The Thebaid
Page 21
The Lemnian woman sighed, and for a moment
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her tears detained her. Then she started speaking:
‘‘The wounds you ask me to reopen, master,
are great—the Furies, Lemnos, weapons brought
within the confines of our beds, our men
undone by shameful swords. Our criminality
comes back to me, our vengeance, our cold hearts!
‘‘O wretched women who endured such madness;
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o night, o father! I, your friend and guide,
I was the only one, the only woman—
I say this if, by chance, you feel embarrassed—
to bear away her parent, to conceal him.
Why should I weave my problems through
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a long exordium? War calls you forth,
your great hearts are prepared. It is enough
if you remember this: I am the daughter
of famous Thoas, named Hypsipyle,
and I am now a slave to King Lycurgus.’’
Her words drew their attention, for she seemed
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mature, worth honoring, prepared for greatness.
A passion rose in each to learn her fate.
Father Adrastus was the first to speak:
∞∞Π STATIUS, THE THEBAID
‘‘But come now, while our first troops frame long lines,
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for Nemea’s impenetrable shadows and
overspread foliage prevent broad ranks
from forming: tell of criminality,
your honors and your sorrows, and why you,
ejected from your kingdom, labor here.’’
–?–?–?–
It pleases those in misery to speak
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and visit sorrows past, so she began:
‘‘Lemnos lies circled by the blue Aegean.
• There, worn by fiery Aetna, Mulciber
exhales and rests, and nearby Athos drapes
the land in giant shadows and casts shades,
shaped like her forests, on the seas. The Thracians
plow the shores opposite—in fatal Thrace,
the source of all our woe. Our country flourished,
as well endowed and populous as famous
Samos, not worse than ringing Delos or
other Aegean islands washed by waves.
‘‘The gods decided to disturb our homes.
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Our hearts, though, were not guiltless. We had not
lit any sacrificial fires for Venus
nor given her an altar. Anger moves
even the minds of gods, and Punishments
(divinities of vengeance) gain admittance.
‘‘They say she left behind a hundred altars
• on ancient Paphos, changed her looks, her hair,
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took o√ her nuptial girdle, and dismissed
the doves of Ida. Certainly some women
say that the goddess, bearing other torches
and weapons than the ones that kindle love—
merciless to her faithful husband’s people—
flew through our bedrooms with the hellish Furies,
brought cruel fear to the thresholds of our brides,
and filled our homes’ dark nooks with twining serpents.
BOOK Σ ∞∞π
?’’Next you, Amores, flew away from Lemnos.
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• Hymen was mute, his torches overturned.
Frozen care occupied the lawful couch;
the nights produced no joy; none slept embraced,
but bitter hate was everywhere, and rage,
and discord parted couples in their beds.
‘‘Our men were keen to cross the straits to Thrace,
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to fight, and decimate that proud, cruel race.
These brutes preferred Edonian winters and
the bluster of north winds, so they ignored
their homes, left children standing on the shore,
and went where they could hear a falling torrent
sound in the silent night that follows war.
‘‘I was relieved of cares, since I was young,
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a virgin, but our women moped in sorrow.
For consolation they spoke night and day
and wept incessantly or they would stand
and gaze at savage Thrace across the sea.
‘‘The sun was halfway through his work and hung
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his shining steeds above Olympus’ peak,
as if unmoving. Four times thunder pealed
in cloudless skies; four times the smoking caverns
of Vulcan blew emissions from high summits.
There were no winds, yet the Aegean stirred,
and high seas battered shores, when suddenly
• an ancient woman named Polyxo felt
an unaccustomed terror, and, in frenzy,
she flew from her abandoned bed. As a
• Teumesian Thyiad, ravaged by the god,
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hears Bacchus calling from the mountain tops
and follows sacred rites and boxwood pipes
of Ida that allure her, so, head high,
her eyes su√used with blood, with rabid cries
that roused the quiet town, she knocked on closed
houses and doorways and convened a council.
Her children went unwillingly and held her,
but other women, no more slow than she,
∞∞∫ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
burst from their homes and reached the citadel
of Pallas on the hilltop. Here we crowded,
congested and disordered, as she drew
a sword and ordered silence and soon urged
our crimes upon us. She dared speak these words:
‘‘ ‘Driven by gods, by undeserved mistreatment,
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I authorize our exploit! O you widows
of Lemnos, fix your minds: unsex yourselves!
If you are tired of tending empty homes,
spending the flower of youth in vile neglect,
forever mourning your unfruitful years,
I have a way, I promise, to renew
the work of Venus and respect the gods.
I only ask that you take strength from your
distress and tell me you are strong. Three winters
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of white have passed, and who has known the bonds
of wedlock or the secret rites of marriage?
Tell me, whose heart is heated by her husband?
Whose labors has Lucina overseen?
Who swells up month by month, makes vows, gives birth?
‘‘ ‘Even the birds and beasts may copulate:
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it’s instinct, but we linger. Could a Grecian
have given daughters weapons for revenge
to fill their husbands’ peaceful sleep with blood
• and ease his anguish, while we stand here idly?
If you require relevant examples,
think of the dinner Procne served her husband,
• the way that she avenged her bed, her marriage.
‘‘ ‘I am not safe nor una√ected by
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the crime I urge you to commit. My house
is full, my task enormous. Here you see
my four sons, each their father’s pride and joy.
