Xenophon’s “On the Art of Horsemanship” Chapter I

Poor Xenophon, forever in the shadow of two of antiquity’s giants, Plato and Thucydides. Xenophon (b. 430, d. 354 BCE) studied under Socrates, wrote his own dialogues, chronicled the history of his times. He was a military man, an accomplished historian, and a true Athenian gentleman. With On the Art of Horsemanship this former cavalryman passes on his wisdom to future generations of young equestrians.

While this is one of his minor works, this will be the lengthiest translation I yet undertake in this project. This is the first of twelve chapters. The first chapter advises how to select a horse at the market by judging its physical characteristics. Note the analogies Xenophon makes to help illustrate a familiar complexity that is equine anatomy.

Click here for the original Greek.

1. Thanks to my many years of service as a cavalryman, you may suppose I have gotten to know a thing or two about horsemanship. I wish to present to my young friends what I take to be the most proper instructions on how you too can manage a horse. Now it is true that Simon had already written a horseman’s manual, the same man who had set up a bronze equestrian statue at the Eleusinium in Athens, carving a record of his exploits on the pedestal. I will not omit from this handbook any of the scholarship that matches Simon’s own. Quite the contrary! He was such an expert horseman that any advice we both happen to share must be all the more trustworthy, and I am overjoyed to pass it on to my friends. Beyond that, I will try to fill in any of the details he left out.

But first, my instructions on how to outfox an underhanded horse dealer:

An unbroken colt by definition will show no clear signs of its personality, not before it has been mounted. So it is obvious that you must judge the colt’s body.

2. I say that first and foremost you take a good look at its feet. For a horse is like a house. Even if its upper parts are pretty as can be, it is useless without a solid foundation beneath it. Thus a horse may boast a panoply of good qualities, but if it has bad feet, the horse can serve no practical function, since none of those good parts could be of use.

3. You can test out the feet by first inspecting the hooves. Having thick hooves makes a big difference in the quality of the feet than thin ones. Next, do not overlook whether the hooves are high-up or low to the ground both in front and behind. This is because high hooves have farther from the ground what is called the fetlock. Flat hooves, on the other hand, tread with similar pressure on both the strongest and weakest part of the foot, as does someone with bandy legs. Simon was quite right when he said that good feet can be indicated by the sound they when they strike the ground. A hoof will resonate like a cymbal if it is too hollow.

4. Since I began at the bottom, let’s work our way upwards toward the other parts of the body. The bones located above the hooves and below the fetlocks should not be too straight, like those of a goat. Such legs are too rigid and more liable to inflammation, and will make the rider absorb too much of the shock. These bones should not be too low, either, or the horse risks dragging its fetlocks when ridden over rocky terrain or loose soil, and making them raw.

5. The shank-bones are the body’s columns, so they should be thick. However, they should not be too veiny or meaty, or else a ride over rough terrain would cause such legs to be filled with blood, making them swollen and varicose. This in turn would cause the skin to slacken, and when it becomes loose, the pin will often follow, and at that point you will have a lame horse on your hands.

6. When the colt walks, if it bends its knees in a fluid motion, you may assume that its legs will be supple when riding, too, since horses bend their knees more fluidly as time goes by. Supple legs are highly valued, and rightly so, since a horse with this quality is less apt to stumble and tire out than one with stiff legs.

7. A horse’s arms beneath the shoulders are stronger and look more attractive if they are thick, just like a man’s. Likewise, a broader chest is stronger, handsomer, and more naturally suited to place the legs far enough apart to prevent their crossing.

8. The shape of the horse’s neck from the chest up to the top of its head should not droop forwards, like a boar’s, but stand straight up, like a rooster’s, yet should still have flexible joints. The head should be bony, but the cheekbones small. Thus the neck will be like a shield in front of the rider, while its eyes will see whatever is in front of its feet. Also, horses of this build, no matter how hotheaded they are, are least able to get out of control, because whenever any horse tries to break free it stretches out its head and neck rather than bend them inward.

9. Now inspect the jaws. See whether both jaws are soft or hard, or just one, since horses with unequal jaws for the most part develop an unequal sensitivity to the bit.

10. Prominent eyes make the horse appear more alert than hollow eyes, and they see farther, too. Open nostrils are better than closed ones in that they afford a horse easier breathing, while at the same time giving it a more formidable appearance, since whenever a horse gets angry with either another horse or its rider, its nostrils flare.

11. Other ideal characteristics of a horse’s head include a large mane and small ears.
Higher withers provide the rider a more secure seat and a stronger grip on the shoulders, while a twofold backbone is not only better looking than a simple spine, it gives the rider a cushier seat.

12. Horses with deeper flanks that are more rounded toward the belly are stronger, easier to sit upon, and, of course, not picky eaters. The wider and shorter the horse’s loins, the easier it can lift its forequarters and bring up its rear. This also makes the belly appear smallest, since if it were large the horse would appear rather misshapen, and render it weaker and clumsier.

13. The haunches should be just as muscular as the flanks and chest. If all of these parts are solid, the horse should have greater agility and speed on the racetrack.

14. If the hams are separated beneath the tail by a wide gap, then the horse can plant its legs farther apart beneath its belly. This quality gives the horse greater strength and ferocity not only when it crouches for the rider to mount, but also in dressage, where it can display its finer points. You see the same action in people, for when they want to pick something off the ground, nearly everybody does so with legs spread apart rather than close together.

15. A stallion’s testicles, in fact, should not be very big, though you cannot observe this in a mere colt. What I have said about the parts in the forelegs — the hocks, shin bones, fetlocks and hooves — also applies to the hind legs.

16. And now I wish to instruct you how not to make a bad estimate of size. A newly foaled colt with the longest shanks will naturally mature into the largest horse. This is the case in all quadrupeds, that the shanks increase very little in size over time, and rather the rest of the body grows until it is in correct proportion to the shanks.

17. It is my confident opinion that whoever assesses a colt’s physical characteristics by these means will acquire an animal with good feet, a strong, muscular body, a pleasing appearance, and a proper size. But even if some colts change as they mature, worry not, since the same tests apply. It is far more often the case that ugly colts grow up to be serviceable horses than stay ugly.

Great Chariot Disasters – Part IV: Seneca the Younger’s Hippolytus

And now our series of equestrian misadventures comes to its tragic and very bloody conclusion. Lucius Annaeus Seneca the Younger was a Stoic philosopher and playwright in the court of the Roman emperor Nero in the middle of the first century CE. As a dramatist he recast many myths popularized in Greek tragedy into a Latin, Stoic mold. Among these plays was the Phaedra, also known as the Hippolytus. It is in essence the same story as the Hippolytus of Euripides, yet there are major rearrangements of the plot sequences and alternate characterizations of the main roles. What does remain the same is the catastrophic death of Hippolytus, dragged like Hector behind a chariot of horses gone mad with fear at the sight of a monstrous bull sent by Neptune. (For the Latin, these are lines 991-1114)

The following passage is not for the faint of heart. Seneca takes Euripides’ account and dresses it up in Stoic melodrama, consistent with his philosophical school’s emphasis on Fate, cosmic justice, and human mortality. Never mind that Seneca ended his days forced to commit suicide by cutting open his wrists in a bath.

MESSENGER
How hard and bitter is my lot: grueling slavery. Why me? Why do disasters call me to be the bringer of bad news?

THESEUS
Don’t hesitate to be frank about what you have to report, no matter how unsavory it is. My heart is ready to take any pain.

MESSENGER
My tongue won’t let me put into words a tragedy that will bring so much grief.

THESEUS
Tell me! My home’s already been wrecked—what could possibly make things worse?

MESSENGER
Woe is me! Hippolytus is dead, heartbreakingly dead.

THESEUS
My son was dead to me long ago. It’s a rapist that’s dead now. Tell me, then, what series of events lead to his death?

MESSENGER
Since he became a fugitive he left the city behind on foot, quite anxiously, blazing a trail with speedy legs. Before long he got a pair of horses in gear, bringing them under a yoke and curbing their mouths with reins pulled tight. He started muttering to himself many things, cursing his own birthplace and especially you, his father. Then with slackened reins and a sharp crack of the whip he was getting the horses moving, when suddenly the open ocean thundered from its depths and swelled skyward. Yet no wind was blowing on the sea, nor was it anything meteorological that disturbed the peace. Some self-generated storm was kicking up those once tranquil waters. The south wind never churns up the Straits of Messina so much, nor does the Ionian gulf ever get so puffed up by an overwhelming northwest gale, when the storm surge causes cliff-quakes and even Leucate’s peak gets sprayed with white foam. The vast ocean ballooned into a colossal mass as it ran ashore, pregnant with something monstrous.

To destroy ships was not the design of this behemoth. It was the land it was threatening. It rolled like no tidal wave does, with a gentle sweep. I had yet no clue what kind of burden was being carried in the belly of so obese a wave. Was some new landmass exposing itself to the open air? A new island of the Cyclades bursting into being? Thereefs sacred to the god of Epidaurus vanished from view, as did those cliffs made famous by Skiron’s crime, and so too the Isthmus, that strip of land stuck between two bodies of water.

And as we were asking our flabbergasted selves the meaning of all this, the whole sea roared in answer, and all the cliffs on either side rumbled in echo. The highest peaks were sprayed with mists of saltwater, while the wave in turn frothed with foam and spewed surf, like some huge whale swimming through a deep ocean current coming to the surface to spout a geyser from its blowhole. Then this watery accretion quivered and quaked until it broke and unleashed upon the shore an abomination more fearful than fear itself. All the while the sea continued to surge forward in escort of its newborn monstrosity. My lips are trembling just to describe how it looked and how utterly gigantic that thing was.

