et saevi totidem bellis quot fluctibus anni
coniugii docuere fidem. sit Claudia felix
teste dea castosque probet sub numine mores
absolvens puppisque moras crimenque pudoris: 30
Penelope trahat arte procos fallatque furentes
stamina nocturnae relegens Laërtia telae:
non tamen audebunt titulis certare Serenae.
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.