by Petronius
spumeus, et querulo vexabat rore lapillos.
Dignus amore locus: testis silvestris aedon
atque urbana Procne, quae circum gramina fusae
et molles violas cantu sua rura colebant.
<. . .> Premebat illa resoluta marmoreis cervicibus aureum torum myrtoque florenti quietum
[131] Next day I got up sound in mind and body, and went down to the same grove of planetrees, though I was rather afraid of the unlucky place, and began to wait among the trees for Chrysis to lead me on my way.
After walking up and down a short while, I sat where I had been the day before, and Chrysis came under the trees, bringing an old woman with her. When she had greeted me, she said, “Well, disdainful lover, have you begun to come to your senses?” Then the old woman took a twist of threads of different colours out of her dress, and tied it round my neck. Then she mixed some dust with spittle, and took it on her middle finger, and made a mark on my forehead despite my protest . . . .
After this she ordered me in a rhyme to spit three times and throw stones into my bosom three times, after she had said a spell over them and wrapped them in purple, and laid her hands on me and began to try the force of her charm. . . . Dicto citius nervi paruerunt imperio manusque aniculae ingenti motu reple verunt. At illa gaudio exsultans “Vides” inquit”Chrysis mea, vides, quod aliis leporem excitavi?” . . .
The stately plane-tree, and Daphne decked with berries, and the quivering cypresses, and the swaying tops of the shorn pines, cast asummer shade. Among them played the straying waters of a foamy river, lashing the pebbles with its chattering flow. The place was proper to love; so the nightingale of the woods bore witness, and Procne from the town, as they hovered about the grasses and the tender violets, and pursued their stolen loves with a song. . . .
She was stretched out there with her marble neck pressed on a golden bed, brushing her placid face with a spray of myrtle in flower. So when she saw me she blushed a little, of course remembering my rudeness the day before; then, when they had all left us, she asked me to sit by her, and I did; she laid the sprig of myrtle over my eyes, and then growing bolder, as if she had put a wall between us, “Well, poor paralytic,” she said, “have you come here to-day a whole man?” “Do not ask me,” I replied, “try me.” I threw myself eagerly into her arms, and enjoyed her kisses unchecked by any magic until I was tired . . . . .
[CXXXII] [ENCOLPIVS DE ENDYMIONE PVERO: Ipsa corporis pulchritudine me ad se vocante trahebat ad venerem. Iam pluribus osculis labra crepitabant, iam implicitae manus omne genus amoris invenerant, iam alligata mutuo ambitu corpora animarum quoque mixturam fecerant.]
Manifestis matrona contumeliis verberata tandem ad ultionem decurrit, vocatque cubicularios et me iubet cato rigari. Nec contenta mulier tam gravi iniuria mea, convocat omnes quasillarias familiaeque sordidissimam partem, ac me conspui iubet. Oppono ego manus oculis meis, nullisque effusis precibus, quia sciebam quid meruissem, verberibus sputisque extra ianuam eiectus sum. Eicitur et Proselenos, Chrysis vapulat, totaque familia tristis inter se mussat, quaeritque quis dominae hilaritatem confuderit. <. . .> Itaque pensatis vicibus animosior, verberum notas arte contexi, ne aut Eumolpus contumelia mea hilarior fieret aut tristior Giton. Quod solum igitur salvo pudore poterat contingere, languorem simulavi, conditusque lectulo totum ignem furoris in eam converti, quae mihi omnium malorum causa fuerat:
Ter corripui terribilem manu bipennem,
ter languidior coliculi repente thyrso
ferrum timui, quod trepido male dabat usum.
Nec iam poteram, quod modo conficere libebat;
namque illa metu frigidior rigente bruma
confugerat in viscera mille operta rugis.
Ita non potui supplicio caput aperire,
sed furciferae mortifero timore lusus
ad verba, magis quae poterant nocere, fugi.
