The Thebaid
Page 35
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,
315
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
325
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.
≤∞Π STATIUS, THE THEBAID
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
338
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
342
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
348
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,
BOOK ∫ ≤∞π
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,
363
• 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
383
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.
395
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:
402
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
406
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
412
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.
BOOK ∫ ≤∞Ω
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
428
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
438
Phaedimus, son of Iasus. Alas,
how swift is Fate! for Phaedimon hit ground
even before Amyntas’ bow was silent.
Agreus, the Calydonian, removed
441
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
445
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
448
had slain twins borne from blood of Cadmus, hidden
≤≤≠ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
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
453
(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
466
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,
BOOK ∫ ≤≤∞
had borne despite the goddess’s command:
she tends her shrine as Tydeus kills her sons.
No less did Herculean blood impel
480
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,
491
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,
500
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
509
(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.