Silvae I.1 (Mozley): The Great Equestrian Statue of the Emperor Domitian

What mighty mass redoubled by the huge form surmounting it stands gathering to itself the Latian forum? Did it glide down, a completed work, from heaven? Was the effigy moulded in Sicilian furnaces, leaving Brontes and Steropes weary? or have Palladian hands sculptured thee for us, O Germanicus, in such guise as Rhine of late beheld thee reining thy steed, and the astounded Dacian’s arduous home?

Come, now, let Fame of old time marvel at the age-long wonder of the Dardan horse, for whom Dindymon abased his sacred head and Ida was shorn of her leafy groves. This horse would Pergamum ne’er have held, though wide its walls were rent, nor could the mingled throng of lads and unwedded girls have drawn it, nor Aeneas himself nor mighty Hector! That one, besides, was harmful, and contained fierce Achaeans: this one is commended by his gentle rider. ’Tis a pleasure to behold that countenance whereon the marks of war are blended with the guise of tranquil peace. And think not that truth is here surpassed; equal beauty and splendour has he, and equal dignity. Not more loftily does the Bistonian steed bear Mars when the fighting is done, exulting in the mighty weight, and swiftly flies by the river till he is all asteam and with his strong blowing stirs up the waves of Strymon.

Well suited to the work are its surroundings. Here facing it he opens wide his portals, who weary with warfare, by the gift of his adopted son, first showed our deities the way to heaven; and from thy face he learns thy greater gentleness in arms, who not even against the foreigner’s rage art easily stern, but with Cattians and with Dacians makest bond. Under thy leadership both his son-in-law, now the lesser man, and Cato had bowed to Caesar’s sway. Lengthwise thy flanks are guarded, on this hand by the Julian edifice, on that by the high basilica of warlike Paullus; thy back the Sire beholds, and Concord with tranquil brow.

Thou thyself with lofty head enshrined in the pure air dost tower resplendent over the temples, and seemest to look forth to see whether the new Palace, despising the flames, be rising in greater beauty, or whether the brand of Trojan fire keep silent watch, and Vesta now be praising the proved worth of her ministrants. Thy right hand bids battles cease; thy left the Tritonian maiden overburdens not, and holding out Medusa’s severed head incites thy steed as with a goad: never had the goddess choicer resting-place, not even if thou, O Father, didst hold her. Thy breast is such as might avail to solve the riddles of the universe, and thereon Temese has exhausted the wealth of all her mines; a cloak hangs from thy shoulders; the sword sleeps by thy untroubled side: even so vast a blade does threatening Orion wield on winter nights and terrify the stars. But the steed, counterfeiting the proud mien and high mettle of a horse, tosses his head in greater spirit and makes as though to move; the mane stands stiff upon his neck, his shoulders thrill with life, and his flanks spread wide enough for those mighty spurs; in place of a clod of empty earth his brazen hoof tramples the hair of captive Rhine. Seeing him, Adrastus’ horse Arion would have been sore afraid, yea Castor’s Cyllarus fears as he looks forth upon him from his neighbouring temple. Never will this steed suffer another master’s rein; this curb is his for ever, one star, and one star only will he serve. Scarce doth the soil hold, and the ground pants beneath the pressure of so vast a weight; and not of iron or bronze: ’tis under thy deity it trembles, ay, even should an everlasting rock support thee, such as would bear the peaks of a mountain piled upon it, or have endured to be pressed by the knee of heaven-sustaining Atlas.

No lengthy tarrying drew out the time. The present beauty of the god itself makes labour sweet, and the workmen intent upon their task marvel at their greater vigour. Towering cranes creak and rattle; continuous runs the roar over the seven heights of Mars, and drowns the wandering noises of mighty Rome.

The guardian of the spot himself, whose memorable name the hallowed chasm and famous pools preserve, hearing the ceaseless clash of bronze and the Forum echoing with vigorous blows, raises his grisly visage, venerable even in decay, and his head revered for the well-deserved oak-wreath. And first, affrighted at the huge form and flashing glance of a mightier steed, he thrice in dismay bowed his lofty neck beneath the lake; then, joyful at the sight of his prince: “Hail, offspring and sire of mighty deities,” he cries, “whose godhead I heard of from afar! Now is my lake blessed, now is it holy, since it has been granted me to know thee nigh at hand, and from my neighbouring seat to watch thy immortal brightness. Once only was I the author and winner of salvation for the folk of Romulus: thou dost win the wars of Jove and the battles of the Rhine, thou dost quell the strife of citizens, and in long warfare constrain the tardy mountain to submit. But if our age had borne thee, thou wouldest have ventured to plunge into the lake’s depths, though I dared not; but Rome would have held back thy rein.”

Let that steed give place, whose statue stands in Caesar’s Forum, over against Dione’s shrine—thy daring work, ’tis said, Lysippus, for the Pellaean chief; thereafter on marvelling back he bore the effigy of Caesar—scarce could your straining sight discover how far the downward view from this monarch to that. Who is so boorish as to deny, when he has seen both, that ruler differs from ruler as steed from steed?

This statue fears no rainy squalls of winter or triple fire of Jove, nor the cohorts of Aeolus’ prison-house nor the long lingering years: it will stand while earth and sky abide, while Rome’s sun endures. Hither also in the silent night, when things of earth find favour with the gods above, will thy kinsfolk, leaving heaven, glide down and join with thee in close embrace. Son and brother, sire and sister will seek thy welcoming arms: about thy sole neck will cluster all heaven’s stars.

Enjoy for ever the people’s and the mighty Senate’s gift. Fain would the wax of Apelles have portrayed thee, and the old Athenian would have longed to set thy likeness in a new temple of Elean Jove; yea, soft Tarentum would rather have thy visage, and fierce Rhodes, scorning her Phoebus, thy flame-like glance. Keep thy affections fixed on earth, and inhabit thyself the shrines we dedicate to thee; let not heaven’s high court delight thee, but mayst thou joyously see thy grandsons offer incense to this our gift.