They may delay me with their hugs and tears,
but I will hold them in my lap and stab them
and throw these brothers in a breathing heap
of blood and wounds. I’ll pile their father on them!
What woman here can pledge so many dead?’
BOOK Σ ∞∞Ω
‘‘She was continuing, but sails were shining
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across the sea; it was the Lemnian fleet.
Polyxo, joy
ous, seized her opportunity
and spoke again: ‘How can we fail the gods
when they exhort us? Lo, behold the ships!—
delivered by the God of Punishment
for our revenge. He favors our design!
‘‘ ‘My dreams are not vain images; I see
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Venus with naked sword drawn when I sleep!
She seems so clear: ‘‘Why do you lose your youth?’’
she says. ‘‘Your husbands hate you. Rid your beds:
I will arrange new marriages myself,
better arrangements.’’ Then she sets her sword
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along my couch: believe me, this same sword!
Decide while you have time, o miserable women!
Look who arrives: strong arms stir foaming seas;
your husbands may be bringing Thracian wives.’
‘‘This was a mighty spur, and a great roar
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rose to the stars. You might have thought a horde
of Amazons were swarming over Scythia,
bearing their moon-shaped shields when Jupiter
indulges them by opening the gates
of foreign wars. There was no murmuring,
no di√ering, no dissent that causes factions,
such as may seize the commoners. The same
anger was felt by everyone, the same
craving to desolate their homes,
to murder young and old, tear babies from
full breasts, stab every man of any age.
‘‘Inside a verdant grove—a grove that’s dark,
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that shades the ground but also lies beneath
the shadow of the mountain of Minerva
(and so two shadows dim the sun)—the women
pledged faith. The witnesses were you, Enyo
(goddess of war), and you, infernal Ceres.
The deities of Styx anticipated
their call and left reclusive Acheron
∞≤≠ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
as Venus mingled everywhere, concealed:
Venus bore weapons. Venus gave them zeal.
‘‘They did not make a normal sacrifice.
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The wife of Charops seized her son, and women
girded themselves and stabbed their greedy knives
through every portion of his lovely body.
They swore to sweet revenge in blood still warm,
and the new ghost flew rings around his mother.
‘‘Horror ran through my bones as I observed;
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my facial color faded; I felt like
a deer surrounded by bloodthirsty wolves
whose tender breast lacks vigor, who
lacks faith in her ability to run,
who waits, who flees, who thinks she has been caught,
who hears, just out of reach, approaching jaws.
‘‘Keels struck the outer beach. The men arrived
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and struggled to be first to jump ashore.
Unfortunates—these men—whose horrid strength
had not consumed them in the Thracian wars
nor storms in midsea drowned. They filled high shrines
with incense for the gods and o√ered flocks
as promised, but the altar flames turned dark.
• No vigorous god inspired a single entrail.
‘‘Jupiter slowly drew down night from damp
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Olympus, and with kindly care, I think,
delayed the turning skies, which Fate forbids.
Never were shadows longer after sunset.
‘‘Late stars appeared at last, but only shone
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• on Paros, on the many Cyclades,
• and Thasos with its forests. Shadowed Lemnos
lay hidden under heavy skies, dark clouds,
the woven zones of blackness. Lonely Lemnos
remained unseen by mariners who roamed.
‘‘And now the men poured from their homes and entered
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the darkness of the sacred groves where they
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indulged themselves in rich feasts. They drank deep
• from massive, golden goblets. They had leisure
to sing strife in Strymona, to recount
labors that made them sweat on frozen Haemus
or Rhodope. The wicked crew of wives
even reclined among the banquet flowers,
dressed in their finest clothes, as Venus vainly
granted their softened husbands one last evening—
after so long a time, a little peace.
She breathed a dying flame on those sad men.
‘‘The choristers fell silent. It was time
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to end the feasting, cease licentious games.
The noises of the early night decreased.
Befouled by darkness from his brother Death,
Sleep seized the city that would die. He dripped
with Stygian moisture, and he poured out heavy
fatigue from his resistless horn. He set
the men apart, while wives and younger women
remained awake, preparing for their crimes.
The Fatal Sisters laughed and honed fierce weapons.
‘‘They started their assault. Each female heart
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was governed by a Fury of Revenge,
just as Hyrcanian lionesses pen
the flocks they chase along the Scythian plains.
Hunger first brings them out from under cover—
that, and the need to nurse their hungry cubs.
‘‘Which deaths, out of the thousand murders done,
• should I describe for you? Let me consider!
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Gorge was brave but rash. She hovered over
Helymus, who was sleeping, crowned with vines,
high on his tapestries, and breathing wine
that bloated him. She slipped her hand inside
his loosened clothing for a place to wound.
As death approached, his miserable sleep
deserted him. Uncertain whom he faced,
confused, his eyes scarce opened, he embraced
his consort, but she did not hesitate
to stab him from behind, as he held on,
∞≤≤ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
nor stop until her knife-blade touched her breast.
His eyes implored her, while his arms remained
around her faithless neck. He murmured ‘Gorge,’
trembling. That was the end of it. I won’t
describe the other deaths, for they were gruesome,
only the sorrow of my relatives:
‘‘I saw my two half brothers die: Cydon,
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a blond, and Crenaeus, whose uncut locks
hung loose around his neck: we shared our mother
but not our father. My fiance was Gyas:
a strong man who inspired fear in women.
I saw fierce Myrmidone murder him,