Book 23

23. In the three-and-twentieth book I sing the Indian Hydaspes crossed, and the watery, smoke-and-fire tumult.

So speaking, the watery Naiad Nymph, drenched in blood, plunged into her father's bloody water.

But he, smiting the barbarian tribes along the shores with his sword, drove them into the river-mouths; and pursued by the iron the foes were slain, crowding the Hydaspes in their terror. And many, whirling feet and hands in the surges, mimicked swimmers, and longed to escape their doom, cutting the river-streams with unpracticed hands; but they were covered by the flood; and in the waters one upon another, swollen and bloated, was entombed by a watery death.

Nor for long beside the shore of the shield-bearing river, ringed round by so great a throng of murderous Indians, did Aeacus still remain, for to him in his toil there came India-slaying Dionysus, shaking his pointed thyrsi. There, piercing yet another great host with his unsparing spear, Aeacus laid them low; and he raged like Ares, running beside his well-armored brother Dionysus. And Dionysus shared the watery struggle as his yoke-fellow, bringing a watery death upon the foes. And if any man swam, cleaving the swell above his cunning-wrought shield, he ravaged the backs of the swimmers; and if any of the Indians, half-seen, fought, propping his foot upon the mud, he struck breast or neck with the thyrsus, cleaving the waves as they sank; for he knew the gulf of the deep channels, ever since, when he fled the ghastly battle of Lycurgus, old Nereus received him in his surging halls. And many here and there were hemmed in by the stream, trembling at the mountain-roaming son of Zeus, of whom one, upright, fastened his feet in the muddy mire, and self-fixed, unshaken, from waist to head half-seen he rose, the fold of his thigh hidden; and he fought against Bromius in the water more than on the land, in both hands brandishing twin spears; and the one he cast, sending it high toward the shores, having Aeacus opposite for his mark, and shaking the other spear, he hurled it down at unwounded Lyaeus. And one stood fixed, covering the midst of his flank, while another found no escape, struck by the sharp thyrsus, bearing his steps fettered in the muddy bond, his foot held fast in the sands; and another stood with his shin struck; and another, wetting the tip of his knee, held a watery War through the bloody flood; another was rooted, sunk up to his chin, and raised his feet, lifting his washed shoulder, fleeing the dread streams darting at his face; another in the river-mouths, his whole body from the foot's tip to the middle of his breast awash, while another, wetting both his shoulders, and another, reddening the tip of his lock, received the wavy menace darting upon him. Another sank into the deep, shaking his drenched lips beside the man-slaying flood, his throat grinning wide. And one proud Indian, beholding his own comrades— some slain by the long spear, some by the sword, another shot by the ravine-cutting shaft, and one mangled by the sharp, much-twisted thyrsus— showed the dead throng to Thoureus, and grieving he tore his hair, and raged with the fiery brand of wrath, clenching his shut lips with a saw-toothed bond; and swiftly imitating the self-slain Indian Orontes, bearing barbarian blood and nursing a barbarian temper, he bared his sword, and casting away his tunic, the unbreakable fence of Ares, the warder-off of shafts, and bringing his blade undismayed to his own flank, swift to die, he broke forth in his last proud cry: "Belly, receive this dear sword; for I am ashamed that any unfriendly, unwarlike hand should slay me. I myself will drive the willing bronze into my flank, lest my father reproach me for falling by a womanish thyrsus, lest he name a Satyr, lest he name my Bacchus, my slayer." He spoke, driving the sword into his dark belly with daring hands, as though slaughtering a stranger, and Menoeceus died self-slaughtered among his foes, ashamed to look on Deriades again after the battle; with tearless eyes he died by a willing doom, and far from madness appeared a bronze Ajax. And the slaughter was unspeakable; with its grudging stream the Hydaspes covered the slain and became their tomb. And one within the river poured forth his very last cry: "And you too, father, why