by Daisy Dunn
[…]
We do not put the whole body of the viper into theriac, but cut off the heads and tails and use the rest of the body in the mixture. We do not do this capriciously, nor without reason, but because the head contains the worst of the bodily fluids, the poison itself, and so we try to cut them off so that the drug should have less of their power, since the nature of these heads has a certain power of turning things to poison just as sperm is created by changes occurring in the testicles, and milk in the breast. The female viper has a head more suited for destruction than any other creature. For they say it opens its mouth to receive the male’s semen, and then when it has got it to cut off his head; and this is the method of their foul intercourse. Then the creatures born from the sperm by a sort of natural revenge eat through the mother’s stomach and emerge into the open and so kill the mother to avenge the father. So the great Nicander writes elegantly in his poetry, and these are his words:
“Do not be at the crossroads when the dusky viper escaping her bite is enraged by the blow of the sooty-coloured she-viper when, as the male mounts her, leaping and fastening her furious bite in him, she cuts off her husband’s head. But the little snakes which are born follow up the outrage against their father when they orphan themselves by breaking out of their mother’s slender body.”
We remove the tails and the whole extremities of the body because they are part of the tail and, in my view, because they drag the more foul part of the body and get more of a dragging because they provide the motion of the snake, just as the parts of a fish towards the tail are said to be more nourishing because of the amount of moving they do. Do not be amazed if after cutting off these parts, the rest of the body of the creatures makes the drug stronger when its inherent power to save is mixed in with their very flesh. In the case of other animals we know that many of their body parts heroically treat many conditions. For example many are helped by the heads of mice, for when burnt and anointed with honey they can cure alopecia. And they say that the head of a kite likewise is a treatment for gout if one dries it without its feathers and sprinkles it in three fingers of water. And sometimes even single subdivisions of parts can cure some diseases. For example a camel’s brain dried and drunk with vinegar cures epileptics; likewise that of a weasel. That of a swallow with milk works against cataracts. That of a sheep prepared the same way is a great help against the teething pains of children. The shavings of the horn of a bull, drunk with water, stop haemorrhage, and the burnt thighbones also hold back the blood. The same thing also often stops an upset stomach. The filings of the horn of a deer, when burnt, and ground up with wine, then applied as a plaster, fix loosened teeth; they say the vertebra of an ox can do this too. And drunk with honey it expels roundworm, with vinegar and honey it softens the spleen, and when smeared on to leprosies it softens them, and it is equally aphrodisiac; and the beaver’s testicles drunk in the same way cure spasms. And many animals can help men by their bile, their fat, their marrow, their milk, their skin, their very blood, and in the case of snakes their shed skin. We have even known men helped by their excrement. For example cow dung dried and burnt with three snails helps dropsy; mouse dung mixed with vinegar cures alopecia; and taken in a drink it breaks down bladder stones; goose fat with rose water heals the lungs; and deer marrow is a very soothing drug. Drinking cow’s milk helps those with bad stomachs. Hyena bile with honey helps to induce sharp-sightedness, and when rubbed on cataracts removes them. Hippopotamus skin, burnt and made into a smooth paste with water, dissipates tumours, just as a smooth paste of snakeskin applied to bald patches wonderfully encourages hair growth. An asp’s shed skin rubbed into honey and applied as an ointment gives very sharp sight. There is so much material of this kind that I think now not a good time to write it all down for fear this treatise becomes too long for us, and just as much as I have already written is enough to give you proof of what I say. And you should know this, that the whole bodies of animals are often good for people. For example river crab beaten smooth and applied as a plaster drives out thorns and splinters; similarly shrimp beaten small with bryony root and drunk expels worms. Scorpion roasted and eaten with bread breaks up bladder stones. Again, earth worms drunk in wine do the same thing. And if someone with jaundice beats them up in honey and wine and drinks them he will immediately be purged and relieved of it.
They have often healed the lungs of the gouty when applied with rose salve, and falcon cooked up with lily perfume cures weakness of sight. Dung beetle cures ear ache when boiled up with oil and dripped into the ear. Eating roast lark has often wonderfully helped those suffering from colic. And so that you may wonder more at the power in the bodies of living creatures I will explain something even more remarkable. Many creatures exhibit their power just by being looked at. The gecko fixes scorpions to the spot when they see it and so kills them. The amphisbaena is a two-headed animal like double-ended ships, since nature has done her the unusual favour of giving her two heads, and they say that if a pregnant woman encounters this creature she miscarries, and no wonder if the bodies of these snakes, cut up, still have power to help. For I have diligently shown I think that both the whole bodies sometimes help men, and sometimes just parts of them, and sometimes small parts of the parts themselves.
THE GNAT
Culex
Anon.
