#cerealia

Cerealia (or Cerialia) was a festival in Ancient Rome that happened on the 19th of April and was preceded by 7 days of games. This year I have decided to celebrate Cerealia from the 12th to the 19th of April, drawing from some historically attested customs while also heavily adapting it to my lifestyle and situation.

Since I do not have to option to participate in the games or any of the public rituals that were common in Roman times, I generally adapt celebrations like these into a sort of "challenge" for myself, aimed at finding my way closer to a certain deity and feeling more in touch with their domain.

For Cerealia then, I will be focusing on being closer to Ceres and my environment. Aside from the religious rites I plan on doing, my plan also consists of:

Trying to keep my phone usage under 4 hours (preferably under 3) to be more present

Making the effort to go outside every day for the duration of the Cerealia

Giving thanks to Ceres for every meal that I eat

As a nod to the ludi scaenici, engaging with art, particularly films and documentaries about nature or the environment

Wearing white, or a least light-coloured clothing (as Ovid suggests in Fasti, though that is particular to the day of the Cerealia itself)

Reading a little bit every day from The Roman Goddess Ceres

Honouring Ceres at the start of her Cerealia festival, with gratitude for the nourishment & abundance she brings me.

"Obvious are the bounteous promise and gifts of the Goddess. Ceres delights in peace: pray you farmers, pray for endless peace. Honour the goddess with wheat, and dancing salt grains, and grains of incense offered on the ancient hearths. Ceres is pleased with little, if it’s pure in kind."

Sponte deae munus promeritumque patet. Pace Ceres laeta est; et vos orate, coloni, perpetuam pacem. Farra deae micaeque licet salientis honorem detis et in veteres turea grana focos. Parva bonae Cereri, sint modo casta, placent. Ovid. Fasti.

Honrando a Ceres ao comezo da sua festa de Cerealia, con agradecemento pola alimentación e a abundancia que me trae.

Here are the Games of Ceres. There is no need for an excuse by an Omen: it is evident that the Public Shows have been earned unaided by the Goddess.

Fresh grasses, which the Earth gave with no tampering, were bread to the First Mortals. Long ago they gathered long-lived herbs from the turf, now dishes are the just the tips of tender leaves. Presently the acorn has grown: indeed, it was good when the acorn was discovered: the hardy oak has splendid resources. Ceres first changed this by calling humans to better nourishment. She exchanged acorns for useful food.

She gathered bulls together to hold out their necks to the yoke: then the Earth, having been upturned, saw its first sunlight. Copper was in vogue then, iron ore was unknown: alas, that stuff should be hidden forever. Ceres delights in peace. Tell us, farmers, about continuous peace and a peace-making leader. It is permitted that you might devote an offering, spelt and leaping grains, to the Goddess, and that you might place incense in the ancient altar. If incense is unavailable, set a resinous pine torch alight. Little efforts, let them be only innocent, satisfy Kind Ceres.

Remove the knife of girded attendants from the cow; let the cow plough. Sacrifice the lazy sow. A neck suitable for the yoke must not be struck with a death blow: she might live and might often work the tough soil.

This very subject, the Kidnapping of the Girl, is examined. You will recognize most of it, and might be taught little new:

‘The Sicilian land juts out into the sea with three tall promontories, and has attained its place name from its position. It is the dear home of Ceres, though She has occupied many cities, among whom Henna is fertile with cultivated soil. Cold Arethusa had summoned the Mothers of the Gods, and the Golden Goddess had come to the Holy Feast. Her daughter, when accompanying Her, was with her usual girls, and was wandering through her own meadows on bare feet. Close to the shady valley is a place wet with the continuous spray of water leaping down from high above. So many colors, as many as nature contains, had been at that place, and the painted Earth shone with different types of flowers. As soon as Persephone caught sight of this place, she said: “Ladies, come here and carry dress-skirts full of flowers back home with me.”

Idle plunder enticed girlish thoughts and no exertion was experienced by the assiduous attendants. This girl fills baskets woven out of pliant willow. This girl fills her lap, she weighs down the loose folds. That girl gathers marigolds, violet beds are the concern of this girl. That girl clips poppy heads with her nails. You, iris, fascinate these girls; you, amaranth, entertain those girls. Part love wild thyme, part love the rose, part love yellow clover. Roses had been gathered the most, and there were flowers without names, too. Persephone herself picked fine crocus and white lilies. Gathering her flowers with enthusiasm, she had been gradually walking further away, and by chance no attendants had followed their mistress.