It was a bull, a skyscraper of a bull. It had a sea-blue neck with a lengthy mane bristling on a greenish head. Its shaggy ears shot straight up and its eyes kept changing color, first like the alpha male of a pack of wild animals, then like something born under the sea—its eyes were first like flamethrowers, but then lit up with a strange flash of turquoise. Its beefy neck bulged with throbbing muscles and its gaping nostrils roared with breath like a bellows. There was green algae sticking to its throat and chest, while its long flanks were spotted red with seaweed. Its hind parts were connected to the rest of its body in a grotesque fashion. A huge scaly beast is what it was, dragging its mammoth proportions along. It was like that sea-monster that wrecks and swallows even the fastest of ships out in the Atlantic. There was an earthquake of pure panic. Herds fled like crazy every which way through the countryside. Cattle drivers paid no attention to following their herds. All the wild animals dispersed from the woods, while every hunter shivered as his blood ran cold in icy terror. Only Hippolytus was immune to fear as he kept a firm command of his panicked horses, reins drawn tight, encouraging them with a familiar tone of voice.

There’s a highway to Argos through a mountain pass, hugging the seacoast. It was here that that hulking monster worked itself up and focused its rage. As soon as it attained that state of mind and made a proper test of its temper, rehearsing for a fight, it took off, sprinting full steam ahead, barely touching the ground with hooves like wings. Then the menace came to a halt right in front of the panicked horses. But your son, standing tall with a threatening look of his own and matching ferocity, never changing his expression, boomed in response, “This empty terror can’t break my resolve! After all, it was my father Theseus’ job to win bullfights!” But his horses would no longer comply with the reins, as they suddenly seized control of the chariot and took their course off-road. Wherever hysteria directed the course of that rabid team, there they launched themselves as they drove over rocky terrain.

But Hippolytus was like a pilot who steers a ship through stormy seas. He cheats the waves through expertise, lest he expose the vessel to a broadside assault. In just the same way did Hippolytus steer that speeding car. First he pulled hard on the reins, curbing the horses’ mouths, then he punished them with many cracks of the whip. But the bull was a constant companion that chased them until they were neck-and-neck. Then at last it maneuvered in from of them, blocking their way, inducing panic from every quarter.

It was the end of the line—no escape—since that horned freak of the depths was charging head-on at them. It was then, no doubt, that the horses went from spooked to completely insane, wrestling free from the yoke and breaking out of control. Then they reared up and sent all their cargo flying. Hippolytus was flung headlong, face first to the ground, but as he fell his body became so hopelessly entangled in the reins that the more he struggled, the tighter he tied himself into a series of Gordian knots. Once the horses sensed their accomplishment, that the light chariot no longer had anyone at the helm, they made a mad dash wherever fear bade them.

A similar team of horses once tossed out Phaethon as he strayed too far from his track through the sky, when they became indignantly aware that he was not their usual load, but rather a false Sun charged with bringing on the day.

Fields far and wide were splattered with blood from his crushed skull bashing against the boulders. Briar bushes tore out his hair, his handsome face mutilated on solid rock and his luckless good looks perishing with many a wound. All the while those wheels were trawling his dying body behind them at high speed. Eventually a tree stump, sharpened into a charred stake, caught hold of him and skewered him right through the groin. Their master’s impalement caused the horses to come to a brief stop, hooked by his injury. But soon enough they broke both delay and driver by the same stroke, and from that point on brushwood continued to slice through his half-dead body and bramble bushes tore his flesh with sharp thorns, until every tree trunk had taken a piece of his carcass.

There are search parties now scouring the countryside—a dismal job—wherever Hippolytus was dragged, since he had delineated a long trail of blood. Even the dogs are whimpering as they track down their master’s severed limbs. The work is ongoing, sadly, since we haven’t yet managed to fully piece together his body. This is what’s left of his once stunning form—how could it be? Until just now he was a fine co-ruler of his father’s kingdom, his designated heir, a real star—but now, heaped back together from every which way, piled high onto a funeral pyre to be cremated.

Great Chariot Disasters – Part III: Euripides’ Hippolytus

The above painting by Peter Paul Rubens is a Flemish Baroque depiction of a disastrous scene detailed in the tragedy Hippolytus by the 5th-century Athenian playwright Euripides, whose tales plumb the depths of human psychology and even call into question the traditions of classical society.

The play centers on its title character, a devotee passionate about hunting and the cult of Artemis, but not at all passionate about women. Aphrodite, goddess of love, takes revenge on the young man’s puritania by causing his stepmother Phaedra to fall violently in love with him. Since any attempt to seduce Hippolytus would be futile, she schemes to protect her name by hanging herself and leaving a suicide note claiming that Hippolytus had raped her. Her husband Theseus, king of Athens and Hippolytus’ father by an Amazon mistress, finds his wife dead, reads the letter, and not only exiles Hippolytus, but also prays to his father Poseidon to use one of the three curses promised him in order to bring the wrath of the gods upon the alleged ravisher of his wife.

The following passage (lines 1157-1254 in the Greek), another poignant example of the dangers of charioteering and the dark side of equine psychology (i.e. they get spooked), teaches one invaluable lesson: be careful what you wish for.

MESSENGER
Theseus, I bring news that will be very distressful for you and the citizens who inhabit the city of Athens and the land of Troezen!

THESEUS
What is it? Has some even newer calamity taken over the neighborhood of these two cities?

MESSENGER
Hippolytus is all but dead, so to speak. He’s still alive, but only hanging on by a thread.

THESEUS
Who did it? Has yet another man whose wife he raped, like he did his father’s, shown up to exact revenge?

MESSENGER
What did him in were his own chariot and those curses from your own mouth against your son—prayers to your father Poseidon, who rules the sea.

THESEUS
My heavens! So, Poseidon, you are my real father after all, since you actually listened to my imprecations. But tell me, how did he die? By what turn of events did the Hammer of Justice come down on the one who disgraced me?

MESSENGER
We were grooming the horses by the wave-beaten shore, crying as we combed their manes. For a messenger had come to us with news that Hippolytus should never again set foot in this land, since you sent him to suffer in exile. Then Hippolytus himself joined us at the shore, singing the self-same song of tears, with an endless train of friends and men his same age following in escort. After a while there was a respite from his bouts of grief, and he could finally say, “Why am I so upset about this? I must obey my father’s orders. Stewards, get the yoke-horses in gear for my chariot. This city is no longer my home.”

Thereupon every man hastened to his task, and faster than you could describe it we had a team of fillies rigged up and ready by their master’s side. Then he took the reins in hand from the chariot-rail and fit his feet snug into the footstalls. First he stretched his palms heavenward and prayed to the gods, “Zeus, may I no longer exist if I was ever a guilty man! Whether I drop dead or still see the light of day, may my father understand that it was he who dishonored me!”

At that point he got hold of the whip and brought it to bear on each filly in equal measure. Meanwhile we servants followed our master on foot beside the car, parallel to the horses’ bridles, on the road that leads straight to Argos and Epidaurus.

As we entered the deserted countryside, we came upon a bluff that stretches beyond our territory into what is at that point the Saronic gulf. There a mighty roar, like Zeus’ thunder, caused the earth to resound from its depths. It was horrible to hear! The horses’ heads and ears shot straight up skyward, while there fell upon us a mighty dread of whatever was the source of this sound. Then, looking back toward the shore of the raging sea we beheld a wave rising heavenward, of such epic proportions that the sight of Skiron’s coast was robbed from my eyes, and the Isthmus and the crag of Asclepius were hidden from view. And as the ocean surge swelled into a mountainous foamy mass it moved toward the beach right where the four-horse chariot was. Then this tsunami discharged from its surging flood a monstrous beast of a bull. Its roar was such that the whole earth was filled by it and reverberated with horrendous sounds, and the sight of it was too much for our eyes to look upon.

A sudden, awful terror descended upon the fillies. But Hippolytus their master had long been familiar with the manners of horses. He got a firm grip on the reins and pulled them back, much as a sailor pulls an oar, using the force of his body by hanging backwards with the reins in hand. But his fillies bit down hard on their fire-tempered bits and got out of his control, heedless to the hand at the helm, to the harnesses, and to the well-built chariot behind them. If he kept command of the tiller, so to speak, and righted their course toward the softer ground, the bull appeared in front of them and made them turn around, driving the four-horse team into a frenzy of panic. But if the horses, now gone raging mad, rushed toward the cliffs, the bull gave chase in eerie silence, drawing ever closer to the chariot until it reared up and caused the car to capsize as its wheel-rims dashed against a rock. All was a mess—the wheel-naves and axle-pins flew into the air, while poor Hippolytus, having weaved himself into the reins, became entangled in an impossible knot. He was dragged behind, bashing his dear head against the rocks and ripping his flesh, all the while letting out screams just awful to hear, “Stop! Oh you fillies that I raised in my own stables, don’t destroy me like this! Oh! It was my father’s wretched curse! I am the best of men—who will come by my side and save me?”

Most of us had the will, but not the way as we lagged too far behind on foot. But in any case he managed to free himself from that prison of leather straps—how I have no idea— and fell to the ground, drawing what little remained of his life’s breath. The horses, on the other hand, vanished from sight along with that ominous monstrosity of a bull. Where in that rocky land they went I haven’t a clue.

Now I am myself but a slave in your palace, my king, but I can never believe that your son is a guilty man, not even if every woman on earth should hang herself and someone should write letters all over tablets made of Mount Ida’s pines. Because I know that Hippolytus is a decent person.

Great Chariot Disasters – Part II: Sophocles’ Electra

Next in my series the sport of charioteering enters the ‘tragic’ realm, quite literally. Sophocles is one of the best known authors of the ancient world, with his Antigone and Oedipus Rex assigned as required reading in many a high school classroom (I myself first read the former as a sophomore and the latter as a senior). But this Athenian playwright of the latter half of the 5th century BCE has a few other extant plays outside the Theban cycle, among them the Electra, Sophocles’ take on the saga of the house of Agamemnon so immortalized in the Orestaia of his immediate predecessor Aeschylus.

