The Thebaid
Page 42
embraces and the friends who shook their hands.
They ringed the valley with unquiet fires
and shared the duties and the di√erent posts,
as when a pack of rabid wolves, whom long
hunger has made dare anything, unites
under the veil of night from various fields.
The sheepfold strains and spoiled hope twists their jaws;
flocks bleat in fear; the barnyard wafts rich scents
until they break their claws on hardened grates,
press with their chests, blunt unfed teeth on gates.
–?–?–?–
≤ΠΠ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
Now far away the Peloponnesian women
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circled, as suppliants, the Argive temples
and thronged the altars of the fatherland,
praying to scepter-bearing Juno that
their men come home. They pressed their faces to
the painted doors and cold stones of the temple
and taught their little children how to kneel.
They filled the day with prayers—night added cares—
and kept the altars’ fires burning high.
• They o√ered Juno’s statue cloaks of state,
a miracle of weaving that no woman
either divorced or sterile helped to sew.
They brought robes, in a wicker basket, woven
in purple with embroidery and gold,
a fit gift for a goddess of decorum:
these pictured her, great Jupiter’s betrothed,
still hesitant to cease her role as sister,
with no experience of marriage, giving
young Jove a simple kiss, her eyes downcast,
not yet o√ended by her husband’s trysts.
The Argive matrons veiled the ivory idol,
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wept and lamented, and then they implored:
‘‘O queen of heaven, look where Semele,
the Cadmean concubine, resided in
impiety and bore the rebel Bacchus!
Destroy Thebes with your lightning. You are able!’’
What could she do? She knew the Fates opposed—
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and Jove had set his mind against—her Greeks.
She did not want these prayers and gifts to perish,
but Chance might find a way Time might assist.
From heaven she surveyed the bolted gates,
the valley that the sleepless guards surrounded.
Anger aroused her, and her hair was wild,
and she upset what must be feared—her crown.
She felt more bitter than when she had been
scornful in heaven’s emptiness and seen
BOOK ∞≠ ≤Ππ
• Alcmene and the Thunderer asleep
for two straight nights, engendering Hercules.
She therefore ordered the Aonians
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be put to death when they were fast asleep.
She summoned Iris and commanded her
to gird herself with multicolored rings.
The crystalline divinity obeyed,
and she dropped down from heaven, following
a long, suspended arc that curved toward earth.
–?–?–?–
There is a silent grove no star can pierce
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beyond the shaded couch of setting night
(the other home of Aethiopians)
and under it, a steep and awesome cave
runs through a hollow mountain to the place
that careless Nature saves for lazy Sleep,
a household atrium, secure and safe.
Dark Rest and slack Forgetting tend the gate
with languid Sloth, who has a sleepy face.
Leisure and Silence, folding feathered wings,
sit mutely in the vestibule and chase
winds that intrude along the roof away
and let no songbirds sing or branches sway.
Although the oceans roar, the shore is silent,
nor is there any thunder from the sky.
Even the river flowing by the cave
that drops from heights among the cli√s and rocks
makes no noise by the dark, reclining flocks
and herds along the fields. New flowers wither,
and earth exhales a breath that stunts the grass.
A thousand simulations of the god
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had been engraved by shining Mulciber
inside the cave: here, leaning on Sleep’s side,
wearing a wreathe, is Pleasure; there, reclining
in rest is his companion, Labor. Here
≤Π∫ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
lies Bacchus, there lies Love, the child of Mars,
sharing his common couch. Sleep also lies,
in secret chambers, deep interiors,
with Death, but these are somber images,
unseen by anyone: mere semblances.
The god himself reclines in dripping caverns
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on blankets strewn with sleep-inducing flowers.
His clothes exude a vapor. His lethargic
corpulence warms his cushions. Dark, dank mists,
caused by his exhalations, cloud his couch.
His left hand brushes hair back from his brow;
• his right hand tries to grip his slipping horn.
The legions of the night, unsettled Dreams,
false flatteries inmixed with sorry truths,
appearances innumerable, were gathered
on beams and posts or scattered on the floor.
The hall was dimly lit, a feeble sheen
inviting sleep, as when a languid light
falls from a fading flame and then expires.
Here hung the multicolored virgin in
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the blue cerulean. She lit the groves,
as shaded valleys smiled upon the goddess.
Struck by her glittering zone, the house awoke
but neither bright lamps, noises, nor the goddess,
who shouted, could arouse the God of Sleep.
He lay in his accustomed way until
Iris unveiled the full force of her lights
to penetrate his deep, unmoving eyes.
The golden source of cloud forms then began:
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‘‘O Sleep, the mildest god, you have been ordered
by Juno to restrain the generals
from Sidon and the people of fierce Cadmus!
They in the aftermath of battle, proudly
circle, unsleeping, the Achaean camp,
refusing to conform to your decrees.
Grant this unusual request, a rare
occasion when you may please Jupiter
and still not lose the favor of his queen!’’
BOOK ∞≠ ≤ΠΩ
She spoke. She shook his lazy frame lest he
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ignore her, then repeated what she said.
He answered with a nod, the same he gives
when dropping o√ to sleep, and Iris left
the darkness of his caverns, feeling heavy
till rains restored her brightness, which had dimmed.