Her father’s brother saw her, and having been aware of her, swiftly snatched her away. On horses the color of Dusk, he brought her into his own Kingdoms. It is true she cried out: “Ah! Dearest mother, I am being kidnapped!” She tore at her voluminous clothes, but nevertheless a road opened up out of the ground for Pluto; for indeed his horses, unaccustomed to being above ground, experienced daylight with difficulty.

Look now, the uniform troop of attendants, with wicker baskets overloaded with flowers, shout: “Persephone! I’m back with your gifts!” When the Girl they had been calling remains silent, they fill the mountain with wailing and strike their naked chests with sorrowful hands.

Ceres was astounded by the wailing (She had only just gotten to Henna), but without delay: “I am so distraught!” She said. “My daughter, where are you?”

She was stolen. And so Ceres was in need of a plan, pacing like the Thracian Bacchants we are used to hearing stories about, with Her hair in disarray, groaning as a mother-cow does when her calf is stolen from her udder, searching for her offspring in every grove. Just like the cow, the Goddess does not restrain Her groaning, and deeply upset by running around, She began Her search in your fields, Henna. From there, She happened upon the footprints of a girlish sole. She saw the Earth had been stamped with a familiar weight. Perhaps that day might have been the last of Her wandering, if pigs had not muddied the clues She had discovered.

Next, She passed at speed through Leotini and the Amenana River, as well as your banks, grassy Aci. She overtook Cyane and the Spring of Gentle Anapus. And you Gela (one must not go near the whirlpools.) She left Ortygia, Megarea, and Pantagia, by whom the Sea accepts the Symaethean Waters. She had been putting off the Caves of the Cyclopes with their forges having been set just-so. That place makes the fame of curved sickles. Both Himera and Didymen, both Akraga and Tauromenus. And Melan, the cheerful pasture of the Holy Cows. From here She entered Camerinan, and Thapson and Heloria Tempe, by whom Eryx is situated, forever exposed to the West Wind. And next She had traversed Peloriades and Lilybaea, then Pachynon, the Three Horns of Her own land.

She filled wherever she walked, every region, with her pitiful cries and queries, as the bird wails when Itys has been lost. Now she shouts “Persephone!” then “Daughter!” one after the other. She shouts and alternately calls one name or the other. But neither does Persephone hear Ceres nor the daughter her mother, and alternately one name, then the other, is lost. She had one question, if perhaps she might see a shepherd protecting his fields: “Has a girl hurried this way with anyone?”

By then one color stained reality, and darkness hid everything, indeed even the watchful dogs became silent. Tall Mt. Etna is situated over the mouth of titanic Typhoeus, the ground of which is burned by his vomited fire. There she lights twin pine branches for torches (it is for this reason why nowadays pine torches are also devoted to the shrines of Ceres).

There is a rugged cave, constructed of worn-away pumice, a place which submits neither to man nor beast, to which she came, and then, at once she harnessed restrained serpents to her chariot, and dry, she roamed over the sea-waters. She escaped Syrtes, the great sandbank, and you, Zanclean Charybdis, and you, Nisaean Hounds, the shipwreck monsters. She extensively searched the open Adriatic and Corinth-between-Two-Seas: in this way she came to your harbors, Attic country. Here, she sat, most sorrowful, for the first time, on a cold boulder (nowadays, too, the Athenians call it the Sad Rock.)

In the open air, She waited, motionless, for many days, unyielding to the Moon and to Rain Water. Luck is theirs in this place: now it is named the Eleusis of Ceres, here were the lands of Old Celeus. He carried acorns and berries knocked off the bramble bushes, and dry wood to be burned on the hearth. His young daughter was driving two she-goats from the mountain, and his delicate son was sick in his cradle.

“Mother!” said the girl (the goddess was startled by the name of ‘Mother’) “What are you doing all by yourself in this lonely place?” And the older man stopped, although he was burdened with his cargo, and begs that She might go under the roof of his house, however small.

