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The Thebaid

Page 37

by Publius Papinius Statius


  behind which faithful Pallas hid her fears:

  she left to sway great Jupiter with tears.

  Just then an ashen spear cut through the winds,

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  driven by fortune and enormous anger.

  At first nobody knew who hurled that shaft;

  he did not show himself but tried to hide,

  yet celebrating troops discovered him.

  It was Astacus’ son, named Melanippus,

  who shook in fear as Tydeus doubled over,

  released his oval shield, and gripped his side.

  Aonian cheers mixed with Pelasgian groans.

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  Bands circled to protect the spiteful hero.

  He hated Melanippus, whom he glimpsed

  far o√, beyond his enemies, and gathered

  all his remaining strength to throw a spear

  that nearby Hopleus o√ered. The attempt

  made his blood spurt, and his unhappy men

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  carried away the one who was so keen

  to fight that he denied that he was dying.

  He asked for a fresh spear, but he was taken

  beside the field and propped against two shields

  by weeping soldiers who said he would soon

  be back in battle, for the war continued.

  But he could sense the heavens dim; extreme

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  coldness came over him; his great strength waned.

  ≤≥≠ STATIUS, THE THEBAID

  He leaned along the ground and cried, ‘‘Do what

  I ask, Inachidae. Don’t take my bones

  to Argos or Aetolia. I don’t care

  for final rites. I hate these useless limbs,

  this fragile body that deserts my soul!

  ‘‘Would there were someone to retrieve your head—

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  your head, o Melannipus! I am certain

  you lie dead in the field and that my final

  action succeeded. Go, Hippomedon,

  if you have any blood of Atreus!

  And Parthenopaeus, go—already

  famous in your first war! And Capaneus,

  now greatest warrior among the Argives!’’

  Each hurried. Capaneus, first in motion,

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  first to find Melanippus, bent and lifted

  him breathing from the dust and carried him

  on his left shoulder as his open wound

  poured streams of blood and gore along his back—

  like Hercules, when from Arcadia’s cave

  he brought the captive boar to clamoring Argos.

  Tydeus sat up and turned his gaze and, mad

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  with joy and anger, saw his gasping face

  and glancing eyeballs—and he saw himself.

  He had the head cut o√ and set before him.

  His left hand gripped the gruesome, hated object,

  and he enjoyed its warmth, while its wild eyes

  flickered with wonder. When would they be closed?

  Tydeus was happy, but unfortunate.

  Vengeful Tisiphone demanded more.

  –?–?–?–

  • By now Tritonian Pallas had assuaged

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  her pliant father and was carrying

  immortal fame to Tydeus, when she saw

  that blood and broken brains perfused his jaws,

  that slime and filthy stains befouled his face.

  His comrades could not stop him. The fierce Gorgon

  BOOK ∫ ≤≥∞

  stood there with outstretched hair, and her horned serpents

  sti√ened and cast their shadows on Athena.

  The goddess turned her face away and fled,

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  nor did she enter heaven till her eyes

  had undergone purgation—mystic fires,

  ablutions in the guiltless stream Ilissos.

  –?–?–?–

  BOOK 9 Tide and Time

  Disgust with Tydeus. Reactions of Eteocles and Polynices. Hippomedon protects the body of Tydeus until Tisiphone interferes. Hypseus, the Theban champion. The death of Crenaeus, son of the river nymph, infuriates Ismenos, who floods and drowns Hippomedon. Capaneus kills Hypseus. Atalanta’s nightmares portend the death of her son. Dryas kills Parthenopaeus. Final message to his mother.

  What Tydeus did disgusted every Tyrian

  who heard about his angry, bloody deed.

  Even Inachians lamented little

  that he had fallen. They themselves complained

  that he transgressed divine restraints on hate.

  Gradivus, most implacable of gods,

  4

  you too would not approach him. People say

  your mad mind is intent on taking life,

  but his brutality was so o√ensive

  you turned your frightened horses from the sight.