do you hide your children in your streams? Often Bactrian Ares roamed near, but in his streams never did Median Araxes slay the Median host; the Persian Euphrates did not hide his neighbor Persian; often by Taurus there was battle for me, but in the fray never did Cydnus entomb the Cilicians in his gulf; nor does Tanais, bringing snowy, stony water, arm himself against his neighbor the Sauromatian, but arraying against the foe-Colchians a ravine-cutting War, he often laid them low with his frosty shaft. Eridanus was more blessed than you, because in his streams he hid the foreign Phaethon and not a citizen, nor did he cover a Galatian, nor was he a tomb to a Celt, but for his dear dwellers, from his wealth-flowing trees, he rolls down the light-bearing amber gifts of the Heliades; the Iberian Rhine arms himself against babies, but as a judge, and splitting the secret travail of the birth he slays the foreign offspring; but you, of your dead dwellers, hide your true children and do not cover bastard blood. How can you mingle with the rivers, or even with Ocean your father and Tethys your mother, dragging a flood-tide of slaughter in bloody trickles? Take care, lest you defile Poseidon with corpses. Your stream is worse than Bromius', for Dionysus does not rout me with thyrsi so much as you rout me with your streams." So speaking, the heavy-doomed man received his last water.

And the crossing went well-armed; the people were buoyed up on their swollen limbs; and as a bearer perished, half-seen, with a floating crest, his helmet ferried across, sinking little by little; and leaping on the streams, stretched out in the surges like the stern-cables of ships, the oxhide shield-straps sailed as swimmers, in rows here and there; but weighed down by the iron the breastplate dragged the water-clad man into the deep. Nor did Dionysus check his warriors from battle, until he had slain all with his flesh-cutting thyrsus, leaving only one as the herald of all the dead; Thoureus alone he left, a god-fearing witness of victory. And when Hera marked the slaughter of the spear-slain Indians, she flew from heaven, and along the high-pathed road, restless, she scored the air with windy foot. She came to the East, and stirred up the Indian Hydaspes to raise a bloody battle against Dionysus. But when the barbarous-voiced Eastern Ares had sunk down, then, contriving strange devices of sailing, the chorus of the Bacchae ferried across the unwashing streams. And the god led the way, driving through the swell, on land-chariots a counterfeit voyage, and of the water-faring leopards the unwetted claw scored the Hydaspes; and the armies held a crossing of the unwaving river, of whom one rowed an Indian raft of many bindings, another, steering the watery course of a skiff, held a native vessel of the flax-stitching fishermen, which he had seized; another sailed by a counterfeit rule, binding interwoven planks with a crafty knot, and making timber, root and all, like a freighter, without a rudder, without a sail, without oars, not calling on ship-saving Boreas—for, straight ahead sending the underwater spar into the deep hollows, he sailed as a spear-wielding sailor of water-faring Ares—, and cutting the swell, unwetted, upon his floating shield, bearing the shield-strap as a cable, he held a shield-driven course, scoring a strange voyage on his counterfeit ship. And the host of horsemen marched the stream, and the horses' voyage was on foot, the drivers raised upon their backs; and then, as the swimming, good-footed horse held its watery course, buoying high upon its loins the rider above, high-seen rose its neck unwetted through the water. And the host of battle-rousing footmen, lacking a skiff, pouring an artificial wind into swollen skins, measured the Indian Hydaspes on the inflated hide, and the skins sailed pregnant with the winds shut within. On goat's feet Parrhasian Pan ran across, striding over the surface of the calm river; and Lycus drove the course of his sea-horses, leading his father's unwetted four-horse car; and beside his crossing brother Damnameneus marched Scelmis, riding on horseback over the unwaving river. Another, leaping upon the back of a bull that ran with the gusts, drove the bull as a wayfarer into the voyage with his crook, and with its ox-hooves scored the