She refuses, impersonating an old woman and wrapping up Her hair in a turban. She turns back to the insistent man and mentions such things: “May you always be a lucky parent! My daughter was stolen from me. Alas! Your fortune is better than my fate!” She said, and a bright droplet like tears (for in fact, it is not possible for the Gods to weep) fell into Her warm skirt-lap. The sensitive girl and old man wept together with passion, out of which there came these words from the proper old man: “Yes. May your daughter, who you search for and who has been snatched away from you, be safe and sound. Stand up, and do not disdain the roof of my little cottage.”

To whom the Goddess said “Leader! You have discovered the words by which you are able to compel me.” And She lifted herself from the rock and closely followed the old man. The leader told his companion how his sick son is: he does not experience sleep, and is kept awake by illness.

She plucks a sleepy and soft poppy from the wild ground, just as they are about to enter the little house. As She picks, the flower is allowed to be tasted, with her judgement having been forgotten, and unthinking, She was allowed to lay aside Her long fast. Because of this the Principal set aside Her hunger at night, and the Priests of Her Mysteries regard star-rise as the time of food.

When she entered the house, she saw mourning filling everything: by then there was no hope of life or health in the boy. With the mother having been greeted (the mother was named Metanira), She thought the childish mouth worthy to be joined with Her own. His pallor fled, and they saw unexpected energy in his body. Such a great force came from the mouth of the deity. The entire house was joyous, by him were mother and father and daughter: these three were the whole household. Afterwards, a feast was set out: rennet softened with milk, fruits, and golden honey in its own waxy cells. Kind Ceres abstained: She gave poppies, the cause of sleep, to you, boy, to be drunk with warm milk.

It was the middle of the night and there was the silence of mellow sleep. She lifted the boy, Triptolemus, into Her own lap. Three times She gently rubbed him with Her hand, three times She sang verses, songs not meant to be repeated with mortal sounds. She buried the body of the boy in the hearth, among the surviving embers, so that the fire might remove his burden of mortality. Foolishly, his devoted mother was roused from sleep and frantic, she exclaimed: "What are you doing?!” and snatched his limbs from the fire. The goddess said to her: “While you are not wicked, you have done harmful things: my gifts are made useless by a mother’s anxiety. Certainly, that boy will be mortal, but he will also be the first to plough, and to sow seed and to build up a profit from cultivating the land.”

She spoke and departed, dragging down a cloud and going over to Her serpents. Ceres is lifted up on Her winged chariot. She forsakes exposed Sunion and the safe Piraean harbors, and the coast lying to the right of its entrance, by Her departure. From here She enters the Aegean Sea, in whom She sees all the Cyclades, and She wanders through the Ionic Sea, and the greedy Icarian Sea. She proceeds through the cities of Asia, the vast Hellespontus Sea, and in these regions She, high above, roams a back-and-forth course. Just now She looks down on the incense-gathering Arabs, then the Indus River. From here Libya, from there Meroe, among the dry land. Now she approaches the West: the Rhine, and Rhone, and Po Rivers, and you, Tiber, parent-to-be of a powerful water.

By whom am I conducted? It is impossible to list all the lands She wandered over: there is no place in the world neglected by Ceres.

And so She wanders among the atmosphere, free of the flowing sea, addressing the nearest constellation in the frosty heavens.

“Arcadian stars (for indeed you are able to know all things since you never sink beneath the sea waters), show My daughter Persephone to Me, a miserable parent!” she said, to which the Great Bear brought the following words:

“Night is free from fault; consult the Sun about your stolen girl, he who sees far and wide the things done in the daytime.”

The Sun, having been approached by Ceres, said: “I know what you seek. Your distress is not in vain: she commands the Third Realm, having been married to the brother of Jupiter.”

She wailed with Herself for a long while.

She accosts the Thunderer likewise. There were the greatest signs of suffering in Her expression: “If You remember from whom My Persephone originated, she ought to have half of Your concern. By wandering through the world, I have learned of only the injustice of the act that was done: her rapist gets to have the reward of marriage. And neither is Persephone deserving of a conjugal thief, nor should Our son-in-law be provided to us in this manner. Would have I, captured by Gyges the Conqueror, endured worse things than what I now put up with in the Kingdom of the Sky with You in charge? Let the truth move on, unpunished, We, unavenged, will endure this; but let Him return her and correct His previous action with new ones.”