Translated by Lucius M. Sargent, 1807
Believed by some to be an early work of Virgil (see Stories 48, 49 and 63), the Culex or ‘Gnat’ is a lively tale about a shepherd and the adventures which take him away from his fields. Although Virgil had a keen interest in rural living, setting both his Eclogues and Georgics in the countryside, this sprawling story, written in Latin hexameters, was probably written by someone else to replace a poem of his that was lost.
But to my song: now fled the shades of night,
And rosy morning open’d on the sight;
From out their folds his flock, as morning gay,
A shepherd drove; and bent his wonted way
Along the vale with various flow’rets spread,
To where the mountain lifts it’s grassy head.
Pleas’d at release, in various tracks they rove,
Some wander o’er the vale, some seek the grove;
Some snuff the wanton breeze, some strive amain
To mount the dang’rous steep, and gaze along the plain:
Those crop the lowly grass, while eager these
Roam thro’ the wood for shrubs and flow’ring trees;
While this the bud or grateful blossom nips,
Or from the branch the pendent dewdrop sips,
That seeks afar some height, whence fountains flow,
And views its semblance in the stream below.—
Blest is the shepherd’s life! ah, happy swain,
Who seeks no joys beyond his native plain;
Nor pants for wealth, nor heaves a wishful sigh
For all the charms of pageant luxury.
For him no joy can Syrian dies impart,
Nor costly bowls, the boast of Alcon’s art;
Nor splendid halls, nor stones of fairest hue,
Nor pearls that toil from India’s ocean drew.
But oft, when spring and all her charms appear,
And Flora’s pencil paints the blooming year,
Full light of heart, from some green bank he views
The various fields, and notes their sev’ral hues;
Or, all at ease, beguiles his hours away,
Whilst with his reed he tunes some past’ral lay.
Vines, curling o’er him, shade the verdant ground,
And rip’ning clusters hang luxurious round.
For him fair flocks their copious udders yield,
And fruitful Pales lives in ev’ry field;
He too has groves; and in the vales below
From cooling grots each day new fountains flow.
Who knows more joy than he, retir’d who lives,
And blest with all approving con
science gives;
Far, far away from war’s ensanguin’d plain,
And direful contests midst the raging main?
’Gainst no rude warrior, fierce in arms, he toils,
For splendid trophies, or for sacred spoils.
For him their sweets Panchaean odors yield,
With ev’ry flow’r that decks the fragrant field;
Pan he reveres, invokes for ev’ry good,
Pan guards the cot, and dwells in ev’ry wood.
Delicious ease is thine, ah, happy swain,
With fair content and all her careless train;
Thrice blest indeed, thou know’st no greater wealth
Than gentle slumber, competence and health.
Hail flocks! and groves where gentle breezes swell!
And shady vales where Hamadryads dwell!
Amidst your joys contented shepherds lie,
And lose their hours in rival poesy.
Beside his crook the musing shepherd lay,
And with his reed chas’d summer’s cares away:
Bright Phoebus now his middle course had run,
And on each ocean pour’d the burning sun.
Now rose the swain, his flocks before him go,
By mossy banks where murm’ring streamlets flow;
Their thirst appeas’d, they seek the flow’ry glade,
Where Dian’s beeches form a cooling shade.
Here once Agave, Cadmus’ daughter, fled
Her children’s anger, for their father dead.
And here full oft the bristly Fauns are seen
With troops of Satyrs sporting on the green;
Here with the rest appear the Naiad train,
And dancing Dryads skim along the plain.
Such feats were these, that streamlets ceased to glide,
Ev’n wond’ring Peneus curb’d his rolling tide.
A sight more strange than when, at Orpheus’ lyre,
Swift Hebrus stops and dancing groves admire.
But, weary with the toil, full oft they rove,
Where various foliage forms a cooling grove;
Here, first of all, where most the vale descends,
The lofty plane its length of shade extends.
Here too the Lotus holds her impious reign,
Whose potent charms beguil’d Ulisses’ train.
Here poplars sigh, in whose sad semblance grow
The sister Heliads, on the banks of Po;
Still, still their sorrows float in ev’ry gale,
And amber tears a brother’s fate bewail.
With these the tree, in whose green branches drest,
The constant Phyllis mourns her faithless guest.
Here sacred oaks the will of fate reveal’d
Ere golden Ceres turn’d the fruitful field;
These mighty monarchs tow’r’d above the plain,
Till Celeus’ son usurp’d their wide domain.
Here rugged pines, the pride of Argos, rise,
Climb the tall hills and emulate the skies.
