxious thought?
If on my nation just revenge you seek,