Jupiter calms her, and apologizes for the things that have been done, with love: “That son-in-law is not shameful for Us,” he said. “I am not more high-born than He: My Kingdom has been placed in the Sky, another occupies the Waters, and the last the empty Lower World. But if, by chance, your feelings-heart is not changeable and stands to break the bond of a wedding bed having been joined but once, by this, too, let us try, if only she, fasting, has endured; if she has eaten even a little, she will be the wife of the Underground Spouse.”

Mercury Caducifer having been commanded approaches Tartarus with his wings having been taken up. And with Hope, he more swiftly returns, and reports the fixed things having been seen:

“The abducted girl,” he said, “has dissolved her hunger with three seeds, which the purple-pomegranate fruit hides with a flexible rind.”

She has not felt less grief, than if the girl might have been just stolen. The Parent in Mourning, having been scarcely comforted takes a long pause, and She said as follows: “You command me, too, to be taken back by the Infernal Valley.”

And She was about to do it, unless Jupiter might make a bargain, so that that Girl might live two-times three months in the Heavens. Only then does Ceres regain both countenance and spirit and has replaced the corn wreathes in her hair. And a plentiful harvest has appeared in the fields having been delayed; and the threshing-ground can hardly grasp the riches having been collected. White is becoming of Ceres: don white clothing for the Cerialia: now the use of a dusky-mourning fleece is avoided.

—

Hinc Cereris ludi. non est opus indice causae;

sponte deae munus promeritumque patet.

panis erat primis virides mortalibus herbae,

quas tellus nullo sollicitante dabat;

et modo carpebant vivax e cespite gramen,

nunc epulae tenera fronde cacumen erant,

postmodo glans nata est: bene erat iam glande reperta,

duraque magnificas quercus habebat opes.

prima Ceres homine ad meliora alimenta vocato

mutavit glandes utiliore cibo.

illa iugo tauros collum praebere coegit:

tunc primum soles eruta vidit humus.

aes erat in pretio, chalybeia massa latebat:

eheu! perpetuo debuit illa tegi.

pace Ceres laeta est; et vos orate, coloni,

perpetuam pacem pacificumque ducem,

farra deae micaeque licet salientis honorem

detis et in veteres turea grana focos,

et, si tura aberunt, unctas accendite taedas:

parva bonae Cereri, sint modo casta, placent,

a bove succincti cultros removete ministri:

bos aret; ignavam sacrificate suem.

apta iugo cervix non est ferienda securi:

vivat et in dura saepe laboret humo.

Exigit ipse locus, raptus ut virginis edam:

plura recognosces, pauca docendus eris.

terra tribus scopulis vastum procurrit in aequor

Trinacris, a positu nomen adepta loci,

grata domus Cereri, multas ea possidet urbes,

in quibus est culto fertilis Henna solo.

frigida caelestum matres Arethusa vocarat:

venerat ad sacras et dea flava dapes.

filia, consuetis ut erat comitata puellis,

errabat nudo per sua prata pede.

valle sub umbrosa locus est aspergine multa

uvidus ex alto desilientis aquae.

tot fuerant illic, quot habet natura, colores,

pictaque dissimili flore nitebat humus.

quam simul aspexit, ‘comites, accedite’ dixit

‘et mecum plenos flore referte sinus.’

praeda puellares animos prolectat inanis,

et non sentitur sedulitate labor.

haec implet lento calathos e vimine nexos,

haec gremium, laxos degravat illa sinus:

illa legit calthas, huic sunt violaria curae,

illa papavereas subsecat ungue comas:

has, hyacinthe, tenes; illas, amarante, moraris:

pars thyma, pars rorem, pars meliloton amat.

plurima lecta rosa est, sunt et sine nomine flores;

ipsa crocos tenues liliaque alba legit,

carpendi studio paulatim longius itur,

et dominam casu nulla secuta comes.

hanc videt et visam patruus velociter aufert

regnaque caeruleis in sua portat equis,

illa quidem clamabat ‘io, carissima mater,

auferor!’ ipsa suos abscideratque sinus:

panditur interea Diti via, namque diurnum

lumen inadsueti vix patiuntur equi.

at chorus aequalis, cumulatis flore canistris,

‘Persephone,’ clamant ‘ad tua dona veni!’