This play tells of the return of Orestes to avenge the murder of his father Agamemnon by his own mother, Clytemnestra. Orestes’ sister Electra is as of yet unaware of Orestes’ imminent return to exact revenge, taking to heart the clever ruse plotted by Orestes and his old tutor (Paidogogos/Old Slave) to fool Clytemnestra into thinking Orestes, the greatest threat to her life, was indeed dead. Call this a pseudo-tragedy within a tragedy, it is a compelling story of what can go wrong in an equestrian competition in the ancient world, and though a fictitious tale, a lesson that even the mightiest can fall. To use a modern example, compare Orestes to Dale Earnheart, the NASCAR hero who met his tragic fate in the heat of automotive competition.

OLD SLAVE
I’ll bring my news straight to the point. Orestes is dead.

ELECTRA
Oh miserable me! Today I’m done for!

CL YTEMNESTRA
What are you saying, stranger? Please explain! Pay no attention to her.

OLD SLAVE
I say now, as I said before, that Orestes is dead.

ELECTRA
I’m doomed, destroyed. There’s nothing left of me now!

CL YTEMNESTRA
You mind your own business! But tell me truly, stranger, what turn of events did him in?

OLD SLAVE
I was sent here for this very purpose and I’ll explain it all: Orestes came to the famous showcase of Greece, the Pythian games, for the sake of the prizes of Delphi, and when he heard the shrill fanfare of the herald summoning all to the racetrack, where the first contest would be held, he entered in dazzling form, an object of reverence to everybody there. And such a nature matched the race’s results at the finish line as he carried away the grand prize of victory honored by all. To sum up many things in few words, I know of the deeds and mastery of no other such man!

But you should know this one thing: that from every contest announced by the judges— the customary double-track footraces—he came away prize in hand and was acclaimed a man of fortune’s blessings. They proclaimed him as an Argive, his name Orestes, the son of that Agamemnon who once commanded that famous Greek expedition.

So far, so good. But whenever any of the gods is in a mood to do harm, nobody, not even a mighty man can escape. For at sunrise on another day of the games was held a high- paced contest of the equestrian sort, which he entered alongside several charioteers. One was an Achaean, one was from Sparta, and two were Africans, experts of yoked cars. The fifth man sported a pair of Thessalian mares, while the sixth, from Aetolia, had chestnut colts. The seventh came from Magnesia, and the eighth, an Aenian by birth, drove a team

of white horses. The ninth hailed from Athens, a city built by the gods, and last of all a Boeotian man filled out the tenth spot with his chariot.

And taking their starting positions where the judges had assigned them by casting lots the contestants stood ready in their cars, and at the blaring of a bronze trumpet they were off. And all as one shouted commands at their steeds and shook loose the reins in their hands. Thereupon the stadium exploded with the clash of rattling chariots. Clouds of dust rose skywards, and as they were all in close range the charioteers showed no mercy with their whips, each in an effort to outpace the wheels and snorting horses of all the rest. For all around both their backs and wheels came the breath of horses bearing down on them, dripping with foam.

But Orestes kept his team ever close to the endmost column, nearly grazing it, and giving rein to his right-hand trace-horse he cut off a pursuing opponent. From the start every man was standing firmly upright in his car, but then the Aenian’s unruly colts got out of control, and at the hairpin turn to finish the sixth lap and begin the seventh they smashed their foreheads into one of the Africans’ cars. The chain reaction of this single calamity sent one chariot crashing into another, shattering it to pieces, until the entire field of Crisa became a sea of chariot wrecks.

The clever chariot-driver from Athens, however, recognized the danger and put the brakes on his team, steering clear of the confused cascade of chariots in the middle of the track. Orestes, meanwhile, drove up from last place, having kept his colts in the rear, but now confident in how the race would end. But when he saw that one lone opponent still remained, he sent a sharp yell ringing through the ears of his speedy colts and gave chase until the two teams were neck and neck. They drove on as the heads of one team, then of the other stuck out ahead of the chariots.

At all other points in the race Orestes stood securely upright in his car, but at this point he failed to notice the end of the column and struck it. The axle-box shattered and he slid over the rail, becoming entangled in the reins. With their driver fallen to the ground the colts galloped pell-mell about the middle of the track.

As soon as the crowd saw him thrown from his chariot, they cried out in grief for the young man, who though he had accomplished such feats, nevertheless met with such misfortune. One moment he was pummeled into the ground, another moment his legs flew sky-high, until his fellow charioteers with difficulty brought the horses to a stop and cut him loose. He was so drenched in blood that not even his friends would have recognized him if they saw his body in such a sorry state.

Thereupon some Phocian men were tasked with burning his body on a pyre, then right away placed in a bronze urn the wretched ashes of that once mighty physique, so that he too might be given a proper burial in his father’s land. And that is how it happened. Yet as painful as it was to tell you in words, to those who witnessed it in person, as I did, of all the calamities I have ever seen this was far the worst.

ΠΑΙΔΑΓΩΓΟΣ
τέθνηκ ̓ Ὀρέστης: ἐν βραχεῖ ξυνθεὶς λέγω.

ΗΛΕΚΤΡΑ
οἲ ‘γὼ τάλαιν ̓, ὄλωλα τῇδ ̓ ἐν ἡμέρᾳ.

ΚΛΥΤΑΙΜΗΣΤΡΑ
τί φής, τί φής, ὦ ξεῖνε; μὴ ταύτης κλύε.

ΠΑΙΔΑΓΩΓΟΣ
θανόντ ̓ Ὀρέστην νῦν τε καὶ πάλαι λέγω.

ΗΛΕΚΤΡΑ
ἀπωλόμην δύστηνος, οὐδέν εἰμ ̓ ἔτι.

ΚΛΥΤΑΙΜΗΣΤΡΑ
σὺ μὲν τὰ σαυτῆς πρᾶσσ ̓, ἐμοὶ δὲ σύ, ξένε,τἀληθὲς εἰπέ, τῷ τρόπῳ διόλλυται;

ΠΑΙΔΑΓΩΓΟΣ
κἀπεμπόμην πρὸς ταῦτα καὶ τὸ πᾶν φράσω.κεῖνος γὰρ ἐλθὼν εἰς τὸ κλεινὸν Ἑλλάδος πρόσχημ ̓ ἀγῶνος Δελφικῶν ἄθλων χάριν, ὅτ ̓ ᾔσθετ ̓ ἀνδρὸς ὀρθίων κηρυγμάτωνδρόμον προκηρύξαντος, οὗ πρώτη κρίσις, εἰσῆλθε λαμπρός, πᾶσι τοῖς ἐκεῖ σέβας:δρόμου δ ̓ ἰσώσας τἀφέσει τὰ τέρματανίκης ἔχων ἐξῆλθε πάντιμον γέρας. χὤπως μὲν ἐν πολλοῖσι παῦρά σοι λέγω οὐκ οἶδα τοιοῦδ ̓ ἀνδρὸς ἔργα καὶ κράτη:

ἓν δ ̓ ἴσθ ̓: ὅσων γὰρ εἰσεκήρυξαν βραβῆςδρόμων διαύλων πένταθλ ̓ ἃ νομίζεται,] τούτων ἐνεγκὼν πάντα τἀπινίκια ὠλβίζετ ̓, Ἀργεῖος μὲν ἀνακαλούμενος, ὄνομα δ ̓ Ὀρέστης, τοῦ τὸ κλεινὸν Ἑλλάδος Ἀγαμέμνονος στράτευμ ̓ ἀγείραντός ποτε.

καὶ ταῦτα μὲν τοιαῦθ ̓: ὅταν δέ τις θεῶνβλάπτῃ, δύναιτ ̓ ἂν οὐδ ̓ ἂν ἰσχύων φυγεῖν.κεῖνος γὰρ ἄλλης ἡμέρας, ὅθ ̓ ἱππικῶνἦν ἡλίου τέλλοντος ὠκύπους ἀγών, εἰσῆλθε πολλῶν ἁρματηλατῶν μέτα.

εἷς ἦν Ἀχαιός, εἷς ἀπὸ Σπάρτης, δύο Λίβυες ζυγωτῶν ἁρμάτων ἐπιστάται: κἀκεῖνος ἐν τούτοισι, Θεσσαλὰς ἔχων ἵππους, ὁ πέμπτος: ἕκτος ἐξ Αἰτωλίας ξανθαῖσι πώλοις: ἕβδομος Μάγνης ἀνήρ:ὁ δ ̓ ὄγδοος λεύκιππος, Αἰνιὰν γένος: ἔνατος Ἀθηνῶν τῶν θεοδμήτων ἄπο: Βοιωτὸς ἄλλος, δέκατον ἐκπληρῶν ὄχον.

στάντες δ ̓ ἵν ̓ αὐτοὺς οἱ τεταγμένοι βραβῆς κλήροις ἔπηλαν καὶ κατέστησαν δίφρους, χαλκῆς ὑπαὶ σάλπιγγος ᾖξαν: οἱ δ ̓ ἅμα ἵπποις ὁμοκλήσαντες ἡνίας χεροῖν ἔσεισαν: ἐν δὲ πᾶς ἐμεστώθη δρόμοςκτύπου κροτητῶν ἁρμάτων: κόνις δ ̓ ἄνω φορεῖθ ̓: ὁμοῦ δὲ πάντες ἀναμεμιγμένοι φείδοντο κέντρων οὐδέν, ὡς ὑπερβάλοι χνόας τις αὐτῶν καὶ φρυάγμαθ ̓ ἱππικά.ὁμοῦ γὰρ ἀμφὶ νῶτα καὶ τροχῶν βάσεις ἤφριζον, εἰσέβαλλον ἱππικαὶ πνοαί.

