by Catullus
When she had poured out these words from her sad breast, earnestly demanding vengeance for cruel deeds; the Lord of the heavenly ones bowed assent with sovereign nod, and at that movement the earth and stormy seas trembled, and the heavens shook the quivering stars. But Theseus himself, darkling in his thoughts with blind dimness, let slip from his forgetful mind all the biddings which formerly he had held firm with constant heart, and raised not the welcome sign to his mourning father, nor showed that he was safely sighting the Erechthean harbour. For they say that ere while, when Aegeus was trusting his son to the winds, as with his fleet he left the walls of the goddess, he embraced the youth and gave him this charge: “My son, my only son, dearer to me than all my length of days restored to me but now in the last end of old age, my son, whom I perforce let go forth to doubtful hazards, — since my fortune and thy burning valour tear thee from me, unwilling me, whose failing eyes are not yet satisfied with the dear image of my son, I will not let thee go gladly with cheerful heart, nor suffer thee to bear the tokens of prosperous fortune: but first will bring forth many laments from my heart, soiling my gray hairs with earth and showered dust: thereafter will I hang dyed sails on thy roving mast, that so the tale of my grief and the fire that burns in my heart may be marked by the canvas stained with Iberian azure. But if she who dwells in holy Itonus, who vouchsafes to defend our race and the abodes of Erechtheus, shall grant thee to sprinkle thy right hand with the bull’s blood, then be sure that these my commands live, laid up in thy mindful heart, and that no length of time blur them: that as soon as thy eyes shall come within sight of our hills, thy yardarms may lay down from them their mourning raiment, and the twisted cordage raise a white sail: that so I may see at once and gladly welcome the signs of joy, when a happy hour shall set thee here in thy home again.”
These charges at first did Theseus preserve with constant mind; but then they left him, as clouds driven by the breath of the winds leave the lofty head of the snowy mountain. But the father, as he gazed out from his tower-top, wasting his longing eyes in constant tear-floods, when first he saw the canvas of the bellying sail, threw himself headlong from the summit of the rocks, believing Theseus destroyed by ruthless fate. Thus bold Theseus, as he entered the chambers of his home, darkened with mourning for his father’s death, himself received such grief as by forgetfulness of heart he had caused to the daughter of Minos. And she the while, gazing out tearfully at the receding ship, was revolving manifold cares in her wounded heart.
In another part of the tapestry youthful Bacchus was wandering with the rout of Satyrs and the Nysa-born Sileni, seeking thee, Ariadna, and fired with thy love;... who then, busy here and there, were raging with frenzied mind, while “Evoe!” they cried tumultuously, “Evoe!” shaking their heads.
Some of them were waving thyrsi with shrouded points, some tossing about the limbs of a mangled steer, some girding themselves with writhing serpents: some bearing in solemn procession dark mysteries enclosed in caskets, mysteries which the profane desire in vain to hear. Others beat timbrels with uplifted hands, or raised clear clashings with cymbals of rounded bronze: many blew horns with harsh-sounding drone, and the barbarian pipe shrilled with dreadful din.
Such were the figures that richly adorned the tapestry which embraced and shrouded with its folds the royal couch. Now when the Thessalian youth had gazed their fill, fixing their eager eyes on these wonders, they began to give place to the holy gods. Hereupon, as the west wind ruffling the quiet sea with its breath at morn urges on the sloping waves when the Dawn is rising up to the gates of the travelling Sun, the waters slowly at first, driven by gentle breeze, step on and lightly sound with plash of laughter; then as the breeze grows fresh they crowd on close and closer, and floating afar reflect a brightness from the crimson light; so now, leaving the royal buildings of the portal, hither and thither variously with devious feet the guests passed away.