ut clamata silet, montes ululatibus implent

et feriunt maesta pectora nuda manu.

attonita est plangore Ceres (modo venerat Hennam)

nec mora, ‘me miseram! filia,’ dixit ‘ubi es?’

mentis inops rapitur, quales audire solemus

Threicias fusis maenadas ire comis,

ut vitulo mugit sua mater ab ubere rapto

et quaerit fetus per nemus omne suos:

sic dea nec retinet gemitus et concita cursu

fertur et a campis incipit, Henna, tuis.

inde puellaris nacta est vestigia plantae

et pressam noto pondere vidit humum;

forsitan illa dies erroris summa fuisset,

si non turbassent signa reperta sues.

iamque Leontinos Amenanaque flumina cursu

praeterit et ripas, herbifer Aci, tuas;

praeterit et Cyanen et fontes lenis Anapi

et te, verticibus non adeunde Gela.

liquerat Ortygien Megareaque Pantagienque,

quaque Symaetheas accipit aequor aquas,

antraque Cyclopum positis exusta caminis,

quique locus curvae nomina falcis habet,

Himeraque et Didymen Acragantaque Tauromenumque

sacrarumque Melan pascua laeta boum.

hinc Camerinan adit Thapsonque et Heloria Tempe.

quaque iacet Zephyro semper apertus Eryx.

iamque Peloriadem Lilybaeaque, iamque Pachynon

lustrarat, terrae cornua trina suae.

quacumque ingreditur, miseris loca cuncta querellis

implet, ut amissum cum gemit ales Ityn,

perque vices modo ‘Persephone!’ modo ‘filia!’ clamat,

clamat et alternis nomen utrumque ciet.

sed neque Persephone Cererem nec filia matrem

audit, et alternis nomen utrumque perit;

unaque, pastorem vidisset an arva colentem,

vox erat ‘hac gressus ecqua puella tufit?’

iam color unus inest rebus, tenebrisque teguntur

omnia, iam vigiles conticuere canes:

alta iacet vasti super ora Typhoeos Aetne,

cuius anhelatis ignibus ardet humus;

illic accendit geminas pro lampade pinus:

hinc Cereris sacris nunc quoque taeda datur.

est specus exesi structura pumicis asper,

non homini regio, non adeunda ferae:

quo simul ac venit, frenatos curribus angues

iungit et aequoreas sicca pererrat aquas,

effugit et Syrtes et te, Zanclaea Charybdis,

et vos, Nisaei, naufraga monstra, canes,

Hadriacumque patens late bimaremque Corinthum:

sic venit ad portus, Attica terra, tuos.

hic primum sedit gelido maestissima saxo:

illud Cecropidae nunc quoque triste vocant.

sub Iove duravit multis inmota diebus,

et lunae patiens et pluvialis aquae,

fors sua cuique loco est: quod nunc Cerialis Eleusin

dicitur, hoc Celei rura fuere senis.

ille domum glandes excussaque mora rubetis

portat et arsuris arida ligna focis.

filia parva duas redigebat monte capellas,

et tener in cunis filius aeger erat.

‘mater!’ ait virgo (mota est dea nomine matris)

‘quid facis in solis incomitata locis?’

restitit et senior, quamvis onus urget, et orat,

tecta suae subeat quantulacumque casae.

illa negat, simularat anum mitraque capillos

presserat. instanti talia dicta refert:

‘sospes eas semperque parens! mihi filia rapta est.

heu, melior quanto sors tua sorte mea est!’

dixit, et ut lacrimae (neque enim lacrimare deorum est)

decidit in tepidos lucida gutta sinus,

flent pariter molles animis virgoque senexque;

e quibus haec iusti verba fuere senis:

‘sic tibi, quam raptam quaeris, sit filia sospes,

surge nec exiguae despice tecta casae.’

cui dea ‘duc!’ inquit ‘scisti, qua cogere posses,’

seque levat saxo subsequiturque senem,

dux comiti narrat, quam sit sibi filius aeger

nec capiat somnos invigiletque malis.

illa soporiferum, parvos initura penates,

colligit agresti lene papaver humo;

dum legit, oblito fertur gustasse palato

longamque imprudens exsoluisse famem.

