Iam nitidum retegente diem noctisque fugante
tempora Lucifero cadit Eurus, et umida surgunt
nubila: dant placidi cursum redeuntibus Austri
Aeacidis Cephaloque; quibus feliciter acti
ante exspectatum portus tenuere petitos. 5
interea Minos Lelegeia litora vastat
praetemptatque sui vires Mavortis in urbe
Alcathoi, quam Nisus habet, cui splendidus ostro
inter honoratos medioque in vertice canos
crinis inhaerebat, magni fiducia regni. 10
Sexta resurgebant orientis cornua lunae,
et pendebat adhuc belli fortuna, diuque
inter utrumque volat dubiis Victoria pennis.
regia turris erat vocalibus addita muris,
in quibus auratam proles Letoia fertur 15
deposuisse lyram: saxo sonus eius inhaesit.
saepe illuc solita est ascendere filia Nisi
et petere exiguo resonantia saxa lapillo,
tum cum pax esset; bello quoque saepe solebat
spectare ex illa rigidi certamina Martis, 20
iamque mora belli procerum quoque nomina norat
armaque equosque habitusque Cydoneasque pharetras;
noverat ante alios faciem ducis Europaei,
plus etiam, quam nosse sat est: hac iudice Minos,
seu caput abdiderat cristata casside pennis, 25
in galea formosus erat; seu sumpserat aere
fulgentem clipeum, clipeum sumpsisse decebat;
torserat adductis hastilia lenta lacertis:
laudabat virgo iunctam cum viribus artem;
inposito calamo patulos sinuaverat arcus: 30
sic Phoebum sumptis iurabat stare sagittis;
cum vero faciem dempto nudaverat aere
purpureusque albi stratis insignia pictis
terga premebat equi spumantiaque ora regebat,
vix sua, vix sanae virgo Niseia compos 35
mentis erat: felix iaculum, quod tangeret ille,
quaeque manu premeret, felicia frena vocabat.
impetus est illi, liceat modo, ferre per agmen
virgineos hostile gradus, est impetus illi
turribus e summis in Cnosia mittere corpus 40
castra vel aeratas hosti recludere portas,
vel siquid Minos aliud velit. utque sedebat
candida Dictaei spectans tentoria regis,
‘laeter,’ ait ‘doleamne geri lacrimabile bellum,
in dubio est; doleo, quod Minos hostis amanti est. 45
sed nisi bella forent, numquam mihi cognitus esset!
me tamen accepta poterat deponere bellum
obside: me comitem, me pacis pignus haberet.
si quae te peperit, talis, pulcherrime regum,
qualis es ipse, fuit, merito deus arsit in illa. 50
o ego ter felix, si pennis lapsa per auras
Cnosiaci possem castris insistere regis
fassaque me flammasque meas, qua dote, rogarem,
vellet emi, tantum patrias ne posceret arces!
nam pereant potius sperata cubilia, quam sim 55
proditione potens!—quamvis saepe utile vinci
victoris placidi fecit clementia multis.
iusta gerit certe pro nato bella perempto:
et causaque valet causamque tuentibus armis.
at, puto, vincemur; qui si manet exitus urbem, 60
cur suus haec illi reseret mea moenia Mavors
et non noster amor? melius sine caede moraque
inpensaque sui poterit superare cruoris.
non metuam certe, ne quis tua pectora, Minos,
vulneret inprudens: quis enim tam durus, ut in te 65
derigere inmitem non inscius audeat hastam?
coepta placent, et stat sententia tradere mecum
dotalem patriam finemque inponere bello;
verum velle parum est! aditus custodia servat,
claustraque portarum genitor tenet: hunc ego solum 70
infelix timeo, solus mea vota moratur.
di facerent, sine patre forem! sibi quisque profecto
est deus: ignavis precibus Fortuna repugnat.
altera iamdudum succensa cupidine tanto
perdere gauderet, quodcumque obstaret amori. 75
et cur ulla foret me fortior? ire per ignes
et gladios ausim; nec in hoc tamen ignibus ullis
aut gladiis opus est, opus est mihi crine paterno.
illa mihi est auro pretiosior, illa beatam
purpura me votique mei factura potentem.’ 80
Talia dicenti curarum maxima nutrix
nox intervenit, tenebrisque audacia crevit.
