I like to have a long-term project on the back-burner, for those moments when I don't fancy getting on with the jobs I know I really ought to be getting on with. I'm fond of Latin literature, which is why I don't think I'd be any good at teaching Latin at secondary level: having to force feed youngsters so many lines of authors I may even not be keen on myself does not appeal at all. Much better to do your own thing at your own leisure. Over the past 18 months or so I've been forcing myself to read more original Latin; it's very easy, leading a prep school existence, to let the months slip by without reading anything decent. Anyway, last year I re-read the Aeneid twice, a delightful and fulfilling experience from which I emerged with a high regard for the un-trendy second half of the epic, usually shunned by examining boards, and especially Books 10 and 11.
My mind then turned to how to communicate in translation just a taste of Virgilian poetry to those unfortunate enough to be illatinate. Prose, even with plenty of epic diction, has to be a no-go zone, although it would make the task a lot easier. This of course leads on to the question: if not prose, then what kind of verse?
Some time ago I read John Dryden's version. After a few thousand lines of rhyming couplets things soon became tedious. It didn't really reflect the Latin, either, so rhyme, I decided, was out as well. Nor, I thought, was the standard English iambic pentameter line appropriate. I'm looking for something more weighty, more… well, epic; a longer line which can convey within itself an English version of a snappy Virgilian one-liner if need be. Other requirements? The first syllable of each line ought to be stressed, reflecting the initial long syllable in Latin; and the last five syllables of the line ought to be dactyl+spondee or dactyl+trochee, to try to capture the rhythm of the Latin. Latin hexameter lines vary from 13 to 17 syllables in length, so over last summer I knocked out some lines nominally 15 syllables in length. It was quite an effort, and I would welcome readers' honest comments on what they think of my efforts, and what verse form they think would be appropriate. A respected colleague has suggested, for example, that since the length of the Latin line is flexible, I should not be constrained by a line of 15 syllables. There follow two, short samples of well known pieces; then a longer, less well known piece from Book 10; and finally the first eighty lines or so of Book 11.
I look forward to hearing your comments before I go any further!
1.1
arma uirumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris
Italiam, fato profugus, Lauiniaque uenit
litora, multum ille et terris iactatus et alto
ui superum, saeuae memorem Iunonis ob iram…
I sing of warfare and of a man, the first to arrive, an
exile of fate, from the shores of Troy at Italy and the
coasts of Lavinium. Greatly both on the land and on the deep
was he buffeted about by the might of those above, all
through the unforgetting anger of the cruel goddess Juno.
2.1
conticuere omnes intentique ora tenebant;
inde toro pater Aeneas sic orsus ab alto:
infandum, regina, iubes renouare dolorem…
Everyone fell silent, and focused attention upon him.
Then from his couch on high spoke as follows father Aeneas:
"Unspeakable, o queen, is the grief which you bid me renew…
10.833
interea genitor Tiberini ad fluminis undam
uulnera siccabat lymphis corpusque leuabat
arboris acclinis trunco. procul aerea ramis
dependet galea et prato grauia arma quiescunt.
stant lecti circum iuuenes; ipse aeger anhelans
colla fouet fusus propexam in pectore barbam;
multa super Lauso rogitat, multumque remittit
qui reuocent maestique ferant mandata parentis.
at Lausum socii exanimem super arma ferebant
flentes, ingentem atque ingenti uulnere uictum.
agnouit longe gemitum praesaga mali mens.
canitiem multo deformat puluere et ambas
ad caelum tendit palmas et corpore inhaeret.
Meanwhile, leaning against a tree by the waves of the Tiber,
his father, resting his body, staunched his wounds in the waters.
Far off, his heavy weapons rest in the meadow. His helmet
of bronze hangs down from the branches. Hand-picked young warriors stand
all around him. Unwell and gasping, he eases his neck. His
beard, combed forward, pours down over his chest. Repeatedly he
asks after Lausus, and keeps sending back men to recall him,
bearing a sad parent's instructions. But comrades in tears were
now bringing back on his shield the lifeless body of Lausus,
a mighty man by a mighty wound laid low. Far away his
mind, anticipating disaster, acknowledged the groaning.
