perish not, and calls upon the sun, mindful of his promise, to restore its immortal glory to the world.
Straightway the life spirit surges through his scattered limbs; the renovated blood floods his veins. The ashes show signs of life; they begin to move though there is none to move them, and feathers clothe the mass of cinders. He who was but now the sire comes forth from the pyre the son and successor; between life and life lay but that brief space wherein the pyre burned.
His first delight is to consecrate his father’s spirit by the banks of the Nile and to carry to the land of Egypt the burned mass from which he was born. With all speed he wings his way to that foreign strand, carrying the remains in a covering of grass. Birds innumerable accompany him, and whole flocks thereof throng his airy flight. Their mighty host shuts out the sky where’er it passes. But from among so vast an assemblage none dares outstrip the leader; all follow respectfully in the balmy wake of their king. Neither the fierce hawk nor the eagle, Jove’s own armour-bearer, fall to fighting; in honour of their common master a truce is observed by all. Thus the Parthian monarch leads his barbarous hosts by yellow Tigris’ banks, all glorious with jewels and rich ornament and decks his tiara with royal garlands; his horse’s bridle is of gold, Assyrian embroidery embellishes his scarlet robes, and proud with sovereignty he lords it o’er his numberless slaves.
There is in Egypt a well-known city celebrated for its pious sacrifices and dedicated to the worship of the Sun. Its temple rests on a hundred columns hewn from the quarries of Thebes. Here, as the
XXVIII. (XLVII.)
Nilus.
story tells, the Phoenix is wont to store his father’s ashes and, adoring the image of the god, his master, to entrust his precious burden to the flames. He places on the altar that from which he is sprung and that which remains of himself. Bright shines the wondrous threshold; the fragrant shrine is filled with the holy smoke of the altar and the odour of Indian incense, penetrating even as far as the Pelusiac marshes, fills the nostrils of men, flooding them with its kindly influence and with a scent sweeter than that of nectar perfumes the seven mouths of the dark Nile.
Happy bird, heir to thine own self! Death which proves our undoing restores thy strength. Thine ashes give thee life and though thou perish not thine old age dies. Thou hast beheld all that has been, hast witnessed the passing of the ages. Thou knowest when it was that the waves of the sea rose and o’erflowed the rocks, what year it was that Phaëthon’s error devoted to the flames. Yet did no destruction overwhelm thee; sole survivor thou livest to see the earth subdued; against thee the Fates gather not up their threads, powerless to do thee harm.
XXVIII. (XLVII.)
The Nile.[94]
Blessèd is the man who cleaves the soil of Egypt with his plough; he need not hope for clouds to shroud the heavens in darkness nor call upon the storm-winds that bring the chilling rain or the rainbow bright with its various colours.
[94] Claudian again borrows from Herodotus (ii. 20-27).
Fertile is Egypt without clouds; here alone is sunshine and yet rain. She regards not the sky, needs not the wind; enough for her the water she herself contains, Nile’s overflow. This swiftly-flowing river rises in the mountainous country of the south where it suffers the heats of the torrid zone and of the scorching Crab and issues forth from regions unknown into our world. Whence it comes none knows, for vain has ever been the search after its springing nor has any ever seen that source. ’Tis said that, fashioned without witness, it pours forth waters that have known a clime other than ours. Thence with errant stream it stretches through all Libya, and through Ethiopia’s thousand dusky kingdoms where it waters lands condemned to the sun’s unceasing fires, saviour of thirsting peoples, and threads its course across Meroë and black Syene and through the country of the wild Blemyae. The unconquered Garamantes and the Gyrraei who can tame wild animals drink of its waters, as do those tribes who dwell in huge rocky caverns, gathering the wood of ebony-trees and robbing the elephant of his tusks of ivory, and the folk who wear arrows in their hair.
Neither the cause nor yet the season of its overflow is the same as that of other rivers. Its waters rise neither because of melted snows nor by reason of rains flooding its rocky marge; for when dull winter giveth increase to other rivers Nile keeps within his banks; when other rivers flow with diminished stream, Nile, under other laws, rises. For of a truth whatever toll summer has exacted from all rivers Nature repays to the Nile, and waters gathered together from the whole world meet thus
XXIX. (XLVIII.)
Magnes.
in one river. Then when the Dog-star increases the heat of the sun and sucks up all moisture, drying up earth’s veins and filling heaven with its scorching rays, winter comes upon the Nile, though elsewhere all is summer. Then, bringing back to the fainting husbandmen its accustomed waters, it o’erflows ampler than the Aegean, fiercer than the deep Ionian, and spreads itself over the low-lying country. All the fields are aswim; plough-land sounds to the beat of the oar, and full often the shepherd, o’ercome with summer’s heat, wakes to see flocks and fold carried away by the flood.