Sleep shook his feathered feet and windy brow
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and wrapped up in a mantle from whose folds
dark breezes exhaled cold, and he was borne
in silence through the ether till his presence
confounded the Aonians in camp.
His influence drove birds down, beasts and flocks,
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and everywhere flat seas fell back from rocks.
As he moved through the world, slow-moving clouds
seemed stuck together, tall trees bent their tops,
and pliant skies let constellations drop.
The army felt the presence of the god
when gloom came suddenly as noises stopped—
as hovering for real on humid wings
Sleep overwhelmed the camp and cast a shade—
no shade had ever been so dense, so black—
that made men roll their eyes. Their necks relaxed.
They left the words they utter cut in half.
Their hands released fierce spears and shields of light.
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Weary heads fell on chests, and all was silence.
Even their horses would not stand upright,
and ashes suddenly consumed their fires.
Now Sleep did not extend to anxious Greeks
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a similar repose; he drew his cloud
back from the nearby camp. That deity,
who wanders through the night, did not entice them.
They all remained in armor and disdained
the darkness and those insolent patrolmen.
A sudden shaking gripped Thiodamas—
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the fury of the gods, a fierce disturbance—
that ordered him to prophesy their fate.
≤π≠ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
Either Saturnian Juno moved his mind
or great Apollo urged his augurer.
The man was gripped by some divinity
and leaped into the middle of the camp,
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fearful to see and terrible to hear,
unable to contain what he conceived.
His torment overwhelmed him. Madness sat
nakedly in his face. Blood came and went
through trembling cheeks, which withered, then distended.
His eyes moved sideways, and his flowing hair,
entwined with scattered garlands, whipped his neck,
• as when the mother goddess of Mount Ida
incites a bloody priest of hers in Phrygia
to lacerate his arms, deep in her shrine,
then pound his breast with sticks of sacred pine
and fling his blood-stained hair—when she removes
his consciousness—and run to numb his wounds.
Fields and the sacred pine tree smeared with blood
panic. Spooked lions lift her chariot.
He entered the most deep interiors
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and council chambers, where Adrastus wondered
how to continue or to end and sought
advice, for all the slaughter sickened him.
He was surrounded by his new commanders,
those men who had replaced the fallen chiefs
whose absence was conspicuous in council.
There was no happiness in their promotions,
just grief, as when a ship has lost its pilot
and someone must assume the empty post,
whether he be lieutenant of the midships
or one who feels the sea spray on the prow.
The new commander finds the vessel sluggish,
the rigging unresponsive, as if both
refuse submission to a minor lord.
The rapid-moving augurer inspired
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the Argives, who felt peril and confusion:
BOOK ∞≠ ≤π∞
‘‘We bring the mighty mandates of the gods,
and warnings to be feared, my commandants.
These words are not my own: Apollochants!
The deity confirms the confidence
you showed by choosing me to be his servant
and wear his sacred fillets. By the god
who oversees the auguries, this night
is ripe for exploits—and for fraudulence,
if well conceived. Our ready manliness
demands and Fortune asks our intervention.
The legions of Aonians are dull
and wrapped in sleep; we have the opportunity,
now, to avenge our leaders who are slain
and make up for the losses of these days.
Batter obstructing gates and seize your weapons.
Take up the torches for your comrades’ pyres.
Now you can bury them! I saw these things,
even as we retreated, beaten, scattered
during our daylight battle. By the tripods,
and by the novel passing of my master,
I swear the birds applauded in approval.
But now what I envisioned is confirmed.
Amphiaraus came to me himself,
here, in the silent night. He rose—himself—
freed from the earth, again as he had been.
Only his horses showed a touch of shadow.
It was his presence, not some prodigy
of silent emptiness, nor was it something
created from a dream of which I speak.
‘‘ ‘Give me my gods again,’ he said. ‘Return
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the fillets of Parnassus, you false prophet!
How can you let the slow Inachians
lose such a night? Is this why I myself
taught you the flights of birds and heaven’s secrets?
Proceed! Proceed! At least avenge mydeath!’
So he spoke, and it seemed he raised his spear
and drove his chariot to push me here.
Go then! Use what the gods have given you.
≤π≤ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
You will not meet the enemy; they sleep
while you receive this opportunity
that Fate permits you for a massacre.
Let those who do not fear great fame come forward.
The birds that fly at night are favorable.
Apollo joins as well; he waves his reins!’’
He discomposed the night with his harangue.
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It was not that the best men were on fire
so much as, by a single god, inspired—
provoked to join with him and follow fortune.
Thiodamas himself selected thirty,
a strong force, while the other soldiers fumed
with indignation that they must do nothing
and stay behind in camp. Some argued for
their noble birth, some their ancestors’ deeds,
and some their own. Some urged a lottery,
a drawing to ensure a fair selection.
Adrastus’s spirits lifted; he rejoiced,
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despite adversity, like one who breeds
• swift horses on the heights of Pholoe
when he sees herds renew themselves in spring.
It pleases him that some prefer the summits,
some swim in streams, and some contend with parents.
He idly wonders which will bear the yoke
without complaining, which ones carry loads,
which ones are born for trumpets and for warfare,
and which may win the palm in the Olympics.
Thus, too, the aging Greek, the army’s leader—
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nor was he absent from this operation.