His mother purified Aeneas’ body,
anointing it with heavenly perfumes,
and touched his lips with sweet ambrosia
and nectar both, so he became a god,
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known to the Roman folk as Indiges
[a name that means both “native born” and “needy”],
who honor him with altars and with shrines.
Ascanius (also known as Julus)
ruled Latium and Alba after him,
and then there followed Silvius, whose son,
Latinus, took an ancient name and scepter;
distinguished Alba followed Latinus,
and Epytus came next, and after him
came Capetus and Capys (who came first,
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but these my Latin meter has reversed);
then Tiberinus followed them, who drowned
in the Tuscan stream to which he gave his name;
his sons were Remulus and fierce Acrota;
the elder, Remulus, was struck by lightning
as he was imitating its effect;
Acrota, somewhat less brave than his brother,
yielded the scepter to Aventinus, who
was buried on the hill where he held sway,
and to which he has given his own name;
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then Proca ruled the race that dwells in Rome.
Pomona and Vertumnus (1)
Under his rule, Pomona flourished there,
unrivaled in her skill at gardening
among the Latin wood nymphs of her time;
nor was there any other who was more
devoted to the nurturing of fruit trees,
from which she had her name: not one for woods
or rivers, she loved open country best,
and branches laden with abundant fruit;
she was not one to grip a javelin,
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but used instead a pruning hook to suppress
the exuberance of nature and restrain
the trees from branching out in all directions;
or she would graft a slip onto a tree,
whose sap would rise into the foreign nursling;
she would not let them thirst; her flowing streams
would irrigate the threads of their parched roots.
This was her love, to which she was devoted,
and the other kind, that Venus knows about,
held no attractions for her; indeed, fearing
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the possibility of rustic rape,
she closed herself within her orchard’s walls,
from which she barred all forms of manliness.
What did her many suitors—the young Satyrs,
fit for a dance or two; the pack of Pans,
with pinecones decorating their wee horns;
Sylvanus, who acts younger than he is;
and that divinity whose look or hook
(I mean Priapus) frightens off all thieves—
what did her many suitors leave undone
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in unsuccessful efforts to attain her?
Vertumnus loved her more than all of them,
but he had no more luck with her than they did.
How often did he show up in the likeness
of an unpolished hired hand at harvest,
carrying a basket full of wheat—
indeed, the very image of a reaper!
At other times, Vertumnus would appear
wearing a still-green wreath of new mown hay
around his temples, and would seem to be
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one of the mowers turning grass to dry;
or show up with an ox goad in his hand,
and so much like a drover you would swear
that he had just unyoked his weary oxen;
given a pruning hook, he seemed to be
off on his way to shaping trees or vines;
up on a ladder, you would think that he
was picking apples with the other men;
in the same way, a sword made him a soldier,
a fishing rod made him a fisherman:
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in short, his many changes of appearance
allowed him frequent access to her presence,
and great delight in gazing at her beauty.
He went so far as to put on a wig
of grey hair and to wrap around his head
a gaudy turban like those that women wear,
and leaning on a walking stick, he entered
her garden, where he marveled at the fruit.
“But you,” he said, “are so much more impressive!”
and showered her with kisses of a kind
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that ancient ladies are not wont to give.
He sat down on the ground beneath the trees
and looked up at those branches bent with fruit,
the weight of autumn. There was a splendid elm
across from these, adorned with shining grapes;
he glanced at it approvingly, and said,
“Now if that tree trunk were to stand unwed,
untrained to any vine, it would not be
of any worth to us, but for its leaves;
likewise the vine, which has been joined to it,
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rests on the elm tree; if it had not been,
it would be lying flat upon the ground:
however, the example of this tree
makes no impression on you, for you flee
the joys of sex, nor do you care to wed.
“But how I wish you would, for you would have
suitors more numerous than Helen had,
or she for whom the Lapiths went to battle,
or the wife of too long tarrying Ulysses!
“And even though you run away from them,
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resisting those who come here seeking you,
a thousand men desire to possess you,
and gods and even demigods as well,
every god up in the Alban hills!