prima quies aderat, qua curis fessa diurnis
pectora somnus habet: thalamos taciturna paternos
intrat et (heu facinus!) fatali nata parentem 85
crine suum spoliat praedaque potita nefanda
per medios hostes (meriti fiducia tanta est) 88
pervenit ad regem; quem sic adfata paventem est:
‘suasit amor facinus: proles ego regia Nisi
Scylla tibi trado patriaeque meosque penates;
praemia nulla peto nisi te: cape pignus amoris
purpureum crinem nec me nunc tradere crinem,
sed patrium tibi crede caput!’ scelerataque dextra
munera porrexit; Minos porrecta refugit 95
turbatusque novi respondit imagine facti:
‘di te summoveant, o nostri infamia saecli,
orbe suo, tellusque tibi pontusque negetur!
certe ego non patiar Iovis incunabula, Creten,
qui meus est orbis, tantum contingere monstrum.’ 100
Dixit, et ut leges captis iustissimus auctor
hostibus inposuit, classis retinacula solvi
iussit et aeratas impelli remige puppes.
Scylla freto postquam deductas nare carinas
nec praestare ducem sceleris sibi praemia vidit, 105
consumptis precibus violentam transit in iram
intendensque manus passis furibunda capillis
‘quo fugis’ exclamat ‘meritorum auctore relicta,
o patriae praelate meae, praelate parenti?
quo fugis, inmitis, cuius victoria nostrum 110
et scelus et meritum est? nec te data munera, nec te
noster amor movit, nec quod spes omnis in unum
te mea congesta est? nam quo deserta revertar?
in patriam? superata iacet! sed finge manere:
proditione mea clausa est mihi! patris ad ora? 115
quem tibi donavi? cives odere merentem,
finitimi exemplum metuunt: exponimur orbae
terrarum, nobis ut Crete sola pateret.
hac quoque si prohibes et nos, ingrate, relinquis,
non genetrix Europa tibi est, sed inhospita Syrtis, 120
Armeniae tigres austroque agitata Charybdis.
Nec Iove tu natus, nec mater imagine tauri
ducta tua est: generis falsa est ea fabula! verus,
[et ferus et captus nullius amore iuvencae]
qui te progenuit, taurus fuit. exige poenas, 125
Nise pater! gaudete malis, modo prodita, nostris,
moenia! nam, fateor, merui et sum digna perire.
Now when Lucifer had banished night and ushered in the shining day, the east wind fell and moist clouds arose. The peaceful south wind offered a safe return to Cephalus and the mustered troops of Aeacus, and, speeding their voyage, brought them, sooner than they had hoped, to their desired haven. Meanwhile King Minos was laying waste the coast of Megara, and was trying his martial strength against the city of Alcathoüs1 where Nisus reigned. This Nisus had growing on his head, amidst his locks of honoured grey, a brilliant purple lock on whose preservation rested the safety of his throne.
Six times had the new moon shown her horns, and still the fate of war hung in the balance; so long did Victory hover on doubtful wings between the two. There was a royal tower reared on the tuneful walls where Latona’s son was said to have laid down his golden lyre, whose music still lingered in the stones. Often to this tower the daughter of King Nisus used to climb and set the rocks resounding with a pebble, in the day when peace was. Also after the war began she would often look out from this place upon the rough martial combats. And now, as the war dragged on, she had come to know even the names of the warring chieftains, their arms, their horses, their dress, their Cretan quivers. And above all others did she know the face of their leader, Europa’s son, yes, better than she should. If he had hidden his head in a crested casque, Minos in a helmet was lovely to her eyes: or if he carried his shining golden shield, the shield became him well. Did he hurl his tough spear with tense muscles, the girl admired the strength and the skill he showed. Did he bend the wide-curving bow with arrow fitted to the string, thus she would swear that Phoebus stood with arrows in his hand. But when unhelmed he showed his face, when clad in purple he bestrode his milk-white steed gorgeous with broidered trappings, and managed the foaming bit, then was Nisus’ daughter hardly her own, hardly mistress of a sane mind. Happy the javelin which he touched and happy the reins which he held in his hand, she thought. She longed, were it but allowed, to speed her maiden steps through the foemen’s line; she longed to leap down from her lofty tower into the Cretan camp, to open the city’s bronze-bound gates to the enemy, to do any other thing which Minos might desire. And, as she sat gazing at the white tents of the Cretan King, she said: “Whether I should rejoice or grieve at this woeful war, I cannot tell. I grieve because Minos is the foe of her who loves him; but if there were no war, he would never have been known to me. Suppose he had me as a hostage, then