The Thebaid
Page 27
as when they went to war with horrid weapons.
They needed more than whips; they shouted names:
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Admetus called on Iris, Pholoe,
and Thoe, his best trace horse. The Danaan
augurer urged on Cygnus, that white steed,
and Ascheton. The son of Hercules—
that’s Chromis—called on Strymon. Euneos
shouted for fiery Aetion. Thoas named
dappled Podarces, and Hippodamus
pressured slow Cydon. In his chariot,
only Echion’s son maintained sad silence,
afraid his voice would tremble as he swerved.
The horses were just starting their true task
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as they began the fourth, most dusty lap.
Limbs weary, hot with sweat, their thirsty throats
∞Σ∫ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
flaming, they found their forward progress flagged;
thick clouds of vapor marked their respirations,
and constant panting flattened out their flanks.
Now wavering Fortune, which had only watched,
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first dared to intervene. As Thoas strove
madly to pass Admetus, his car crashed,
nor could his brother help, although he tried.
He failed because Mars-like Hippodamus
obstructed him, and his car intervened.
Then Chromis, using all his father’s strength—
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the might of Hercules—locked axles with
Hippodamus to take inside position
going around the goal. Their horses fought
to free themselves. They tensed their necks and bridles
to no e√ect, as when the tides detain
Sicilian vessels while the north wind rages
and swollen sails stand motionless at sea.
Then Chromis flipped the other’s chariot
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and raced ahead, but when the Thracian steeds
saw that Hippodamus had fallen, hunger
came over them. They would have madly ripped
their charioteer to pieces where he lay
had Chromis not retrieved them by their bridles.
He quit, defeated, but he earned high praise.
The race drew close; the winner was uncertain.
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It was Apollo’s wish, Amphiaraus,
that you should have the victory he’d promised.
He thought the time was right to favor you
and there within the dusty circuit’s confines
he called from hell, or cunningly constructed,
the figure of a monstrous, crested serpent.
Its face was horrible to see. A thousand terrors
clung to this wicked thing he brought to light.
Neither dark Lethe’s fearful guardian,
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the horses of the sun, the team of Mars,
or Furies could have seen it undismayed.
BOOK Π ∞ΣΩ
Arion’s golden mane stood sti√ as he
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stopped at the sight. He lifted up his shoulders
and raised his yoke companion and the other
horses who shared his labor by his side.
This forced the exile from Aonia to fall
and tear away the reins that crossed his back,
and, disattached, his chariot escaped
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as he lay in the dust. The other cars—
from Taenaros and Thessaly and Lemnos—
avoided him by swerving just o√ course.
He managed to uplift his clouded head
after assistance reached him and to pry
his weak limbs from the ground before returning,
unlooked for, to Adrastus, his wife’s father.
Theban, the place was fit for you to die,513
if harsh Tisiphone had not denied it.
Think how much warfare could have been avoided!
You would have been lamented by your brother,
for all to see, as well as Argos, Thebes,
and Nemea. Like suppliants Larissa
and Lerna would have o√ered you their hair.
The funeral Archemorus was given
would not have equaled what yours would have been.
Truly Amphiaraus, son of Oecleus,
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tried to defeat the empty car as well,
though victory was certain as he followed
Arion, driverless, who raced ahead.
Phoebus lent strength, refreshing him. He drove
fast as an eastern wind, as if the gate
has just been dropped, the race has just begun.
With lash and reins he whipped the backs and manes
of fleet Ascheton and his snow-white Cygnus.
Now that the prophet raced in front alone
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his hot wheels tore the track and scattered sand.
Earth groaned—a warning, a fierce premonition—
and Cygnus might have come in first and beaten
Arion, but the Father of the Sea
∞Π≠ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
denied him that, yet gave a fair exchange:
the horse gained fame, the prophet won the race.
A pair of twins delivered him his prize,
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a Herculean cup. This the Tirynthian
would lift one-handed when he raised his throat
and let pour foaming wine to celebrate
his conquest of some monster or a war.
Engraved artistically in gold, it showed
fierce Centaurs slaughtering the Lapithae
as torches, stones, and drinking bowls went flying:
Hercules held Hylaeus by his beard
and clubbed him while the rioters were dying.
As your reward, Admetus, you were given
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a cloak with purple border, deeply dyed,
that showed Leander braving Phrixean seas,
his figure carved in blue beneath the waves.
You would have thought the dry cloth held wet hair.
There he swam on his side, exchanging strokes,
while opposite, in Sestos, waits a light—
filled with anxiety—that slowly dies.
These gifts Adrastus ordered for the victors
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and to his son-in-law he gave a slave girl.
–?–?–?–
Adrastus now requested those with speed
to run a footrace for an ample prize.
This sport suits agile men, not strong or hale.
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Proper for peacetime and the sacred games,
it may yet serve in war when right arms fail.
Idas stepped forward first, who recently
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shaded his brow with an Olympian garland,
and young Pisaeans and the Elean
squadrons rejoiced. Alcon of Sicyon
came next, and Phaedimus, who twice was crowned
and heard the crowds cry on the sands of Isthmos,
BOOK Π ∞Π∞
and Dymas, slowed by age, who once outraced
wing-footed horses. Soon a silence greeted
those whom the crowd found unfamiliar when
they entered here and there, yet murmurs moved
around the packed arena when the crowd
hailed Parthenopaeus, the Arcadian.
