NUMINISM

A Roman Religion For Today

POMONA AND VERTUMNUS: the story

The nymph Pomona tended her gardens and her lovely orchards. Gardens and fruit were all her care: no other was ever more skilled or diligent. Woods and rivers were nothing to her, only the fields, the branches bearing the prosperous fruits. She bore no javelin, but the curved pruning-hook, to trim the branches, check too luxuriant growth, or make incision for the engrafted twig to thrive and grow in. She would not let them thirst: the flowing waters poured down to the roots. This was her love, her passion. Venus was nothing to her, but she feared the violence of the rustics, kept men off from her closed orchard. Many tried to win her, thinking of every way, young dancing Satyrs, Pans with their horns disguised with pine, Silenus, who was always younger than his years, Priapus, the god who scares off thieves, either sickle or something else he carries.

And Vertumnus surpassed them all in love, and fared no better. How often he used to come, dressed as a reaper, bringing her grain in baskets, and he looked the very image of a reaper. Often he would come with hay around his ears and temples, fresh come, or so it seemed, from swathe and windrow, or he would have an ox-goad in his hand, and you would swear he had just unyoked his cattle. Leaf-gatherer, vine-pruner, hook in hand, or ladder on shoulder, like an appler picker, he could be any of these, or a fisherman with rod, or a soldier with a sword. So, often, in one guise or another, he would find his way to her, happy to watch her beauty. He wound some long gray hair around his temples, tied a bright scarf around his head, came hobbling, a bent old woman with a cane, to enter the garden, to admire the fruit, to tell her "But you are better!" And after the praise he kissed her, not once, but over and over: no real old woman kissed that way, ever. Then the poor old creature, bent almost double, squatted on the ground, squinting up at the branches bending under the weight of autumn. There was an elm-tree three, showy with shining clusters of grape. This drew approving nods, the trunk, the vine engrafted to it, and presently comment: "Ah, if that tree stood there alone, unmated, without its vine, its leaves would be the only reason for looking at it, and the vine, unwedded to the elm to which it clings, would lie on the dusty ground, and all for nothing! You do not imitate the vine's example, you do not want to marry, to join another. I wish you did: for you would have more suitors even than Helen or Hippodamia, over whom Lapiths and Centaurs went to war, more suitors than Penelope. A thousand men, although you shun and scorn them, still desire you, demi-gods and gods and all the powers that cherish these Alban hills. But if you will be wise, make a good match, pay heed to an old woman like me, who love you more than all the others, more than you would believe: listen to me!

Reject these nobodies, and choose Vertumnus to go to bed with. I stand sponsor for him; I know him. If not better than he knows himself, at least as well. No vagabond roaming the world, he dwells in these great places close by us here; and another thing about him, he is different from the rest, he does not love the latest girl he sees. He is not fickle, you will be his first and last and only love all his life, and he is young, and charming, can change himself to any shape, will always be what you want him to, no matter what orders you choose to give him. And he loves the things that you do: he is always first to cherish the apples you love, and he lays joyful hands upon your gifts, but what he really covets is not the fruits of your trees, nor the sweet herbs your garden bears, but you alone. Have pity! He loves you so. Can you not hear him pleading through me? Imagine him here, and that my lips are asking what he longs for. And beware the avenging gods and that Idalian goddess who hates the hard of heart, and do not anger Rhamnusian Nemesis, either. I have lived a long long time, and the years have brought me knowledge of many things; you must fear these powers, I tell you......
He tells the story of Iphis and Anaxarete.
.... the story had no effect, and his disguise was worthless. He put off woman'd garb, and stood before her in the light of his own radiance, as the sun breaks through the clouds against all opposition. Ready for force, he found no need; Pomona was taken by his beauty, and her passion answered his own.

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