κεῖνος δ ̓ ὑπ ̓ αὐτὴν ἐσχάτην στήλην ἔχων ἔχριμπτ ̓ ἀεὶ σύριγγα, δεξιὸν δ ̓ ἀνεὶς σειραῖον ἵππον εἶργε τὸν προσκείμενον.καὶ πρὶν μὲν ὀρθοὶ πάντες ἕστασαν δίφροις: ἔπειτα δ ̓ Αἰνιᾶνος ἀνδρὸς ἄστομοι πῶλοι βίᾳ φέρουσιν: ἐκ δ ̓ ὑποστροφῆς τελοῦντες ἕκτον ἕβδομόν τ ̓ ἤδη δρόμονμέτωπα συμπαίουσι Βαρκαίοις ὄχοις: κἀντεῦθεν ἄλλος ἄλλον ἐξ ἑνὸς κακοῦἔθραυε κἀνέπιπτε, πᾶν δ ̓ ἐπίμπλατο ναυαγίων Κρισαῖον ἱππικῶν πέδον. γνοὺς δ ̓ οὑξ Ἀθηνῶν δεινὸς ἡνιοστρόφος ἔξω παρασπᾷ κἀνακωχεύει παρεὶς κλύδων ̓ ἔφιππον ἐν μέσῳ κυκώμενον. ἤλαυνε δ ̓ ἔσχατος μέν, ὑστέρας δ ̓ ἔχων πώλους Ὀρέστης, τῷ τέλει πίστιν φέρων: ὅπως δ ̓ ὁρᾷ μόνον νιν ἐλλελειμμένον, ὀξὺν δι ̓ ὤτων κέλαδον ἐνσείσας θοαῖς πώλοις διώκει, κἀξισώσαντε ζυγὰ ἠλαυνέτην, τότ ̓ ἄλλος, ἄλλοθ ̓ ἅτερος κάρα προβάλλων ἱππικῶν ὀχημάτων.

καὶ τοὺς μὲν ἄλλους πάντας ἀσφαλεῖς δρόμους ὡρμᾶθ ̓ ὁ τλήμων ὀρθὸς ἐξ ὀρθῶν δίφρων: ἔπειτα λύων ἡνίαν ἀριστερὰν κάμπτοντος ἵππου λανθάνει στήλην ἄκραν παίσας: ἔθραυσε δ ̓ ἄξονος μέσας χνόας κἀξ ἀντύγων ὤλισθεν: ἐν δ ̓ ἑλίσσεται τμητοῖς ἱμᾶσι: τοῦ δὲ πίπτοντος πέδῳ πῶλοι διεσπάρησαν ἐς μέσον δρόμον.

στρατὸς δ ̓ ὅπως ὁρᾷ νιν ἐκπεπτωκότα δίφρων, ἀνωλόλυξε τὸν νεανίαν, οἷ ̓ ἔργα δράσας οἷα λαγχάνει κακά, φορούμενος πρὸς οὖδας, ἄλλοτ ̓ οὐρανῷ σκέλη προφαίνων, ἔς τέ νιν διφρηλάται, μόλις κατασχεθόντες ἱππικὸν δρόμον, ἔλυσαν αἱματηρόν, ὥστε μηδένα γνῶναι φίλων ἰδόντ ̓ ἂν ἄθλιον δέμας.

καί νιν πυρᾷ κέαντες εὐθὺς ἐν βραχεῖ χαλκῷ μέγιστον σῶμα δειλαίας σποδοῦ φέρουσιν ἄνδρες Φωκέων τεταγμένοι, ὅπως πατρῴας τύμβον ἐκλάχῃ χθονός. τοιαῦτά σοι ταῦτ ̓ ἐστίν, ὡς μὲν ἐν λόγῳ ἀλγεινά, τοῖς δ ̓ ἰδοῦσιν, οἵπερ εἴδομεν, μέγιστα πάντων ὧν ὄπωπ ̓ ἐγὼ κακῶν.

Great Chariot Disasters – Part I: Homer’s Iliad

The lengthy translation that follows is from Book XXIII of the Iliad, one of the foundational epics of Western civilization, written in Greek dactylic hexameter by Homer in the 8th century BCE. It is the first of a series of translations I am undertaking within the project that I call “Great Chariot Disasters.” I will trace the literature of chariot racing beginning with Homer and into the domain of the Greek tragedies of Sophocles and Euripides, then see how Seneca the Younger brought Euripides’ model under a Roman, Stoic lens. While the tragedians focus on the, well, tragic potential of chariot races gone wrong, the mishap of Meriones in Homer is only a small part of the rich detail of the competition from start to finish. As Aeschylus said, “my plays are but a morsel at the banquet of Homer.”

So let’s dig in. This passage recounts the chariot competition as part of the funeral games held by Achilles and the Greeks in honor of the fallen Patroclus. Because of the length of the passage, I only provide my English translation. To follow along in the Greek, please use the Perseus Project for Iliad XIII.257-624.

But Achilles asked the people to stay where they were and to take their seats in one big crowd, and he carried out prizes from the ships—cauldrons and tripods, horses and mules, strong oxen, women with lovely girdles, and slabs of gray iron.

These lavish prizes he set before the swift-footed charioteers among them—for first place a girl to take home, one skilled at elegant crafts, as well as a double-handled tripod that held up to twenty-two gallons. For second place he assigned a six-year-old brood-mare, unbroken, still pregnant with a mule foal. Next, for the third place winner he set down an unfired cauldron, equisite work, four gallons in volume, still white as the day it was molded. For fourth place, two talents of gold; and for fifth, a double-handled mixing bowl, also unfired. Then Achilles stood up amid the Greeks and delivered this speech:

“Son of Atreus and the rest of you well-greaved Greeks, the prizes on display here shall go to the charioteers in this crowd. If we Greeks were competing now in honor of somebody other than Patroclus, there’s no question that I would win first prize and lug it back to my tent. For you should know that my horses are far superior in caliber. They are immortal stallions, gifts from Poseidon to my father Peleus, who in turn placed them in my care. But don’t worry, my hard-hoofed horses and I are sitting this one out, since they lost such a fine, glorious and mild-mannered charioteer, who so often would moisturize their manes with olive oil as he bathed them with gleaming water. They too stand and mourn for him, never resting their manes upon the ground, rather standing firm with aching hearts. But the rest of you warriors, line up, whoever among you Greeks has faith in his horses and jointed car.”

So spoke Peleus’ son, and the speedy equestrians convened. By far the first to rise to the challenge was Eumelus, lord of men and beloved son of Admetus, supreme in the art of horsemanship. Up next after him leapt Diomedes, the mighty son of Tydeus. He yoked to his car the stallions of Tros, which he had robbed from Aeneas some time ago, though Aeneas himself had Apollo to rescue him. Up next sprang Menelaus, the yellow-haired son of Atreus, descended from Zeus himself. He yoked a rapid team of horses to his car, a mare named Aethe who belonged to Agamemnon, and his own stallion named Podargus. The mare was a gift to Agamemnon from Echepolus, Anchises’ son, so he wouldn’t have to join the expedition to windswept Ilium, and instead enjoy an idle life at home. For Zeus had blessed him with great wealth, and he resided in the spacious country of Sicyon. Menelaus led the mare under the yoke, and she was really itching for a race. The fourth man to get his fair-maned horses in gear was Antilochus, famous son of lord Nestor, the stouthearted son of Neleus. Drawing his car was a team of fleet-footed stallions born andbred in Pylos; whereupon his father standing close by his side, though well aware of his son’s intelligence, offered some good advice:

“Antilochus, there’s no doubt that from an early age you have been dear to both Zeus and Poseidon, and that they have instructed you in every manner of horsemanship. In that regard there is very little that I can teach you, since you know well how to wheel around the turning-post. But the fact of the matter is that your horses turn out to be the slowest in the running, and I can imagine that proving disastrous for you. But while all the others may have superior horsepower, when it comes to devising more subtle schemes they cannot compare to you. So come now, dear boy, and add to your will to win a panoply of clever stratagems, lest those prizes elude your grasp. Strategy, not brute force, makes the better woodcutter. It’s by strategy that a helmsman navigates a swift ship through buffeting winds on the wine-dark sea. By strategy does one charioteer outmaneuver another.

“But he who puts his trust in horse and chariot alone wheels about widely and wildly, swerving left and right. His team meanders up and down the circuit, and he lacks control. But he who is versed in shrewdness and cunning, though driving an inferior team of horses, always keeps the turning-post in view, executes a tight turn, and never forgets how to rein in his team with those ox-hide thongs, but holds steady and keeps a sharp eye on the driver in front of him.

“Now I’ll point out to you a marker that’s very easy to recognize—you can’t miss it. Positioned over there is a dryed-out tree stump, as much as a fathom from the ground. It was either a pine or an oak tree, but in any case the rain hasn’t rotted it out. Two white stones are leaning against it on either side. It sits where the roads converge, and the racetrack all around it is free of all other obstacles. Either it’s the grave-marker of some mortal man long dead, or it happens to be a turning-post set there by some earlier people, and now it’s godlike, fleet-footed Achilles’ turn to use it for that purpose.

“Your job is to maneuver your horses and car very close to this marker, standing in your well-plaited car, putting your weight ever so gently toward the left side of your team, while goading on the horse on the right with a sharp command, giving him free rein from that hand. That way the left horse should approach the turning-post so closely that the very tip of the hub of that well-wrought wheel may appear to just touch it. But make sure not to scrape any of those stones; your horses might get hurt and you might wreck your chariot—a sure delight to your opponents, but a real shame for yourself. But rather, dear boy, stay aware and keep your guard up. For if you manage to drive past the rest at the turning-post and you keep racing forward, then nobody could catch you with a burst of speed and pass you by, not even if he were driving behind you that swift stallion of Adrastus, the godly Arion, a horse of divine stock, or those of Laomedon, excellent steeds that graze on these very plains.”