After their departure, from the top of Pelion came Chiron leading the way, and bearing woodland gifts. For all the flowers that the plains bear, all that the Thessalian region brings to birth on its mighty mountains, all the flowers that near the river’s streams the fruitful gale of warm Favonrus discloses, these he brought himself, woven in mingled garlands, cheered with whose grateful odour the house smiled its gladness. Forthwith Penëus is there, leaving verdant Tempe, Tempe girt with impendent forests [ ] to be haunted by Dorian dances; not empty-handed, for he bore, torn up by the roots, lofty beeches and tall bay-trees with upright stem, and with them the nodding plane and the swaying sister of flame-devoured Phaethon, and the tall cypress. All these he wove far and wide around their home, that the portal might be greenly embowered with soft foliage. Him follows Prometheus wise of heart, bearing the faded scars of the ancient penalty which whilom, his limbs bound fast the rock with chains, he paid, hanging from the craggy summits. Then came the Father of the gods with his divine wife and his sons, leaving thee, Phoebus, alone in heaven, and with thee thine own sister who dwells in the heights of Idrus; for as thou didst, so did thy sister scorn Peleus, nor deigned to be present at the nuptial torches of Thetis.
So when they had reclined their limbs on the white couches, bountifully were the tables piled with varied dainties: whilst in the meantime, swaying their bodies with palsied motion, the Parcae began to utter soothceiling chants. White raiment enfolding their aged limbs robed their ankles with a crimson border; on their snowy heads rested rosy bands, while their hands duly plied the eternal task. The left hand held the distaff clothed with soft wool; then the right hand lightly drawing out the threads with upturned fingers shaped them, then with downward thumb twirled the spindle poised with rounded whorl; and so with their teeth they still plucked the threads and made the work even. Bitten ends of wool clung to their dry lips, which had before stood out from the smooth yarn: and at their feet soft fleeces of white-shining wool were kept safe in baskets of osier. They then, as they struck the wool, sang with clear voice, and thus poured forth the Fates in divine chant. That chant no length of time shall prove untruthful.
“O thou who crownest high renown with great deeds of virtue, bulwark of Emathian power, famed for thy son to be, receive the truthful oracle which on this happy day the Sisters reveal to thee; but run ye on, drawing the woof-threads which the fates follow, ye spindles, run.
“Soon will Hesperus come to thee, Hesperus, who brings longed-for gifts to the wedded, soon will come thy wife with happy star, to shed over thy spirit soul-quelling love, and join with thee languorous slumbers, laying her smooth arms under thy strong neck. Run, drawing the woof-threads, ye spindles, run.
“No house ever harboured such loves as these; no love ever joined lovers in such a bond as links Thetis with Peleus, Peleus with Thetis. Run, drawing the woof-threads, ye spindles, run.
“There shall be born to you a son that knows not fear, Achilles, known to his enemies not by his back but by his stout breast; who right often winner in the contest of the wide-ranging race shall outstrip the flame-fleet footsteps of the flying hind. Run, drawing the woof-threads, ye spindles, run.
“Against him not a hero shall match himself in war, when the Phrygian streams shall flow with Teucrian blood, and the third heir of Pelops shall lay waste the Trojan walls, with tedious war beleaguering. Run, drawing the woof-threads, ye spindles, run.
“The hero’s surpassing achievements and renowned deeds often shall mothers awn at the burial of their sons, loosing dishevelled hair from hoary head, and marring their withered breasts with weak hands. Run, drawing the woof-threads, ye spindles, run.
“For as the husbandman cropping the thick ears of corn under the burning sun mows down the yellow fields, so shall he lay low with foeman’s steel the bodies of the sons of Troy. Run, drawing the woof-threads, ye spindles, run.
“Witness of his great deeds of valour shall be the wave of Scamander which pours itself forth abroad in the current of Hellespont, whose channel he shall choke with heaps of slain corpses, and make the deep streams warm
with mingled blood. Run, drawing the woof-threads, ye spindles, run.
* * * * *
“Lastly, witness too shall be the prize assigned to him in death, when the rounded barrow heaped up with lofty mound shall receive the snowy limbs of the slaughtered maiden. Run, drawing the woof-threads, ye spindles, run.
