of sheep spelled trouble and their fatal veins
threatened adversity. They then decided
to go seek omens in the open sky.
• There is a mountain named Aphesas by
462
Lernaean farmers, which the Argives once
held sacred, and it raises its bold ridgeline
far in the air. They say that there swift Perseus
profaned the skies with his suspended flight—
his rapt steps terrified his mother, who
observed him from a cli√ and tried to follow.
Here the two prophets climbed. Gray olive leaves
466
π≤ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
circled their sacred hair, and white-wool fillets
adorned their temples. They chose moistened meadows
where rising sunlight loosens frozen snows.
Amphiaraus, son of Oecleus, prayed
470
the proper god for his propitiation.
‘‘Almighty Jupiter, we do believe
that you give meaning to swift birds, that these
portend your future plans, and that their flights
hide omens—secret causes—in the skies.
• Apollo’s cave at Cirrha cannot show
the god with greater certainty, nor can
• Chaonian leaves that, it is said, reveal
your oracle within Molossis’ grove.
‘‘The man for whom you set the birds in motion
476
• to make your favor manifest, Dictaean,
is more enriched in mind than he who seeks
• the oracle of Ammon in dry sands
• or your competitors at Lycia,
• the sacred ox along the Nile, or Branchus,
son of Apollo—and as famous as
his father—or nocturnal Pan, for whom
the rustic dwellers of sea-beaten Pisa
• listen within Lycaon’s shades. What is
the cause that makes this miracle? What gives
winged birds this power? Is it that the founder
483
of heaven’s upper halls weaves wondrous patterns
throughout vast Chaos? or because winged birds
have been transformed from human origins
by metamorphoses? or is the truth
more easily obtained because birds fly
in heaven’s purer air, removed from sin,
and rarely land on earth? You are permitted
488
to know these things, great source of earth and heaven.
Allow the skies to prophesy for us
the origins and outcome of the wars.
Is strife the fate of Argos? Do the stern
491
BOOK ≥ π≥
Parcae decree that our Lernaean spears
will open up the gates of Thebes? If so,
give us the sign of thunder on our left
and then let every bird in heaven warble
their welcome songs and secret messages.
If not, if you prohibit victory,
contrive a way to give us pause; obscure
the skies with bird wings on our right.’’
496
He spoke,
then settled on the brow of that high cli√
where he invoked both known and unknown gods,
holding communion with the infinite
universe of innumerable shadows.
They carefully divided up the sky
500
and studied it at length and let their eyes
scan it. At last, Melampus—prophet son
of Amythaon—asked, ‘‘Amphiaraus,
do you not notice that within the vast
dominion of the breathing winds of heaven,
none of the birds are flying steadily,
none of them hang and glide in fluid circles
or soar while they sing songs foretelling peace?
There are no ravens—birds of prophecy—
506
no eagles bearing thunderbolts, no owls—
fair-haired Minerva’s hooting, hooked-beak birds—
who might bring better auguries. But there
are vultures overhead and hawks that prey;
monsters are flying; birds of evil shrieking
high in the clouds; nocturnal screech owls screaming:
the horned owl chants of injuries and dying.
‘‘Which portents of the gods should we attend?
512
• Do these, o god of Thymbra, rule the heavens?
Winged birds fly madly. With their hooked-back talons
they strike each other’s eyes. They rouse the winds
with the distressful sounds of beating pinions;
they pluck plumes from their breasts.’’
π∂ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
And his companion
answered him, ‘‘Father, I have often read
516
many and various omens of Apollo.
When I was young and green, the pinewood ship
from Thessaly—the Argo—carried me
among the demigods and kings. Their captains
fell silent when I sang of trials on land
and sea, and Jason, when he wondered what
would happen, often did not listen more
attentively to Mopsus than to me,
as I made my predictions. But I never
522
before saw similar forebodings, or
skies more prodigious, strange. And there is worse.
Turn your attention here: swans without number
in this clear region of the deepest air
have shaped themselves in one battalion. Whether
Boreas blows them from cold Strymon’s shores
or fertile Nile’s tranquillity invites them,
they hold their course. Imagine them as Thebans,
528
for they fly slowly, spiraling in silence,
and peaceful, as if bound by walls or trenches.
But look, a stronger squadron moves through space.
I see a tawny line advance—a troop of
seven bold armor bearers of great Jove.
Think of these eagles as Inachian princes.
533
They open their curved beaks, unsheathe their talons,
and threaten slaughter as they swiftly rush
to strike the snow-white flock of circling swans.
‘‘The wind rains blood, and feathers fill the air,
536
but here is something new. Jove’s anger flares;
he sends an evil omen. Something drives
the victors unexpectedly to die.
The one that seeks the highest point—alone—
burns in a sudden flash, and boasts no longer.
Tender wings fail, which would pursue flight paths
of greater birds. Here enemies, entwined
together, fall together. There, retreat
sweeps one who leaves his comrades to their fate.
BOOK ≥ πΣ
Another drowns in pouring rain. One gnaws,
while dying, on a living victim. Blood
splatters the hollow clouds.’’
‘‘Why do you cry
in secret?’’
‘‘Reverend Melampus, I
• know all too well the last, who falls and dies.’’
547
The pair of prophets trembled. Terror seized them.
They’d turned their thoughts to what the gods forbid
and pierced the secret councils of winged creatures.
