Silvae III.3 (Mozley): A Poem of Consolation to Claudius Etruscus

Duty, most high among gods, whose heaven-favoured deity rarely beholds the guilty earth, come hither with fillets on thy hair and adorned with snow-white robe, as when still a present goddess, before the violence of sinful men had driven thee away, thou didst dwell among innocent folk in a reign of gold; come to these quiet obsequies, and look upon the duteous tears of sorrowing Etruscus, and brush them from his eyes with words of praise. For who that saw him bursting his heart with unsatisfied lament and embracing the pyre and bending o’er the ashes would not think that it was a young wife whose death he mourned, or a son whose face just growing into manhood the flames were devouring? But it is a father whom he weeps. Come, gods and men, to the holy rites. Begone, begone, ye wicked, all in whose hearts is a crime unspoken, any who deems his aged sire has lived too long, or, conscious of ever having struck his mother, fears the urn of unbending Aeacus in the world below: ’tis the pure and guiltless I invite. Lo! gently in his arms he holds the aged face and lets his tears bedew the sacred white hairs of his sire, and lovingly gathers the last cold breath; marvellous, yet true! a son is thinking that his father’s life is swiftly flown, that the black Sisters have brought the end too soon. Exult, ye placid ghosts by the streams of Lethe, rejoice, Elysian abodes! enwreathe the shrines, and let festal altars gladden the pale groves. ’Tis a happy shade that is coming, ay, too happy, for his son laments him. Avaunt, ye hissing Furies, avaunt the threefold guardian! let the long road lie clear for peerless spirits. Let him come, and approach the awful throne of the silent monarch and pay his last due of gratitude and anxiously request for his son as long a life.

A blessing on thy pious moans! I will bring solace for a grief so worthy, and unbidden pay thy sire, Etruscus, an offering of song. Do thou with lavish hand plunge Eastern incense in the flames, and the proud harvests of Cilicia and Araby; let the fire consume thy heritage of wealth; heap high the burning mass that shall waft duteous clouds to the bright sky. My gift is not for burning, but my record of thy grief shall endure through the years to come. For I too know what it is to mourn a father; I too have groaned prostrate before the pyre. That day bids me assuage thy loss by song; the lament I offer thee now was once my own.

No brilliant lineage indeed was thine, serene old man, no descent traced down from distant ancestors, but high fortune made good thy birth and hid the blemish of thy parentage. For thy masters were not of common stock, but those to whom East and West are alike in thrall. No shame is that servitude to thee; for what in heaven and earth remains unbound by the law of obedience? All things in turn are ruled and in turn hold sway. To its own monarch every land is subject: fortunate Rome lords it o’er monarchs’ crowns: ’tis her rulers’ duty to bridle Rome: o’er these in turn rises the sovereignty of heaven. But even deities have their laws: in thraldom is the swift choir of the stars, in thraldom is the wandering moon, not unbidden is the light whose path so oft returns. And, if only it be not a sin to compare the lowly with the highest, the Tirynthian also performed his dread covenant with the cruel king, nor did bondage shame the pipe of Phoebus.

But neither wert thou sent to Latium from barbarous shores: Smyrna was thy native soil, and thou didst drink the honoured springs of Meles and of Hermus’ stream, where Lydian Bacchus bathes and tricks his horns anew in the golden silt. Thereafter a prosperous career was thine, and divers offices in due succession increased thy dignity: it was thy privilege ever to walk near divinities, ever to be close to Caesar’s person and to share the holy secrets of the gods. The palace of Tiberius first was opened to thee while early manhood scarce changed as yet thy boyish countenance; here—since thy varied gifts surpassed thy years—freedom came to thee unsought; nor did the next heir, though fierce and Fury-haunted, banish thee. In his train didst thou go, frail as thou wert, even to the frozen North, and endure the tyrant terrible in word and look and cruel to his subjects, as those who tame the dread rage of beasts and command them, though they have tasted blood, to let go the hand thrust down their jaws, and to live without need of prey. But Claudius for thy merit raised thee to highest office in his old age, ere he was summoned to the starry vault, and gave thee over to the keeping of his nephew’s late-born son. Who that fears the gods was ever suffered to serve so many temples, so many altars? The winged Arcadian is the messenger of supreme Jove; Juno hath power over the rain-bringing Thaumantian; Triton, swift to obey, stands ready at Neptune’s bidding: thou hast duly borne unharmed the yoke of princes, changed so many times, and thy little boat has weathered every sea.

And now from on high a light illumined his loyal home, and Fortune towering to her loftiest entered apace. Now was entrusted to him alone the controlling of the sacred treasure, wealth drawn from every race, the revenue of the mighty world. All that Iberia hews from out her gold-mines, the glittering metal of Dalmatian hills, the produce of African harvests: all that is threshed on the floors of sultry Nile, or gathered by the divers who search the Eastern seas: the tended flocks of Lacedaemonian Galaesus, frozen crystals, Massylian citron-wood, the glory of the Indian tusk: all is committed to his charge and subject to him alone, all that the North wind and fierce East wind and the cloudy South bring with them; sooner would you count the winter rains or forest leaves. Watchful too is he and shrewd of mind, and quick to reckon what the Roman arms beneath every sky demand, how much the tribes and the temples, how much the lofty aqueducts, and the fortresses by the sea, or the far-flung lines of road; what wealth of gold gleams on the high ceilings of our prince, what weight of ore must be melted in the fire and shaped into the countenance of gods, how much shall ring when stamped in the fiery heat of Ausonia’s mint. Therefore hadst thou but scant repose, thy mind took no thought for pleasure, thy feasting was meagre and thy cares never assuaged by plenteous draughts of wine; yet thou hadst joy in the ties of marriage, in binding thy heart with chains of love, in the union of festal wedlock, and in begetting faithful clients for thy lord.