he could give up the war; I should be in his company, should be a pledge of peace. If she who bore you, O loveliest of all the world, was such as you are, good reason was it that the god burned for her. Oh, thrice happy should I be, if only I might fly through the air and stand within the camp of the Cretan king, and confess my love, and ask what dower he would wish to be paid for me. Only let him not ask my country’s citadel. For may all my hopes of wedlock perish ere I gain it by treachery. And yet oft-times many have found it good to be overcome, when an appeased victor has been merciful. Surely he wages a just war for his murdered son; and he is strong both in his cause and in the arms that defend his cause. We shall be conquered, I am sure. And if that doom awaits our city, why shall his warrior hand unbar these walls of ours, and not my love? Far better will it be without massacre and suspense and the cost of his own blood for him to conquer. In that case truly I should not fear lest someone should pierce your breast unwittingly, dear Minos; for, if not unwitting, who so cruel that he could bring himself to throw his pitiless spear at you?” She likes the plan, and decides to give up herself with her country as her dowry, and so to end the war. But merely to will is not enough. “A watch guards the entry; my father holds the keys of the city gates. Him only do I fear, unhappy! Only he delays the wish of my heart. Would to God I had no father! But surely everyone is his own god; Fortune resists half-hearted prayers. Another girl in my place, fired with so great a love, would long since have destroyed, and that with joy, whatever stood in the way of her love. And why should another be braver than I? Through fire and sword would I dare go. And yet here there is no need of fire or sword. I need but my father’s lock of hair. That is to me more precious than gold; that purple lock will make me blest, will give me my heart’s desire.”
While she thus spoke night came on, most potent healer of our cares; and with the darkness her boldness grew. The first rest had come, when sleep holds the heart weary with the cares of day: the daughter steals silently into her father’s chamber, and—oh, the horrid crime!—she despoils him of the tress where his life lay. With this cursed prize, through the midst of her foes, so sure is she of a welcome for her deed, she goes straight to the king; and thus she addresses him, startled at her presence: “Love has led me to this deed. I, Scylla, daughter of King Nisus, do here deliver to your hands my country and my house. I ask no reward save only you. Take as the pledge of my love this purple lock, and know that I am giving to you not a lock, but my father’s life.” And in her sin-stained hand she held out the prize to him. Minos recoiled from the proffered gift, and, in horror at the sight of so unnatural an act, he replied: “May the gods banish you from their world, O foul disgrace of our age! May both land and sea be denied to you! Be sure that I shall not permit so vile a monster to set foot on Crete, my world, the cradle of Jove’s infancy.”
He spoke; and when this most upright law giver had imposed laws upon his conquered foes, he bade loose the hawsers of the fleet, and the rowers to man the bronze-bound ships. When Scylla saw that the ships were launched and afloat, and that the king refused her the reward of her sin, having prayed until she could pray no more, she became violently enraged, and stretching out her hands, with streaming hair and mad with passion, she exclaimed: “Whither do you flee, abandoning the giver of your success, O you whom I put before my fatherland, before my father? Whither do you flee, you cruel man, whose victory is my sin, ’tis true, but is my merit also? Does not the gift I gave move you, do not my love and all my hopes built on you alone? Deserted, whither shall I go? Back to my fatherland? It lies overthrown. But suppose it still remained: it is closed to me by my treachery. To my father’s presence? him whom I betrayed to you? My countrymen hate me, and with just cause; the neighbouring peoples fear my example. I am banished from all the world, that Crete alone might be open to me. And if you forbid me Crete as well, and, O ungrateful, leave me here, Europa is not your mother, but the inhospitable Syrtis, the Armenian tigress and storm-tossed Charybdis. You are no son of Jove, nor was your mother tricked by the false semblance of a bull. That story of your birth is a lie: it was a real bull that begot you, a fierce, wild thing that loved no heifer. Inflict my punishment, O Nisus, my father! Rejoice in my woes, O ye walls that I have but now betrayed!
i.e. Megara