∞∫≠ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
These were the things that Panic made men think.
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Having astonished them, he then assumed
various faces in the di√erent ranks:
now he was one among a thousand Pisans,
a Pylian, then a Laconian;
he swore the enemy was near, and he
disrupted soldiers with his empty fears—
nothing seems false to people when they panic—
but then he fell upon the madding crowd
in his true guise, and he was whirled by winds
up to the summits of the sacred vale.
Three times he shook his spear and flailed his steeds
and three times bumped his chest against his shield.
Madness drove men to brace, to take their own
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or unaccustomed arms of other soldiers.
They harnessed stranger’s horses, transferred helmets.
A raw desire for death and slaughter seized
each heart; there were no obstacles to ardor.
Their hurrying redeemed delay; the shores
echoed as winds arose and ships left port;
sails fluttered everywhere, and loose ropes dangled;
anchors were weighed; oars swam; across deep seas
friends who remained and fair fields disappeared.
The rapid progress of Inachian cohorts
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was viewed by Bacchus, who made moan and turned
toward Thebes, his second home. There Jove had burned
his mother, he recalled. His handsome face
and heart were sad; his hand released his thyrsis;
his garlands and his curls fell out of place;
his horn of plenty dropped unblemished grapes.
And so in tears, unsightly, cloak askew,
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when Jupiter by chance was all alone
in heaven, he, in this unwonted guise
(the reason was not hidden from his father)
addressed him as a suppliant:
‘‘Will you,
progenitor of gods, destroy your Thebes?
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Is your wife still so angry? Have you no
feeling for your loved land, the household gods
whom you deceived, the ashes of my mother?
Is it not so, as we believe, that you
once threw unwanted lightning from the clouds?
Again you set dark flames upon the land,
but you are not adjured by Styx; no guileful
mistress beseeches you. What are your limits?
Lightning when you are angry, and the same
when satisfied? Are you our father who
• visited with changed features Danae,
• Callisto’s groves, and Leda’s town Amyclae?
Am I the most neglected of your sons?
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Yet surely I’m the precious weight you bore
because you condescended to restore
my mother’s months and open womb. You carried
me to the gates of life.
‘‘Another thing:
my people almost never go campaigning;
they never sit in camps; they only know
my wars: they weave their hair with leaves; they dance
inspired by flutes in circles. How should they
endure Mars’ trumpets, they who fear the wands
of newly married girls and scuΔing matrons?
Look at how passionate Mars is! What if
he led your worshipers in Crete to battle
and ordered them to fight with fragile armor?
‘‘And why do you choose Argos, which you hate?
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Is there no other enemy? O father,
worse than our perils is that you decree
our ruin to enrich your wife’s Mycenae.
I yield, but those my mother bore for burial,
the sacred altars of these conquered people,
where would you have me take them? Into
Thrace, and to the forests of Lycurgus?
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‘‘I conquered India. Should I flee there
and be a prisoner? Or will you harbor
• a fugitive? My brother fastened down
Delos, Latona’s rock, and so procured
∞∫≤ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
a place at sea. It’s not that I feel envy,
• but Pallas saved the citadel she loved
from threatening waves; myself I saw
• Epaphus giving laws to eastern lands.
No trumpets threaten lonely Cyllene
or Cretan Ida. So why do our altars
o√end? It seems that I am powerless
to please you, but I know you spent fair nights
in Thebes conceiving Hercules; you knew
the pleasant passions of Antiope.
Please spare Agenor’s sons, the Tyrians,
• whose bull fared better than my flaming mother.’’
His jealousy brought smiles to Jupiter,
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who lifted him—knees flexed, his hands outstretched—
gave him a kiss and answered him like this:
‘‘It is not—as you think—my wife’s advice
or fearsome importunity, my son,
that binds me, but the steadfast wheels of fate.
Old and new grievances have caused this war.
What god has quieted his anger more
or made as frugal use of human blood?
For ages heaven and my timeless house
have seen how often I have set aside
my twisted thunderbolts, how seldom I
have ordered conflagrations on the earth.
Only against my will—since they had su√ered
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great wrongs that called for vengeance—did I give
• the ancient Calydonians to Diana
and let Mars kill the Lapithae. Those losses
exceeded bounds, and it was noisome to
create new souls, bring bodies back to life.
I hesitate to slaughter Thebans—sons
• of Labdacus—or Argives, Pelops’ seed.
You yourself know how prompt the Thebans are
to blame the gods. I leave the Argive’s crimes
aside. You also . . . but I will not speak.
My former animosity has faded.
The shredded corpse of Pentheus weighs your altars,
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even though he was innocent. His father’s
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blood did not splatter him, nor had the man
defiled his mother’s couch, nor bred bad brothers.
Where were your tears and skillful pleading then?
‘‘I do not judge the sons of Oedipus
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by my own grievances; the earth and heavens
demand this, as do Piety and wounded
Faith and the ways of the Eumenides.
Cease to be worried for your city. I
have not decreed the end of the Aonians.
There will be other dangers, other victors.
Juno, our royal queen, will not be pleased.’’
At these words Bacchus raised his face and donned
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his cloak, as when a rose bush, burned by sun
and the cruel south wind, droops but then is lifted
skyward by brilliant days and western winds:
its beauty is restored, its blossoms glow,
and shapely o√shoots ornament its glory.
