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Notes Display Latin text | translated by Theodore C. Williams Book XI Chapter 13: Drances speaks | Next chapter Return to index Previous chapter |
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Then Drances rose, that foe inveterate, whom Turnus' fame to stinging hate and envy double-tongued ever pricked on. Of liberal wealth was he and flowing speech, but slack of hand in war at council board accounted no weak voice, in quarrels stronger still; of lofty birth in the maternal line, but by his sire's uncertain and obscure. He, claiming place, thus multiplies with words the people's ire: A course most clear, nor needing voice of mine, thy council is, good king; for all men see the way of public weal, but smother close the telling of it. Turnus must concede freedom to speak, and his own arrogance diminish! Under his ill-boding star and fatal conduct -- yea, I speak it plain, though with his naked steel my death he swear -- yon host of princes fell, and we behold the whole land bowed with grief; while he assails the Trojan camp (beating such bold retreats!) and troubles Heaven with war. One gift the more, among the many to the Trojans given, one chiefly, best of kings, thy choice should be. Let not wild violence thy will restrain from granting, sire, thy virgin daughter's [Note 1] hand t son-in-law [Note 2] illustrious, in a match worthy of both, -- and thus the lasting bond of peace establish. But if verily our hearts and souls be weak with craven fear, let us on Turnus call, and grace implore even of him. Let him no more oppose; but to his country and his King concede their natural right. Why wilt thou o'er and o'er fling thy poor countrymen in danger's way, O chief and fountain of all Latium's pain? War will not save us. Not a voice but sues for peace, O Turnus! and, not less than peace, its one inviolable pledge. Behold, I lead in this petition! even I whom thou dost feign thy foe -- (I waste no words denying) -- look! I supplicate of thee, take pity on thy kindred; drop thy pride, and get thee home defeated. We have seen slaughter enough, enough of funeral flames, and many a wide field waste and desolate. If glory move thee, if thy martial breast so swell with strength, and if a royal dower be thy dear dream, go, pluck thy courage up, and front thy own brave bosom to the foe. for, lo, that Turnus on his wedding day may win a princess, our cheap, common lives -- we the mere mob, unwept, unsepulchred -- must be spilled forth in battle! Thou, I say, if there be mettle in thee and some drops of thy undaunted sires, look yonder where the Trojan chieftain waits thee in the field. |
336-375 Tum Drances idem infensus, quem gloria Turni obliqua inuidia stimulisque agitabat amaris, largus opum et lingua melior, sed frigida bello dextera, consiliis habitus non futtilis auctor, seditione potens (genus huic materna superbum nobilitas dabat, incertum de patre ferebat), surgit et his onerat dictis atque aggerat iras: 'rem nulli obscuram nostrae nec uocis egentem consulis, o bone rex: cuncti se scire fatentur quid fortuna ferat populi, sed dicere mussant. det libertatem fandi flatusque remittat, cuius ob auspicium infaustum moresque sinistros (dicam equidem, licet arma mihi mortemque minetur) lumina tot cecidisse ducum totamque uidemus consedisse urbem luctu, dum Troia temptat castra fugae fidens et caelum territat armis. unum etiam donis istis, quae plurima mitti Dardanidis dicique iubes, unum, optime regum, adicias, nec te ullius uiolentia uincat quin natam egregio genero dignisque hymenaeis des pater, et pacem hanc aeterno foedere iungas. quod si tantus habet mentes et pectora terror, ipsum obtestemur ueniamque oremus ab ipso: cedat, ius proprium regi patriaeque remittat. quid miseros totiens in aperta pericula ciuis proicis, o Latio caput horum et causa malorum? nulla salus bello, pacem te poscimus omnes, Turne, simul pacis solum inuiolabile pignus. primus ego, inuisum quem tu tibi fingis (et esse nil moror), en supplex uenio. miserere tuorum, pone animos et pulsus abi. sat funera fusi uidimus ingentis et desolauimus agros. aut, si fama mouet, si tantum pectore robur concipis et si adeo dotalis regia cordi est, aude atque aduersum fidens fer pectus in hostem. scilicet ut Turno contingat regia coniunx, nos animae uiles, inhumata infletaque turba, sternamur campis. etiam tu, si qua tibi uis, si patrii quid Martis habes, illum aspice contra qui uocat.' |