XXIX. (XLVIII.)
The Magnet.
Whosoever with anxious thought examines the universe and searches out the origin of things—the reason of the sun’s and moon’s eclipse, the causes of comets’ red and baneful fires, the source of the winds, the motion that makes the earth to quake, the force that splits the heavens in twain, the noise of the thunder, the brilliance of the rainbow, let this man (if man’s mind has any power to conceive the truth) explain to me something I would fain understand.
There is a stone called the loadstone; black, dull, and common. It does not adorn the braided hair of kings nor the snowy necks of girls, nor yet shine in the jewelled buckles of warriors’ belts. But consider the marvellous properties of this dull-looking stone and you will see that it is of more worth than lovely gems and any pearl sought of
Indian amid the seaweed on the Red Sea’s shores. It lives on iron and feeds on its inflexible nature; iron is its food and nourishment; from iron it recruits its strength. This seemingly inedible food, circulating throughout its body, renews its hidden powers. Without iron the loadstone dies; its bulk wastes away from lack of nourishment and thirst parches its emptied veins.
Mars, who strikes cities with his bloody spear, and Venus, who changes human cares to ease, share a common shrine and temple built of gold. Each deity has his own image; Mars, a polished iron statue, Venus, one fashioned of the loadstone. The priest duly celebrates their union. The nuptial torch precedes the choir; myrtle wreaths adorn the portals, the couches are piled with roses, while cloth of scarlet dye, as befits a marriage, adorns the bridal chamber. But, lo, a prodigy: Cytherea, without quitting her station, attracts her husband to her, and recalling the scene of which heaven was once witness, clasps Mars to her bosom with amorous breath. There she holds him suspended; her arms enfold the helmet of the god and clasp his whole body in a lifelike embrace. He, stirred by the far-compelling influence of her breath, is drawn towards her by the secret chains of his jewel-bride. Nature presides over the divine marriage; a binding breath woos the steel to wedlock; suddenly two deities are mated in secret union.
What hidden warmth infuses mutual sympathy into these twin metals? What harmony makes one their stubborn souls? The stone sighs and burns, and smitten with love recognizes in the iron the object of its desire, while the iron experiences a
XXX. (XXIX.)
Laus Serenae.
gentle attraction for the stone. It is thus that Venus often holds the fierce god of war in check and softens his fiery glance when the angry blood boils within him and with drawn sword he whets his wrath. She alone can face his fierce steeds and appease the tumult of his heart, calming his anger with gentle flame. Peace and quiet are restored within his soul; he abjures the heat of battle and bends his head, helmed with ruddy plumes, to kiss the goddess.
Cruel boy, is aught beyond thy powers? Thou dost master the mighty thunderbolt; thou canst force the Thunderer to leave the sky and bellow amid the waves. Now thou showest that thou canst smite cold rocks and shapes not instinct with feeling or life, that stone can be wounded by thine arrows. Rocks are stirred by a passion of their own; iron is obedient to thy blandishments; thy flames exercise dominion over hardest marl.
XXX. (XXIX.)
In praise of Serena.[95]
Say, my Muse, why tarriest thou so long to crown Serena’s brows with the Pierian garland they so well deserve? Thinkest thou the gift too poor shouldst thou, a queen, deck but with flowers the head of a queen accustomed rather to wear a tiara bright with all the jewels of the Red Sea? Nay, those flowers of thine are such that neither Boreas’ cold blast nor Sirius’ scorching heat can hurt them; theirs is the bloom of everlasting spring for they
[95] For Serena, niece and adoptive daughter of Theodosius and wife of Stilicho, cf. Introduction, p. xvi. I follow Vollmer (in Pauly-Wissowa, art. “Claudianus”) rather than Birt in dating this poem circ. 398 and XXXI. as 404.
have grown by Permessus’ fount and been watered by Aganippe’s wave. Those flowers have fed the holy bees that skim the meadows and transmit the honey of Helicon to coming generations.