–?–?–?–
That Grecian leaders guide long lines of troops
and that their march approached Aonian fields
by now a messenger had ascertained
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and told Eteocles, whose ears were stunned.
Wherever they advance, the people tremble
and feel compassionate for Thebes, he said,
and he described their clans, their names, and weapons.
Eteocles insisted on attending;
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he hid his worries, yet he loathed the teller;
then with his own address he roused his men
as he informed them of his plan for action.
–?–?–?–
Mars had inspired Aonia, Euboea,
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and fields near Thebes at Phocis; Jove was happy.
A password tablet flew from rank to rank
as armies hurried to appear in arms
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∞∫∂ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
and camped beside the city on the plain.
Fated for war, this open field awaited
the coming of the enemy, the madness.
Mothers in trembling clusters climbed the walls
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to show resplendent armor to their children;
they pointed out the casques of handsome fathers.
Nearby, her soft cheeks veiled in black, upon
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an isolated tower, out of view,
Antigone was standing by a man
who formerly served Laius; she revered him.
The royal maid spoke first:
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‘‘Will these troops be
enough to counter the Pelasgians, father?
We’re told that all the Peloponnesians
are coming. Please identify the foreign
armies and generals, for I can see
the sign of our Menoeceus, the platoons
that Creon leads, tall Haemon’s sphinx of bronze.’’
So young Antigone. To whom old Phorbas:
?’’There—look!—how Dryas leads a thousand archers,
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inhabitants of cold Tanagra’s hillside.
Here great Orion’s grandson, not disequal
• in prowess, shows a rough, gold bolt of lightning
• and trident on his armor. May unmarried
Diana’s ancient anger be dismissed
and the paternal prophecy kept distant!
‘‘Ocalea and Medeon have come
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to join our camp and serve our king as have
thick-wooded Nisa, and then Thisbe, where
the cooing of Dione’s doves reechoes.
‘‘Next is Eurymedon, who imitates
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the country weapons of his father Faunus:
hung with pine needles like a horse’s mane,
BOOK π ∞∫Σ
the terror of the forest, he will be
a savage in this bloody war, I think.
‘‘Erythrae, rich in flocks, attends our cause,
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dwellers in Scolon and dense Eteonon,
where slopes are steep; and Hyle, where the beach
is narrow, and the proud inhabitants
of Schoenon, Atalanta’s town: they farm
the fields made famous by the goddess’s footsteps;
they wield long, Macedonian spears and carry
shields that can barely tolerate hard blows.
?’’Listen! the noise of Neptune’s progeny
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who rush down from Onchestus, they whose ranks
the pines of Mycalessos feed, Minerva’s
• stream Melas, and Gargaphie, Hecate’s valley,
whose crops are bountiful and grass is deep,
whose young grains Haliartos sees with envy:
their weapons, logs; their helmets, lion skulls;
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their shields, the bark of trees. They lack a king;
therefore, Amphion has assumed command.
You can behold him, maiden. His ancestral
bull decks his helmet, and he wears a lyre.
O go thy way, brave youth! He will oppose
his naked breast to swords for our dear city.
‘‘O Heliconian peoples, you too come
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• to join yourselves with us; and you, Permesse,
• and pleasant Olmius, home of singing swans,
you arm inhabitants unused to war.
You hear the acclamations of your people
praising their city as, when winter fades,
• swans sing again on shining Strymon’s stream.
May honor never die, and may the Muses
sing of your wars forever. O, be joyous!’’
He spoke, and then the maiden interrupted
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briefly: ‘‘Those brothers: what’s their origin?
Their arms are similar, their helmet peaks
protrude an equal distance in the air.
Would that my brothers showed such harmony!’’
∞∫Π STATIUS, THE THEBAID
The old man smiled and said, ‘‘Antigone,
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you’re not the first whose eyes make that mistake.
Many have called them brothers. Ages lie.
That is a father and his son, but years
confuse appearances. The nymph Dercetis,
a shameless bride, hot with desire, too soon
corrupted Lapithaon, who had no
experience of marriage—a mere boy.
Handsome Alatreus, not long afterward,
was born, and in the flower of youth, he followed
his father, took his features, blurred their years.
Now the false name of brothers makes them bold;
more so the father, who’s both young and old.
‘‘He leads three hundred horse to war; his son
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an equal number who once cultivated
• meager Glisantan soil, where grapes are grown,
and rich Coronia, where they talk of grains.
‘‘But see the spreading shadow Hypseus casts
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over his lofty horses: on his left
a shield of seven bulls’ hides; on his chest,
a triple layer of iron—on his chest,
but not his back, for he is fearless. His
spear is the glory of an ancient forest.
When thrown, it always finds a passage through
armor or bodies, always heeds his prayers.
• They say he owes his breeding to Asopos,
and he is worthy of such a father, who
flows swiftly under broken bridges, swells
in vengeance for his virgin daughter, pounds
his waves and scorns the Thunderer, her lover,
for it is said Aegina was borne from
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her father’s stream and hid in Jove’s embrace.
The river raged, prepared to fight the stars—
even the gods were not yet granted this.
He overflowed with anger—very daring—
and looked and prayed for help, but he found none,
till overcome by thunder and the fiery
trident, he ceased; but even now the proud
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