Then Macareus told how, from Cyclops’ coast,
they reached the isle of Aeolus, the king
whose realm is ringed by the Tyrrhenian;
and there the son of Hippotes imprisons
the winds within a bull’s-hide sack; and this
Ulysses got—a memorable gift.
That visit done, Ulysses’ men sailed on
nine days, spurred by the breeze that blew astern;
and now they had in sight the shore they sought,
their Ithaca. But when the tenth day dawned,
Ulysses’ men, with greed and envy, thought
that sack held gold: and they unloosed the ties
that held it fast; the winds unleashed a blast
that drove Ulysses and his crewmen back—
along the very sea they had just crossed
into the port of tyrant Aeolus.
“From there,” continued Macareus, “we reached
the city of the Laestrygonians,
the walls that Lamus founded long ago.
Antiphates was ruler of that land.
Ulysses sent me on, together with
Latin [214–35]
two other men—an embassy to him.
But I and one of them were only saved
from his ferocity by flight; the third,
a victim, stained with blood the profane jaws
of King Antiphates. We rushed away,
and he pursued us with a vast array
of force: a mob threw rocks at us; they sank
our men; they sank our fleet. And just one ship
escaped their fatal rage, the boat on which
Ulysses and I, too, sailed off. We mourned
our dreadful losses, and we landed on
the isle that you see there—it lies far off.
And it is best to sight it from afar
and not close up—believe me, I was there.
And you, Aeneas, you who are most just
of all the Trojans, you, a goddess’ son
(now that the war is finished, I’ve no cause
to call you enemy), pay me close heed:
do not land there; it is the home of Circe!
We, too, when we had landed on those sands,
recalled Antiphates and cruel Cyclops:
we did not want to enter unknown houses.
And we cast lots; and chance chose me and trusty
Polites and Eurylochus and one
who guzzled wine too frequently, Elpenor,
together with still others, twice-nine more:
it’s we who were to visit Circe’s halls.
We reached her home; we waited at the door;
a thousand wolves came forward—in that throng,
she-bears and lionesses mingled, too.
They frightened all of us; and yet, in truth,
there was no need for panic—not one beast
was bent on injury: instead, they wagged
their tails and followed us quite festively,
filing along and fawning, welcoming,
until attendant-maidens came to greet—
and lead—us through the marble halls to meet
their mistress. Circe’s room was splendid: she
Latin [235–61]
sat on a solemn throne, in gleaming robes—
and over these she’d thrown a cloak of gold.
Fair nymphs and Nereids form the company
of her attendants, and they card no fleece
with agile fingers; they spin no wool threads:
instead, they’re charged with sorting out her plants;
from jumbled heaps of flowers, a motley mass
of varicolored herbs, they must select
and separate each kind in its own basket.
And she herself controls the work they do;
she knows how every leaf is to be used,
how they can be combined; she is alert
to just what dose will serve. On seeing us,
when greetings had been given and received,
her face relaxed; we never could have wished
for warmer welcome. And at once she asked
her nymphs to serve us a sweet brew, a mix
of roasted barley, honey, curdled milk,
and pure wine; and in secret, Circe slipped
her juices into it—they’d never be
detected in a drink so honey-sweet.
And we accepted what we got from Circe—
from the right hand of such a deity.
As soon as we had drunk—for we were thirsty,
our lips were parched—the fatal goddess touched
the hair atop our heads with her charmed wand.
And then (despite my shame I tell you this)
I started to grow bristles—rough and stiff;
I lost the power of speech; I could emit
no words—all I could utter were harsh grunts;
I bent—my face was turned down to the ground,
and it had hardened into a rough snout;
I felt the muscles of my neck swell out;
and with the limbs that only now had held
the cup, I now left tracks along the floor.
Then I, together with the other men
(such was the power that her potions had),
was shut within a pigpen. Only one
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of us—Eurylochus, who had not touched
the offered cup—had not been made a hog.
And if he’d not escaped our fate, I’d still
be part of that pig herd, a swine with bristles;
for then Ulysses never would have learned
of that disaster from Eurylochus
and come to Circe’s palace, freeing us.
For Hermes, god who brings tranquillity,
gave a white flower to Ulysses: moly—
the name the gods have given to that plant—
grows from a black root. And with that in hand,
together with the counsels Hermes gave,
Ulysses felt secure, forewarned. He came
to Circe’s halls; when the insidious cup
was offered to him, and with her charmed wand,
she tried to touch his hair, Ulysses spurned
the goddess; he unsheathed his sword, and she
was terrified by that—and so she beat
retreat. And then, the two of them pledged peace
and clasped right hands, abjuring trickery;
and having been received into her bed
as husband, he asked this as wedding gift:
the bodies of his men as they had been.
She sprinkled other juices over us,
juices that she had drawn from some strange herb—
this time, they were benevolent; she struck
our heads with her charmed wand, which she reversed;
and then she chanted words that were opposed
to those that served her as a spell before.
And as the goddess chanted, we grew more
and more erect; we stood up from the ground;
our bristles fell from us; our forked feet lost
their cleft; we got our shoulders back; our arms
were ours again, and once again prolonged
with forearms. And Ulysses wept, and we,
embracing him, wept, too; we flung ourselves
around the neck of our dear chief; the first
words that we spoke were words of gratitude.
Latin [286–307]