So spoke Nestor son of Neleus, and when he had given his son the sum of every manner, he sat back down on that very spot.

At last Meriones was the fifth to get his fair-maned horses in gear. The competitors climbed up into their cars and cast in their lots for position. Achilles shook the jar, and out shot the lot of Nestor’s son Antilochus. After him lord Eumelus obtained his, and next up Atreus’ son Menealus, famed for his spearmanship, and after him Meriones got his spot in the race. Last of all Tydeus’ son Diomedes, though being the best by far, drew the lot for his chariot team. They stood all in a row as Achilles pointed out the turning- post, far in the distance across the level plain. He appointed godlike Phoenix, his father’s old squire, to sit there as an umpire, to keep track of the race’s progress and to give a true report.

And in a flash each driver cracked the whip on his team, lashing the beasts with leather and barking commands with great haste. And they charged at full tilt away from the ships and across the plain. Clouds, if not whirwinds of dust rose up and filled the air beneath their chests, and their manes flew like flags in the blasts of the wind. Now the chariots ride firm over the all-nourishing earth, now they bound through midair. And of course there were the charioteers, standing strong in their cars, hearts beating in their chests in lust of victory. Each was crying out to his horses as they flew across the field in a cloud of dust.

But it was not until the speedy steeds were completing the final lap, coursing back toward the silver sea, that each driver showed his true caliber, his horsepower stretched to its limits. At that point Eumelus, grandson of Pheres, quickly took the lead with his fleet- footed mares, but Diomedes’ Trojan stallions bore up right after them. No great distance separated the two teams. In fact they were so very close that Diomedes’ horses seemed like they could at any point mount onto Eumelus’ car, whose back and wide shoulders grew hot with the stallions’ breath, their heads descending upon him as they soared down the track. And now the son of Tydeus would have either sailed by him or at least tied the race, if it weren’t for the begrudging Phoebus Apollo, who flung the shimmering whip clear out of Diomedes’ hands. Tears of utter frustration flowed from his eyes, for now he saw Eumelus’ mares going much faster than before, just at the point when his stallions were stymied, racing without his lash upon their backs.

Apollo may have cheated the son of Tydeus, but he failed to notice Athena, who with great speed rushed to the aid of Diomedes, shepherd of his people, handed him the whip, and pumped up his stallions with a force of fury. The angry goddess then took off after Eumelus and dashed the yoke of his team to pieces. His mares ran helter-skelter about the track, his chariot pole left wriggling about the ground. Eumelus himself went overboard headlong from the car and landed by the wheel. Skin tore clear off of his elbows, nose and mouth, his forehead crushed above his eyebrows. Tears filled his eyes and choked his swelling sobs. Meanwhile Diomedes turned aside of him and drove his hard-hoofed horses forward, pulling far ahead of the others drivers. For now Athena had energized his stallions and guaranteed him the glory. Driving after him was Menelaus, Atreus’ fair- haired son, and then Antilochus, who called out to his father’s horses:

“Get a move on, the both of you! Give it everything you’ve got, on the double! It’s not like I’m asking you to vie with those stallions up there, those of fiery-hearted Diomedes, seeing that now Athena has turbocharged them and reserved all the glory for him alone. Menelaus’ horses are the ones to overtake with speed. Shame be upon you both if you should fall behind Aethe, who’s but a mare. Amen I say to you—and you bet I’ll make good on this—no more tender loving care will come to you from Nestor, shepherd of men; instead he’ll slaughter you on the spot with razor-sharp bronze, if we should win an inferior prize thanks to your negligence. So get in hot pursuit and pump those legs, fast as you can! As for me, I’ll hatch a plan and think it through, to slip past them at that narrow pass. It cannot fail me!”

Thus he spoke, and the horses, threatened by their master’s commanding words, instantly accelerated; whereupon Antilochus tough-in-battle right away spotted a narrow pass in the hollow track. There was a gully in the ground, where water from thawed snow had collected and eroded away part of the road, hollowing out the whole area. There drove Menelaus to avoid a collision. But up raced Antilochus, turning his hard-hoofed horses aside and off the track, leaning to the side briefly as he gave chase. The son of Atreus was shocked at this, and gave Antilochus a piece of his mind:

“Antilochus, you’re driving your horses like a madman. Rein in your team! The road is narrow here, but soon enough you can pass where it’s wider. Don’t risk a collision with my car or you’ll lay waste to us both!”

Thus he spoke, but Antilochus seemed not to have been listening, as he spurred his team on with the whip and charged onward with still greater speed. As far as a discus flies that a young man lets loose from his shoulder to test his strength—by such a distance did Antilochus pull ahead. But the mares of the son of Atreus fell back, as he relaxed the reins intentionally lest his hard-hoofed stallions collide with Antilochus’ in that pass, overturning their well-plaited cars and sending both men headlong into the dust, all because they were so eager to win. So fair-haired Menelaus chose instead to chastise him thus:

“Damn you, Antilochus! There isn’t another mortal man among us more destructive than you! It’s not true when the Greeks say you have any sense. And come what may, don’t think you will carry away that prize without me as a witness of all this.”

With these words he then called out to his horses and cried, “Don’t dawdle on me and don’t just stand there all brokenhearted. I reckon on the horses up ahead there having not much fight left in their hooves and knees, but not in yours. For both of his horses lack the youth to persist.”

So he spoke, and the stallions, taking fright at their master’s stern commands, picked up the pace and in no time closed the gap between the two teams.

Meanwhile the Greeks watched from their seats in the crowd as the horses flew across the plain in a whirlwind of dust. The Cretan chief Idomeneus was the first to mark out the steeds, since he sat higher up away from the assembly at a lookout point. He recognized a driver’s shouting that he heard far in the distance, and marked out the horse in the lead for its conspicuous appearance. The stallion was all around chestnut in color, except for a round white mark on his forehead that looked like the moon. Idomeneus stood straight up and spoke amid the Greeks the following:

“Friends, chiefs and counselors of the Greeks, is it just me or can you discern those horses as well? I think those are a different set of horses in the lead than at the start, and a different charioteer coming into view. Those mares of his must have gotten fouled up somewhere on the plain, since they had the lead coming out of the starting gate. For I definitely saw those mares shooting around the first turning-post, but now I can’t see them anywhere, and my eyes are scanning the whole Trojan plain up and down. Perhaps the reins slipped out of the charioteer’s hands, or couldn’t keep a firm hold at the turning- post and had some bad luck making the turn. I reckon he wrecked his car at that point and he fell out of it, and that his mares darted off in a fit of madness. But you folks, stand up and see for yourselves, since I can’t make the best diagnosis. But that man seems to me an Aetolian national, that lord of Greeks, the mighty son of Tydeus the horse-breaker, Diomedes!”

At that point swift Ajax, Oileus’ son, delivered some insulting language, “Idomeneus, why must you keep blathering like always? Those high-stepping mares shooting across the plain are still too far away. You are certainly not the youngest of the Greeks by a long shot, nor do you have the sharpest eyes peering out of your head. But still you’re always spewing nonsense. There’s no need for you to be such a windbag, since there are plenty others here better in that regard. Those mares in the lead there are the same as from the very start, those of Eumelus, and here he comes rein in hand!”

The Cretan chief was thoroughly incensed at this and retorted, “Ajax, you’re the best at quarreling, you nincompoop! Yet in everything else you fall behind all other Greeks, thanks to your bullheaded intellect. Now come on, let’s wager a tripod or a cauldron, andlet’s both make Atreus’ son Agamemnon the judge of which horses are really in the lead. That way you’ll learn your lesson and pay the price.”

So he spoke, and swift Oilean Ajax stood right up, enraged, to answer him with some harsh words of his own. And now this conflict of theirs would surely have escalated if Achilles himself hadn’t stood up and spoken the following, “No more of this exchange of mean and cruel words, Ajax, and you too Idomeneus. It’s inappropriate. Anyone acting in such a way can only do ill to another. Instead why don’t you take your seats and watch these horses with the rest of the crowd. They’ll show up here soon enough, keen on victory. Only then should every Greek know for certain which horses take first place and which second.”

So he spoke, and Diomedes came hard by, racing along and still cracking the whip on the shoulders of his team. His swift stallions pranced in the air as they brought their journey to an end, still smiting their charioteer with specks of dust. The chariot, overlaid with tin and gold, glided behind the fleet-footed steeds. The wheels left only faint tracks in the fine dust behind them as the team hastened in flight. He came to a stop in the middle of the crowd, his horses dripping sweat down to the ground from their chests and the backsof their necks. Diomedes leapt to the ground from his gleaming car, then leaned the whip against the yoke. Valiant Sthenelus made no delay, hastily grabbed the prizes for his stout-hearted comrades—the double-handled tripod to carry off and the girl to lead away by the hand. Then he unyoked the horses.

And after him Antilochus, grandson of Neleus, drove in his horses, having overtaken Menelaus more by celeverness than speed. But even so Menelaus drove his speedy steppers close behind him. They were separated as far as a horse is from the wheel when it draws its master in a chariot as it hastens across the plain, the hair at the tip of its tail lightly grazing the tires—so very closely does the wheel speed behind it, so small the space in between as it courses across the field—by such a distance did Menelaus trail the peerless Antilochus. Though at first he trailed him the range of a discus-throw, he caught up to him in no time, since fair-maned Aethe, Agamemnon’s mare, had a surge of positive energy. And if there were a farther distance left for them to the finish line, Menelaus’ team would have sailed by Antilochus and the result of the race would have been beyond a doubt. Next in was Meriones, Idomeneus’ loyal squire, trailing the highly renowned Menelaus by a spear’s throw. His fair-maned stallions were the slowest in the contest, and he himself the slowest chariot-driver. Last of all the rest came Eumelus, drawing his fancy chariot and driving his horses in front of it.