Here the dark holm and fatal cypress show
Their shady heads: here lofty beeches grow;
Whose spreading arms (lest trembling aspins find
Their neighbours fatal) curling ivies bind;
Still tow’rds the top their little tendrils twine,
Thro’ pale green leaves where golden clusters shine.
Here, with the rest, fair Venus’ myrtles bloom,
Nor yet unconscious of their former doom.
On spreading branches swell the feather’d choir,
Whose various notes in melody conspire;
Now from afar these various notes resound;
And creaking locusts wake the fields around.
In crystal drops a fount beneath distils,
Whose rippling water forms a thousand rills.
Scatter’d abroad, the weary flocks repose,
On thorny cliffs where gentle zephyr blows.
Here, where a stream divides the flow’ry glade,
The swain at ease enjoy’d the cooling shade;
All unsuspecting, on the grass he lay,
And gentle slumber stole his thoughts away.
But fate o’er man a veil of darkness throws,
Hence ev’ry joy and ev’ry sorrow flows.
Now from his slimy bed, where, all the day,
To shun its ardor, deep conceal’d he lay,
A monstrous Hydra rose; of various hue,
And round the shore his wonted course he drew.
Eager for air, he warns the trembling throng,
Where’er he leads his scaly length along;
Still more sublime his fulgent front he bears,
And ev’ry breeze his loud approach declares.
His lofty head a purple crest displays,
And his fierce eyeballs roll a threat’ning blaze.
At length the monster drew his sinuous way,
Where on a bank the sleeping shepherd lay;
He comes, he sees, he burns with furious ire,
His flaming eyes diffuse a fiercer fire,
Half springing on his prey, he still forbears,
And ’gainst th’ intruder all his arms prepares;
With burning rage more bright each colour shines,
And his vast length in bloody folds he twines.
While for th’ attack the raging serpent swell’d,
A little gnat his threat’ning form beheld;
Full swift he flew, and bent his anxious way,
Where, lost in sleep, the careless shepherd lay;
Full quick with piercing sting his front assail’d,
And bade him fly, e’er threat’ning fate prevail’d.
Swiftly he rose, and, raging with the wound,
Dash’d the poor gnat all trembling to the ground.
Now the sad gnat expends his latest breath,
And all his stiff’ning limbs grow cold in death.—
But now the swain beholds the serpent’s glare,
And sees him furious for the fight prepare;
Trembling and pale, with fearful haste he flew,
And from the wood a tree’s vast body drew;
With whose huge bulk (this aid ’tis hard to find
If chance produc’d, or fate itself design’d,)
Enrag’d, he clave the monster’s sounding mail
Now blows on blows his nodding crest assail;
Till from his temples pours the purple tide,
And thro’ the wound his floating spirits glide.
But when the shepherd saw the foe was slain,
Careless he turn’d, and sought his seat again;
For still his mind the dregs of slumber seal’d.
Nor half his danger to his thoughts reveal’d.
Now tardy Vesper comes o’er Oeta’s height;
And hard behind appear the steeds of night.
His flock collected, home the shepherd bears
His weary limbs, and now for rest prepares;
Reclin’d at ease, his languid members lay,
And gentle slumber held her grateful sway;
When, lo! his sight the gnat’s pale form assails,
And mournful thus his cruel death bewails:
Hard is my lot! ungrateful swain, declare,
By what desert, these cruel bonds I wear!
You I preserv’d, from you my sorrows flow.
And thus rewarded to the shades I go.
At ease you lie, nor dream of dangers o’er;
Me the sad Manes drag to Lethe’s shore,
Vile Charon’s prey. In realms of sad despair,
Mark how yon torches shed their frightful glare!
Now the fierce keeper, with his hideous yell,
Salutes my entrance at the gates of hell;
His form new horror from it’s snakes acquires,
And from his eyes flash vivid light’ning’s fires.
See too! the fury lifts her serpent hair,
Hurls round her flames, and shakes her scourge in air!
’Twas mine your life from instant fate to save,
Ah! how proportion’d the reward you gave!
For deeds like this shall no fair meed remain?
Has justice fled? shall faith forsake the plain?
Careless of self, for you my life I paid;
Shall no sad rites appease an injured shade?
If grateful blood still flows in shepherd’s veins,
Let some small tribute grace my poor remains.
In unknown paths, with wilder’d steps I rove,
Along the mazes of the Stygian grove:
Here countless hosts of gloomy souls appear,
And ev’ry shade receives it’s sentence here.
Here, bound with serpents, tow’ring Othos stands,
Gazing in grief on Ephialtes’ bands;
Compeers in strength, of old these giants hurl’d
Their flaming brands, to burn the mighty world.
Here too, Titania, Tityus owns thy pow’r,
Whom, chain’d for ages, hungry birds devour.
Confounded at the sight, my steps I stay,