His mother was renowned for speed. Who knows
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not Atalanta, her great fame, her feet
pursued by suitors? Her celebrity
weighed on her son, but he, they say, was known
for chasing helpless deer through open fields
on Mount Lycaeus. He could fling a weapon
and run to catch it. He had been expected!
Now he leaped forward through the crowd, release
d
a clasp of twisted gold, and dropped his cloak.
His torso glowed; his beauty was apparent:
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the massive shoulders, hairless chest, smooth cheeks,
the body no less handsome than his face,
but he disdained admirers and despised
their compliments. With skill he took the balm
of Pallas—olive oil—and rubbed his skin,
while Idas, Dymas, and the others glistened,
just as when tranquil seas reflect the stars
and images of constellations shimmer.
The brightest lamp of these clear lights
is Hesperus, whose rays extend as wide
through the blue waves as he mounts heaven’s heights.
Idas was not much older, not much slower,
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and almost matched his beauty. His cheeks showed
a sheen induced by ointments in the gym,
and tender peach-fuzz peeped through waves of hair.
Now they confirmed their quickness, honed their steps,
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and stimulated limbs by various means;
they feigned excitement to resist fatigue;
they crouched and bent their knees; they slapped their chests,
poured on slick ointments, and their fiery feet
suddenly started, then as suddenly ceased.
∞Π≤ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
When the bar dropped and left the gateway clear,
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they quickly drew together and the field
shone with their naked bodies till it seemed
the chariots had raced at slower speed.
• They flew like arrows of Cydonian plebes
or fleeing Parthians. Not otherwise
• across Hyrcanian wastelands race swift deer
who congregate, astonished, blind with fear,
and clash their tangled antlers when they hear,
or think they hear, far o√, the hungry roar
of lions.
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Faster than rapid winds
raced Parthenopaeus, pursued by Idas,
whose rugged body shadowed his bare shoulders,
who panted at his back, while after them,
Dymas and Phaedimus contended, followed
at an uncertain distance by fast Alcon.
Parthenopaeus, the Arcadian,
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had dedicated, since he was an infant,
• his blond hair to Diana (Trivia).
It streamed behind him. He had never cut it.
Boldly, but vainly, he had promised her
to immolate it on his country’s altars
when he returned from these Ogygian wars.
Spread out upon his shoulders and unbound,
it slowed him as it followed in the breeze
and it obstructed evil Idas too,
but also gave the man a way to cheat.
As they approached the line, and victory
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awaited Parthenopaeus, Idas seized
his hair. He took his place. He won the race.
Arcadian soldiers cried for war, prepared
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with weapons to defend their king if what
he won and he deserved was not returned.
They were about to enter the arena,
but others there admired the craft of Idas.
BOOK Π ∞Π≥
Parthenopaeus rubbed his face with dirt.
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His tears streamed down and added to his beauty.
He mourned and clawed his undeserving cheeks
and chest with savage nails and rent the hair
that caused his loss. Noise rose on every side,
the dissonance increased, as old Adrastus
paused, for his decision was uncertain.
At last he said, ‘‘Young men, cease quarreling!
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Your prowess must be tested once again,
but do not run along a single lane.
Idas will take this side, and you take that;
all cheating must be banished from the race!’’
They listened and agreed to his decree.
• Then the Tegaean youth prayed silently,
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‘‘O mighty goddess of the forest groves—
for it is you to whom I vowed this hair,
an oath that has resulted in disgrace—
if ever mother or myself has earned
some honor by our hunting, do not let
me go to Thebes with such an omen, or
subject Arcadia to this dishonor!’’
The answer to his prayer was manifest:
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the meadow scarcely felt his flying feet;
he barely moved the wind or skimmed the dust
and sped across the line as watchers roared,
then went back to Adrastus, whose reward
absolved his sighs and gasps as he received
a horse, while odious Idas got a shield.
The other runners treasured Lycian quivers.
–?–?–?–
Adrastus then invited athletes skilled
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at discus to step forward and compete.
Pterelas came at his command and brought
the slippery burden of the bronzen weights.
They bent his body; he tossed down that mass.
Greeks stared in silence, pondering the task.
∞Π∂ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
Soon the crowd moved: two from Achaea,
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• three Ephyreians, one from Pisa, seven
• Arcanians, and others would have joined,
had not Hippomedon appeared, that giant!
Urged by the audience he rose and balanced
between his hip and hand another discus.
‘‘Instead, try this one, you young men, whose prowess
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will soon stone walls and throw down Tyrian towers!
Whose right hand cannot hurl that other weight?’’
He tossed the first aside with little strain.
Just Phlegyas and green Menestheus stayed
in competition, who, compelled by shame,
sought to maintain their families’ good names.
The other young men willingly conceded,
forced to renounce the discus they esteemed,
for they were so astonished by that giant
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that they knew they would lose, and so withdrew,
just as in Thracian plains the shield of Mars
rings when the god’s spear strikes it and emits
• an evil light that reaches Mount Pangaea
and shines so bright it terrifies the sun.
The Pisan, Phlegyas, began to work,
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and drew all eyes upon himself. The force
his body had was visible, but first
he dusted up his disk and hands with dirt.
He quickly shook the excess o√ and turned