Fouling his grey hair with quantities of dust, clinging to the
body, he stretched his hands up towards the heavens and thus spoke:…
11.1
Oceanum interea surgens Aurora reliquit:
Aeneas, quamquam et sociis dare tempus humandis
praecipitant curae turbataque funere mens est,
uota deum primo uictor soluebat Eoo.
ingentem quercum decisis undique ramis
constituit tumulo fulgentiaque induit arma,
Mezenti ducis exuuias, tibi magne tropaeum
bellipotens; aptat rorantis sanguine cristas
telaque trunca uiri, et bis sex thoraca petitum
perfossumque locis, clipeumque ex aere sinistrae
subligat atque ensem collo suspendit eburnum.
tum socios (namque omnis eum stipata tegebat
turba ducum) sic incipiens hortatur ouantis:
'maxima res effecta, uiri; timor omnis abesto,
quod superest; haec sunt spolia et de rege superbo
primitiae manibusque meis Mezentius hic est.
nunc iter ad regem nobis murosque Latinos.
arma parate, animis et spe praesumite bellum,
ne qua mora ignaros, ubi primum uellere signa
adnuerint superi pubemque educere castris,
impediat segnisue metu sententia tardet.
interea socios inhumataque corpora terrae
mandemus, qui solus honos Acheronte sub imo est.
ite,' ait 'egregias animas, quae sanguine nobis
hanc patriam peperere suo, decorate supremis
muneribus, maestamque Euandri primus ad urbem
mittatur Pallas, quem non uirtutis egentem
abstulit atra dies et funere mersit acerbo'
Sic ait inlacrimans, recipitque ad limina gressum
corpus ubi exanimi positum Pallantis Acoetes
seruabat senior, qui Parrhasio Euandro
armiger ante fuit, sed non felicibus aeque
tum comes auspiciis caro datus ibat alumno.
circum omnis famulumque manus Troianaque turba
et maestum Iliades crinem de more solutae.
ut uero Aeneas foribus sese intulit altis
ingentem gemitum tunsis ad sidera tollunt
pectoribus, maestoque immugit regia luctu.
ipse caput niuei fultum Pallantis et ora
ut uidit leuique patens in pectore uulnus
cuspidis Ausoniae, lacrimis ita fatur obortis:
'tene,' inquit 'miserande puer, cum laeta ueniret,
inuidit Fortuna mihi, ne regna uideres
nostra neque ad sedes uictor ueherere paternas?
non haec Euandro de te promissa parenti
discedens dederam, cum me complexus euntem
mitteret in magnum imperium metuensque moneret
acris esse uiros, cum dura proelia gente.
et nunc ille quidem spe multum captus inani
fors et uota facit cumulatque altaria donis,
nos iuuenem exanimum et nil iam caelestibus ullis
debentem uano maesti comitamur honore.
infelix, nati funus crudele uidebis!
hi nostri reditus exspectatique triumphi?
haec mea magna fides? at non, Euandre, pudendis
uulneribus pulsum aspicies, nec sospite dirum
optabis nato funus pater. ei mihi quantum
praesidium, Ausonia, et quantum tu perdis, Iule!
Haec ubi defleuit, tolli miserabile corpus
imperat, et toto lectos ex agmine mittit
mille uiros qui supremum comitentur honorem
intersintque patris lacrimis, solacia luctus
exigua ingentis, misero sed debita patri.
haud segnes alii cratis et molle feretrum
arbuteis texunt uirgis et uimine querno
exstructosque toros obtentu frondis inumbrant.
hic iuuenem agresti sublimem stramine ponunt:
qualem uirgineo demessum pollice florem
seu mollis uiolae seu languentis hyacinthi,
cui neque fulgor adhuc nec dum sua forma recessit,
non iam mater alit tellus uirisque ministrat.