And when the godlike fleet-footed Achilles got a look at him he took pity, and standing amid the Greeks he addressed him with winged words, “The best man drove his hard- hoofed horses into last place. So how about we award him the prize for second place— it’s only fitting. But in any case, Diomedes wins first prize!

Thus he spoke, and everyone there agreed to his suggestion. And now he would have handed Eumelus the brood-mare, since the Greeks were in accord, if that son of great- hearted Nestor Antilochus hadn’t stood up and questioned Peleus’ son Achilles regarding the justice of the matter:

“I will get quite ticked off, Achilles, if you made good on your word. Yes, you’re being mindful of circumstances, but you plan on taking away my prize, all because Eumelus, good man that he is, had a mishap with his chariot and speedy team. Well, he should have prayed to the deathless gods and perhaps he wouldn’t have come driving into last place. But if you really feel sorry for him and are a true friend at heart, then there is still plenty of gold in your tent, and bronze and sheep too, and serving-girls and hard-hoofed horses. So hereafter take your pick of those things and present him with an even better prize, or do it right now even, since all the Greeks here will let you. But I will not give up the brood-mare. And if anyone wants to take a chance at her, then he’s begging for a fistfight with yours truly.”

So he spoke, and godlike swift-footed Achilles smiled with delight at Antilochus, since he was his comrade and dear to him. He spoke to him in answer with fitting words:

“Antilochus, if you’re really asking me to get Eumelus something else from my hut, then I will also made good on it. I’ll give him a bronze breastplate, overlaid with a casting of gleaming tin, which I had stripped from Asteropaeus. It should be worth a lot to him.”

He spoke, and told his dear comerade Automedon to fetch the prize from his tent, who went off and carried it out, then placed it in Eumelus’ hands, who accepted it with pleasure.

But Menelaus was deeply disturbed at these transactions and still ardently furious with Antilochus. He stood up and the herald handed him the staff, whereupon he commanded the Greeks to be silent. Then that man, equal to a god, spoke up among them:

“Antilochus, you had sense in the past, but what a thing you’re doing now! You brought shame on my valor and stymied my horses, thrusting your stallions in front of my team, even though yours were far inferior. But how about this, fellow chiefs and counselors of the Greeks, why don’t you be the judge of us both, a trial without bias. That way none of you bronze-armored Greeks will say, ‘Menelaus overwhelmed Antilochus with lies and made off with the mare, since even though his horses were far inferior, he himself was the better in strength and finesse.’ But even if I had to judge, I declare that no other Greek would hold me in contempt, since my judgment would be fair. So come here, Antilochus nurtured by Zeus, and do what’s right: stand here in front of your horses and chariot, but keep in your hands that pliant whip that you used to drive it this time around. Now take hold of your stallions and swear by Poseidon who holds and shakes the earth that you did not intentionally hamper my chariot by cheating.”

Antilochus, on the other hand, saw sense and gave him this reply, “Be tolerant with me now, king Menelaus, since I’m a lot younger than you and you are my elder and mightier still. You know all the ways a young man can be offensive, since his thought lacks caution, while his wit is slight. So please let your heart be patient with me. I’ll surrender the brood-mare to you, the one I earned. And even if you should ask me now for something else even better from my hut, I would gladly give it to you right away, foster- child of Zeus, rather than let all my days be cast from your heart, and I be a sinner in the eyes of the gods.”

Thus he spoke, and the son of great-hearted Nestor led the mare to Menelaus and placed her in his care. Menelaus’ heart was cheered, as do ears of corn covered in dewdrops when they grow ripe in bristling fields. In such a way was your heart cheered, Menelaus, and your understanding too. He raised his voice aloud and had some apt words:

“Antilochus, now it’s my turn to relent from being so angry, since you were not that thoughtless nor foolish to begin with. But this time your immaturity got the better of your intelligence, so try not to outfox your betters a second time. For no other Greek could have persuaded me as you did now, mainly because you have undergone plenty of hardship and drudgery for my sake, as have your father and brother too. And not only will I give in to your entreaties, I’ll even let you keep the mare, though she is really mine. That way you and everyone else here will know that I am not so high-handed and hard of heart.”

Thus he spoke, and he handed the mare over for Antilochus’ comerade Noemon to lead away, whereupon he snatched up for himself the gleaming cauldron. Meriones took up the two talents of gold, since he finished fourth. But the fifth place prize, the double- handled mixing bowl, was left over. Achilles fetched it from the crowd and brought it up to Nestor. He stood by his side and said:

“Here, take this, old man, and let this treasure be yours, a memento of Patroclus’ funeral. You won’t see him anymore among us Greeks, so I award this prize to you as it were to him. For you can neither box, nor wrestle, nor take part in archery contests or footraces, since old age already weighs heavily on you.”

Having spoken he placed the prize in Nestor’s hands. He received it, and there was much rejoicing.

Pliny the Elder – Natural History

Gaius Plinius Secundus, better known as Pliny the Elder, was a Roman naturalist whose life ended on the landmark date of 79 CE, when his curiosity got the better of him and he strayed too close to the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, joining the thousands of Romans who perished in a pyroclastic holocaust. Pliny’s life’s work was to compile a Historia Naturalis, literally an inquiry into nature on an exhaustingly comprehensive scale. Naturally, this includes copious descriptions of various species of flora and fauna, among them the equine genus.

The following passage, from Book VIII of the work, not only details the basics of equine behavior and reproduction, but also the innumerable ‘talents beyond telling’ (ingenia inenarrabilia) of these creatures as collected in the anecdotes and annals of his culture. This passage smites any criticism leveled at Pliny for being a boring writer, as this passage really adds personality (and I mean that literally) to our subject the horse.

Section LXIV

Alexander the Great came across quite a rarity as far as horses go. They called him Bucephalus, either because of his fierce demeanor appearance or after the mark branded on his shoulder shaped like a bull’s head. They say he was bought for sixteen talents from the herd of Philonicus the Pharsalian when Alexander was still a boy, for he was charmed by the horse’s stunning form. When equipped with the royal saddle Bucephalus would let no other rider than Alexander mount him, though in other circumstances anybody could mount. Besides this he is famous for a certain memorable deed in battle. Though wounded during a siege against Thebes, he would not allow Alexander to cross onto another horse. There were many more occasions of this sort, so when Bucephalus died the King Alexander headed the horse’s own funeral procession, then built around his tomb a city in his name, Bucephalia. Tradition has it that Julius Caesar’s horse also refused to let any other rider mount, and furthermore that he had front hooves similar to human feet, if we take as evidence the horse’s statue set up in from of the temple of Venus, Ancestress of the Julian clan. Like Alexander the late emperor Augustus erected a tomb for his horse as well, and his great-nephew Germanicus even wrote a poem in the horse’s honor. At Agrigento in Sicily a great many horses havetombs capped by pyramids. Juba writes that the legendary Assyrian queen Semiramis fell so madly in love with a horse that she had sex with it. Indeed, Scythian cavalrymen make quite the hubbub boasting about famous horses. Once a prince fell dead in a duel to his challenger from an enemy tribe, but when the latter approached to strip off his opponent’s armor, he himself was bitten and trampled to death by the prince’s horse. Another stallion, when the blinkers fell from his eyes and he realized he was being coupled with his own mother, made for a cliff and killed himself. Once in a field near Rieti I came across an ostler brutally mangled for this same reason. For the truth is these creatures have an understanding of family ties. For example, in a herd a filly is more willing to accompany her sister a year her senior than even her dam. Horses have such adaptable behavior that, for instance, an entire cavalry regiment of the Sybarite army has been found trained to dance some kind of ballet to musical accompaniment. These horses also show presentiments of future battle, and mourn when they lose their masters, sometimes even shedding tears of bereavement. When king Nicomedes was killed his horse committed suicide by starving himself. Phylarchus reports that a Galatian man named Centaretus, when the Syrian king Antiochus fell in battle, took possession of the king’s horse and mounted it in triumph. But the horse was so hotly indignant at this that he took the bit with his teeth so as to become untamable, then galloped headlong over a cliff and perished with his rider. Philistus writes that Dionysius once abandoned his horse when he got stuck in mud. When the horse managed to extricate himself, he traced the footsteps back to his master with a swarm of bees clinging to his mane. Taking this as a good omen Dionysius took over the Syracusan government and ruled as a tyrant.

eidem Alexandro et equi magna raritas contigit. Bucephalan eum vocarunt sive ab aspectu torvo sive ab insigni taurini capitis armo inpressi. XVI talentis ferunt ex Philonici Pharsalii grege emptum, etiam tum puero capto eius decore. neminem hic alium quam Alexandrum regio instratu ornatus recepit in sedem, alias passim recipiens. idem in proeliis memoratae cuiusdam perhibetur operae, Thebarum oppugnatione vulneratus in alium transire Alexandrum non passus, multa praeterea eiusdem modi, propter quae rex defuncto ei duxit exequias urbemque tumulo circumdedit nomine eius. nec Caesaris dictatoris quemquam alium recepisse dorso equus traditur, idemque similes humanis pedes priores habuisse, hac effigie locatus ante veneris genetricis aedem. fecit et divus Augustus equo tumulum, de quo Germanici Caesaris carmen est. Agrigenti conplurium equorum tumuli pyramides habent. equum adamatum a Samiramide usque in coitum iuba auctor est. Scythici quidem equitatus equorum gloria strepunt: occiso regulo ex provocatione dimicante hostem, cum ad spoliandum venisset, ab equo eius ictibus morsuque confectum; alium detracto oculorum operimento et cognito cum matre coitu petiisse praerupta atque exanimatum. aequa ex causa in Reatino agro laceratum prorigam invenimus. namque et cognationum intellectus his est, atque in grege prioris anni sororem libentius etiam quam matrem equa comitatur. docilitas tanta est, ut universus Sybaritani exercitus equitatus ad symphoniae cantum saltatione quadam moveri solitus inveniatur. iidem praesagiunt pugnam et amissos lugent dominos: lacrimas interdum desiderio fundunt. interfecto Nicomede rege equus eius inedia vitam finivit. Phylarchus refert Centaretum e Galatis, in proelio occiso Antiocho, potitum equo eius conscendisse ovantem, at illum indignatione accensum domitis frenis, ne regi posset, praecipitem in abrupta isse exanimatumque una. Philistus a Dionysio relictum in caeno haerentem, ut se evellisset, secutum vestigia domini examine apium iubae inhaerente, eoque ostento tyrannidem a Dionysio occupatam.

