Delphi Complete Works of Tibullus
Page 1
The Complete Works of
TIBULLUS
(c. 55 BC–19 BC)
Contents
The Translations
PROSE TRANSLATION
VERSE TRANSLATION
The Latin Text
CONTENTS OF THE LATIN TEXT
The Dual Text
DUAL LATIN AND ENGLISH TEXT
The Biographies
THE ELEGIAC POETS by Charles Thomas Cruttwell
PROPERTIUS AND THE ELEGISTS by J. W. Mackail
© Delphi Classics 2015
Version 1
The Complete Works of
ALBIUS TIBULLUS
By Delphi Classics, 2015
The Translations
Ancient forum in Rome — little is known about Tibullus’ life. There are only a few references to him and his birthplace and gentile name have been much disputed.
PROSE TRANSLATION
Translated by J. P. Postgate
Very little is known about the life of Albius Tibullus (55 BC – 19 BC), the Latin poet and writer of elegies. There are only a few references to him in later writers and a short Life of doubtful authority. His praenomen is not known, nor is his birthplace and his gentile name has been questioned. His status was probably that of a Roman knight (which the spurious biography affirms) and it is conjectured that he inherited a considerable estate. But, like Virgil, Horace and Propertius, he seems to have lost most of his property in 41 BC amongst the confiscations of Mark Antony and Octavian. Tibullus’ chief friend and patron was Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus, who was himself an orator, poet and statesman, as well as firmly being established at the centre of a literary circle in Rome.
Tibullus’ extant works survive in two books, with the first consisting of poems written at various times between 30 and 26 BC. The poet’s principle lover, the subject of Book I, is addressed as Delia in the text, though we have since learnt from the novelist Apuleius (Apol. 10) that her real name was Plania. The poems which refer to Delia are arranged in no particular chronological order. It is revealed in the elegies that she was not entitled to wear the stola, the dress of Roman matrons (i. 6, 68), indicating her low social status. In the second elegy of the first book, her husband is mentioned as absent. Tibullus’ suit was favoured by Delia’s mother, of whom he speaks in affectionate terms in the sixth elegy. However, Tibullus is appalled to find that he was not Delia’s only lover and, with his entreaties and appeals being ignored, no more mention of Delia is made after the first book. In addition, several elegies in Book I concern Tibullus’ love for a boy named Marathus.
It is likely that the second book was published before the poet’s death in 19 BC, offering a smaller collection of 428 lines, as the book is believed to be incomplete. Delia’s place is filled by “Nemesis”, another fictitious name, who, like the Cynthia of Propertius, was most likely a courtesan of the higher class, having many other admirers besides Tibullus. He complains bitterly of his bondage, her greed and her hard-heartedness. In spite of all, however, she seems to have retained her hold on the poet until his death.
It is believed that many other works by Tibullus have been lost. A third and fourth book have survived antiquity, though they are very likely by the hands of other poets. The third book contains 290 verses by a much inferior poet. The writer calls himself Lygdamus and the love that he sings of Neaera. He has little poetical power and his style is meagre and superficial. We do not know when Lygdamus’ poems were added to the genuine poems of Tibullus. The fourth book consists of poems of very different quality, beginning with a composition of 211 hexameters on the achievements of Messalla — judged widely as being very poor in quality. The author is unknown; but he was certainly not Tibullus.
Tibullus’ style gives the impression of an amiable man, with generous impulses and unselfish disposition, revealing himself as loyal to his friends, to the point of self-sacrifice, and constant to his mistresses. His tenderness towards them is enhanced by his delicacy of expression, which demonstrates a rare trait among his fellow ancient writers. When treated cruelly by his lover, Tibullus does not invoke curses upon her head. Instead he goes to her little sister’s grave, hung so often with his garlands and wet with his tears, to bemoan his fate. His ideal is a quiet retirement in the country with his lover by his side. He expresses no ambition — not even a poet’s typical yearning for immortality. In an age of crude materialism and gross superstition, he was religious in the traditional old Roman way. His clear, polished and yet unaffected style made him a great favourite, placing him in the judgment of Quintilian ahead of other elegiac writers. For natural grace, tenderness and exquisiteness of feeling and expression, he stands alone. Tibullus is regarded as smoother and more musical in expression, though his elegies are liable to become monotonous, with many being ‘symmetrical’ in composition.