Erectus igitur in cubitum hac fere oratione contumacem vexavi: “Quid dicis, inquam, omnium hominum deorumque pudor? Nam ne nominare quidem te inter res serias fas est. Hoc de te merui, ut me in caelo positum ad inferos traheres? ut traduceres annos primo florentes vigore, senectaeque ultimae mihi lassitudinem imponere? Rogo te, mihi apodixin defunctoriam redde.” Haec ut iratus effudi, Illa solo fixos oculos aversa tenebat, nec magis incepto vultum sermone movetur quam lentae salices lassove papavera collo. Nec minus ego tam foeda obiurgatione finita paenitentiam agere sermonis mei coepi secretoque rubore perfundi, quod oblitus verecundiae meae cum ea parte corporis verba contulerim, quam ne ad cognitionem quidem admittere severioris notae homines solerent. Mox perfricata diutius fronte: “Quid autem ego, inquam, mali feci, si dolorem meum naturali convicio exoneravi? Aut quid est quod in corpore humano ventri male dicere solemus aut gulae capitique etiam, cum saepius dolet? Quid? Non et Vlixes cum corde litigat suo, et quidam tragici oculos suos tanquam audientes castigant? Podagrici pedibus suis male dicunt, chiragrici manibus, lippi oculis, et qui offenderunt saepe digitos, quicquid doloris habent, in pedes deferunt:
Quid me constricta spectatis fronte Catone,
damnatisque novae simplicitatis opus?
Sermonis puri non tristis gratia ridet,
quodque facit populus, candida lingua refert.
Nam quis concubitus, Veneris quis gaudia nescit?
Quia vetat in tepido membra calere toro?
Ipse pater veri doctus Epicurus in arte
iussit, et hoc vitam dixit habere telos.
Nihil est hominum inepta persuasione falsius nec ficta severitate ineptius”.
[132] The loveliness of her body called to me and drew us together. There was the sound of a rain of kisses as our lips met, our hands were clasped and discovered all the ways of love, then our bodies were held and bound by our embrace until even our souls were made as one soul. . . .
My open taunts stung the lady, and at last she ran to avenge herself, and called her chamber grooms, and ordered me to be hoisted for flogging. Not content With this black insult, the woman called up all her low spinsters, and the very dregs of her slaves, and invited them to spit upon me. I put my hands to my eyes and never poured forth any appeal, for I knew my deserts, and was beaten and spat upon and thrown out of doors. Proselenos was thrown out too, Chrysis was flogged, and all the slaves muttered gloomily to themselves, and asked who had upset their mistress’s spirits. . . . So after considering my position I took courage, and carefully hid the marks of the lash for fear Eumolpus should exult or Giton be depressed at my disgrace. | Quod solum igitur salvo pudore poteram, contingere languorem simulavi, conditusque lectulo totum ignem furoris in eam converti, quae mihi omnium malorum causa fuerat:
ter corripui terribilem manu bipennem,
ter languidior coliculi repente thyrso
ferrum timui, quod trepido male dabat usum.
Nee iam poteram, quod modo conficere libebat;
namque illa metu frigidior rigente bruma
confugerat in viscera mille operta rugis.
Ita non potui supplicio caput aperire,
sed furciferae mortifero timore lusus
ad verba, imagis quae poterant nocere, fugi.
Erectus igitur in cubitum hac fere oratione contumacem vexavi: “Quid dicis” inquam “omnium hominum deorumque pudor? Nam ne nominare quidem te inter res serias fas est. Hoc de te merui, ut me in caelo positum ad inferos traheres? | Ut traducers
L
annos primo florentes vigore senectaeque ultimae mihi lassitudinem imponeres? Rogo te, mihi apodixin defunctoriam redde.” Haec ut iratus effudi,
|illa solo fixos oculos aversa tenebat,
nec magis incepto vultum sermone movetur
quam lentae salices lassove papavera collo.
LO
Nec minus ego tam foeda obiurgatione finita paenitentiam agere sermonis mei coepi secretoque rubore perfundi, quod oblitus verecundiae meae cum ea parte corporis verba contulerim, quam ne ad cognitionem quidem admittere severioris notae homines solerent.