Did ever the single theme of woman’s worth more fitly stir other bards? The Greeks sing of Alcestis, that chaste Thessalian, who, to win her husband from death, freely offered herself in his stead, allowing him to enjoy her own span of life. The Latin Muse takes prophetic Tanaquil[96] for her theme or Cloelia breasting Tiber’s waves in her return to Rome or the maiden Claudia dragging with her own hair the ship which bore Cybele, what time it stuck fast in that same stream. Does old Homer’s soaring soul essay aught else throughout his song? Dangers from Charybdis’ gulf, from Scylla’s dogs, from Circe’s cup, the escape of Ulysses from the greed of Antiphate, the passage of the ship between the rocks where sat the Sirens to whose alluring voices the rowers were deaf, the blinding of Cyclops, the desertion of Calypso—all these do but redound to the glory of Penelope, and the whole scene is set to display her chastity alone. Toils by land and sea, ten years of war, ten years of wandering, all do but illustrate the fidelity of a wife. Let Claudia rejoice in the goddess’ witness and with heaven’s help vindicate her claim to chastity, freeing at the same moment the vessel’s stern and her own character from shame. Let Penelope by artful delays deceive the madness of the suitors and, ever faithful to Ulysses, delude their solicitations, ever winding up again by night the warp of her day-spun web. Yet shall not one of these heroines dare to vie with Serena.
[96] Tanaquil, sister of the elder Tarquin, wife of the Etruscan Lucumo; for her prophetic powers see Livy i. 34. 8. Cloelia, a hostage with Porsenna, swam back to Rome (Livy ii. 13. 6). When the image of Cybele was brought to Rome (204 B.C.) and the boat stuck in a shallow at the Tiber’s mouth it was said that only a chaste woman could move it. Claudia, who had been accused of adultery, took hold of the rope and towed the vessel to shore.
But if noble birth opens the first path to fame and all its causes are to be traced to ancestry, what blood more noble, what birth more gentle than that of royalty? Such majesty could not have flourished within the house of a mere commoner nor could glory so great have sprung from any simple home. Thou art famous for that thine uncle was an emperor, more famous by reason of the warlike deeds of thy grandsire[97] who carried the Roman eagles across the British Channel and repulsed the armed bands of the Gaetulians. Cornelia, daughter of the Scipios, must cease to vaunt her high birth and to boast that she received for dower the spoils of Carthage. Thou canst point to ancestral triumphs in either hemisphere; on thy brow sit two crowns, the one won by thy sires from Scotland, the other from the South. Thou glory of the world, what time Lucina assisted at the birth of thee, our new star, thy house had not yet taken on itself the government of the whole earth; not till after Serena’s birth did it know world-empire.
What human voice can worthily sing thy praises, Spain? Though India first bathes the new-born sun in her ocean yet when the light dies thou waterest his wearied steeds and in thy waves the stars find refreshment. Rich in horses, bounteous in crops, dowered with mines, prolific in good emperors, to thee the world owes Trajan, from thee sprang the Aelian[98] race. From thy land came the brothers who now govern us and their father. Other races whom Rome has either received into alliance or subdued by arms serve the varying needs of empire: the corn of Egypt, the harvests of Africa go to feed our armies; Gaul recruits our powerful legions;
[97] For Theodosius the elder cf. note on xv. 216.
[98] Referring to Hadrian.
Illyria produces stout horsemen for our cavalry. But Spain alone pays that rarest tribute—the gift of emperors. Corn, money, soldiers come from all the world over and are gathered together from every quarter of the globe; Spain gives us men to govern and direct all this. Nor was she content to be esteemed only for her famous heroes, did she not also excel in heroines, and, emulous to win glory from either sex, bestow upon us Flaccilla,[99] Maria, and the fair Serena.
At thy[100] birth they tell how swelling Tagus o’erflowed the rich fields with gold; Galicia laughed with flowers and on the rose-covered banks of Duria’s fair stream the once white fleeces of the sheep were everywhere turned to purple grain. The Cantabrian main cast up jewels upon the shore, and the pale Asturian delves no more into the bowels of the mountain; on the day hallowed by thy birth earth poured forth gold as dross from her open veins. Beneath the caves of the Pyrenees the river Nymphs gather the fiery thunder-stones. The Nereids, yielding to the flowing tide, followed the flooding waves up the river’s courses; there, in the sight of all, they acknowledged thee their queen by their applause and celebrated thy coming marriage in prophetic strains. And all the time beneath another sky grew the young Stilicho; he lived unwitting of his fortune, of the destined bride that awaited him afar, and in a distant world was the union of such high destinies prepared.
No mortal nurse was worthy to watch over thy cradle. First the Nymphs gave thee suck at their fragrant breasts; the three Graces held thee in their arms and breathing upon thee taught thee to speak. Roses sprang where’er thou didst creep over the
[99] Flaccilla, wife of Theodosius the Great (cf. x. 43).
[100] i.e. Serena’s.
grass and white lilies blossomed there; didst thou close thine eyes in quiet sleep, there burgeoned the purple violet to adorn thy grassy couch with her imperial colour. Thy mother dared not tell of such great omens and, knowing her own secret vow, hides with eager hope the fulfilment she prays for.
