by Catullus
House-door
First then, that she came to us a virgin is untrue. She gave her maidenhead, not to her husband, but to his father.
Catullus
What? A father in love with his own daughter-in-law? An affectionate father indeed!
House-door
And yet this not only does Brixia say she well knows, Brixia that lies close under the citadel of Chinea, the town through which runs the soft stream of golden Melo, Brixia dear mother of my own Verona; but she tells stories about Postumius, and the amours of Cornelius, with whom she enjoyed unlawful love.
Catullus
Here some one will say: “What, house-door, do you know all this, you who never may be away from your master’s threshold, nor hear the people talk, but fixed under this lintel have nothing to do but to shut or open the house?
House-door
I have often heard her telling these crimes of hers with hushed voice alone with her maids, speaking of those by name of whom I spoke; she thought, no doubt, that I had neither tongue nor ear. She added besides one whom I do not choose to mention by name, lest he should arch his red brows. He is a tall man, and was once troubled with a great lawsuit, from a falsely imputed child-birth.
LXVIII
To Manlius
THAT you, weighed down as you are by fortune and bitter chance, should send me this letter written with tears, to bid me succour a shipwrecked man cast up by the foaming waters of the sea, and restore him from the threshold of death, whom neither does holy Venus suffer to rest, deserted in his widowed bed, nor do the Muses charm him with the sweet poetry of ancient writers, when his mind keeps anxious vigil; — this is grateful to me, since you call me your friend, and come to me for the gifts both of the Muses and of Love.
[11] But, dear Manlius, that my troubles may not be unknown to you, and that you may not think I am tired of the duty of a friend, let me tell you what are the waves of fortune in which I too am whelmed; so will you not again require gifts of happiness from one who is unblest.
[15] At the time when first a white dress was given to me, when my youth in its flower was keeping jocund spring-time, I wrote merry poems enough; not unknown am I to the goddess who mingles with her cares a sweet bitterness.
[19] But all care for this is gone from me by my brother’s death. Ah me unhappy, who have lost you, my brother! You, brother, you by your death have destroyed my happiness; with you all my house is buried. With you all my joys have died, which your sweet love cherished, while yet you lived. By reason of your death, I have banished from all my mind these thoughts and all the pleasures of my heart.
[27] And so, when you write, “It is no credit to you, Catullus, to be at Verona; because here, where I am, all the young men of better condition warm their cold limbs in the bed deserted by you”; that, Manlius, is rather a misfortune than a discredit. You will forgive me then, if I do not render to you those services which grief has taken from me at a time when I cannot do it.
[33] For as for my not having plenty of authors at hand, that is because I live at Rome: that is my home, that is my abode, there my life is spent; when I come here only one small box out of many attends me. And since this is so, I would not have you judge that it is due to niggardly mind or ungenerous temper, that you have not received a full supply of what you ask of each kind: I would have offered it unasked, if I had any such resources.
LXVIIIA
I CANNOT, O ye goddesses, refrain from telling what the matter was in which Allius helped me, and how greatly he helped me by his services, lest time flying with forgetful ages hide in blind night this kindly zeal of his. But to you I will tell it; do you hand on the tale to many thousands, and let the paper speak this in its old age.
* * * * *
and let him be famous more and more in death; and let not the spider who weaves her thin web aloft spread her work over the neglected name of Allius. For how much sorrow of heart the wily goddess of Amathus gave me, ye know, and in what fashion she scorched me. When I was burning as hotly as the Trinacrian rock and the Malian water at Oetean Thermopylae, when my sad eyes never rested from wasting with perpetual tears, nor my cheeks from streaming with a flood of sorrow; — as at the top of a lofty mountain a bright stream leaps forth from a moss-grown rock, and gushing headlong down the steep valley crosses the mid way thronged by the people, a sweet solace in his labour to the weary wayfarer when sultry heat makes the parched fields to gape; and as to mariners tossed by the black storm comes a favouring breeze with gentler breath, sought by prayer now to Pollux, now to Castor; — such an aid to me was Allius; he opened a broad track across the fenced field, he gave me access to a house and its mistress, under whose roof we should together enjoy each his own love. Thither my fair goddess delicately stepped, and set the sole of her shining foot on the smooth threshold, as she pressed on her slender sandal: even as once Laodamia came burning with love to the house of Protesilaus, that house begun in vain, since not yet had a victim’s sacred blood appeased the Lords of heaven. Lady of Rhamnus, never may that please me which is undertaken amiss without the will of our Lords.
[39] How much the starved altar craves for the blood of pious sacrifices, Laodamia learnt by the loss of her husband; forced to loose her arms from the neck of her new spouse, before the coming of one and then a second winter with its long nights should content her passionate love, that she might endure to live, though her husband was taken from her; and this the Fates had ordained to come in no long time, if once he went as a soldier to the walls of Ilium.