  The desecrated corpse of Melanippus

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  su≈ced to stir young Thebans to revenge,

  as much as if their fathers’ urns were mauled

  by monsters and their buried bones disturbed.

  The king himself, Eteocles, provoked them:

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  ‘‘Who shows Pelasgians mercy anymore?

  Tydeus makes curved fangs instruments of rage;

  he gnaws our limbs! Did we not slake his sword?

  Does he believe he’s some Hyrcanian tiger

  or savage Libyan lion who attacks us?

  He lies in death’s sweet solace, yet his jaws

  still grip the severed head of his opponent;

  he revels in impiety and gore!

  We battle Greeks with torches, hardened blades,

  BOOK Ω ≤≥≥

  and open hate; our anger uses weapons!

  Let them enjoy the fame their madness brings,

  that you may witness it, great Jupiter.

  They wonder why earth opened, why the field

  of war retreated. Would their land support

  such troops like these?’’ He spoke, and urged his men.

  They charged and shouted loudly; each of them

  was mad to gain the corpse and spoils of Tydeus.

  Just so do flocks of birds obscure the sky

  when lured from far away by evil breezes,

  foul air blown from the dead who lie unburied.

  Their voices ravenlike, they rush on wings

  that beat the winds, and lesser birds give way.

  Across Aonia’s plain the murmuring

  32

  of rapid Rumor flew among the soldiers—

  bad news moves fast—until that mournful sound

  had reached the trembling ears of Polynices.

  Slow to believe, he sti√ened, held his tears.

  He was persuaded, and dissuaded, by

  the strength of Tydeus, that he might have died.

  A trusted messenger confirmed his death,

  and then night overwhelmed his mind and eyes,

  his blood chilled, limbs grew slack, his weapons dropped,

  he wept inside his helmet, and his shield

  fell and rebounded o√ the warrior’s greaves.

  He walked on wobbling knees and dragged his spear

  in mourning, as if bearing many wounds,

  deep ones, on every limb. His friends drew back

  and looked at him with sorrow, even as

  he shed the armor he could hardly carry

  and tumbled prostrate on the lifeless body

  of his great friend. He mingled words with tears:

  ‘‘Is this the thanks I o√er you, o son

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  of Oeneus, for your meritorious service

  that left you dead in Cadmus’s hated fields

  while I was safe? Now I will always be

  ≤≥∂ STATIUS, THE THEBAID

  a miserable exile and a fugitive.

  My other, better brother has been taken!

&nb
sp; I will no longer seek my former fortune,

  the perjured diadem of that foul kingdom.

  My happiness has cost too much. What can

  a scepter you have not presented mean?

  ‘‘Depart, men! Let me face my wicked brother!

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  Why risk another war where soldiers perish?

  I pray you, go! What more is there to o√er?

  I wasted Tydeus! How can I atone,

  even by dying? O Adrastus! Argos!

  Our lucky altercation that first night,

  the blows exchanged, the long love that we won

  from such short anger. O great Tydeus! Why?

  You should have killed me on the royal threshold.

  You even went to Thebes for me and knew

  my brother’s household, his impieties.

  No other could have come back, yet you went

  as if your crown and honors were at stake.

  Fame has already ceased to speak of Theseus

  and pious Telamon, for you matched these.

  Now you lie dead! Which wound should I search first?

  Which blood is yours? Which is your enemies’?

  What battle line, what countless company—

  if I am not mistaken—laid you low?

  The father of the gods himself felt envy,

  and Mars unleashed his spear with all his strength.’’

  And so he spoke and mourned and cleaned the man’s

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  face with his tears and wiped him with his hand.

  ‘‘Did you so hate my enemies? Do I

  survive?’’ and then, deranged, he drew his sword

  out of its sheathe, and he prepared to die.

  His comrades stopped him, and his father-in-law

  checked him, then calmed him. He reminded him

  of fate and the uncertainties of war,

  then slowly drew him from his friend’s dead body,

  the source of his laments and helplessness,

  and, unobserved while speaking, sheathed his sword.