quae quia principio posuit ieiunia noctis,

tempus habent mystae sidera visa cibi.

limen ut intravit, luctus videt omnia plena:

iam spes in puero nulla salutis erat.

matre salutata (mater Metanira vocatur)

iungere dignata est os puerile suo.

pallor abit, subitasque vident in corpore vires:

tantus caelesti venit ab ore vigor.

tota domus laeta est, hoc est materque paterque

nataque: tres illi tota fuere domus.

mox epulas ponunt, liquefacta coagula lacte

pomaque et in ceris aurea mella suis.

abstinet alma Ceres somnique papavera causas

dat tibi cum tepido lacte bibenda, puer.

noctis erat medium placidique silentia somni:

Triptolemum gremio sustulit illa suo

terque manu permulsit eum, tria carmina dixit,

carmina mortali non referenda sono,

inque foco corpus pueri vivente favilla

obruit, humanum purget ut ignis onus.

excutitur somno stulte pia mater et amens

‘quid facis?’ exclamat membraque ab igne rapit.

cui dea ‘dum non es’ dixit ‘scelerata, fuisti:

inrita materno sunt mea dona metu.

iste quidem mortalis erit, sed primus arabit

et seret et culta praemia tollet humo.’

dixit et egrediens nubem trahit inque dracones

transit et alifero tollitur axe Ceres.

Sunion expositum Piraeaque tuta recessu

linquit et in dextrum quae iacet ora latus.

hinc init Aegaeum, quo Cycladas aspicit omnes,

Ioniumque rapax Icariumque legit,

perque urbes Asiae longum petit Hellespontum,

diversumque locis alta pererrat iter.

nam modo turilegos Arabas, modo despicit Indos,

hinc Libys, hinc Meroe siccaque terra subest;

nunc adit Hesperios Rhenum Rhodanumque Padumque

teque, future parens, Thybri, potentis aquae,

quo feror? inmensum est erratas dicere terras:

praeteritus Cereri nullus in orbe locus.

errat et in caelo liquidique inmunia ponti

adloquitur gelido proxima signa polo:

‘Parrhasides stellae (namque omnia nosse potestis,

aequoreas numquam cum subeatis aquas),

Persephonen natam miserae monstrate parenti!’

dixerat, huic Helice talia verba refert:

‘crimine nox vacua est; Solem de virgine rapta

consule, qui late facta diurna videt.’

Sol aditus ‘quam quaeris,’ ait ‘ne vana labores,

nupta Iovis fratri tertia regna tenet.’

questa diu secum, sic est adfata Tonantem,

maximaque in voltu signa dolentis erant:

‘si memor es, de quo mihi sit Proserpina nata,

dimidium curae debet habere tuae.

orbe pererrato sola est iniuria facti

cognita: commissi praemia raptor habet.

at neque Persephone digna est praedone marito,

nec gener hoc nobis more parandus erat.

quid gravius victore Gyge captiva tulissem,

quam nunc te caeli sceptra tenente tuli?

verum impune ferat, nos haec patiemur inultae;

reddat et emendet facta priora novis.’

Iuppiter hanc lenit factumque excusat amore,

‘nec gener est nobis ille pudendus’ ait.

‘non ego nobilior: posita est mihi regia caelo,

possidet alter aquas, alter inane chaos,

sed si forte tibi non est mutabile pectus,

statque semel iuncti rumpere vincla tori,

hoc quoque temptemus, siquidem ieiuna remansit;

si minus, inferni coniugis uxor erit.’

Tartara iussus adit sumptis Caducifer alis

speque redit citius visaque certa refert:

‘rapta tribus’ dixit ‘solvit ieiunia granis,

Punica quae lento cortice poma tegunt.’

non secus indoluit, quam si modo rapta fuisset,

maesta parens, longa vixque refecta mora est,

atque ita ‘nec nobis caelum est habitabile’ dixit;

‘Taenaria recipi me quoque valle iube.’

et factura fuit, pactus nisi Iuppiter esset,

bis tribus ut caelo mensibus illa foret.

tum demum voltumque Ceres animumque recepit

imposuitque suae spicea serta comae;

largaque provenit cessatis messis in arvis,

et vix congestas area cepit opes.

alba decent Cererem: vestis Cerialibus albas

sumite; nunc pulli velleris usus abest.