[47] For then it was, because of the rape of Helen, that Troy began to summon against herself the chieftains of the Argives, Troy — O horror! — the common grave of Europe and Asia, Troy the untimely tomb of all heroes and heroic deeds: Troy brought pitiable death to my brother also; alas! my brother, taken from me unhappy, alas! dear light of my eyes, taken from thy unhappy brother: with thee now is all my house buried; all my joys have perished together with thee, which while thou wert alive thy sweet love cherished. Thee now far, far away, not among familiar graves, nor laid to rest near the ashes of thy kinsfolk, but buried in hateful Troy, ill-omened Troy, a foreign land holds in a distant soil.
[61] To Troy at that time all the youth of Greece is said to have hastened together, deserting their hearths and homes, that Paris might not enjoy undisturbed leisure in a peaceful chamber, rejoicing in the rape of his paramour.
[65] By that sad chance then, fairest Laodamia, wast thou bereft of thy husband, sweeter to thee than life and soul; so strong the tide of love, so whelming the eddy that bore thee into the sheer abyss, deep as that gulf which (say the Greeks) near Cyllenian Pheneus drains away the swamp, and dries up the rich soil which of old the false-fathered son of Amphitryon is said to have dug out, cutting away the heart of the hill, what time with sure shaft he hit the monsters of Stymphalus at the bidding of a meaner lord, that the door of heaven might be frequented by more gods, and that Hebe might not long be unmated. But deeper than that gulf was thy deep love, which taught thee though untamed to bear the yoke.
[79] Not so dear to her age-stricken parent is the head of the late-born grandchild which his only daughter nurses, who, scarce at length appearing as an heir to ancestral wealth, and having his name brought into the witnessed tablets, puts an end to the unnatural joy of the kinsman, now in his turn derided, and drives away the vulture that waits for the hoary head; nor did ever dove delight so much in her snowy mate, though the dove bites and bills and snatches kisses more wantonly than any woman, be she amorous beyond others’ measure. You alone surpassed the passion of these, when once you were matched with your golden-haired husband.
[91] Even so kind, or but little less, was she, my bright one, who came into my arms; and often around her flitting hither and thither Cupid shone fair in vest of saffron hue. And though she is not content with Catullus alone, I will bear the faults, for few they are, of my modest mistress, lest we become as tiresome as jealous fools. Juno, too, greatest of the heavenly ones, often
keeps down her anger for her husband’s fault, as she learns the many loves of all amorous Jove. Yet since it is not fit that men should be compared with gods away, then, with the hateful severity of an anxious father. And after all she did not come for me led by her father’s hand into a house fragrant with Assyrian odours, but gave me in the wondrous night sweet stolen gifts, taken from the very bosom of her husband himself. Wherefore it is enough if to me alone is granted the day which she marks with a whiter stone.
This gift— ’twas all I could — set forth in verse is returned to you, Allius, for many kind offices; lest this and that day, and another and another should touch your name with corroding rust. To this the gods will add those countless gifts which Themis of old was wont to give to pious men of ancient time.
May ye be happy, both you, and with you your dear Life, and the house in which you and I sported, and its mistress, and he who first [ ] for us, from whom first all those good things had their springing for me. And far before all, she who is dearer to me than myself, my Light, whose life alone makes it sweet to me to live.
LXIX
You need not wonder why no dainty woman cares to come to your arms, Rufus, not though you may shake her by the gift of a dress of fine texture, or some delightful transparent jewel. What hurts you is a slander that says you have the rank goat under your armpits: this is what they all fear, and no wonder; ’tis a horrid beast, and no bedfellow for a pretty girl. Then kill that which so cruelly outrages our noses, or wonder no more why they run away.
LXX
THE woman I love says that there is no one whom she would rather marry than me, not if Jupiter himself were to woo her. Says; — but what a woman says to her ardent lover should be written in wind and running water.
LXXI
IF there ever was a good fellow afflicted with rankness, or one who was racked for his sins with the gout, your rival who shares your privileges has got both from you to a marvel. Whenever they meet, they both pay dear for it; she is overwhelmed with the gust, he half dead with the gout.
LXXII
You used once to say that Catullus was your only friend, Lesbia, and that you would not prefer Jupiter himself to me. I loved you then, not only as the common sort love a mistress, but as a father loves his sons and sons-in-law. Now I know you; and therefore, though I burn more ardently, yet you are in my sight much less worthy and lighter. How can that be? you say. Because such an injury as this drives a lover to be more of a lover, but less of a friend.
LXXIII
LEAVE off wishing to deserve any thanks from any one, or thinking that any one can ever become grateful. All this wins no thanks; to have acted kindly is nothing, rather it is wearisome, wearisome and harmful; so is it now with me, who am vexed and troubled by no one so bitterly as by him who but now held me for his one and only friend.
LXXIV
GELLIUS had heard that his uncle used to reprove any one who talked of indulgence or used it. To avoid this himself, he seduced his uncle’s own wife, and so made him dumbness on a monument. He did what he wanted; for even if he should tackle the uncle himself, uncle will not say a word.
LXXV
To this point is my mind reduced by your fault, my Lesbia, and has so ruined itself by its own devotion, that now it can neither wish you well though you should become the best of women, nor cease to love you though you do the worst that can be done.