  BOOK Ω ≤≥Σ

  They led him o√ the way they lead a bull

  who loses his yoke fellow in midfurrow;

  his harness falls lopsided o√ his neck;

  the weeping plowman lifts part, part the ox.

  –?–?–?–

  Even as this occurred, Eteocles

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  was urging forward his best infantry,

  young men whom Pallas would not scorn to face

  in war, or Mars contend with spear to spear.

  Against them tall Hippomedon held fast

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  behind his shield, his spear extended forward,

  just as a rock opposes waves, afraid

  of nothing in the heavens and unmoved,

  despite the breaking waters, while at sea

  sad sailors recognize a prodigy.

  Then spoke Aonian Eteocles,

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  even as he selected his best spear:

  ‘‘Have you no sense of shame, that you should guard,

  while all the gods and heavens watch, this ghost,

  this corpse that brings our warfare ill-repute?

  No doubt the burial of such a beast

  makes worthwhile this enormous task,

  this unforgettable display of strength,

  lest he should go to Argos to be mourned

  and drip corrupted blood from his soft bier!

  But do not worry; he will not be eaten

  by godless monsters, birds, or pious flames—

  should we allow him flames.’’

  No more was said.

  His weapon drove two layers through the bronze

  shield that was wielded by Hippomedon.

  Pheres and Lycus followed: Pheres’ shaft

  bounded, while subtle Lycus cut in half

  his waving crest, the terror on his casque.

  ≤≥Π STATIUS, THE THEBAID

  But they could not displace Hippomedon

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  nor did he move to meet opposing arms.

  He stood against them all and fought, but his

  sole purpose was to guard the corpse he loved,

  just as a jealous cow protects her calf—

  her fragile firstborn—from a hostile wolf,

  anticipating him with circling horns,

  fearful of nothing. She forgets her sex

  lacks strength; she foams and imitates strong bulls.

  At last the cloud of flying missiles thinned,

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  and he could hurl their weapons back again.

  Then Alcon came with help from Sicyon

  and nimble Idas’s Pisan troops filled in.

  Hippomedon was pleased by this and flung

  a Lernaean spear against his enemies

  that quickly thrust Polites through the waist

  and then the shield of Mopsus, his close friend.

  • He pierced the Phocian Cydon and Tanagraean

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  Phalanthus, also Eryx, who was turning,

  searching for weapons, not expecting death

  to enter through his long hair, while Phalanthus

  spit teeth the spear dislodged and wondered why

  his face but not his hollow throat felt safe:

  he moaned and coughed up blood as he was dying.

  Leonteus was attempting to extend

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  his right arm through the bands of fighting men

  who hid him as he seized dead Tydeus’s hair,

  but he was spotted by Hippomedon

  despite the crush of danger on all sides.

  His savage sword cut through that outstretched hand,

  as he yelled loudly, ‘‘Tydeus did it—Tydeus!

  After this, show respect for warriors,

  even when dead, and be afraid to seek

  the ghosts of great ones, you who are so weak!’’

  Three times the Cadmean phalanx tried to take

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  the frightful corpse; three times Danaans

  retrieved it, moving like an anxious ship

  in mutinous Sicilian seas, which wanders,

  BOOK Ω ≤≥π

  despite the skipper’s e√orts, back and forth,

  retracing, sails reversed, her former course.

  Hippomedon would not be driven back

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  from his position by Sidonian forces.

  He could withstand the force of catapults:

  their weapons, which might frighten lofty towers,

  uselessly struck his shield and he repelled them.

  Irreverent Tisiphone, however,

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  remembering Elysium’s king, the crimes

  Tydeus committed in the recent past,

  moved with dexterity around the field.

  She hid her whip and sacrilegious torch

  and made the serpents in her hair lie silent.

  The armies felt her presence though she took

  the shape of Halys, an Inachian;

 

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