Thy father Honorius held thee in a close embrace. Whenever Theodosius—not emperor then—came to his brother’s house he covered thee with kisses and loved to take thee with him to his own home. Then turning to thy mother with gentle complaint, “Why,” thou saidst, “take me from my own home? This man ever commands.[101]” Prophetic was the sportive word and thine infant lips gave augury of empire. At the death of thy sire thine illustrious uncle adopted thee and to console thee for the bitterness of that loss, bestowed upon thee, his brother’s child, more love than he could have bestowed on any child of his own. Leda’s twin sons were not united with a bond of affection more sure. He gave his own son the name his brother had borne, hoping in some way to discover in that son the image of the brother he had loved and lost. Finally, when the people’s choice had summoned him to take up the reins of empire, Theodosius would not vouchsafe his sons any proof of his affection for them until he had summoned thee and thy faithful sister from Spain to the lands of morning.
So now they leave Tagus’ banks and the home of the west winds and hasten towards the cities that recognize the empery of the east. They come, the maidens twain, his brother’s children, on this side Serena the younger, on that Thermantia[102] the elder born, strange as yet to love; nor has Hymen bent
[101] Claudian plays on the words imperat and imperator.
[102] This Thermantia is not to be confused with her niece Thermantia, daughter of Serena and Stilicho (x. 339).
[103] MSS. have fideli; P marks the passage as corrupt. I adopt Birt’s fateri and, with Heinsius and Buecheler, suppose a line fallen out between 138 and 139.
their snowy necks to the yoke of Venus. Spirited yet modest is the glance of each; of each the beauty fires the hearts of men. Such as are Diana and her sister, motherless child of Jove, when they visit the realm of their uncle, lord of the sea (the foaming waves grow smooth before them in honour of the approach of the chaste goddesses; Galatea ceases her mad frolics, bold Triton dares not clasp Cymothoë in his embrace; o’er the whole ocean the dictates of purity hold sway and Proteus prevents even Neptune’s flocks from indulging in their shameless amours)—even such the daughters of Honorius enter the palace and view the home of their royal parent. Both did the prince embrace with a father’s love but justly did affection turn more readily to thee. Often when, his heart troubled by the anxieties of public business, he returned home depressed or angered, when his own sons fled his presence and even Flaccilla feared to approach her exasperated husband, thou alone wert able to stay his wrath and bring healing with sweet converse. On thy words he would hang, to thee confess his secret thoughts.
Thy modesty, worthy of an earlier age, surpassed even that of modest girlhood. Less chaste than thee was that daughter of Alcinous whom Homer, in his praises of her, compares to Diana; she who spread her clothes on the shore to dry and sported with her attendant maids, throwing a golden ball from hand to hand until she fled in alarm from Ulysses issuing forth from the thicket where he had been enjoying sleep after his shipwreck.
The study of the Muses and the songs of poets of olden time were thy delight. Turning the pages of Homer, bard of Smyrna, or those of Virgil,
poet of Mantua, thou findest fault with Helen nor canst approve of Dido. Thy chaste mind fastens upon examples more noble: Laodamia following Protesilaus as he returned to the shades; Euadne who cast herself on the flaming pyre whereon her husband Capaneus perished, wishing to mingle her ashes with his; grave Lucrece who fell upon a chaste sword, she who self-slain bore witness to the tyrant’s crime, aroused to war her country’s righteous wrath, drove Tarquin into exile and died gloriously, having avenged by her one sacrifice both chastity and freedom. Of such deeds thou dost read with joy, thyself not less in virtue though more blessed of fortune.
Now that thou art of an age for marriage the hopes of the young courtiers run high, but the prince hesitates to select the happy man who is to share thy couch and regal state.
The pages of the poets tell how ancient kings bade suitors contend on the hard terms of purchasing the bride at hazard of their lives, and rejoiced that death should be the wooer of their daughters. Pelops escaped the weapons of Pisa’s king, thanks to the chariot Neptune gave him, for it was Myrtilus who tricked King Oenomaus by withdrawing the lynch-pin from the chariot-wheel. Panting Hippomenes got the better of Atalanta, daughter of Schoeneus, who followed close on his traces, a sword in her hand, by means of the golden apples. The inhabitants of Calydon watched from their high battlements the struggle of Hercules with the river-god when, Deianira being the prize of victory, the panting hero shouted in triumph and Achelous paled and shrank away, shorn of his horn, the wound whereof the astonished river nymphs sought to heal.