Section LXV

The talents of horses are beyond telling. Mounted javelin throwers can attest to how adaptable horses are when they play their part in difficult attempts, exerting their bodies to add power to the toss. Likewise they bow down to the ground to let their riders collect the javelins afterward. In the Circus Maximus at Rome, horses yoked to chariots invariably respond consciously to encouragement and applause. Once during the chariot races of the Secular Games hosted by the emperor Claudius a charioteer competing for the White club named The Raven was flung from his car right at the starting gate, but nevertheless his team of horses took the lead and maintained it by getting in the way of all opponents by swerving left and right, mustering every effort expected only of a most talented charioteer still at the reins. The horses actually felt bad that human skill had been beaten by that of mere horses, so when the race was officially over they stopped dead at the finish line. An even more remarkable instance occurred in ancient times when a charioteer fell off his car at the People’s Games. His horses galloped to the Capitoline Hill and circled the Temple of Jupiter three times, as if their rider were still standing firm at the reins. But what was truly the greatest was when such a team arrived at the same place all the way from Veii (16 kilometers from Rome) with the palm leaf of victory and prize crown of their rider named Ratumenna, who had achieved both victory and ejection from the car in the same place. From then on the gate by which those horses entered was named the Porta Ratumenna. Sarmatian horsemen the day before a long journey prepare their steeds by withholding their fodder and granting them only a meager amount to drink. And because of this they can ride them for 150 miles without stopping.

ingenia eorum inenarrabilia. iaculantes obsequia experiuntur difficiles conatus corpore ipso nisuque iuvantium; item tela humi collecta equiti porrigunt. nam in circo ad currus iuncti non dubie intellectum adhortationis et gloriae fatentur. Claudi Caesaris saecularium ludorum circensibus, excusso in carceribus auriga albati Corace, occupavere primatum, optinuere opponentes, effundentes omniaque contra aemulos, quae debuissent peritissimo auriga insistente, facientes, cum puderet hominum artes ab equis vinci, peracto legitimo cursu ad cretam stetere. maius augurium apud priscos plebeis circensibus excusso auriga ita, ut si staret, in capitolium cucurrisse equos aedemque ter lustrasse; maximum vero eodem pervenisse a Veis cum palma et corona, effuso Ratumenna qui ibi vicerat, unde postea nomen portae est. Sarmatae longinquo itineri inedia pridie praeparant eos, potum exiguum inpertientes, atque ita per centena milia et quinquaginta continuo cursu euntibus insident.

Certain stallions can live till 50, while a mare’s life spans shorter. Female horses stop developing at five years, males a year later. The characteristics of horses that ought to be especially preferred in making a selection have been very beautifully summed up by the poet Vergil, and at any rate I have already discussed this subject in my book On Equestrian Javelin Throwing, and regardless there seems to be a nearly universal consensus about it. However, the context of racing in a hippodrome demands a different set of proportions. Although two-year-olds can be broken for other disciplines, horses are not admitted to chariot competitions before they reach the age of five.

vivunt annis quidam quinquagenis, feminae minore spatio; eaedem quinquennio finem crescendi capiunt, mares anno addito. forma equorum, quales maxime legi oporteat, pulcherrime quidem vergilio vate absoluta est; sed et nos diximus in libro de iaculatione equestri condito, et fere inter omnes constare video. diversa autem circo ratio quaeritur. itaque cum bimi in alio subiungantur imperio, non ante quinquennes ibi certamen accipit.

Section LXVI

Females of this genus carry their young in utero for eleven months, and give birth in the twelfth. Mating commonly occurs around the vernal equinox when both sexes are two years of age, but more robust foals are born of parents who are at least three. Stallions serve as sires until age 33, while chariot horses typically go to stud at age 20 after retiring from competition. There is even a record that a stallion from the Greek city of Opus kept siring up to age 40, though he needed some help lifting up his forelegs. In terms of reproduction few species in the animal kingdom are less fertile than the horse. Therefore there is a necessary interval prescribed between sexual unions, and a stallion can manage no more than fifteen such rendezvous in the same year. Mares in heat are “quenched” by shearing their manes. They are capable of foaling every year up to their fortieth. The record age a mare has attained is 75. Pregnant females of this genus give birth while standing. Mares cherish their young more than females of other species. In fact, there is born with the foal a sort of magic love charm on the forehead that the Greeks call the hippomanes or horse-madness, the size of a fig and black in color. As soon as the foal is born the brood mare eats it up, or else she won’t let the foal suckle her teats. If anyone should snatch the thing away and keep it, the smell would drive the mare into a frenzy, hence its name. If ever a dam is lost, the remaining brood mares of that herd rear the orphaned foal. They say that newborn foals cannot reach the ground with their mouths until three days after they are born. The keener a horse is for drinking, the deeper he plunges his snout into water. The Scythians prefer to use mares for warfare, since they can urinate without interrupting their pace.

partum in eo genere undenis mensibus ferunt, duodecimo gignunt. coitus verno aequinoctio bimo utrimque vulgaris, sed a trimatu firmior partus. generat mas ad annos, XXXIII utpote cum a circo post vicesimum annum mittantur ad subolem. opunte et ad XL durasse tradunt adiutum modo in attollenda priore parte corporis. sed ad generandum paucis animalium minor fertilitas. qua de causa intervalla admissurae dantur, nec tamen quindecim initus eiusdem anni valet tolerare. equarum libido extinguitur iuba tonsa. gignunt annis omnibus ad quadragesimum. vixisse equum LXXV annos proditur. in hoc genere gravida stans parit praeterque ceteras fetum diligit. et sane equis amoris innasci veneficium, hippomanes appellatum, in fronte, caricae magnitudine, colore nigro, quod statim edito partu devorat feta aut partum ad ubera non admittit. si quis praereptum habeat, olfactu in rabiem id genus agitur. amissa parente in grege armenti reliquae fetae educant orbum. terram attingere ore triduo proximo quam sit genitus negant posse. quo quis acrior, in bibendo nares mergit. Scythae per bella feminis uti malunt, quoniam urinam cursu non inpedito reddant.

Section LXVII

It has been determined that in Portugal, in the neighborhood of Lisbon and the Tagus river, mares that face a westerly breeze conceive by some breath of life in the wind and bear offspring, and very agile offspring at that, but which lives no longer than three years. In that same area of Spain (the western Iberian Peninsula) the tribes of Galicia and Asturias raise a breed of horses we call theldones, the ponies of which are called asturcones or cobs, (which gallop at an unusual pace, that being a smooth trot, straightening the near and off-side legs alternately, whence the horses are taught by training to adopt an ambling pace.)1 Horses suffer diseases similar to those of humans, with the exception that their bladders can prolapse, a liability characteristic to all species of draught animals.

constat in Lusitania circa Olisiponem oppidum et Tagum amnem equas favonio flante obversas animalem concipere spiritum, idque partum fieri et gigni pernicissimum ita, sed triennium vitae non excedere. in eadem Hispania Gallaica gens est et Asturica; equini generis his sunt quos theldones vocamus; minore forma appellatos asturcones gignunt, quibus non vulgaris in cursu gradus, sed mollis alterno crurum explicatu glomeratio, unde equis tolutim carpere incursum traditur arte. equo fere qui homini morbi, praeterque vesicae conversio, sicut omnibus in genere veterino.

Plutarch on the Silver Screen

The passage from Plutarch translated in the previous post made its way to contemporary cinema in a moving scene from the 2004 film Alexander. I found the scene on Youtube to give you a visual accompaniment to the text. The movie embroiders the scene a bit, especially in its dialogue, but the basic plot is intact.

Plutarch – Alexander

Plutarch was a Greek from Boeotia whose life straddled the first and second centuries of our era. A priest of Delphi and Middle Platonic philosopher, he is most famous for his series of Parallel Lives, in which he pairs the biographies of illustrious Greeks and Romans whose deeds and character bear similarities. To take a few examples, to the Athenian orator Demosthenes he matched Cicero; to the Spartan lawgiver Lycurgus, Rome’s king Numa; to the perfidious hero Alcibiades, Coriolanus (a tale to inspire both Shakespeare and Beethoven).

Plutarch was a Greek living under Roman imperial rule, and through these juxtapositions he suggested that every great Roman had a Greek predecessor whose accomplishments, if not greater objectively, take preeminence by their precedence in history. So under a regime whose rulers took their name from Julius Caesar, Plutarch reminds them that even the god who initiated their Empire had a precursor whose path to glory was even more remarkable: Alexander the Great.

Alexander in 336 BCE became king of a nascent Macedonian Empire already lording it over the Greek city-states. After two years of consolidating his rule, the young monarch crossed into Asia to conquer the vast Persian Empire and create one of his own that stretched from the Balkans to Bactria, from Egypt to India. He did so on the back of his horse Bucephalus.

The following passage recounts how the boy Alexander and his father Philip II came to meet this steed of destiny.

