SATIRE XII.
This day, Corvinus, is a more joyful one to me than even my own birthday;[772] in which the festal altar of turf[773] awaits the animals promised to the gods.
To the queen of the gods we sacrifice a snow-white[774] lamb: a similar fleece shall be given to her that combated the Mauritanian Gorgon.[775] But the victim reserved for Tarpeian Jupiter, shakes, in his wantonness, his long-stretched[776] rope, and brandishes his forehead. Since he is a sturdy calf; ripe for the temple and the altar, and ready to be sprinkled with wine; ashamed any longer to drain his mother's[777] teats, and butts the oaks with his sprouting horn.[778] Had I an ample fortune, and equal to my wishes, a bull fatter than Hispulla,[779] and slow-paced from his very bulk, should be led to sacrifice, and one not fed in a neighboring pasture; but his blood should flow, giving evidence of the rich pastures of Clitumnus,[780] and with a neck that must be struck by a ministering priest of great strength, to do honor to the return of my friend who is still trembling, and has recently endured great horrors, and wonders to find himself safe.
For besides the dangers of the sea, and the stroke of the lightning which he escaped, thick darkness obscured the sky in one huge cloud, and a sudden thunder-bolt struck the yard-arms, while every one fancied he was struck by it, and at once, amazed, thought that no shipwreck could be compared in horror with a ship on fire.[781] For all things happen so, and with such horrors accompanying, when a storm arises in poetry.[782]
Now here follows another sort of danger. Hear, and pity him a second time; although the rest is all of the same description. Yet it is a very dreadful part, and one well known to many, as full many a temple testifies with its votive picture. (Who does not know that painters[783] are maintained by Isis?) A similar fortune befell our friend Catullus also: when the hold was half full of water, and when the waves heaved up each side alternately of the laboring ship, and the skill of the hoary pilot could render no service, he began to compound with the winds by throwing overboard, imitating the beaver who makes a eunuch[784] of himself, hoping to get off by the sacrifice of his testicles; so well does he know their medicinal properties. "Throw overboard all that belongs to me, the whole of it!" cried Catullus, eager to throw over even his most beautiful things—a robe of purple fit even for luxurious Mæcenases, and others whose very fleece the quality of the generous pasture has tinged, moreover the exquisite water with its hidden properties, and the atmosphere of Bætica[785] contributes to enhance its beauty. He did not hesitate to cast overboard even his plate, salvers the workmanship of Parthenius, a bowl[786] that would hold three gallons, and worthy of Pholus when thirsty, or even the wife of Fuscus.[787] Add to these bascaudæ,[788] and a thousand chargers, a quantity of embletic work, out of which the cunning purchaser of Olynthus[789] had drunk. But what other man in these days, or in what quarter of the globe, has the courage to prefer his life to his money, and his safety to his property? Some men do not make fortunes for the sake of living, but, blinded by avarice, live for the sake of money-getting. The greatest part even of necessaries is thrown overboard: but not even do these sacrifices relieve the ship—then, in the urgency of the peril, it came to such a pitch that he yielded his mast to the hatchet, and rights himself at last, though in a crippled state. Since this is the last resource in danger we apply, to make the ship lighter.
Go now, and commit your life to the mercy of the winds; trusting to a hewn plank, with but four digits[790] between you and death, or seven at most, if the deal is of the thickest. And then together with your provision-baskets and bread and wide-bellied flagon,[791] look well that you lay in hatchets,[792] to be brought into use in storms.
But when the sea subsided into calm, and the state of affairs was more propitious to the mariner, and his destiny prevailed over Eurus and the sea, when now the cheerful Parcæ draw kindlier tasks with benign hand, and spin white wool,[793] and what wind there is, is not much stronger than a moderate breeze, the wretched bark, with a poor make-shift, ran before it, with the sailors' clothes spread out, and with its only sail that remained: when now the south wind subsided, together with the sun hope of life returned. Then the tall peak beloved by Iulus, and preferred as a home by him to Lavinium,[794] his stepmother's seat, comes in sight; to which the white sow[795] gave its name—(an udder that excited the astonishment of the gladdened Phrygians)—illustrious from what had never been seen before, thirty paps. At length he enters the moles,[796] built through the waters inclosed within them, and the Pharos of Tuscany, and the arms extending back, which jut out into the middle of the sea, and leave Italy far behind. You would not bestow such admiration on the harbor which nature formed: but with damaged bark, the master steers for the inner smooth waters of the safe haven, which even a pinnace of Baiæ could cross; and there with shaven crowns[797] the sailors, now relieved from anxiety, delight to recount their perils that form the subject of their prating.
Go then, boys, favoring with tongues and minds,[798] and place garlands in the temples, and meal on the sacrificial knives, and decorate the soft hearths and green turf-altar. I will follow shortly, and the sacrifice which is most important[799] having been duly performed, I will then return home, where my little images, shining in frail wax, shall receive their slender chaplets. Here I will propitiate[800] my own Jove, and offer incense to my hereditary Lares,[801] and will display all colors of the violet. All things are gay; my gateway has set up long branches,[802] and celebrates the festivities[803] with lamps lighted in the morning.
Nor let these things be suspected by you, Corvinus. Catullus, for whose safe return I erect so many altars, has three little heirs. You may wait long enough for a man that would expend even a sick hen at the point of death for so unprofitable a friend. But even this is too great an outlay. Not even a quail will ever be sacrificed in behalf of one who is a father. If rich Gallita[804] and Paccius, who have no children, begin to feel the approach of fever, every temple-porch is covered with votive tablets,[805] affixed according to due custom. There are some who would even promise a hecatomb[806] of oxen. Since elephants are not to be bought here or in Latium, nor is there any where in our climate such a large beast generated; but, fetched from the dusky nation, they are fed in the Rutulian forests, and the field of Turnus, as the herd of Cæsar, prepared to serve no private individual, since their ancestors used to obey Tyrian Hannibal, and our own generals,[807] and the Molossian king, and to bear on their backs cohorts—no mean portion of the war—and a tower that went into battle. It is no fault, consequently, of Novius, or of Ister Pacuvius,[808] that that ivory is not led to the altars, and falls a sacred victim before the Lares of Gallita, worthy of such great gods, and those that court their favor! One of these two fellows, if you would give him license to perform the sacrifice, would vow the tallest or all the most beautiful persons among his flock of slaves, or place sacrificial fillets on his boys and the brows of his female slaves. And if he has any Iphigenia[809] at home of marriageable age, he will offer her at the altars, though he can not hope for the furtive substitution of the hind of the tragic poets. I commend my fellow-citizen, and do not compare a thousand[810] ships to a will; for if the sick man shall escape Libitina,[811] he will cancel his former will, entangled in the meshes of the act,[812] after a service so truly wonderful: and perhaps in one short line will give his all to Pacuvius as sole[813] heir. Proudly will he strut over his defeated rivals. You see, therefore, what a great recompense the slaughtered Mycenian maid earns.
Long live Pacuvius, I pray, even to the full age of Nestor.[814] Let him own as much as ever Nero plundered,[815] let him pile his gold mountains high, and let him love no one,[816] and be loved by none.