LXXVI
IF a man can take any pleasure in recalling the thought of kindnesses done, when he thinks that he has been a true friend; and that he has not broken sacred faith, nor in any compact has used the majesty of the gods in order to deceive men, then there are many joys in a long life for you, Catullus, earned from this thankless love. For whatever kindness man can show to man by word or deed has been said and done by you. All this was entrusted to an ungrateful heart, and is lost: why then should you torment yourself now any more? Why do you not settle your mind firmly, and draw back, and cease to be miserable, in despite of the gods? It is difficult suddenly to lay aside a long-cherished love. It is difficult; but you should accomplish it, one way or another. This is the only safety, this you must carry through, this you are to do, whether it is possible or impossible. Ye gods, if mercy is your attribute, or if ye ever brought aid to any at the very moment of death, look upon me in my trouble, and if I have led a pure life, take away this plague and ruin from me. Ah me! what a lethargy creeps into my inmost joints, and has cast out all joys from my heart! No longer is this my prayer, that she should love me in return, or, for that is impossible, that she should consent to be chaste. I would myself be well again and put away this baleful sickness. O ye gods, grant me this in return for my piety.
LXXVII
RUFUS, whom I, your friend, trusted in vain, and to no purpose — in vain? nay, rather at a great and ruinous price — have you stolen into my heart and burning into my vitals torn away, alas, all my blessings? Torn away, alas, alas! you the cruel poison of my life, alas, alas! you the deadly bane of my friendship.
LXXVIII
GALLUS has two brothers; one has a most charming wife, the other a charming boy. Gallus is a gallant: he helps love’s course, and brings the gallant lad to the arms of the gallant lass. Gallus is a fool, and does not see that he has a wife of his own, when he teaches a nephew how to seduce an uncle’s wife. But now what annoys me is that your nasty spittle has touched the pure lips of a pure girl. But you shall not have it gratis; all generations shall know you, and beldame Rumour shall tell what you are.
LXXIX
LESBIUS is a pretty boy; why not? since Lesbia likes him better than you, Catullus, with all your kin. But this pretty boy would sell Catullus and all his kin if he could find three acquaintances to vouch for him.
LXXX
WHAT reason can I give, Gellius, why those ruddy lips become whiter than snow when you rise in the morning or the eighth hour awakes you from your soft siesta in the long hours of the day? Something there is assuredly: is the gossip true that you are given to vice? So it is assuredly: the signs attest it.
LXXXI
COULD there not, Juventius, be found in all this people a pretty fellow whom you might begin to like, besides that friend of yours from the sickly region of Pisaurum, paler than a gilded statue, who now is dear to you, whom you presume to prefer to me, and know not what a deed you do?
LXXXII
QUINTIUS, if you wish Catullus to owe his eyes to you, or aught else that is dearer than eyes, if dearer aught there be, do not take from him what is much dearer to him than his eyes, or aught besides that dearer is than eyes.
LXXXIII
LESBIA says many hard things to me in the presence of her husband, a great joy to the fool. Dull mule, you understand nothing. If she forgot me and were silent, she would be heart-whole. But as it is, her snarling and railing means this: she not only remembers, but — a much more serious thing — she is angry; that is, she burns, and so she talks.
LXXXIV
ARRIUS if he wanted to say “honours” used to say “honours,” and for “intrigue.”
“hintrigue”; and thought he had spoken marvellous well, whenever he said “hambush” with as much emphasis as possible. So, no doubt, his mother had said, so Liber his uncle, so his grandfather and grandmother on the mother’s side. When he was sent into Syria, all our ears had a holiday; they heard the same syllables pronounced quietly and lightly, and had no fear of such words for the future: when on a sudden a dreadful message arrives, that the Ionian waves, ever since Arrius went there, are henceforth not “Ionian,” but “Hionian.”
LXXXV
I HATE and love. Why I do so, perhaps you ask. I know not, but I feel it, and I am in torment.
LXXXVI
QUINTIA is thought beautiful by many; I think her fair, tall, and straight. I so far allow each of these points, but I demur to “beautiful,” for she has no grace; there is not in the whole compass of her tall person one grain of salt. Lesbia is beautiful: for she possesses all the beauties, and has s
tolen all the graces from all the women alone for herself.
LXXXVII
No woman can say truly that she has been loved as much as you, Lesbia mine, were loved by me. No faithfulness in any bond was ever such as has been found on my part in my love for you.
LXXXVIII
WHAT is he doing, Gellius, who keeps vigil with mother and sister, tunics all thrown off? What is he doing, who will not let his uncle be a husband? Do you know how much guilt he incurs? More he incurs than furthest Tethys can wash away, or Ocean-father of the nymphs: for there is no guilt what, ever beyond for him to attain to.
LXXXIX
GELLIUS is thin, and well he may be; with a mother so kind and so lusty and lively, and a sister so charming, and so kind an uncle, and so many girls of his acquaintance all over the place, why should he cease to be lean? Even if he touch nothing but what none may touch, you will find any number of reasons why he should be lean.
XC
FROM the unholy commerce of Gellius and his mother let a Magian be born, and learn the Persian art of soothsaying; for a Magian must be the offspring of mother and son, if the unnatural religion of the Persians is true, so that their child may worship the gods with acceptable hymns, whilst melting the fat caul in the altar flame.
XCI
