The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter/Chapter 123
CHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-THIRD.
By omens emboldened, to follow, the battle-flags, Cæsar
Commanded; and boldly led on down the perilous pathway.
The footing, firm-fettered by frost chains and ice, did not hinder
At first, but lay silent, the kindly cold masking its grimness;
But, after the squadrons of cavalry shattered the clouds, bound
By ice, and the trembling steeds crushed in the mail of the rivers,
Then, melted the snows! And soon torrents newborn, from the heights of
The mountains rush down: but these also, as if by commandment
Grow rigid, and, turn into ice, in their headlong rush downwards!
Now, that which rushed madly a moment before, must be hacked through!
But now, it was treacherous, baffling their steps and their footing
Deceiving; and men, horses, arms, fall in heaps, in confusion.
And see! Now the clouds, by an icy gale smitten, their burden
Discharge! Lo! the gusts of the whirlwind swirl fiercely about them;
The sky in convulsions, with swollen hail buffets them sorely.
Already the clouds themselves rupture and smother their weapons,
An avalanche icy roars down like a billow of ocean;
Earth lay overwhelmed by the drifts of the snow and the planets
Of heaven are blotted from sight; overwhelmed are the rivers
That cling to their banks, but unconquered is Cæsar! His javelin
He leans on and scrunches with firm step a passage the bristling
Grim ice fields across! As, spurred on by the lust of adventure
Amphitryon’s offspring came striding the Caucasus slopes down;
Or Jupiter’s menacing mien as, from lofty Olympus
He leaped, the doomed giants to crush and to scatter their weapons.
While Cæsar in anger the swelling peaks treads down, winged rumor
In terror flies forth and on beating wings seeks the high summit
Of Palatine tall: every image she rocks with her message
Announcing this thunderbolt Roman! Already, the ocean
Is tossing his fleets! Now his cavalry, reeking with German
Gore, pours from the Alps! Slaughter, bloodshed, and weapons—
The red panorama of war is unrolled to their vision!
By terror their hearts are divided: two counsels perplex them!
One chooses by land to seek flight: to another, the water
Appeals, and the sea than his own land is safer! Another
Will stand to his arms and advantage extort from Fate’s mandate.
The depth of their fear marks the length of their flight! In confusion
The people itself—shameful spectacle—driven by terror
Is led to abandon the city. Rome glories in fleeing!
The Quirites from battle blench! Cowed by the breath of a rumor
Relinquished their firesides to mourning! One citizen, palsied
With terror, his children embraces: another, his penates
Conceals in his bosom; then, weeping, takes leave of his threshold
And slaughters the distant invader—with curses! Their spouses
Some clasp to their sorrow-wracked bosoms! Youths carry their fathers
Bowed down with old age, uninured to the bearing of burdens.
They seize what they dread to lose most. Inexperience drags all
Its chattels to camp and to battle: as, when powerful Auster
Piles up the churned waters and tumbles them: never a yard-arm
Nor rudder to answer the hand, here, one fashions a life-raft
Of pine planks, another steers into some bay on a lee shore,
Another will crack on and run from the gale and to Fortune
Trust all! But why sorrow for trifles? The consuls, with Pompey
The Great—he, the terror of Pontus, of savage Hydaspes
Explorer, the reef that wrecked pirates, caused Jove to turn livid,
When thrice was a triumph decreed him, whom Pontus’ vexed water
And pacified billows of Bosphorus worshipped! Disgraceful their
Flight! Title and glory forsaking! Now Fortune capricious
Looks down on the back of great Pompey retreating in terror!
Commanded; and boldly led on down the perilous pathway.
The footing, firm-fettered by frost chains and ice, did not hinder
At first, but lay silent, the kindly cold masking its grimness;
But, after the squadrons of cavalry shattered the clouds, bound
By ice, and the trembling steeds crushed in the mail of the rivers,
Then, melted the snows! And soon torrents newborn, from the heights of
The mountains rush down: but these also, as if by commandment
Grow rigid, and, turn into ice, in their headlong rush downwards!
Now, that which rushed madly a moment before, must be hacked through!
But now, it was treacherous, baffling their steps and their footing
Deceiving; and men, horses, arms, fall in heaps, in confusion.
And see! Now the clouds, by an icy gale smitten, their burden
Discharge! Lo! the gusts of the whirlwind swirl fiercely about them;
The sky in convulsions, with swollen hail buffets them sorely.
Already the clouds themselves rupture and smother their weapons,
An avalanche icy roars down like a billow of ocean;
Earth lay overwhelmed by the drifts of the snow and the planets
Of heaven are blotted from sight; overwhelmed are the rivers
That cling to their banks, but unconquered is Cæsar! His javelin
He leans on and scrunches with firm step a passage the bristling
Grim ice fields across! As, spurred on by the lust of adventure
Amphitryon’s offspring came striding the Caucasus slopes down;
Or Jupiter’s menacing mien as, from lofty Olympus
He leaped, the doomed giants to crush and to scatter their weapons.
While Cæsar in anger the swelling peaks treads down, winged rumor
In terror flies forth and on beating wings seeks the high summit
Of Palatine tall: every image she rocks with her message
Announcing this thunderbolt Roman! Already, the ocean
Is tossing his fleets! Now his cavalry, reeking with German
Gore, pours from the Alps! Slaughter, bloodshed, and weapons—
The red panorama of war is unrolled to their vision!
By terror their hearts are divided: two counsels perplex them!
One chooses by land to seek flight: to another, the water
Appeals, and the sea than his own land is safer! Another
Will stand to his arms and advantage extort from Fate’s mandate.
The depth of their fear marks the length of their flight! In confusion
The people itself—shameful spectacle—driven by terror
Is led to abandon the city. Rome glories in fleeing!
The Quirites from battle blench! Cowed by the breath of a rumor
Relinquished their firesides to mourning! One citizen, palsied
With terror, his children embraces: another, his penates
Conceals in his bosom; then, weeping, takes leave of his threshold
And slaughters the distant invader—with curses! Their spouses
Some clasp to their sorrow-wracked bosoms! Youths carry their fathers
Bowed down with old age, uninured to the bearing of burdens.
They seize what they dread to lose most. Inexperience drags all
Its chattels to camp and to battle: as, when powerful Auster
Piles up the churned waters and tumbles them: never a yard-arm
Nor rudder to answer the hand, here, one fashions a life-raft
Of pine planks, another steers into some bay on a lee shore,
Another will crack on and run from the gale and to Fortune
Trust all! But why sorrow for trifles? The consuls, with Pompey
The Great—he, the terror of Pontus, of savage Hydaspes
Explorer, the reef that wrecked pirates, caused Jove to turn livid,
When thrice was a triumph decreed him, whom Pontus’ vexed water
And pacified billows of Bosphorus worshipped! Disgraceful their
Flight! Title and glory forsaking! Now Fortune capricious
Looks down on the back of great Pompey retreating in terror!