soundless water; and the aged Sileni sailed the sea with feet and hands rowing the Hydaspes . . . And pouring out, gushing like a fountain, a protecting cry, the old Hydaspes shouted to his wavy brother, pouring a threatening word from his many-springed throat: "Gentle brother, how long does your stream creep on soundless? Arm your swell, pressing hard upon Dionysus, that we may hide in the waters the wayfaring footman. It is a shame to you and to me, when the warriors of Bromius cleave my swell with unwetted sandals; Aeolus, do you too do me a favor, and against the foes arm your champions, the storming gusts, to fight the Satyrs, because the watery wandering host with their land-chariots has made the Hydaspes passable, and the drivers hold a watery course in the waters; arm your winds against my ferryman Lyaeus; let the company of Satyrs be dragged in the streams, and as the drivers are swept along in the river-mouths, let my stream receive their chariot, the drivers covered by the maddened swell. I will not let the unwonted crossing go unpunished; it is a shame to you and to me, when the warriors of Bromius make a path for drivers and unwetted wayfarers . . . and I will destroy the water-faring lions of Dionysus. Tell me, since when was my stream passable, and since when does the water-bathed Naiad in the river-mouths hear neighing, and the horse's hoof beat the fishy ridge? I am ashamed to mingle with the rivers, because women stride across me with unwashed sandals. Never did daring Indians scrape my stream with towering chariots, and Deriades did not score my fatherly water with his long car, seated on the manes of high-crested elephants." So speaking, he armed his stream; and he leapt upon Bacchus, warring with his surges; and a great storming of the battling waters bellowed, a watery trumpet; and the river roared, lifting up its rising water, fighting the Satyrs; and in the loud-roaring tumult a soft-robed Bassarid shook the cymbals from her hands and twisted her feet about, and as her sole was rowed she shook the yellow bonds of her much-stitched sandals, and the windy stream, borne up to her head, washed over the curling locks of the swimming Bacchant; another, weighed down, laid aside her wet robes, giving up her fawnskins to the swelling streams, and upon her breast, as the river armed itself, the black swell was dragged over her reddening nipple; and a Satyr, rowing the poured water with his hands, twisted his dripping tail upright through the water; and with aged feet rowing his drunken, stumbling step, restless Maron, borne along in the watery current, left behind in the waves a wineskin stuffed with sweet wine; and shaken often, running together with the double pipe, Pan's syrinx floated over the surface of the water, self-coiling on the waves; and with rivaling beat the hair flowed down the neck of the shaggy Silenus. And the river roared, dragging refuse in its swell, pouring the yellow, displaced water over the plain, summoning Dionysus to a watery War; and the battle-rousing stream, holding a counter-blowing breeze, near-cloudy, rose high, showing the air all drenched, leaping with seething swell upon Dionysus. Not so madly did the water of Simois roar, not such was the stream of battle-rousing Scamander, flooding Achilles with its wavy current, as then the Hydaspes pursued the Bacchic host. And Dionysus belched out a frenzied cry to the river: "Why do you rout the son of Zeus, Zeus-fallen one? If I wish it, my father, Zeus the Rain-giver, will dry up your stream. You sprang from the clouds of my father the son of Cronus, and do you pursue the offspring of cloud-gathering Zeus? Beware the bolt of my father's lurking thunder, lest he arm against you the lightning that brought Bromius to birth; take care, lest, heavy-kneed, you hear like Asopus; calm your river-mouth, while I still hold back my wrath. Watery, you arm yourself against the fiery; but you cannot endure a single spark of the smoky thunderbolt. And if you boast greatly for the sake of Asteria your bride, who got the ethereal blood of Hyperion's race, the bold son of the Sun, the fiery charioteer, as he rode the heaven my father burned with his bolt, and Hyperion, steward of fire, lamented his dead son, yet did not war with my father for Phaethon's sake, did not raise fire against