The best manuscript of Tibullus is the Ambrosianus (A), which has been dated c. 1375, whose earliest known owner was the humanist Coluccio Salutati. There are also a number of extracts from Tibullus in Florilegium Gallicum, an anthology from various Latin writers collected in the mid-twelfth century, and a few extracts in the Excerpta frisingensia, preserved in a manuscript now at Munich. Also excerpts from the lost Fragmentum cuiacianum, made by Scaliger, and now held in the library at Leiden are of importance for their independence of A.
Coluccio Salutati (1331-1406) was an Italian humanist and man of letters, being one of the most important political and cultural leaders of Renaissance Florence. He is the earliest known owner of the Ambrosianus (A) manuscript of Tibullus’ elegies.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
BOOK I
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
BOOK II
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
BOOK III
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
DOMITIUS MARSUS
Luca Signorelli’s depiction of Tibullus, c. 1499
INTRODUCTION
THE poems which have come down to us under the name of Tibullus consist of three books, the first two of which, published before his death in 19 B.C., were known to antiquity under the titles of Delia and Nemesis, the mistresses whom they celebrated. The third book (divided by the Renaissance scholars into two), which may be called the Messalla collection, and consisting of pieces by different hands, was added at some later time. Among its contents may be distinguished six elegies by one Lygdamus dedicated to a “Neaera,” a panegyric of Messalla in hexameter verse, five short and graceful poems on the love of Sulpicia, a kinswoman of Messalla, for a certain Cerinthus, and possibly written by Tibullus, followed by six very brief pieces by the lady herself, upon which they appear to have been founded, and, lastly, two poems of doubtful authorship, though the first (III. xix.) claims to be by Tibullus. On these questions, and on that of the name of the poet, generally said to be Albius Tibullus, see Postgate, Selections from Tibullus (ed. 2, 1910), pp xxxiv-li and 179-184.
The best of the complete extant MSS. is the Ambrosianus (A.), the only one cited in this edition. For the others and the lost or imperfect sources of the text and their values reference should be mad
e to the praefationes of the critical editions, or to the Critical Appendix in Selections from Tibullus, pp. 200 sqq.
The first two editions of Tibullus are that with Catullus, Propertius, and the Silvae of Statius by Vindelin de Spira (Venice, 1472), and one of Tibullus alone by Florentius de Argentina, probably published in the same year.
The chief commentaries on Tibullus still of value are Heyne’s (4th ed., 1819), Huschke’s (1819), and Dissen’s (1835), all in Latin. So also Némethy’s (1905-6). There is no complete English commentary. Postgate’s Selections contain the larger half. Modern critical editions are those of Baehrens (1878), Hiller (1885, with Index Verborum, a later recension in the new Corpus Poetarum Latinoruni), Postgate (Oxford Classical Texts, 1905), Cartault’s Tibulli, &c. (Paris, 1909). Cartault’s A propos du Corpus Tibullianum (1906) gives a valuable account of recent contributions. The articles on the poet in Schanz’s Geschichte der romischen Litteratur (1911) and Teuffel’s corresponding history (1910), and Marx’s article “Albius” in Pauly-Wissowa’s Realencyclopädie, may be recommended.
The Latin text here translated is based upon the text and apparatus criticus already published in the 188
Oxford Classical Texts, and is printed with the permission of the Delegates of the Clarendon Press. Only such notes are appended as are needful to save the reader from misunderstanding.
Square brackets in the translation are used to enclose matter which is not from Tibullus, whether it is a translation of a corrupt original or a conjectural supplement for a gap in the text.