Once a man from Thessaly named Philonicus offered to sell a stallion called Bucephalus to King Philip for 33 talents, so they came down to the plain to give the horse a trial run. He appeared quite the difficult and intractable creature, letting no prospective rider get close to him nor paying heed to any of the verbal commands of Philip’s entourage, instead rearing up against all of them. But when Philip, annoyed that the horse was far too wild and undisciplined, ordered him to be led away, Alexander nearby exclaimed: “What a horse going to waste, just because these inexperienced sissies can’t handle it!”

At first Philip held his tongue. But when his passionate son kept up these derogatory comments he said, “you criticize your elders as if you know better than they do and can better manage a horse!”

“I can certainly manage this horse better than any of these other guys.”

“But if you can’t handle it, what punishment should you suffer for being such a reckless brat?”

“By Jove, I’ll pay you the full price of the horse!” he said. This provoked laughter, but in any case they struck an agreement regarding the money, and at once Alexander ran up to the horse, took him by the bridle and turned him towards the sun, for it would seem that he recognized that whenever Bucephalus saw his shadow cast in front of him and prancing about he was thrown into utter distress. Now once Alexander had thus calmed the horse down a bit and stroked him with his hand, seeing that Bucephalus was full of vim and verve, he quietly threw aside his cloak, mounted and took a seat securely on his back. And taking hold of the reins he pulled on the bit just a little, so as not to harm the horse or tear his mouth. And when he saw that the horse seemed to be rid of whatever he was afraid of, and that he was itching for a race, at last giving rein he spurred him on with a terse yelp and a kick of the foot. As for Philip and his crew, there was an anxious silence at first. But as Alexander deftly executed a turn and rode back to them proud and gleeful, all the others cheered him on. But it’s said that his father burst into tears of joy, and when his son dismounted he kissed his forehead and said, “My boy! Go find a kingdom equal to yourself. Macedonia’s not big enough for you!”

ἐπεὶ δὲ Φιλονίκου τοῦ Θεσσαλοῦ τὸν Βουκεφάλαν ἀγαγόντος ὤνιον τῷ Φιλίππῳ τρισκαίδεκα ταλάντων κατέβησαν εἰς τὸ πεδίον δοκιμάσοντες τὸν ἵππον, ἐδόκει τε χαλεπὸς εἶναι καὶ κομιδῇ δύσχρηστος, οὔτε ἀναβάτην προσιέμενος οὔτε φωνὴν ὑπομένων τινὸς τῶν περὶ τὸν Φίλιππον, ἀλλ ̓ ἁπάντων κατεξανιστάμενος, δυσχεραίνοντος δὲ τοῦ Φιλίππου καὶ κελεύοντος ἀπάγειν ὡς παντάπασιν ἄγριον καὶ ἀκόλαστον, παρὼν Ἀλέξανδρος εἶπεν: ‘οἷον ἵππον ἀπολλύουσι δι ̓ ἀπειρίαν καὶ μαλακίαν χρήσασθαι μὴ δυνάμενοι,’ τὸ μὲν οὖν πρῶτον ὁ Φίλιππος ἐσιώπησε: ‘ πολλάκις δὲ αὐτοῦ παραφθεγγομένου καὶ περιπαθοῦντος, ‘ἐπιτιμᾷς σύ,’ ἔφη, ‘πρεσβυτέροις ὥς τι πλέον αὐτὸς εἰδὼς ἢ μᾶλλον ἵππῳ χρήσασθαι δυνάμενος;’ ‘τούτῳ γοῦν,’ ἔφη, ‘χρησαίμην ἂν ἑτέρου βέλτιον.’ ἂν δὲ μὴ χρήσῃ, τίνα δίκην τῆς προπετείας ὑφέξεις;’ ‘ἐγὼ, νὴ Δί ̓,’ εἶπεν, ‘ἀποτίσω τοῦ ἵππου τὴν τιμήν’ γενομένου δὲ γέλωτος, εἶτα ὁρισμοῦ πρὸς ἀλλήλους εἰς τὸ ἀργύριον, εὐθὺς προσδραμὼν τῷ ἵππῳ καὶ παραλαβὼν τὴν ἡνίαν ἐπέστρεψε πρὸς τὸν ἥλιον, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἐννοήσας ὅτι τὴν σκιὰν προπίπτουσαν καὶ σαλευομένην ὁρῶν πρὸ αὐτοῦ διαταράττοιτο. μικρὰ δὲ οὕτω παρακαλπάσας καὶ καταψήσας, ὡς ἑώρα πληρούμενον θυμοῦ καὶ πνεύματος, ἀπορρίψας ἡσυχῇ τὴν χλαμύδα καὶ μετεωρίσας αὑτόν ἀσφαλῶς περιέβη. καὶ μικρὰ μὲν περιλαβὼν ταῖς ἡνίαις τὸν χαλινόν ἄνευ πληγῆς καὶ σπαραγμοῦ , προσανέστειλεν ὡς δὲ ἑώρα τὸν ἵππον ἀφεικότα τὴν ἀπειλήν, ὀργῶντα δὲ πρὸς τὸν δρόμον, ἐφεὶς ἐδίωκεν ἤδη φωνῇ θρασυτέρᾳ καὶ ποδὸς κρούσει χρώμενος. τῶν δὲ περὶ τὸν Φίλιππον ἦν ἀγωνία καὶ σιγὴ τὸ πρῶτον ὡς δὲ κάμψας ἐπέστρεψεν ὀρθῶς σοβαρὸς καὶ γεγηθώς, οἱ μὲν ἄλλοι πάντες ἠλάλαξαν, ὁ δὲ πατὴρ καὶ δακρῦσαί τι λέγεται πρὸς τὴν χαράν, καὶ καταβάντος αὐτοῦ τὴν κεφαλὴν φιλήσας, ‘ὦ παῖ,’ φάναι, ‘ζήτει σεαυτῷ βασιλείαν ἴσην Μακεδονία γάρ σε οὐ χωρεῖ.’

About the Project

‘Classical Hippology’ is a phrase that says it all–a project that aims to explore how poets, playwrights, philosophers, scientists and  other essayists of the Greco-Roman world brought their various logoi (Greek for ‘words’, ‘stories’, ‘thought’ and ‘reason’) to the subject of that quick-footed quadruped we call the horse (in Greek: hippos, in Latin:equus).

This is a collaboration between a young classical scholar and a professor of equine sciences to unite their respective disciplines, to collect the various texts from the epics of pre-classical Greece to the high noon of the Roman Empire that take up horses as their theme. Once these Greek and Latin poems, treatises, dialogues and diatribes have been assembled and studied, the next step will be to produce English translations accessible to the modern reader, especially for the reading pleasure of those who study, breed, ride and care for these wonderful and versatile animals.

Our various political, philosophical, linguistic and other cultural institutions have strong foundations in the civilization of the Greeks and Romans, and the art and science of horsemanship are no different. In an age long before heavy machinery, horses were a critical element of transportation, warfare, sport and leisure, useful and dear to everyone from the lowliest peasant farmer to the Emperor himself. So integral were these tetrapods to classical society that its mythical pantheon included a patron god of horses, whom the Greeks called Poseidon and the Romans Neptune.

So far we have collected passages from a whole range of authors, such as the epics of Homer and Vergil, the plays of Sophocles and Aristophanes, the biographies of Plutarch, and the scientific essays of Aristotle and Pliny the Elder.

This blog exists to track the progress of this endeavor. Posted here will be translations-in-progress, background information, and various musings and reflections on experiences relevant to the subject. We appreciate any questions and feedback regarding our work, anything that may help us get this undertaking from the drawing board to the printing press. Enjoy!

Suetonius – Caligula

Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus was a Roman biographer who wrote under the emperors Trajan and Hadrian during in the early second century CE, the time most historians agree to have been the very acme of the Roman Empire, what Edward Gibbon called a period “during which the condition of the human race was most happy and prosperous.” Suetonius is best know for his Lives of the Caesars, a biographical series chronicling the first twelve emperors of Rome, from Julius Caesar (if you count him as ’emperor’) to Domitian.

I chose the following passage to demonstrate not only the extremes to which a Roman potentate could go to honor his noble steed, but also because it gives a taste of Roman urban culture at large, one that centered around the Circus Maximus. Chariot racing was the centerpiece of Roman entertainment from the days of the ancient Republic to the medieval empire of Byzantium. The sport was so popular that various factions formed analogous to modern soccer clubs, but formed along more serious political lines. From the Julio-Claudian dynasty to the reign of Justinian and beyond, the allegiance of the Roman emperor to certain Circus factions had deep political implications, amounting to as much intrigue and corruption as any court drama handed down to us from the writings of Suetonius and Procopius alike.

Here is my translation, and the original Latin, of a very brief passage from Suetonius’ Life of Caligula, Section 55, a story familiar to many who took Latin in high school:

So devoted a fan of the green team that he quite often dined and loitered in their stalls, Caligula once at a party bribed the charioteer Eutychus by adding twenty sesterces to his party favors. For his own horse Incitatus, just before race day, he ordered soldiers to keep people quiet whenever the horse was nearby, lest anyone disturb it. Aside from a marble stable and an ivory feeding-trough and purple garments and a jeweled collar he also gave Incitatus a personal palace, servants and furniture, to which came rather fashionable guests with invitations in the horse’s own name. It’s even rumored that the emperor had the horse lined up for the consulship!

Prasinae factioni ita addictus et deditus, ut cenaret in stabulo assidue et maneret, agitatori Eutycho comisatione quadam in apophoretis vicies sestertium contulit. Incitato equo, cuius causa pridie circenses, ne inquietaretur, viciniae silentium per milites indicere solebat, praeter equile marmoreum et praesaepe eburneum praeterque purpurea tegumenta ac monilia e gemmis domum etiam et familiam et supellectilem dedit, quo lautius nomine eius invitati acciperentur; consulatum quoque traditur destinasse.