fire, even though he rules over fire. If you exalt yourself for the sake of your Ocean, look on Eridanus struck by the bolt of Zeus, your fire-scorched brother; and grievously suffering, your watery forefather, girdled by the circle of the world, pouring earth-girding water in so many streams, saw his son burned, and did not war with Olympus, did not strive with his river-mouths against the fire-barbed thunderbolt. But spare your waters still, lest I behold you, Hydaspes, scorched like burned Eridanus." As he spoke, the deep-thundering Hydaspes grew more wroth, pouring high-running water in fiercer waves. And now he would have hidden the whole rank of the unrevelling Bacchae, had not Bacchus defended them; and from the neighboring thicket taking a fire-bearing fennel-stalk, facing the Dawn, he warmed it at the sun; and from the blazing cluster by a self-born spark a wooden fire was kindled; and he hurled the flame into the river-mouths; and with the threatening brand the banks of the burning river seethed in its streams; and much wandering smoke roved through the air as the lotus burned and the galingale withered; and the fire consumed the reeds; and with a much-whirling rush the coiling breath of the sooty smoke made drunk the airy vaults, and the whole thicket grew black as the reed-beds were lashed by the sweet-smelling winds. And the blaze crept into the deep; the smoky fish hid themselves in the mud; and from the underwater fire the drenched mud boiled with the swimming spark, kindling wet; and from the deep channels the smoke, fiery, rushed through the water with companion vapor. And the phalanxes of Water-nymphs, unveiled, with swift foot, naked, were driven from their wavy chamber; and one, shrinking from her father's flaming water, a veilless Naiad, plunged into the unwonted Ganges; another dwelt in the loud-roaring Indian Acesines with parched limbs; and the wandering Choaspes received another mountain-roaming, unveiled Naiad Nymph, a sandalless maiden, neighbor of the Persian land. And Ocean shouted, threatening Dionysus, pouring a watery bellow from his many-springed throat, and sending forth, gushing like a fountain, the stream of his ever-flowing mouths, he flooded the shores of the world with a torrent of words: "Coeval consort of Ocean, contemporary of the world, all-nourishing Tethys of the mingled waters, self-sown, ancient lover of children, what shall we do? For fiery against me and your children Zeus the Rain-giver arms himself; for Asopus has the bastard bird, the murderous son of Cronus, the rapacious one, as his father, and Hydaspes has Bacchus as his son. But, leading water against the lightnings of Zeus, I will cover the fiery sun with my quenching stream, and I will hide the stars of the ether; and the son of Cronus shall behold me flooding the Moon with my murmuring flood; and beneath the Bear's foot I will bathe in my river-mouths the topmost head of the axle and the unwetted track of the Wain; and the ancient sailor of my deep sea, the ethereal Dolphin, I will make a sailor again, hidden in the deeps; and I will drag back the star-roaming Eridanus, fiery, returning from heaven, an exile to the land of the Celts, and I will make it watery again, stripping the ether of its watery fire; and the high-pathed starry Fishes, my own, I will drag back into the brine, swimming after Olympus in the waters. Awake, Tethys, with waters let us cover the stars of the ether, that I may behold the Bull, long ago the sailor of the unwaving sea, borne along by fiercer waves, a watery wayfarer, after the bed of Europa; and let her too be stirred, beholding my horned, bull-faced shape, the bull-formed, horned Moon, driver of oxen; I will come high-pathed to the heaven, that I may behold watery Cepheus and water-clad Bootes, as did the Earth-shaker once, when bold around Corinth the watery Ares cried his war-cry into the starry battle; and I will hide the fiery Goat, the nurse of Zeus, and to the water-faring Water-pourer I will graciously grant abundant water. Tethys, and you too, sea, arm yourselves; for a bull-formed bastard son has Zeus begotten, to destroy all, both rivers and blameless men; and both alike, the thyrsus has slain the Indians and the fire has burned the Hydaspes." So he spoke, seething with the swell of his deep-billowing voice.