“But if you would be wise and marry well,
then lend an ear to what this old crone says,
who loves you more than all the others do,
and more than you could easily believe:
spurn all those many others, but accept
Vertumnus as the sharer of your bed:
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I guarantee that he’s the one for you,
and no one knows him better than I do,
as well—I daresay—as he knows himself!
“He isn’t one to wander round the world,
but lives alone here in your neighborhood;
nor is he like so many other suitors,
who fall in love with everyone they see:
you are his first love and will be his last,
and he will give his years to you alone.
“And add to these the fact that he is young
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and unaffectedly attractive too,
and that he has a gift for changing shape,
for taking on whatever form he wishes,
and that he will do anything you want,
even if you should ask for everything!
“Your interests are likewise similar,
for he is always the first there to enjoy
the fruit it is your pleasure to provide!
But it is not the fruit found in your trees
that he desires, nor the pleasing herbs
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that grow within the confines of your garden,
nor is it anything, in fact, but you!
Take pity on his passion and believe
that his own prayers are coming through my lips.
“Reflect a moment on the vengeful gods,
how Venus, who frequents Mount Ida, hates
the unyielding heart, and have a proper fear
of Nemesis, whose wrath is unforgiving!
“And so that you may fear
these all the more,
I will tell you a story that is quite well known
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on Cyprus, for my years make me a source
of useful wisdom; from it you should learn
to modulate your wishes and be mild.
Iphis and Anaxaretes
“Iphis, a young man drawn from lowly stock,
caught sight of Anaxaretes, a woman
descended from the ancient race of Trojans:
the flames of passion seared him to the bone.
“For a long time, he struggled with his feelings,
but after reason failed to overcome
his madness, he appeared upon her threshold,
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and as a suppliant, he now confessed
his mad infatuation to her nurse,
praying that she would not be hard on him,
by the hopes that she had for her tender charge;
then he went on to servant after servant,
and fawning on them anxiously, he sought
their help in getting close to his desire;
often he had them carry his love letters,
and sometimes he would hang upon her door
garlands of flowers wet with the dew of his tears,
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and lay his tender flanks on her hard threshold,
despondently reproving the barred door.
“But she, who was more cruel than the storms
arising at the setting of the Kids,
harder than steel that has been tempered by
Norican fires, or like a great stone
still clinging to its roots, she spurned and mocked him,
the fierce contempt of her response deprived
her suitor of his last remaining hope.
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“Iphis, unable to endure for long
the torment of his grief, spoke his last words
in a message he delivered at her door:
‘You win, Anaxaretes, and no longer
must you endure my tiresome pursuit:
now grant yourself a triumph, and rejoice:
sing hymns and gird your brow with shining laurel!
You win indeed; now I will freely die,
and you, unyielding one—go celebrate!
“‘But certainly, you will be forced to praise
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some aspect of my love that pleases you,
compelling you to speak of my good points—
remember that I loved you while I lived,
and that in dying and in losing you
the light of my life has been twice put out.
“‘Nor will you learn of my death secondhand:
for I myself—undoubtedly—will be there,
a presence visible, so you may glut
your cruel eyes upon my lifeless corpse!
“‘If it is true that you, O gods, observe
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the acts of mortals, then remember me—
for I desire nothing more from you—
and see that I am spoken of for ages,
and that the time subtracted from my life
is added to my fame!’
“So Iphis spoke
with streaming eyes, and raising his pale arms
to those doorposts he’d often crowned with wreaths,
affixed his noose onto the highest beam:
“‘O cruel and unkind,’ he said, ‘are you
well pleased by this bouquet?’
“He thrust his head
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into the noose and turned in her direction,
and then, misfortunate, the burden of
his lifeless corpse hung by his broken neck.
“Dying, the convulsive motions of his feet
against the door made sounds that sounded like
someone outside demanding to be let in,
and when the door was opened in response,
the shocking deed revealed itself: her servants
cried out, and took the young man down—too late.
“They brought him to his mother’s house (his father
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was dead already); she embraced her son
and tried to warm his lifeless limbs with hers,
and after she had given voice to grief
and did the things that grieving parents do,
she led a throng of mourners through the city
escorting his pale corpse to its cremation.