—

P. Ovidius Naso, “Fastorum Libri Sex,” Lib. IV 393-620

  Cerealia was a major festival celebrated for Ceres, the Roman goddess of grain (among many other things). It was held for seven days during mid-late April. The exact dates aren’t known. 

  An activity apparently done at this festival was tying blazing torches to the tails of live foxes. The reason for this is unknown, but its speculated that it might’ve been to cleanse growing crops and protect them from disease, or to add “warmth and vitality” to their growth. x A legend says that this was to punish foxes for killing chickens. No clue!

Happy Cerealia!!!

Today is the Roman festival of Ceres. Above are couple photos from the ritual, and while I recover in my cozy bed I will share a story with you. This is from Ovid's Metamorphoses, Melville's translation. (TW: Abduction, Rape)

The Abduction of Proserpine

"The land of Sicily quakes as Typhoeus the Giant buried beneath the island heaves and even Rex Silentum (the king who rules the land of silence) shudders lest the ground in gaping seams should open and the day stream down and terrify the trembling Umpire. Tyrannus had left his dark domains to and fro, drawn in his chariot and sable steeds, inspected the foundations of the isle. His survey done, and no point found to fail, he put his fears aside; when, as he roamed, Erycina from her mountain throne, saw him and clasped her swift-winged son, and said: ‘Cupido, my child, my warrior, my power, take those sure shafts with which you conquer all, and shoot your speedy arrows to the heart of the great god to whom the last lot fell when the three realms were drawn. Your majesty subdues the gods of heaven and sea... Why should Tartara lag behind? Why not there too extend your mother's empire and your own? The third part of the world's at stake, while we in heaven (so long-suffering!) are despised - my power grows less, and less the power of Amor. Do you not see how Pallas and Diana, queen of the chase, have both deserted me? And Ceres' daughter, if we suffer it, will stay a virgin too - her hope's the same. So for the sake of our joint sovereignty, if that can touch your pride, unite in love that goddess and her uncle.’ 

So she spoke. Then Cupido guided by his mother, opened his quiver and of all his thousand arrows selected one, the sharpest and the surest, the arrow most obedient to the bow, and bent the pliant horn against his knee and shot the barbed shaft deep in Dis' heart. Not far from Henna's walls there is a lake, Pergus by name, its waters deep and still; it hears the music of the choiring swans as sweet as on Caystros' gliding stream. Woods crown the waters, ringing every side, their leaves like awnings barring the sun's beams. The boughs give cooling shade, the watered grass is gay with spangled flowers of every hue, and always it is spring. Here Proserpina was playing in a glade and picking flowers, pansies and lilies, with a child's delight, filling her basket and her lap to gather more than the other girls, when, in a trice, Dis saw her, loved her, carried her away - love leapt in such a hurry! Terrified, in tears, the goddess called her mother, called her comrades too, but oftenest her mother; and, as she'd torn the shoulder of her dress, the folds slipped down and out the flowers fell, and she, in innocent simplicity, grieved in her girlish heart for their loss too. Away the chariot sped; her captor urged each horse by name and shook the dark-dyed reins on mane and neck. On through deep lakes he drove, on through Palici's sulphurous pools that boil in reeking chasms, on past Bacchiadae, where settlers once from Corinthus' isthmus built between two harbours their great battlements. 

 A bay confined by narrow points of land lies between Arethusa Pisaea and Cyane. And there lived Cyane, the most renowned of all the Nymphae Sicelidae, who gave her pool its name. Out of her waters' midst she rose waist-high and recognised the goddess. ‘Stop, stop!’ she cried, ‘You cannot take this girl to wife against Queen Ceres' will! She ought to have been wooed, not whirled away. I too, if humble things may be compared with great, was loved; Anapus married me; but I was wooed and won, not, like this girl, frightened and forced.’ She held out her arms outstretched to bar his way. But Saturnius restrained his wrath no longer. Urging on his steeds, his terrible steeds, and brandishing aloft his royal sceptre in his strong right arm, he hurled it to the bottom of the pool. The smitten earth opened a way to Hell and down the deep abyss the chariot plunged. But Cyane, heartbroken at the rape of Proserpine and at her pool's outrage, in silence carried in her heart a wound beyond consoling, and in endless tears she wasted away. Into the pool - her pool and she but now its deity - she spread dissolved.