“For so soon as Fortune shall give to the weary Achaeans power to loose the Neptune-forged circlet of the Dardanian town, the high tomb shall be wetted with Polyxena’s blood, who like a victim falling under the two-edged steel, shall bend her knee and bow her headless trunk. Run, drawing the woof-threads, ye spindles, run.
“Come then, unite the loves which your souls desire: let the husband receive in happy bonds the goddess, let the bride be given up — nay now! — to her eager spouse. Run, drawing the woof-threads, ye spindles, run.
“When her nurse visits her again with the morning light, she will not be able to circle her neck with yesterday’s riband; nor shall her anxious mother, saddened by lone-lying of an unkindly bride, give up the hope of dear descendants. Run, drawing the woof-threads, ye spindles, run.”
Such strains of divination, foreboding happiness to Peleus, sang the Fates from prophetic breast in days of yore. For in bodily presence of old, before religion was despised, the heavenly ones were wont to visit pious homes of heroes, and show themselves to mortal company. Often the Father of the gods coming down again, in his bright temple, when yearly feasts had come on his holy days, saw a hundred bulls fall to the ground. Often Liber roving on the topmost height of Parnassus drove the Thyades crying “Evoe!” with flying hair, when the Delphians, racing eagerly from all the town, joyfully received the god with smoking altars. Often in the death-bearing strife of war Mavors or the Lady of swift Triton or the Rhamnusian Virgin by their presence stirred up the courage of armed bands of men. But when the earth was dyed with hideous crime, and all men banished justice from their greedy souls, and brothers sprinkled their hands with brothers’ blood, the son left off to mourn his parents’ death, the father wished for the death of his young son, that he might without hindrance enjoy the flower of a young bride, the unnatural mother impiously coupling with her unconscious son did not fear to sin against parental gods: — then all right and wrong, confounded in impious madness, turned from us the righteous will of the gods. Wherefore they deign not to visit such companies, nor endure the touch of clear daylight.
LXV
To Hortalus
THOUGH I am worn out with constant grief, Hortalus, and sorrow calls me away, apart from the learned Maids, nor can the thoughts of my heart utter the sweet births of the Muses, tossed as it is with such waves of trouble; — so lately the creeping wave of the Lethaean flood has lapped my own brother’s death-pale foot, on whom, torn away from our sight, under the shore of Rhoeteum the soil of Troy lies heavy.
* * * *
Never shall I speak to thee, never hear thee tell of thy life; never shall I see thee again, brother more beloved than life: but surely I shall always love thee, always sing strains of mourning for thy death, as under the thick shadows of the boughs sings the Daulian bird bewailing the fate of Itylus lost. Yet, in such sorrows, Hortalus, I send to you these verses of Battiades translated, lest haply you should think that your words have slipped from my mind, vainly committed to wandering winds: as art apple sent as a secret gift from her betrothed lover falls out from the chaste bosom of the girl, which — poor child, she forgot it! — put away in her soft gown, is shaken out as she starts forward when her mother comes; then, see, onward, downward swiftly it rolls and runs; a conscious blush creeps over her downcast face.
LXVI
The Lock of Berenice
CONON, he who scanned all the lights of the vast sky, who learnt the risings of the stars and their settings, how the flaming blaze of the swift sun suffers eclipse, how the stars recede at set seasons, how sweet love calls Trivia from her airy circuit, banishing her secretly to the rocky cave of Latmus — that same Conon saw me shining brightly among the lights of heaven, me, the lock from the head of Berenice, me whom she vowed to many of the goddesses, stretching forth her smooth arms, at that season when the king, blest in his new marriage, had gone to waste the Assyrian borders.... Is Venus hated by brides? and do they mock the joys of parents with false tears, which they shed plentifully within their virgin bowers? No, so may the gods help me, they lament not truly. This my queen taught me by all her lamentations, when her newly wedded husband went forth to grim war. But your tears, forsooth, were not shed for the desertion of your widowed bed, but for the mournful parting from your dear brother, when sorrow gnawed the inmost marrow of your sad heart. At that time how from your whole breast did your anxious spirit fail, bereft of sense! and yet truly I knew you to be stout-hearted from young girlhood. Have you forgotten the brave deed by which you gained a royal marriage, braver deed than which none other could ever dare? But at that time in your grief, when parting from your husband, what words did you utter! How often, O Jupiter, did you brush away the tears with your hand! What mighty god has changed you thus? is it that lovers cannot bear to be far away from the side of him they love? And there to all the gods for your dear husband’s welfare you vowed me not without blood of bulls, so he should complete his return. He in no long time had added conquered Asia to the territories of Egypt. This is done; and now I am given as due to the host of heaven, and pay your former vows with a new offering. Unwillingly, O queen, I was parted from your head, unwillingly, I swear both by you and by your head; by which if any swear vainly, let him reap a worthy recompense. — But what man can claim to be as strong as steel? Even that mountain was overthrown, the greatest of all in those shores which the bright son of Thia traverses, when the Medes created a new sea, and when the youth of Persia swam in their fleet through mid Athos. What shall locks of hair do, when such things as this yield to steel? O, Jupiter, may all the race of the Chalybes perish, and he, who first began to seek for veins underground, and to forge hard bars of iron!
