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The Thebaid

Page 35

by Publius Papinius Statius


  of heaven, earth, and ocean share your lands.

  You are the alma materto great cities,

  to many clans and races. You su≈ce

  to hold the sky above and hell below!

  ‘‘You hold up Atlas, he who bears the stars,

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  who strains to hold the weight of heaven’s home—

  and do you then refuse to bear ourweight?

  O goddess Nature, are you so oppressed?

  What crime do we unknowingly atone?

  I pray you tell us! Is it that we come

  as strangers from the banks of Inachus?

  The soil is every person’s right by birth,

  nor does it suit you, worthy goddess, to

  distinguish by such insignificance

  those who are—here and everywhere—your own.

  Be neutral; let our weapons move about.

  I pray you, let it be the course of war

  that fighting souls who die may enter heaven.

  Don’t take our bodies to the living grave

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  before their time, for we, like everyone,

  will follow down the necessary road.

  Keep the field smooth for us Pelasgians,

  and do not speed, we pray, the rapid Fates.

  ‘‘Amphiaraus, some god favored you!

  No human hand or Theban sword destroyed you.

  The goddess Nature opened up her lap

  as if you merited an opening

  in Cirrha’s shrine, near Delphi’s oracle.

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  She took you; she embraced you; so, I pray,

  rejoice and educate me in your ways,

  teach me what you have ready for your people,

  and I will bear your sacred prophecy,

  be your interpreter in Phoebus’ absence,

  and call on your divinity, your name.

  The place where you have fallen is, to me,

  a better place to situate a shrine

  than anywhere on Delos or near Cirrha!’’

  When he had spoken this, he gave the earth

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  black sheep and dark, live cattle and poured piles

  of undulating sands upon the rest—

  an image of the prophet’s living death.

  –?–?–?–

  Such things among the Greeks. Then horns of war

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  blared opposite, and bronze sounds roused fierce swords.

  Bitter Tisiphone blew sonorous:

  upon a peak in Teumesus, she mixed

  the hissing of her hair with that shrill brass,

  and stunned Cithaeron’s dankness and the towers

  that followed other music, other sounds.

  And now Bellona pounded trembling doors

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  and barricaded entrances, and Thebes

  turned many hinges. Now the cavalry

  scattered footsoldiers, and the chariots

  impeded their advance, as if Danaans

  were pressing from the rear, and every soul

  • was squeezed and stuck in each of seven gates.

  The lottery sent Creon through Ogygia,353

  NeistaeEteocles, and Haemon through

  high Homoloidae; Proetiae

  sent Hypseus; Electraelofty Dryas.

  Eurymedon’s battalion shook Hypsistae,

  and great Menoeceus exits through Dircaea.

  All moved, just as the Nile divides its waters

  and flows through open fields in seven streams,

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  carrying to the main the cold and nourishing

  frost from the far horizon he imbibes

  in secret with his great mouth: Nereids

  hide in his depths, afraid to face fresh seas.

  The sad Inachian youth took tardy steps,

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  • especially the Eleans, the Spartans,

  • and Pylians, who felt defrauded by

  the sudden choosing of Thiodamas,

  the augur they, reluctantly, must follow.

  But yours are not the only troops complaining,

  o prince of tripods. All the army knew

  someone was missing, for Thiodamas

  rose less than lofty in the seventh rank,

  as when a cloud that envies brilliant skies

  obscures the constellation Ursa Major.

  It dims its glory by one missing flame

  and obfuscates the axle that should guide

  uncertain mariners, who count the stars.

  –?–?–?–

  But now the war is beckoning. Calliope,373

  renew my strength. Apollo, touch my lyre.

  Those who demand a day of destiny

  confront their fatal hour. Death has emerged

  from Stygian shadows to the open air;

  Death floats in flight above the fields of war;

  Death beckons men with black and gaping maw.

  He pricks to die those of distinguished life;

  he marks the brave, not commoners, with blood.

  The Sisters cut the threads of piteous lives.

  The Furies steal the weavings of the Fates.

  Mars stood midfield, his sword still dry, and turned

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  his shield against each side and shook his spear;

  he blotted thoughts of children, houses, wives;

  he overcame men’s longing for their homes

  and, harder to erase, their love of light.

  What is the wonder if these men grew hot?

  Rage tightened angry hands on spears and pommels;

  ≤∞∫ STATIUS, THE THEBAID

  hard-breathing spirits swelled in straining corselets;

  sti√ crests of horsehair trembled on their helmets;

  their horses flamed against the enemy

  and wet the crumbling dust with flecks of foam.

  Steeds wore their masters’ anger just as if

  they intermixed their bodies with their riders;

  they tugged against their bits and neighed for battle;

  they bucked and flung their armored riders backward.

  They charged. The forward ranks approached through dust.

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  Both sides moved equal distances and saw

  the field between them gradually decrease.

  Now shields and targets fended shields and targets,

  swords threatened swords; feet, feet; and lances, lances.

  Battle lines leaned together; each breathed smoke;

  tall war crests dangled over foreign helmets.

  The siege was still a handsome spectacle:

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  there was a driver for each chariot,

  helmets stood high, men wore full armament,

  weapons held firm; shields, painted quivers, belts

  still shone with gold that blood had not defiled,

  but when unsparing rage and force began

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  to dominate, the pounding was more fierce

  than when the northern wind in Capricorn

  lashes the vales of Rhodope with hail

  or darkling Boreas pounds Libya’s

  Syrtes with freezing rain from Italy,

  and Jupiter rolls thunder through the heavens.

  Arrows obscured the day, an iron mist

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  so dense that no more missiles could have fit.

  Some perished in the serve, some in the volley.

  Shafts met in flight and lost their impetus.

