Virgil Retold: A Re-Write Of The Classic Poetry

The Disposessed

Original Work: The Dispossessed, Virgil., Retrieved from E. V. Rieu. (1972). The Pastoral Poems.

And now, the retelling begins...

—

A warm sun has settled over the farmlands of the East, feeding the plants with its golden glow and strengthening the people with its shimmering ray of hope. The man, Meliboeus, walks silently along an old dirt road, his boots scuffed and smile faltering. He stops every few metres to admire the scenery, taking in the flow of the land. The breeze carries a sense of peace, the grass a sense of prosperity.

Feet drag through the yellow dirt, sending up sprays of misty gravel with each step. He tries not to think of the growing pain within his thighs as he walks up and down the many hills of the outer lands. Tries to focus his mind on the task of moving forward.

It takes the man a long time to reach his destination so far along the track, but what awaits him makes up for the long journey.

Before him, a farm is stretched out upon a long piece of land. Cattle graze on the juiciest grass and pigs play about in the barns noisily, while a yard of vines and fruit trees climbs up the hills toward the back. Meliboeus cannot help but smile at the sight of something so beautiful and unique. Cannot help but smile at what used to be his.

He closes his eyes for but a moment to take in the sound of the animals hurrying around their grounds and the wind whistling through the forest of crops, but notices something else instead. Something softer, more finicky, plays in the distance. He opens his eyes and follows the sound to a man lying lazily in the afternoon sunshine, back pressed up agains the cobble wall as he hums to the trees.

Meliboeus cannot stop himself walking over to the brat who stole this land away from him.

"Good afternoon, Tityrus," he greeted with as much composure as he can muster. It isn't much at all.

"Meliboeus, good friend and neighbour, how are you faring today?" The other said with a singing tone, inflecting every fourth syllable. It sounds beautiful. A shame such beauty was wasted on such a thief of a man.

Meliboeus made as best as he can to hide the anger burning at the ends of his fingers and rising up his throat. "While I was just exiled from my land and had it stripped away from my hands, you sit here singing, lazing in the shade!"

Tityrus smiled and tilted his head back, eyes wandering over the pastures. He seemed to take no notice of the aggressor's tone or, at the very least, did not seem to care. Meliboeus feels the anger growing inside of him.

"Exile for me and singing for you? How is that fair on any good man's conscience!?"

Tityrus, finally taking notice of the outburst, sat up straighter and replaced the fond smile with one of pride. "Yes, unfair, truly. The man I owe this all to must be a god to be treating me quite so well among others. Perhaps I shall build him an altar..."

Meliboeus wrinkled his eyebrow and scoffed. "Hey, now, don't think i'm jealous or anything. I was just... amazed by your luck. I have had it bad the past few days, struggling to walk this road with my herds. Might I ask who your god is?"

"Why, Rome itself, of course! I used to think life was made up of such small insignificances, but soon realised that it was the great things that truly matter, and so I took to Rome!"

"But what drove you to Rome over the other great cities?" Meliboeus said with as little distress as was possible on his part. The question was crafted from curiosity but dripping wet with envy.

"Ah, liberty," Tityrus mused, "I had it rough before this life on the farm, my good friend, barely any coins in my pockets on even the best of days. The people did not appreciate my entertainment as well as they could have."

"An entertainer by nature, well, no wonder the vineyards look so alive and the springs so content! They bask in your glorious song." Meliboeus made effort not to laugh at quiet how false a statement he was making.

"Well, there you have it, the god I found in Rome has placed me somewhere I belong then, has he not? Imagine what a dreary life I would have lived - how poor a man I would be - without this land."

"Yes, a happy man you are," the words were filled with hatred, "you have all this great pasture for your sheep and goats and all this goodness of the natural world, yet the marshlands creep in to swallow it up. A happy man you must be to be surrounded by Nymphs and song and breeze like what you are given."

"All could not be done without my patron-"

"Yes, happy man you must be," Meliboeus continued, "while the rest of us are so poor and dreary as you once were, yet you do not offer your assistance. A happy man you must be to know that it will be many years of my walking this dirt road before I find a place to call my home."

"Well," Tityrus said with a softening of his eyes as he truly saw what would befall the man before him, "perhaps you could stay here the night?"

In but a moment, in but a sentence, all the fury washed away from Meliboeus. He thought of the other's beautiful singing by the streams, the peace that had settled over his face as he laid basking in the sun and shade, the kindness he had shown to Rome and to Meliboeus himself. And, despite how jealous he had been but a minute before, he found himself accepting the invitation with open arms.