[51] My sister locks, sundered from me just before, were mourning for my fate, when the own brother of Ethiopian Memnon appeared, striking the air with waving wings, the winged courser of Loerian Arsinoe. And he sweeping me away flies through the airs of heaven and places me in the holy bosom of Venus. On that service had the Lady of Zephyrium, the Grecian queen, who sojourns on the shores of Canopus, herself sent her own minister. Then Venus — that among the various lights of heaven, not only should the golden crown taken from the brows of Ariadne be fixed, but that I also might shine, the dedicated spoil of Berenice’s sunny head — me too, wet with tears, and transported to the abodes of the gods, me a new constellation among the ancient stars did the goddess set; for I, touching the fires of the Virgin and the raging Lion, and close by Callisto daughter of Lycaon, move to my setting, while I point the way before slow Bootes, who scarce late at night dips in deep ocean. But though at night the footsteps of the gods press close upon me, whilst by day I am restored to gray Tethys (under thy sufferance let me speak this, O Virgin of Rhamnus; no fear shall make me hide the truth, no, not even though the stars shall rend me with angry words will I refrain from uttering the secrets of a true heart), I do not so much rejoice in this good fortune, as grieve that parted, ever parted must I be from the head of my lady; with whom of old, while she was still a virgin, delighting herself with all kinds of perfumes, I drank many thousands.
[79] Now, ye maidens, when the torch has united you with welcome light, yield not your bodies to your loving spouses, baring your breasts with vesture opened, before the onyx jar offers pleasant gifts to me, the jar which is yours, who reverence marriage in chaste wedlock. But as for her who gives herself up to foul adultery, ah! let the light dust drink up her worthless gifts unratified: for I ask no offerings from the unworthy. But rather, O ye brides, may concord evermore dwell in your homes, ever abiding Love. And you, my queen, when gazing up to the stars you propitiate Venus with festal lamps, let not me your handmaid want perfumes, but rather enrich me with
bounteous gifts. Why do the stars keep me here? I would fain be the queen’s lock once more; and let Orion blaze next to Aquarius.
LXVII
Catullus
HAIL, house-door, once dear to a well-beloved husband and dear to his father; hail, and may Jupiter bless you with kindly help; you door, who once, they say, did kindly service to Balbus, when the old man himself held the house, and who since then, as they tell us, are doing grudging service to his son, now that the old man is dead and laid out, and you are become the door of a wedded house.
Come tell us why you are said to be changed, and to have deserted your old faithfulness to your master.
House-door
It is not — so may I please Caecilius, whose property I am now become — it is not my fault, though it is said to be mine, nor can any one speak of any wrong done by me. But of course people will have it that the door does it all; all of them, whenever any ill deed is discovered, cry out to me, “House-door, the fault is yours.”
Catullus
It is not enough for you to say that with a single word, but so to do that any one may feel it and see it.
House-door
How can I? No one asks or cares to know.
Catullus
I wish to know — do not scruple to tell me.