Ceres Searches for Proserpina

Ceres meanwhile in terror sought her child vainly in every land, o'er every sea. Never Aurora (the Dawn) rising with dewy hair, nor ever Hesperus (the Evening Star) saw her at rest. She lit pine-torches, one in either hand, at Aetna's fires, and through the frosty dark bore them unsleeping. When the friendly day had dimmed the stars, she sought her daughter still from sunrise until sunset hour by hour...

Through what far lands and seas the goddess roved were long to tell; the whole world failed her search. She turned again to Sicania and there, in wanderings that led her everywhere, she too reached Cyane; who would have told all, had she not been changed. She longed to tell but had no mouth, no tongue, nor any means of speaking. Even so she gave a clue, clear beyond doubt, and floating on her pool she showed the well-known sash which Persephone had chanced to drop there in the sacred spring.

How well the goddess knew it! Then at last she seemed to understand her child was stolen, and tore her ruffed hair and beat her breast. Where the girl was she knew not, but reproached the whole wide world - ungrateful, not deserving her gift of grain - and Trinacria in chief where she had found the traces of her loss. So there with angry hands she broke the ploughs that turned the soil and sent to death alike the farmer and his labouring ox, and bade the fields betray their trust, and spoilt the seeds...

Then that fair Nymphe Alpheias rose from her pool and brushed back from he brow her dripping hair, and said : ‘O thou, divine Mother, who through the world hast sought thy child... The land is innocent; against its will it opened for that rape. While beneath the earth I glided in my Stygian stream, I saw, myself with my own eyes, your Proserpina. Her looks were sad, and fear still in her eyes; and yet a queen, and yet of that dark land Empress, and yet with power and majesty the consort of the Tyrannus Infernus (Sovereign lord of Hell).’ The mother heard in horror, thunderstruck it seemed and turned to stone.

The Return of Proserpina

Then as her shock so great gave way to grief as great, she soared borne in her chariot, to the sky's bright realms and stood, with clouded face and hair let loose, indignant before Jove and said: ‘I come to plead for my own flesh and blood, yours too; and if the mother finds no favour, let at least the daughter move her father's heart; love her not less because I gave her birth. Behold the daughter I have sought so long is found, if found is surer loss, or if but to know where she is finding her. Her theft I'll bear if he'll but bring her back; a thief, a kidnapper's no proper husband for child of yours, even if she's mine no more.’

And Juppiter replied: ‘The child is yours and mine, our common care and love, If we allow things proper names, here is no harm, no crime, but love and passion. Such a son-in-law, if you, Ma'am, but consent, will not disgrace us. To be Jove's brother, what a splendid thing! - if that were all! What then, when that's not all, when he yields place to me only because the lots so fell? But if your heart's so set to part them, Proserpina shall reach the sky again on one condition, that in Hell her lips have touched no food; such is the rule forestablished by the three Parcae.’

So Jove replied; but Ceres was resolved to win her daughter back. Not so fate permitted, for the girl had broken her fast and wandering, childlike, through the orchard trees from a low branch had picked a pomegranate and peeled the yellow rind and found the seeds and nibbled seven. The only one who saw was Orphne's son, Ascalaphus, whom she, no the least famous of the Nymphae Avernales, bore once to Acheron in her dusky bower. He saw and told, in spite, and by his tale stole her return away. The Queen of Hell (Regina Erebi) groaned in distress and changed the tale-bearer into a bird. She threw into his face water from Phlegethon, and lo! a beak and feathers and enormous eyes! Reshaped, he wears great tawny wings, his head swells huge... a loathsome bird, ill omen for mankind, a skulking screech-owl, sorrow's harbinger.

(Left to right: "Ceres and Pan" Rubens, "Ceres" Rysselberghe, "The Goddess Ceres and the symbols of fertility" Janssens, Fresco detail from Villa Nichesola Conforti)

Regina caeli, sive tu Ceres 

alma frugum parens originalis, 

quae, repertu laetata filiae, 

vetustatae glandis ferino remoto pabulo, 

miti commostrato cibo nunc 

Eleusiniam glebam percolis -

Spring, Lawrence Alma-Tadema, 1894

a small section of one of my favorite paintings that i've ever seen