Then, after rubbing my forehead for a long while, I said, “But what harm have I done if I have relieved my sorrow with some free abuse? And then there is the fact that of our bodily members we often damn our guts, our throats, even our heads, when they give us much trouble. Did not Ulysses argue with his own heart, while some tragedians curse their eyes as if they could hear? Gouty people damn their feet, people with chalk-stones their hands, blear-eyed people their eyes, and men who have often hurt their toes put down all their ills to their poor feet:
“Why do ye, Cato’s disciples, look at me with wrinkled foreheads, and condemn a work of fresh simplicity? A cheerful kindness laughs through my pure speech, and my clean mouth reports whatever the people do. All men born know of mating and the joys of love; all men are free to let their limbs glow in a warm bed. Epicurus, the true father of truth, bade wise men be lovers, and said that therein lay the crown of life.” . . .
There is nothing more insincere than people’s silly convictions, or more silly than their sham morality. . . .
[CXXXIII] Hac declamatione finita Gitona voco et: “Narra mihi, inquam, frater, sed tua fide: ea nocte, qua te mihi Ascyltos subduxit, usque in iniuriam vigilavit, an contentus fuit vidua pudicaque nocte?” Tetigit puer oculos suos, conceptissimisque iuravit verbis sibi ab Ascylto nullam vim factam.
<. . .> positoque in limine genu sic deprecatus sum numen aversum:
Nympharum Bacchique comes, quem pulcra Dione
divitibus silvis numen dedit, inclita paret
cui Lesbos viridisque Thasos, quem Lydus adorat
septifluus, templumque tuis imponit Hypaepis:
huc aedes et Bacchi tutor Dryadumque voluptas,
et timidas admitte preces. Non sanguine tristi
perfusus venio, non templis impius hostis
admovi dextram, sed inops et rebus egenis
attritus facinus non toto corpore feci.
Quisquis peccat inops, minor est reus. Hac prece, quaeso,
exonera mentem culpaeque ignosce minori,
et quandoque mihi fortunae arriserit hora,
non sine honore tuum patiar decus. Ibit ad aras,
Sancte, tuas hircus, pecoris pater; ibit ad aras
corniger et querulae fetus suis, hostia lactens.
Spumabit pateris hornus liquor, et ter ovantem
circa delubrum gressum feret ebria pubes.”
Dum haec ago curaque sollerti deposito meo caveo, intravit delubrum anus laceratis crinibus nigraque veste deformis, extraque vestibulum me iniecta manu duxit. <. . .>
[133] When my speech was over, I called Giton, and said, Now tell me, brother, on your honour. That night when Ascyltos took you away from me, did he keep awake until he had wronged you, or was he satisfied with spending the night decently alone?” The boy touched his eyes and swore a most precise oath that Ascyltos had used no force to him. . . .
I kneeled down on the threshold and entreated the favour of the gods in these lines:
“Comrade of the Nymphs and Bacchus, whom lovely Dione set as god over the wide forests, whom famous Lesbos and green Thasos obey, whom the Lydian worships in perpetual celebration, whose temple he has set in his own city of Hypaepa: come hither, guardian of Bacchus and the Dryads’ delight, and hear my humble prayer. I come not to thee stained with dark blood, I have not laid hands on a temple like a wicked enemy, but when I was poor and worn with want I sinned, yet not with my whole body. There is less guilt in a poor man’s sin. This is my prayer; take the load from my mind, forgive a light offence; and whenever fortune’s season smiles upon me, I will not leave thy glory without worship. A goat shall walk to thine altars, most holy one, a horned goat that is father of the flock, and the young of a grunting sow, atender sacrifice. The new wine of the year shall foam in the bowls, and the young men full of wine shall trace their joyous steps three times round thy sanctuary.”. . .
As I was doing this and making clever plans to guard my trust, an old woman in ugly black clothes, with her hair down, came into the shrine, laid hands on me, and drew me out through the porch. . . .
[CXXXIV] PROSELENOS ANVS AD ENCOLPIVM: “Quae striges comederunt nervos tuos, aut quod purgamentum nocte calcasti trivio aut cadaver? Nec a puero quidem te vindicasti, sed mollis, debilis, lassus, tanquam caballus in clivo et operam et sudorem perdidisti. Nec contentus ipse peccare, mihi deos iratos excitasti”.