“By chance that sad procession passed before
the very home of Anaxaretes,
and stirred by an avenging deity,
the sounds of bitter mourning struck her ears;
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in spite of herself, she was moved, and said,
‘Let us go see this mournful funeral.’
Going inside, she went upstairs and stood
at an open window: scarcely had she glimpsed
the corpse of Iphis laid out on his bier,
when her eyes hardened and her cold blood ran
in terror from her body: she attempted
to step back from the sight, but her feet froze;
when she attempted to avert her face,
she was unable to; and very soon
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the stoniness that for so long a time
had been within her heart spread through her body.
“And lest you should consider this a fiction,
there is a statue, even to this day,
at Salamis, the image of this lady:
and a temple of foresightful Venus too.
“So, my dear nymph, you should be ever mindful
of these events, and put aside, I pray,
your proud resistance to a lover’s plea,
lest the late spring frost nip your budding fruit,
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or swift winds tear the flowers from the bough.”
Pomona and Vertumnus (2)
After the god, disguised as an old woman,
had argued well, although to no effect,
he changed himself back into a young man,
appearing to the maiden just as brightly
as does the Sun, when its resplendent face
prevails against the dim opposing clouds
and shines undimmed in all its radiance;
he was prepared to take her then by force,
which proved unnecessary, for the nymph
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and felt within a corresponding wound.
A Roman spring
Amulius (known as the Oppressive)
next governs Italy, by force of arms;
and after him comes ancient Numitor,
whose grandson aided him in getting back
the kingdom he had lost; the city’s walls
are founded on the feast day of the shepherds;
King Tatius and the Sabine senators
wage war on Romulus; having betrayed
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the path that leads up to the citadel,
Tarpeia justly perishes beneath
the weapons piled upon her by the Sabines,
who are now busy shushing one another,
and silently as wolves are sneaking up
upon the Romans, overcome by slumber;
the Sabines try the gates, which Romulus
had closed and bolted firmly; nonetheless,
Saturnia unfastens one of them,
and draws the gate back on its silent hinges;
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Venus alone knew that the bolt had fallen
and would have put it back and locked the gates,
but one god is unable to rescind
the actions of another.
Near the shrine
of Janus is an icy spring of water,
possessed by the Italian water nymphs;
Venus asked them if they would help her out,
and they did not refuse her just request,
opening the fountain to its fullest.
The pass of Janus was still open then,
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and never had the waters closed it off;
the nymphs put yellow sulfur underneath
their fountain and then heated it until
the boiling veins were full of smoky pitch;
by these and other means, steam penetrated
throughout the fountain: water which had dared
quite recently to challenge alpine chill
was ready now to stand up against fire!
The twin gate posts smoked with boiling mist
and the gates which had been opened up in vain
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before the unyielding Sabines were now blocked
by this new spring, which gave the Romans time
to arm themselves; then Romulus set forth,
and Roman earth was strewn with mingled corpses,
Romans and Sabines, for the impious sword,
indifferent to kinship, mixed the blood
of husbands with the fathers of their wives.
But finally, they chose to end the war
instead of fighting to the bitter end,
and Tatius agreed to share the throne.
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The deification of Romulus
Tatius died, and you set out the laws
equitably to Romans and to Albans,
O Romulus. Doffing his helmet, Mars
addressed the author of all gods and men:
“The time has come, O father, since the state
of Rome has been established on a sound
foundation, and does not depend upon
a single man to serve as its protector—
the time has come for you to grant the gift
promised to me and to your worthy grandson:
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that he should be released from earthly bonds
and taken up to heaven and installed
as one of the immortals; this you promised
in a council where the other gods were present,
and I took note of your inspiring words,
which memory allows me to repeat:
“‘There will be one that you will carry up
to the blue vault of heaven.’ This you said;
now ratify the promise that you gave.”
Jove the omnipotent gave his consent,
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first darkening the air with thunderclouds,
then frightening the world with lightning bolts.
Mars realized that the apotheosis
he had been promised was now ratified
by this event, and leaning on his spear,
he vaulted up into his chariot,
whose steeds both strained against the bloody yoke,
and flogging them to action with his whip
descended headlong through the air until
he set down on the wooded Palatine,
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where he abstracted Romulus from the earth
as he was giving out his royal decrees