The Thebaid
Page 31
whirlpool, confined within its banks, exhales
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signs of his mighty torment—fire and ashes—
and breathes its Aetnaen vapors through the sky,
just as, if Jove is happy with Aegina,
we shall see Hypseus on the Cadmean plain.
He leads Alalcomenaeans—men of
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Minerva—and Itonaeans, and those
Midea sends, and Arne of the vines,
and those who sow at Aulis, Graea, and
verdant Plataeae; those who cultivate
• and master Peteon, and hold Euripus—
the part within our boundaries—which flows
backward and wanders; and, Anthedon, you
• from whose grass coastline Glaucus jumped
into the sea that beckoned, ocean-blue
in hair and face already, soon to be
a fish below the waist. These men are trained
to cleave the air with lead balls, twisted slings.
Their javelins surpass Cydonean arrows.
‘‘You would have sent your son too, Cephisus—
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no one was handsomer than your Narcissus—
but that fierce boy turns pale in Thespian fields,
a flower, father, bathed by your grieved waters.
‘‘Who can describe to you, Antigone,
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the troops of Phoebus and of ancient Phocis?
Of Panope, and Daulis, Cyparissos;
your vales, Lebadia? Hyampolis,
nestled beneath a steep cli√? those who plow
two sides of Mount Parnassus with their bulls
or Cirrha, Anemoria, Corycian
groves, or Lylaea, from which springs the cold
• stream Cephisus, the place the Python, panting
and thirsty, blocked the river from the sea?
‘‘Look at the laurel woven through those crests,
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that armor, which shows Tityos or Delos,
• those quivers that supplied the god’s mass killings.
They follow Iphitus, a valiant man,
whose father, son of Hippasus, Naubolus,
recently died. He sheltered you, good Laius!
∞∫∫ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
but I still held your reins and drove your chariot
while you were being trampled by your horses,
neck torn and bloody. Would that blood were mine!’’
He spoke. His cheeks were wet, his face full pale,
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and sudden sobs cut o√ his path of speech.
The woman, who was dear to him, revived
the old man’s languid spirit. He continued:
‘‘Antigone, you are my greatest joy;
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unmatched in your solicitude toward me.
My own death is delayed; perhaps I act
badly, postponing it, until I have
brought you, intact and suitable, to marriage.
That done, the Fates may take my weary life.
‘‘But look, how many generals have passed
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while I have been recovering my strength:
I have not mentioned Clonis, or the sons
of Abas, who wear long hair down their backs;
nor you, Carystos, built on rocks; low-lying
Aegae and high Caphereus. My eyes
grow dull and do not serve me. All is still.
Your brother orders silence from the soldiers.’’
The old man on the tower had hardly finished,
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when, from a mound, the king began:
‘‘High-minded
leaders, whom I myself, your general,
would not refuse to follow to defend
my city Thebes! I do not come prepared
to rouse you: you have freely taken arms.
Unforced you’ve sworn to serve my blameless rage.
Nor do my skills su≈ce to give you praise
or proper thanks. That task is for the gods,
for armies when their enemies are beaten.
‘‘You’ve come from friendly lands to save this city
that native enemies assault—not some
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warlike destroyer from a foreign shore
or far-o√ population. He who rules
the camps that face us has a father here,
a mother, sisters joined to him by blood—
he had a brother! Everywhere he looks,
the monster plots, with his impieties, his family’s
annihilation, but I am not left
alone: the people of Aonia have come
without coercion. It is proper that
he know that they insist I keep this kingdom.’’
He spoke, then issued orders: who should wage
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the war, maintain the walls, which squadron would
be first in battle, which should hold the middle.
When earth is fresh and doorways let in daylight,
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a shepherd opens up his wicker gates:
he lets the leaders out first, then the crowd
of flocking ewes, and then he lifts, himself,
the pregnant ones whose udders sweep the ground;
• he carries suckling youngsters to their mothers.
–?–?–?–
Meanwhile Danaans, night and day in arms,
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carried away by rage, marched night and day.
They scorned rest, barely slept or took time out
for meals. Against the enemy they rushed
as if the enemy were in pursuit, nor did
portents that point to certain death detain them,
or songs of marvelous occurrences.
And there were many: birds and animals
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gave cautions; stars, and rivers that ran backward.
Jupiter thundered warnings; lightning flashes
menaced; shrines issued terrifying voices.
The doors of temples shuttered on their own.
Now it rained blood, now rocks. Old men encountered
ghosts flitting by. Apollo’s oracle
∞Ω≠ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
Cirrha was silent, and Eleusis wailed
all night in unaccustomed months. The brothers
Castor and Pollux battled—a disgrace,
• a portent—in the open shrines of Sparta.
• The Arcadians said Lycaon’s frenzied ghost
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barked through the quiet night, while Pisans claimed
their own Oenomaus drove the savage plain.
The wandering Acarnan—Tydeus—
deformed the Achelous, which had lost
a horn to Hercules; the e≈gy
of Perseus wept, to which Mycenae prays;
the ivory of Juno was embarrassed;
farmers said mighty Inachus made moans;
inhabitants between the seas told how
Theban Palaemon wailed along the deep.
• The Peloponnesian phalanx heard these things,
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but their desire for battle banished fear
and they ignored the counsels of the gods.