Who can but know the high birth and loveliness of fair Etrusca? Never with my own eyes have I beheld her, yet the trusty image of fame reflects her peerless beauty, and a like charm of countenance in her sons reveals it. No common birth was hers; her brother wielded the rods and the highest curule power, and faithfully led Ausonian swordsmen and the standards entrusted to him, when frenzy first inspired the ruthless Dacians, and their race was doomed to afford us a mighty triumph. Thus whatsoe’er was lacking in the father’s blood was made good by the mother, and the household rejoicing in the union saw its obscurity turned to brightness. Children too were nigh at hand; twice was Lucina present at the birth and deftly with fruitful hand eased the pain of travail. Ah! happy, had length of days and a due measure of years suffered thee to behold the faces of thy children and the bloom of youth upon their cheeks! but in the midst of thy prime those joys fell shattered, and Atropos roughly tore the thread of flourishing life; even so do lilies droop pale heads and roses die at the first South wind, or on fresh meadows the purple flower of spring withers away. Around that funeral train did ye hover, ye arrow-bearing Loves, and anoint the bier with your mother’s balm; freely did ye scatter your torn hair and feathers on the flames, and your quivers were heaped to build the pyre. What offerings, what tears wouldest thou have paid at thy mother’s grave, Etruscus, who deemest thy father’s death untimely and mournest with true affection for his years!

He who with his nod now sways the heights of heaven, and has given of his glorious offspring to earth and sky alike, gladly granted to him the honour of an Idumaean triumph, and deeming him worthy the distinction and rank that the procession of victory brings forbade it not, nor did obscurity of birth diminish his renown. He too led him down to the benches of the knights from among the people, and ennobled him and took off the humble iron ring and made him equal to his sons in lofty eminence. Twice eight lustres of prosperity flowed by, and his life’s course was without a cloud. How lavish he was in the service of his sons, how willing to strip himself of all his wealth, the wonted splendour of Etruscus from that day to this bears witness, for it was thy indulgence that gave him his lordly mien. Thou didst clasp him in an embrace that ever called him back to thee, and didst rule by the love and not the sternness of a father; to him even his brother rejoiced to give way, more anxious for his renown than for his own.

What gratitude, greatest of princes, what loyal vows do these youths, devoted to thy service, pay thee for their sire’s rebirth! For whether he erred through age, fatigued by decay and exhausted by affairs, or whether Fortune so long favourable now had a mind to leave him, thou wert content, while in shuddering dismay he awaited the coming lightning-stroke, to warn the old man by thunder alone and by a storm that spared him; and when the partner of his cares left far behind him the fields of Italy and crossed the raging seas, he was bidden retire to Campania’s mild coast and the towers of Diomede, a stranger but no exile. Nor didst thou wait long, Germanicus, before thou didst once more unbar the gates of Romulus and console his grief and raise again the stricken house. No wonder, most tranquil prince; for this is that clemency that gives terms of mercy to the conquered Catti and restores their mountain to the Dacians; that lately though after a fierce struggle deigned not that the Marcomanni and the Sarmatian Nomads should furnish forth a Roman triumph.

And now his day is ended, and the inexorable thread runs out. The sorrowing heart of Etruscus asks me for a dirge, such as even the cliffs of Sicily re-echoed not, nor doomed swan ever sang nor cruel Tereus’ bride. Ah! with what violent beating of his breast did I see him wearying his arms, flung prostrate with face bowed down to kiss his sire! Scarce can his friends and servants hold him, scarce do the towering flames make him withdraw. Not otherwise did Theseus on the Sunian shore mourn Aegeus whom his false sails had deceived. Then fearfully groaning, with disfiguring marks upon his face, he cries to the warm ashes: “Why, truest of fathers, dost thou leave us, when Fortune smiles once more? Only of late did we assuage the godhead of our mighty prince and the brief anger of the gods, but thou, naught profiting, dost lose the enjoyment of a boon so great, and fleest, ungrateful, to the shades. And is it not granted to move the Fates, or appease the ruthless deities of deadly Lethe? Happy he, before whom as he carried his father on stalwart shoulders the Grecian flames gave way in reverent awe! and Scipio too, who while yet a lad rescued his sire from the cruel Carthaginians; happy also the daring devotion of Lydian Lausus! Is it so, then, that the Thessalian consort could give her life to save her lord? that the suppliant Thracian could defeat remorseless Styx? surely a father’s life hath a juster claim! Yet shalt thou not be wholly taken, nor will I send thy ashes far: here, here within the house will I keep thy shade. Thou art the guardian and master of the hearth, all that is thine shall obey thee; I will ever, as is right, be second, and hold a lesser place, and to thy sacred shade bring constant offering of meat and drink, and worship thy image; shining marble and the cunning lines of wax shall repeat thy likeness to me; now ivory, now tawny gold shall imitate thy features. There in thy long life’s story will I seek a guide for conduct, and loving converse and dreams that bring good counsel.”

So he spoke, and his father heard him with joy and gladness, and went down slowly to the pitiless shades, bearing the message to tell to his beloved Etrusca.

Hail for the last time, aged sire, gentlest of fathers, and for the last time farewell! Never while thy son lives shalt thou suffer the despair of Tartarus, or the sorrow of a grave forgotten. Ever shall thy altar exhale the scent of flowers, ever shall thy happy urn drink Assyrian perfumes, and tears, a greater honour. Thy son shall make sacrifice to thy spirit, and from thy own soil raise a monument to thee. My song too, won by his own worth, he dedicates to thee, glad to have given this sepulchre also to thy ashes.