J. P. POSTGATE
June 12, 1912
SINCE the above was written there has appeared The Elegies of Albius Tibullus, by Kirby Flower Smith (American Book Co., 1913), containing the Corpus Tibullianum, Latin text with Introduction and an ample commentary on Books I., II., and IV. II.-XIV. (= III. VIII.-end).
May 17, 1914 — J. P. POSTGATE
BOOK I
I
The Poet’s Ideal
1 LET others heap up their treasure of yellow gold; let theirs be many acres of well-tilled ground; let them live in constant fighting and alarms with the foeman at their gates, their slumbers routed by the outburst of the signal for the fray. But let the humble fortune that is mine lead me along a quiet path of life, so my hearth but shine with an unfailing fire.
25 May it now be mine to live for myself, to live contented with my little, and no more be ever vowed to distant marchings; but when the Dog-star rises, to escape its heat beneath some tree’s shade with a rill of water fleeting past, nor think it shame to grasp the hoe at times or chide the laggard oxen with the goad, nor a trouble to carry homewards in my arms a ewe lamb or youngling goat forgotten by its dam and left alone.
7 When the time is ripe, let me plant the tender vines and the stout orchard trees with my own deft hands, a countryman indeed. Nor let Hope disappoint me, but ever vouchsafe the heaped-up corn and rich new wine to fill my vat. For I bend in worship wherever flowery garlands lie on deserted tree-stock in the fields or old stone at a crossway and of all my fruit that the fresh season ripens I set the first before the country’s guardian god. Ceres of the yellow hair, let my farm produce the spiky wreath to hang before thy temple doors. And in the fruitladen garden be red Priapus set as watch, to scare the birds with cruel billhook.
19 Ye too, my Lares, who watch over an estate, now poor though thriving once, receive your gifts. Then a slam heifer was peace-offering for uncounted beeves a lamb is now the humble victim for my narrow plot of ground. A lamb shall fall for you, and round it the country youth shall shout: “Huzza! Send us good crops and wine!”
33 But ye, ye thieves and wolves, have mercy on my scanty flocks; from great herds must ye take your spoil. Here is all I have to make the yearly expiation for my herdsman, and to sprinkle over Pales the milk that makes her kind. Be with me, Gods: nor scorn gifts from a humble board and on clean earthenware. Earthen were the drinking-cups which the ancient clay made himself,’ modelling them from pliant clay.
41 I ask not for the riches of my sires or the gains which garnered harvests brought to my ancestors of yore. A small field’s produce is enough — enough if I may sleep upon my bed and the mattress ease my limbs as heretofore. What delight to hear the winds rage as I lie and hold my love safe in my gentle clasp; or, when the stormy South Wind sheds the chilling showers to follow the road of untroubled sleep, the ram my lullaby! This be my lot; let him be rightly rich who can bear the rage of the sea and the dreary rain. Ah, sooner let all the gold and all the emeralds perish from the world than any maiden weep for my departings.
53 ’Tis right for thee, Messalla, to campaign on land and sea that on thy house’s front may show the spoils of foemen: I am a captive fast bound in the bonds of a lovely girl; I sit a janitor before her stubborn doors. I care not for glory, Delia dear; let me only be with thee, and I will pray folk call me sluggard and idler.
59 May I look on thee when my last hour comes; may I hold thy hand, as I sink, in my dying clasp. Thou wilt weep for me, Delia, when I am laid on the bed that is to burn; thou wilt give me kisses mingled with bitter tears. Thou wilt weep: thy breast is not cased in iron mail; in thy soft heart there is no stubborn flint. From that burial none, neither youth nor maiden, will return with dry eyes home. Do thou hurt not my spirit; but spare thy loosened hair and spare thy soft cheeks, Delia.
69 Meantime, while Fate allows, let us be one in love. Soon will Death be here with his head cowled in dark. Soon will steal on us the inactive age, nor will it be seemly to play the lover or utter soft speeches when the head is hoar. Now let gay love be my pursuit while it is no shame to break a door down and a joy to plunge into a brawl. ’Tis here I am brave captain and private. Begone, ye trumpets and ensigns! take wounds to the men of greed, and take them wealth. I, safe on my garnered heap, will look down on hunger as I look down on wealth.