–?–?–?–
The army had already reached, Asopos,
your banks among the rivers of Boeotia
but did not dare to cross your hostile stream.
By chance the river flooded trembling fields,
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swelled by a rainbow or by mountain clouds;
perhaps the river father purposely
created obstacles to block the army.
Then wild Hippomedon drove down the bank;
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it crumbled; it confused his horse, but he
held high his reins and weapons in the stream
and called out to the soldiers he preceded:
>
‘‘Forward, you men, and I will take the vanguard
and lead you to the walls I’ve vowed to shatter—
the Theban ramparts!’’
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Everyone raced forward,
into the river, humbled to have followed,
as when before an unknown stream a herd,
pushed by its pastor, sadly hesitates,
fearing the distance to the further shore:
the lead bull enters, and he swims across;
he makes the water seem more tame, the jump
less di≈cult, the other bank look closer.
Not far away they found a suitable
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field on a hill to place their camp in safety.
From there they could behold Sidonian towers,
even the city. Under this pleasing and
secure location on the heights was spread
an open field. No mountain overlooked it,
nor did it take much work to fortify—
a miracle how Nature favored it.
High rocks formed walls; the plain sloped into trenches.
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By chance four mounds shaped ramparts. They themselves
did what remained, until the sunshine crept
from hills; the men were weary, so they slept.
–?–?–?–
What words su≈ce to show the plight of Thebes?
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Dark night is terrifying to a town
facing the worst of war, and day brings fear.
Men raced along the barricades in terror;
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no walls seemed safe; Amphion’s ramparts, worthless.
Rumor increased the ranks of enemies,
fear added more. They saw Inachian tents
and foreign campfires opposite, in their
own hills, and begged the gods and prayed or chose
weapons for battle, urged their warlike horses,
wept and embraced their dear ones in despair.
Some ordered funeral pyres against the morrow.
And if some slender sleep should shut their eyes,
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they dreamed of war, of the advantages
∞Ω≤ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
delay brings, of the weariness of life.
Confused, in shock, they feared, and prayed for, light.
Tisiphone ran wild on either side.
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She flailed her double snake and stirred the brothers
whom Oedipus despised. He left his shadows
and wished that he could see them hate each other.
–?–?–?–
Now the cold moon and fading stars were dimmed
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by the first light of day. The Ocean swelled
with newborn flames the Titan sun revealed
as he calmed panting horses; now Jocasta,
like the most ancient of Eumenides,
majestic in her su√ering, emerged
through the town’s gates. Her eyes were wild, her cheeks
pallid, her gray hair dirty, her arms bruised.
• She bore an olive branch with black wool twists.
Her daughters, now the better sex, supported
the aging limbs she forced to move along
faster than she was capable of walking.
She bared her breasts before the enemy
and struck the facing barricade. Her voice
appalled them as she begged to be admitted:
‘‘I am the mother of impieties
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and war; I tell you to unlock these doors:
my womb has earned the right to curse this camp!’’
The trembling soldiers feared the sight of her,
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but more, her words. A messenger returned
from King Adrastus and, as ordered, they
unbolted and gave passage through their swords.
As soon as she beheld the Achaean leaders,
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maddened by grief, she raised a fearful clamor:
‘‘Beneath what helmet will I find my son,
the enemy I bore, you chiefs of Argos?’’
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The Cadmean hero wept with tears of joy
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and held the frantic woman in his arms.
He soothed her and kept saying ‘‘Mother! Mother!’’
He hugged her and conversed with his two sisters.
The woman’s tears were angry, and she sighed:
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‘‘Why do you feign soft tears and reverence
for me, your hated mother? Iron presses
against the neck your arms clasp. Are you not
a wandering exile and a wretched guest?
Who is not sorry for you? Long battalions
wait your commands; swift swords shine by your side.
Are you the man I wept for night and day?
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We mothers are so miserable! If you respect
the words and admonitions of your family,
I order you, I beg you as a parent—
now while the camps are still, and wavering
Piety scorns this war—to join me. Look:
your household gods, the buildings that will burn,
even your brother! Why avert you eyes?
Speak to Eteocles; I’ll mediate.
Either he’ll yield, or you can recommence
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your struggle, better justified. Do you
fear some deceit, a mother’s trick? Your house
retains its sense of right: you would be safe
even if Oedipus had come, not me.
I married and, alas, conceived in sin,
but yet I love you; I excuse your rage.
Still, if you must persist in being cruel,
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I will surrender. Bind your sisters’ hands.
Carry away your father and his burdens.
‘‘But sons of Inachus, you men of honor,
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you who have left your children and your parents
and those like me who weep at home: I pray,
believe a mother’s feelings. If my son—
I hope it’s true—became so dear to you
so quickly, what must I—and my womb—feel?
If I asked Thracian or Hyrcanian kings
or any crueler race to halt this strife, they’d do it.
If you must fight, I’ll hold him till I die.’’
∞Ω∂ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
Her words struck those proud squadrons; you
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could see the helmets of the soldiers nodding,
their armor sprinkled by their pious tears.
Irresolute Pelasgian hearts were bending.
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They were like lions that have scattered men
and met their weapons with impulsive chests;
their rage grows less as they enjoy their captives
and satisfy their appetites in safety.