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800 BC
Bk XIV:698-771
Anaxarete and Iphis
‘Once,
Iphis, a youth, born of humble stock, saw noble Anaxarete, of the blood of
Teucer, saw her, and felt the fire of passion in every bone. He fought it
for a long time, but when he could not conquer his madness by reason, he
came begging at her threshold. Now he would confess his sorry love to her
nurse, asking her not to be hard on him, by the hopes she had for her
darling. At other times he flattered each of her many attendants, with
enticing words, seeking their favourable disposition. Often he gave them
messages to carry to her, in the form of fawning letters. Sometimes he hung
garlands on her doorpost wet with his tears, and lay with his soft flank on
the hard threshold, complaining at the pitiless bolts barring the way.
But
she spurned, and mocked, him, crueler than the surging sea, when the Kids
set; harder than steel tempered in the fires of Noricum; or natural rock
still rooted to its bed. And she added proud, insolent words to harsh
actions, robbing her lover of hope, as well. Unable to endure the pain of
his long torment, Iphis spoke these last words before her door. “You have
conquered, Anaxarete, and you will not have to suffer any tedium on my
account. Devise glad triumphs, and sing the Paean of victory, and wreathe
your brow with shining laurel! You have conquered, and I die gladly: now,
heart of steel, rejoice! Now you will have something to praise about my
love, something that pleases you. Remember that my love for you did not end
before life itself, and that I lose twin lights in one.
No
mere rumour will come to you to announce my death: have no doubt, I myself
will be there, visibly present, so you can feast your savage eyes on my
lifeless corpse. Yet, if you, O gods, see what mortals do, let me be
remembered (my tongue can bear to ask for nothing more), and suffer my tale
to be told, in future ages, and grant, to my fame, the years, you have
taken from my life.”
He
spoke, and lifted his tear-filled eyes to the doorposts he had often
crowned with flowery garlands, and, raising his pale arms to them, tied a
rope to the cross-beam, saying: “This wreath will please you, cruel and
wicked, as you are!” Then he thrust his head in the noose, though, as he
hung there, a pitiful burden, his windpipe crushed, even then he turned
towards her. The drumming of his feet seemed to sound a request to enter,
and when the door was opened it revealed what he had done.
The
servants shrieked, and lifted him down, but in vain. Then they carried his
body to his mother’s house (since his father was dead). She took him to her
breast, and embraced her son’s cold limbs, and when she had said all the
words a distraught father could say, and done the things distraught mothers
do, weeping, she led his funeral procession through the heart of the city,
carrying the pallid corpse, on a bier, to the pyre.
The
sound of mourning rose to the ears of stony-hearted Anaxarete, her house
chancing to be near the street, where the sad procession passed. Now a
vengeful god roused her. Still, she was roused, and said: “Let us see this
miserable funeral” and went to a rooftop room with open windows. She had
barely looked at Iphis, lying on the bier, when her eyes grew fixed, and
the warm blood left her pallid body. Trying to step backwards she was
rooted: trying to turn her face away, also, she could not. Gradually the
stone that had long existed in her heart possessed her body. If you think
this is only a tale, Salamis still preserves the image of the lady as a
statue, and also possesses a temple of Gazing Venus.
Remember
all this, O nymph of mine: put aside, I beg you, reluctant pride, and yield
to your lover. Then the frost will not sear your apples in the bud, nor the
storm winds scatter them in flower.’
When
Vertumnus, the god, disguised in the shape of the old woman, had spoken,
but to no effect, he went back to being a youth, and threw off the dress of
an old woman, and appeared to Pomona, in the glowing likeness of the sun,
when it overcomes contending clouds, and shines out, unopposed. He was
ready to force her: but no force was needed, and the nymph captivated by
the form of the god, felt a mutual passion.
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