January 24th | Fastorum Liber Primus: Ianuarius
H C | IX Kal. | I.655-704, Ovid converses with the Muse about the Day of Sowing (a fertility festival.)
Sidere ab hoc ignis venienti nocte, Leonis 655
qui micat in medio pectore, mersus erit.
Ter quater evolvi signantes tempora fastos,
nec Sementiva est ulla reperta dies:
cum mihi (sensit enim) “lux haec indicitur,” inquit
Musa, “quid a fastis non stata sacra petis? 660
utque dies incerta sacri, sic tempora certa:
seminibus iactis est ubi fetus ager.”
state coronati plenum ad praesepe, iuvenci:
cum tepido vestrum vere redibit opus.
rusticus emeritum palo suspendat aratrum: 665
omne reformidat frigore volnus humus.
vilice, da requiem terrae semente peracta;
da requiem, terram qui coluere, viris.
pagus agat festum: pagum lustrate, coloni,
et date paganis annua liba focis. 670
placentur frugum matres, Tellusque Ceresque,
farre suo gravidae visceribusque suis.
officium commune Ceres et Terra tuentur:
haec praebet causam frugibus, illa locum.
“consortes operis, per quas correcta vetustas 675
quernaque glans victa est utiliore cibo,
frugibus immensis avidos satiate colonos,
ut capiant cultus praemia digna sui.
vos date perpetuos teneris sementibus auctus,
nec nova per gelidas herba sit usta nives. 680
cum serimus, caelum ventis aperite serenis;
cum latet, aetheria spargite semen aqua.
neve graves cultis Cerialia rura, cavete,
agmine laesuro depopulentur aves.
vos quoque, formicae, subiectis parcite granis: 685
post messem praedae copia maior erit.
interea crescat scabrae robiginis expers,
nec vitio caeli palleat ulla seges,
et neque deficiat macie neque pinguior aequo
divitiis pereat luxuriosa suis. 690
et careant loliis oculos vitiantibus agri,
nec sterilis culto surgat avena solo.
triticeos fetus passuraque farra bis ignem
hordeaque ingenti fenore reddat ager!”
haec ego pro vobis, haec vos optate coloni, 695
efficiatque ratas utraque diva preces.
bella diu tenuere viros: erat aptior ensis
vomere, cedebat taurus arator equo;
sarcula cessabant, versique in pila ligones,
factaque de rastri pondere cassis erat. 700
gratia dis domuique tuae; religata catenis
iampridem vestro sub pede bella iacent.
sub iuga bos veniat, sub terras semen aratas:
Pax Cererem nutrit, Pacis alumna Ceres.
655 After the setting of that constellation (the Lyre), the fire that glitters in the middle of the Lion’s breast will be sunk below the horizon at nightfall.1
657 Three or four times I searched the record of the calendar, but nowhere did I find the Day of Sowing. Seeing me puzzled, the Muse observed, “That day is appointed by the priests. Why look for movable feasts in the calendar? And while the day of the feast may shift, the season is fixed: it is when the seed has been shown and the field fertilized.” Ye steers, take your stand with garlands on your heads at the full crib: with the warm spring your toil will return. Let the swain hang up on the post the plough that has earned its rest: in winter the ground fears every wound inflicted by the share. Thou bailiff, when the sowing is done, let the land rest, and let the men who tilled the land rest also. Let the parish keep festival; purify the parish, ye husbandmen, and offer the yearly cakes on the parish hearths. Propitiate Earth and Ceres, the mothers of the corn, with their own spelt and flesh of teeming sow. Ceres and Earth discharge a common function: the one lends to the corn its vital force, the other lends it room. “Partners in labour, ye who reformed the days of old and replaced the acorns of the oak by food more profitable, Ο satisfy the eager husbandmen with boundless crops, that they may reap the due reward of their tillage. Ο grant unto the tender seeds unbroken increase; let not the sprouting shoot be nipped by chilly snows. When we sow, let the sky be cloudless and winds blow fair; but when the seed is buried, then sprinkle it with water from the sky. Forbid the birds—pests of the tilled land—to devastate the fields of corn with their destructive flocks. You too, ye ants, Ο spare the sown grain; so shall ye have a more abundant booty after the harvest. Meantime may no scurfy mildew blight the growing crop nor foul weather blanch it to a sickly hue; may it neither shrivel up nor swell unduly and be choked by its own rank luxuriance. May the fields be free from darnel, that spoils the eyes,2 and may no barren wild oats spring from the tilled ground. May the farm yield, with manifold interest, crops of wheat, of barley, and of spelt, which twice shall bear the fire.”3 These petitions I offer for you, ye husbandmen, and do ye offer them yourselves, and may the two goddesses grant our prayers. Long time did wars engage mankind; the sword was handier than the share; the plough ox was ousted by the charger; hoes were idle, mattocks were turned into javelins, and a helmet was made out of a heavy rake. Thanks be to the gods and to thy house! Under your foot long time War has been laid in chains. Yoke the ox, commit the seed to the ploughed earth. Peace is the nurse of Ceres, and Ceres is the foster-child of Peace.
This is the date of the true morning setting.
It was supposed to damage the sight if eaten; Plautus, Mil. Gl. 323 “mirum lolio victitare te,” i.e. “you cannot see what is before your face.”
Spelt was toasted before it was baked. See ii. 520.