A fragment by Pier Candido Decembrio
translated by David Wilson-Okamura
His earlier attempt (1419) to continue or complete Virgil's Aeneid
is less well-known, in part because he abandoned the project after
only after 89 lines, but mostly because it has been overshadowed
by Maffeo Vegio's book-length treatment of the same material (1428).
Vegio, as it happened, knew Decembrio personally, and in spite
of the fact that Decembrio accused him of plagiarism, they maintained
a friendly correspondence. (That Vegio's poem should bear some
resemblance to Decembrio's was almost inevitable, since the two
poets narrate a common event--the funeral of Turnus--and rely on a common
source for much of their phrasing and imagery: namely, the Eclogues,
the Georgics Decembrio's
bull simile, for instance, is modeled on Geo. 3.499-500,
520-21), and especially the Aeneid.
The English rendering given below is an idiomatic translation
of Decembrio's Latin original, as edited by Kern (1896) and Schneider
(1985).
Kern, Hans. Supplemente zur Aeneis aus
dem 15 und 17 Jahrhunderdt. Nuremberg: Stich, 1896. 7-12.
Raffaele, Luigi. Maffeo Vegio: elenco delle opere,
scritti inediti. Bologna, Zanichelli, 1909. 20-25.
Schneider, Bernd, ed. Das Aeneissupplement des
Maffeo Vegio: Eingeleitet, nach den Handschriften herausgegeben,
übersetzt und mit einem Index versehen. Acta Humaniora.
Weinheim: VCH Verlagsgesellschaft, 1985. 136-38.
The following format is suggested for the list of works cited:
1. High-spirited, his chest soaked with his dying blood, preternatural
anger streaming from his eyes, the son of Daunus appeased the
ghosts of Troy with a wound. Afterwards now old Latinus rebuilds
the shattered houses of his dominion. The walls of the city, which
lie in scattered heaps, he commands to be set back in place: the
bronze towers are to be taken down, and the rooftop fires extinguished,
with all diligence. The fields he returns to the farmers who used
to till them.
9. A common impulse, though, inspires them all, and affection
for their fallen homeland drives them on. Some take down the high-hanging
beams, in which they thought to hide their household gods from
the sword, to prop up their fatherland's wavering fate: with the
timber from their own houses, they wall the city. Others toil
to render offerings to the deity in the temple: weapons and matching
shields-mirthless gifts. Like bees that throng the dewy pastures
of greening Hybla, a sweaty troop amongst painted flowers, they
work apace, and the fields are noisy with the murmuring of the
swarm.
19. His heart yielding to grief, Latinus took little pleasure
in the rapid construction work. A sharper pain overtook him, and
in his mighty breast, Turnus-pierced through the base of the throat,
his shade divided from the soil it loved-yielded no ground. Accordingly
he resolved to send him to his beloved city, to the house of his
father, far off to the grieving man who took shelter under Ardea's
walls. He instructs the Rutulians, who wait anxiously, to gather
up the beloved body and the remains of their comrades. In the
court, though, Latinus stands tall, his throne empty. His words,
though few, shatter the silence:
29. "This state of affairs came about at the will
of Fortune and with the consent of those who rule above. But to
the gods, and to the terrible destiny of the Trojans, I need hardly
appeal. For you saw how, with loving heart, I cherished the mighty
Turnus (alas! too mighty). Had he been the son of my blood, I
would not have loved him so much. How much, now that he is lost,
you both know, Dorylas and sad Enipheus. Behold, his mournful
image pierces my mind: even now he brandishes his lightning blade,
his chest unprotected, as he seeks to do battle with the great
Trojan. I restrained him: 'What are you thinking, my son? The
time is at hand: adopt the treaty now," I said. 'The fields
are red with too much of our blood, too many lives have been lost.'
At once, a mischievous Fury appeared and placed a helm of triumph
on his head.
42. "But why do I go on? So long as time continues,
one thing is sure: it is given to none of us to behold them-the
bright horses of the sun: dispatched, loosed when the first light
springs up in the heavens-when Fortune is hostile. No one knows
the extent of her malignity while he can still see the dawn. Wherefore
bestir yourselves, young men: gather with choice hands the gifts
that befit death. Offer your libations to the dust, and tender
him a pyre apart. Let him return to his own people. So you shall
kiss a father's face, and so you, Daunus, shall enter your own
city without disgrace to your forebears. He fell, having avenged
his ancestors. Mourn ye Rutulians the great avenger of Italy!
Shall a braver man ever rouse the troops? Alas, poor men, the
captain you march under: here he is! Hail a man of spirit: one
who fell headlong attacking your foes!"
56. With these words, he came down from his throne, a
copious storm of tears streaming out over his cheeks. At the same
moment, the crowd around him responded to what he said with numberless
laments. He makes his way through the crowds past the familiar
doorway, like a gleaming bullock at life's end, one that the wolf,
or a rough shepherd, has dragged him away from the breast: his
mother walks on; spring-waters do not distract his eyes; streams
and green forests are powerless to avert his gaze.
63. On the king's orders, Enipheus leads out a swift horse,
laden with the arms [of Turnus]. Without hesitation, the king
bends down and chills his lips on the hard bit. With the beast
come tears. Latinus commands them to bring out the train of spoils
and battle trophies: shields and banners are arrayed; the regalia
of slaughtered Trojans; gold-embroidered tunics; and in the lead,
his chariot. Following in the rear, they bring in the fleet darts,
with which he consumed his enemies; their crested helmets as a
token; and the breastplates that he tore from galloping horses.
Next in line comes his own charger, guided now with cautious skill
by Metiscus; submission to this timid master brings a loud cry
of complaint from the horse. After this, horsemen and footsoldiers
are brought in along with the Rutulians, their shields reversed
and picked clean of the spears that had covered them. Hoarse and
teary, father Latinus mustered what voice he had and performed
the last rites according to protocol. Through the brush, taking
a shortcut that leads to the citadel, they go down to the plains
of Pilumnus.
81. Rumor, meanwhile, is about in the heart of the city,
filling the ears with its maddening clamor, raging through the
royal palace, where dwells a wretched father. Rumor alights here,
sped by the wings of every conceivable calamity. It is said there
shall be another funeral. Anxious mothers pour out, grieving
with loud lamentation, crowding the gates to look at the procession-you
would think that the temple of the gods, their sons, and the images
of their local deities were all being destroyed, and that every
housetop was aglow with fire....
Pier Candido Decembrio (1392-1497) was born in Milan, where he
worked as a secretary, first for the tyrant Filippo Maria Visconti,
and afterwards for the city's short-lived republican government.
A humanist scholar of some reputation, he is perhaps most famous
for his political pragmatism, and for producing a Latin version
of Plato's Republic.
Selected Bibliography
Brinton, Anna Cox. Maphaeus Vegius and his Thirteenth
Book of the Aeneid: A Chapter on Virgil in the Renaissance.
Stanford: Stanford UP, 1930. Rpt. New York: Garland, 1978. 19.
Citing this translation.
Decembrio, Pier Candido. "The Thirteenth Book
of the Aeneid." Tr. David Wilson-Okamura. 1996. Online.
Internet. 23 July 1997 (substitute the date you accessed this
text). Available HTTP: www.virgil.org/supplementa/decembrio.htm.
The beginning of the thirteenth book of the Aeneid,
undertaken by P. Candido in his youth.
Translation copyright © 1997 David Wilson-Okamura. Please email corrections and suggestions to david@virgil.org.