Now they repent and hate the gods who heard them.
When did this worldwide, sick obsession551
to know the future first infect sad mortals?
You say it is the o≈ce of the gods,
but we ourselves inspect our birthdays, seek
to know wh
ere we will die, and what the gods’
kind father and firm Clotho have in mind.
• Hence entrails, sermons birds that fly deliver,
revolving stars, the mapped course of the moon,
horrors in Thessaly. Our father’s blood was golden;
our race descended from great oaks and caves.
We had one passion: not to prophesy
but tame the forests, cultivate the soil.
It was a crime for men to know the future.
But we depraved, we pitiable people
too deeply scrutinize the gods. Hence terrors
and rage; hence crimes, deceit, immodest vows.
And so Amphiaraus stripped his fillets;
566
he tore the hated garland from his temples,
let fall his sacred branch, and from the mountain
the priest returned unseen, unsought. The horns of war
reached him from distant Thebes; he felt the roar
but sought seclusion. He would not reveal
the prophecies of heaven to the people,
πΠ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
in private conversation with Adrastus,
or in a gathering of leaders, but
covered himself in darkness. (You, Melampus,
573
felt too much shame and care to come to town.)
Twelve days he held his tongue. Delay prolonged
the questions of the chiefs and commoners.
–?–?–?–
The high charge of the Thunderer by now
575
had shaken farmers’ fields, unmanned old towns.
From everywhere the war god gathered soldiers
happy to leave their homes, the wives they loved,
and children weeping on their outer thresholds.
Mars had confounded them. With reverence
580
they took their family armor down from posts
and from the inner chambers of the gods
brought chariots. Whetstones rejuvenated
worn out and rusty javelins. Their swords,
which had been stuck in scabbards, were restored
to savage sharpness. Some men handled smooth,
round helmets, hefted corselets of sutured
bronze plates, or fit their abdomens with panels
of Chalybean steel that creaked from rust.
Furnaces glowed red-hot as they devoured
curved mattocks, sickles, pruning hooks, and plows.
Venerable trees were felled for robust spears;
590
there was no shame in dressing shields with hides
of worn-out oxen. Bursting into Argos,
they cried and clamored, heart and soul, for war
as loud as when Tyrrhenian salt seas roar
and fiery Aetna thunders over caverns
• and Sicily’s Enceladus shifts sides,
• craters pour lava, seas beyond Pelorus
contract, and floodlands hope to reemerge.
• Excited Capaneus moved among them
598
because he loved the power of Mars and long
had hated the protracted peace. His heart
was swollen, proud: he was of ancient blood,
BOOK ≥ ππ
a man of full nobility, who yet
had overpassed, by his own hands, the deeds
of his progenitors. He long despised
the gods—and with impunity. He loved
not peace; he was improvident, impulsive,
especially when angry, like a Centaur
inhabiting dark Pholoe, or like
a Cyclops—the fraternity of Aetna.
He stood before your gates, Amphiaraus,
606
among the mob of rabble and its leaders,
and yelled, ‘‘What kind of cowardice is this,
o Argives, and you blood-related Greeks?
Do we, so many people armed in iron,
609
hang here before a common person’s doorway,
a single citizen’s, when we are ready
and willing? I won’t wait while some pale virgin
utters her warning riddles for Apollo—
if he exists, if he is not a rumor
or something for the timid to believe—
secluded deep within his crazy cavern,
beneath the hollow peak of Cirrha, moaning!
My god is my own strength, this sword I hold!
Now let that timid priest, that fraud, emerge—
or I will demonstrate the power of birds!’’
The rabble howled with joy, and their approval
618
encouraged Capaneus, when at once
Amphiaraus, son of Oecleus, broke
his silence. He had come forth. ‘‘It is not
this irreligious man’s unbridled bawling
that draws me from the shadows. Let him threaten.
I do not fear his ranting. Mortal arms
cannot assail me—I am fated for
another end—but I fear civil war.
‘‘Pressed by my love for you, urged by Apollo,
625
I will reveal your fortune, your whole future—
but not yours, madman! Phoebus has forbidden
me to admonish you. But miserable people,
where are you going? Both the fates and gods
π∫ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
oppose your expedition. Are you driven
blindly by vengeance? Do the Furies lash you?
Is Argos hateful? home unsweet? the omens
pointless? Why did you send me to intrude
on secret gatherings, to climb the mountain
with trembling steps to Perseus’ hidden peaks?
‘‘I would prefer not knowing this war’s outcome,
635
the causes of our common destiny,
the time and place of our dark day, my fate.
‘‘I can report the secrets of the world
637
on which I gazed, what birds communicate,
and signs of future things that I endured.
I prayed to you, Thymbraen god—Apollo—
and you were never crueler. You showed me
the secrets of the cosmos I consulted.
The birds have spoken, and I have perceived
the signs of what’s to come. I have seen portents
of great destruction, men and gods in terror.
Megaera is delighted. Lachesis
cuts short our lives, and her thread turns to dust.’’
Then Capaneus once more spoke to him:
647
‘‘You are the only subject of your fury,
your auguries! You will complete your years
empty of honor; you will never hear
the sound of Tuscan trumpets in your ears.
Why do you thwart the vows of better men?
You want to stay home with your lying birds,
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The Thebaid Page 15