Meanwhile, rising up, Aurora left the Ocean behind her.
Troubled in his mind by death, Aeneas, though anxious to get
on and dedicate time to the interment of his comrades,
paid, as victor, vows to the gods at the first sign of daybreak.
Lopping off the branches on all sides he sets on a mound a
mighty oak. He bedecks this tree with the spoils of the chieftain
Mezentius. Glittering armour, a trophy for you, all-
powerful God of War. He fixes the spears of the man, smashed,
the crests, bedewed with blood, the breastplate, targeted and pierced
in a dozen places. On the left he ties the shield of bronze.
Down from the neck he hangs the sword with its ivory hilt. A
crowd of senior men, densely packed, now pressed all around him.
He spurred on his triumphant comrades, beginning as follows:
"Men, a very great feat has been achieved. As for what remains,
let all fear be banished. These are the spoils, first pickings from a
haughty king; here's Mezentius, made by my very own hands.
Now our route must be to the king and the walls of the Latins.
Ready your weapons! In hearts and hopes anticipate war
so that as soon as those on high look with favour upon our
grabbing the standards and leading our men out of the camp, no
sluggish fearful advice may slow us down, no hesitation
hinder us unawares. Meanwhile let's commit to the earth the
unburied bodies of our comrades, that mark of respect which
alone exists way down in the depths of the Underworld. Go!
he said, Adorn with final gifts these remarkable spirits
who by their blood have created for us this fatherland. Let
Pallas first be returned to the grieving town of Evander.
Dark is the day which has stolen him away from us and drowned
him, though not lacking valour, in death, premature and bitter.
Thus he spoke in tears, and from there he withdrew to the entrance,
where the lifeless corpse, watched over by the ageing Acoetes,
had been laid. Acoestes, armour-bearer once to Evander
in his Parrhasian days, was then appointed companion
to dear Pallas, with far from equally favourable omens.
A group of slaves and a crowd of Trojans gathered all around,
the hair of the women let loose as a sign of their mourning.
They beat their breasts and raised an almighty groan to the heavens
when Aeneas moved inside the lofty entrance. The royal
tent was filled by the bellowing of grief and lamentation.
When Aeneas saw the propped-up head, the face of the snow-white
Pallas, and on his smooth chest the open wound of a spear from
Ausonia, the tears welled up and he spoke out as follows.
"When fortune smiled did she envy me you, pitiable boy?
Not allowing you to see our kingdom or to return in
triumph to your father's home? These were not promises which I
made about you to your parent Evander just as I was
leaving him. He embraced me then as he sent me on my way
to found a mighty empire. He forewarned fearfully that our
battles would be with a hardy race of valiant foemen.
Perhaps no doubt even now, with vain hope greatly deluded,
he is paying his vows and heaping his altars with presents.
Meanwhile we, mourning, escort with pointless honours a young man,
lifeless and owing nothing now to those living in heaven.
You poor man, who will witness the last cruel rites of your own son.
Is this the expected return, this the triumph we hoped for?
This the great promise I made? At least you will never have to
witness as a father, Evander, a son stricken down by
wounds which are shameful, or wish a dreadful death upon yourself,
since your son is home safe and sound. Alas Ausonia, so
great a bulwark you are losing - and you also, Iulus.
Having wept thus, he orders the wretched corpse to be lifted.
He picks from his entire column and dispatches a thousand
men to accompany the last rites, to share in the father's
tears; scant solace for mighty grief, yet no more than is due to
the misery of a father. Others busily plait the
pliant wicker bier with twigs of oak and shoots of arbutus,
building up the couch and shading it with a canopy of leaves. Here
they put the young man, high on an agricultural litter.
Just like a flower, perhaps a gentle violet or a
drooping hyacinth, plucked by a young girl's finger and thumb. Its
glory is no more, but its own shape has not yet departed.
Yet mother earth no longer feeds or supplies it with vigour.