II
To Delia
1 MORE wine; let the liquor master these unwonted pains, that on my wearied eyes may fall triumphant sleep; and when the wine god’s copious fumes have mounted to my brain, let none awake me from unhappy love’s repose. For a cruel watch has been set upon my girl, and the door is shut and bolted hard against me. Door of a stubborn master, may the rain lash thee, and bolts flying at Jupiter’s command make thee their mark. Door, now yield to my complaining and open only unto me, and make no sound as thy hinge turns stealthily to let me in. And if my frenzy has ever called ill upon thee, have pardon; let that fall, I pray, on my own head. ’Tis right thou shouldst remember all that I rehearsed in suppliant tones when on thy posts I laid my flowery garlands.
15 Do thou too, Delia, trick the guard with no faint spirit. Be bold: Venus herself aids the stouthearted. She helps when a lad tries a strange threshold or a lass pushes in the prong to lift the bar from the door. She shows how to creep down stealthily from the pillowed bed; how so to set the foot that it makes no sound; how in the husband’s presence to exchange the speaking nods and hide love’s language under a code of signs. Nor shows she this to all, but to them whom neither indolence delays nor fear forbids to rise in the murk of night.
26 Lo, I in my wanderings in distress through all the city in the dark [meet with no harm. The goddess shields me] and lets no one cross my path to wound my body with his steel or seize my garments for his prize. Whosoe’er hath love in his heart may pass in heaven’s keeping where he will; no ambush should he fear. The numbing cold of winter’s night brings me no hurt, no hurt the heavy downpour of the rain. My sufferings here will harm me not, if Delia but unbar the door and summon me silently with a finger’s snap.
33 Be not busy with your eyes, be you man or woman that we meet. Love’s goddess wills her thefts should not be seen. Nor frighten us with noisy feet nor seek our names, nor bring the flashing torchlights near us. And if any have beheld us unawares, let him hide the knowledge and aver by all the gods that he remembers not. For if any man turn prater, he shall find that Venus is the child of blood and whirling seas.
41 And yet none such will thy spouse believe, as the honest witch has promised me from her magic rites. I have seen her drawing stars from the sky. Her spells turn the course of the hurrying stream. Her chaunting cleaves the ground, lures the spirit from its tomb, and down from the warm pyre summons the bony frame. Now with magic shrillings she keeps the troops of the grave before her; now she sprinkles them with milk and commands them to retreat. At will she chases the clouds from the frowning heavens; at will she musters the snow in the summer skies. Only she, men say, holds the secret of Medea’s deadly herbs, only she has lamed the wild hounds of Hecate.
53 She framed me a charm to enable thee to deceive: chaunt it thrice and spit thrice when the spell is done. Then will he never trust any one in aught that is said about us, nay, not even his own eyes if he see us on the pillowed bed. Yet from others thou must keep away; since all else will he perceive; only to me will he be blind.
59 “Why should I trust her?” Surely it was she, none other, said that by spells or herbs she could unbind my love. She cleansed me with the torch rite, and in the clear night a dusky victim fell to the gods of sorcery. But my prayer was not that my love might pass entirely, but that it might be shared. I would not choose to be without thee if I could. That man was iron who, when thou mightest have been his, chose rather to follow war and plunder. Let him chase Cilicia’s routed troops before him, and pitch his martial camp upon captured ground; let folk gaze upon him as he sits his swift charger, from head to foot a tissue of silver and gold, if only with thee, my Delia, I may put the oxen in the yoke and feed my flock on the familiar hill; and, so my young arms may hold thee fast, I shall find soft slumber even on the rugged earth.
75 What gain is it to lie on Tyrian cushions with Love untoward, when night must pass in waking and weeping? For then can neither pillows of feathers nor broidered coverlets nor the sound of purling waters bring us sleep.