  Long ash spears flew. Swift slings slung screaming stones.

  Sharp pellets and dread arrows that killed twice

  forked down like lightning. Each projectile hit

  someone, because there was no space to spare.

  Men perished and they killed they knew not how:

  they often did by chance their deeds of prowess.

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  Armies recede
d then in turn advanced,

  took land and lost it, just as threatening Jove

  loosens the reins that hold back wind and water

  and lashes earth with alternating storms:

  opposing lines of battle fill the sky;

  • first Auster’s winds prevail, then cold Aquilo’s,

  till too much rain, or clear skies, stop the storm.

  In the beginning of the fighting, Hypseus

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  drove back the Spartans after that proud race

  broke the Euboean lines with forceful shields:

  he killed Menalcas, who had led that wing.

  A true Laconian, raised near mountain streams

  and proud of his progenitors, he seized

  the spear stuck in his breast and pulled it out

  through flesh and bones before it pierced his back,

  a sign of shame, and as his hand grew faint,

  he flung the bloody object at his foe

  and then imagined in his dying eyes

  • his favorite ridges of Taygetus,

  his battles, and his mother’s admirable floggings.

  Dircean Amyntas aimed an arrow at

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  Phaedimus, son of Iasus. Alas,

  how swift is Fate! for Phaedimon hit ground

  even before Amyntas’ bow was silent.

  Agreus, the Calydonian, removed

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  Phegeus’ now useless right arm from his shoulder:

  it gripped his sword and grappled in the dirt.

  Acoetas stabbed that arm through scattered weapons:

  it terrified him, even unattached.

  Dark Acamas struck Iphis, fearsome Hypseus

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  Argus, and Pheres carved through Abas—these

  lay moaning from their di√erent wounds: the rider

  Iphis, footsoldier Argus, driver Abas.

  The savage ignorance of war! Inachian twins

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  had slain twins borne from blood of Cadmus, hidden

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  by helmets till they stripped them o√ as spoils

  and saw their impious deed and in dismay

  looked at each other and bemoaned their error.

  Ion (who prayed at Pisa) toppled Daphneus

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  (who favored Cirrha), and their horses stumbled.

  Jupiter praised the first from high in heaven;

  Apollo pitied, but too late, the other.

  There were two men whom Fortune rendered famous:

  they were opposed in blood, of di√erent race.

  The Theban Haemon sundered and he slew;

  Danaan Tydeus chased the Theban crew.

  Pallas helped one, and Hercules the other,

  just as two winter torrents from two mountains

  burst forth upon a plain in twofold ruin:

  you would believe that they compete as they

  overwhelm fields and trees and sweep away

  bridges; it seems they want to see who’s deeper,

  and when one vale receives and mixes them

  they keep their independence and refuse

  to travel to the sea while intermingled.

  • Onchestian Idas waved a flaming torch

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  that parted and confused the ranks of Greeks:

  he carried forth his fire, but Tydeus’ spear

  caught him up close and pierced his riven helmet.

  He fell back, and his torch enflamed his temples.

  Tydeus pursued him:

  ‘‘Theban, you can’t say

  that Argives are uncivilized! A pyre

  is granted you—so burn in your own fire!’’

  Then like a tiger savoring first blood

  who now desires to murder all the flock,

  Tydeus dismembered Aon with a rock,

  Pholus by sword, and Chromis, too, by sword.

  He speared a pair of Helicaonians

  • whom Maera, priestess of Aegean Venus,

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  had borne despite the goddess’s command:

  she tends her shrine as Tydeus kills her sons.

  No less did Herculean blood impel

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  Haemon to sate his sword on countless people.

  • First he laid low proud Calydonians,

  next, fearsome squadrons of Pylenians

  and then the children of embittered Pleuron.

  At last, his spear exhausted, he confronted

  Olenian Butes and attacked that man

  who blocked his army and refused to move.

  Butes was but a boy and had a boy’s

  smooth cheeks and uncut hair; he did not see

  the Theban’s double-sided battle ax

  aim at his helmet, separate his temples,

  or drop his severed locks on either shoulder.

  Unwarned, he left the gates of life, still fearless.

  Then Haemon killed Hypanis and Polites,

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  both with blond hair. One saved his beard for Phoebus,

  the other kept his locks unshorn for Bacchus,

  two savage gods. Then to these victims Haemon

  added Hyperenor, and then Damasus,

  who turned to flee, but Haemon threw a spear

  that pierced his armor and his chest before

  its sharp point tore his target from his grasp.

  Ismenian Haemon would have still been killing

  Inachian enemies (for Hercules

  pointed his weapons and supplied his strength),

  but Pallas sent fierce Tydeus to confront him.

  Now they met face to face, as adversaries,

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  but first Tyrinthian Hercules remarked:

  ‘‘What fortune, faithful sister, makes us meet

  here in the dust of battle? Is it Juno,

  the queen, who causes this impiety?

  Sooner may she see me face lightning bolts—

  a sacrilegious thought!—or fight great Zeus,

  my father, than confront you. This man’s birth . . .

  but I refuse to recognize the Theban,

  ≤≤≤ STATIUS, THE THEBAID

  because I see you favor his opponent.

  I would not do so, should the spear of Tydeus

  • chase my son Hyllus or Amphitryon

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  (should he escape the underworld of Styx).

  I can remember, and I always will,

  how often, goddess, your right hand and aegis

  assisted me, while I, a toiling slave,

  wandered the world. I know you would have come—

  if Acheron had not excluded gods—

  to Tartarus with me. To you I owe

  my home in heaven: what can equal that?

  If you have set your mind on Thebes, it’s yours.

  I pray you pardon me; I yield you all.’’

  He spoke and turned, and Pallas was appeased.

 

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