Ac me iterum in cellam sacerdotis nihil recusantem perduxit impulitque super lectum, et harundinem ab ostio rapuit iterumque nihil respondentem mulcavit. Ac nisi primo ictu harundo quassata impetum verberantis minuisset, forsitan etiam brachia mea caputque fregisset. Ingemui ego utique propter mascarpionem, lacrimisque ubertim manantibus obscuratum dextra caput super pulvinum inclinavi. Nec minus illa fletu confusa altera parte lectuli sedit aetatisque longae moram tremulis vocibus coepit accusare, donec intervenit sacerdos: “Quid vos, inquit, in cellam meam tanquam ante recens bustum venistis? Vtique die feriarum, quo etiam lugentes rident.” PROSELENOS AD OENOTHEAN SACERDOTEM PRIAPI: “O, inquit, Oenothea, hunc adulescentem quem vides, malo astro natus est; nam neque puero neque puellae bona sua vendere potest. Nunquam tu hominem tam infelicem vidisti: lorum in aqua, non inguina habet. Ad summam, qualem putas esse, qui de Circes toro sine voluptate surrexit?” His auditis Oenothea inter utrumque consedit, motoque diutius capite: “Istum, inquit, morbum sola sum quae emendare scio. Et ne putetis perplexe agere, rogo ut adulescentulus tuus mecum nocte dormiat, nisi illud tam rigidum reddidero quam cornu:
Quicquid in orbe vides, paret mihi. Florida tellus,
cum volo, spissatis arescit languida sucis,
cum volo, fundit opes, scopulique atque horrida saxa
Niliacas iaculantur aquas. Mihi pontus inertes
submittit fluctus, zephyrique tacentia ponunt
ante meos sua flabra pedes. Mihi flumina parent
Hyrcanaeque tigres et iussi stare dracones.
Quid leviora loquor? Lunae descendit imago
carminibus deducta meis, trepidusque furentes
flectere Phoebus equos revoluto cogitur orbe.
Tantum dicta valent. Taurorum flamma quiescit
virgineis extincta sacris, Phoebeia Circe
carminibus magicis socios mutavit Vlixis,
Proteus esse solet quicquid libet. Hic ego callens
artibus Idaeos frutices in gurgite sistam,
et rursus fluvios in summo vertice ponam.”
[134] “What screech-owl has eaten your nerve away, what foul thing or corpse have you trodden on at a cross-road in the dark? Never even in boyhood could you hold your own, but you were weakly, feeble, tired, and like a cab-horse on a hill you wasted your efforts and your sweat. And not content with failing yourself, you have roused the gods to wrath against me. . .
And she took me unresisting into the priestess’s room again, and pushed me over the bed, and took a cane off the door and beat me again when I remained unresponsive. And if the cane had not broken at the first stroke and lessened the force of the blow, I daresay she would have broken my head and my arm outright. Anyhow I groaned at her dirty tricks, and wept abundantly, and covered my head with my right arm, and leaned against the pillow. She was upset, and cried too, and sat on another piece of the bed, and began to curse the delays of old age in a quavering voice, when the priestess came in.
Why have you come into my room as if you were visiting a fresh-made grave?” she said. “Especially on a holiday, when even mourners smile.” “Ah, Oenothea,” said the woman, “this young man was born under a bad planet; he cannot sell his treasure to boys or girls either. You never beheld such an unlucky creature: he is a piece of wash-leather, not a real man. Just to show you, what do you think of a man
who can come away from Circe without a spark of pleasure?” When Oenothea heard this she sat down between us, shook her head for some time, and then said, “I am the only woman alive who knows how to cure that disease. Et ne me putetis perplexe agere, rogo ut adulescentulus mecum nocte dormiat. .
nisi illud tam rigidum reddidero quam cornu:
“Whatever thou seest in the world is obedient to me. The flowery earth, when I will, faints and withers as its juices dry, and, when I will, pours forth its riches, while rocks and rough crags spurt waters wide as the Nile. The great sea lays its waves lifeless before me, and the winds lower their blasts in silence at my feet. The rivers obey me, and Hyrcanian tigers, and serpents, whom I bid stand still. But I will not tell you of small things; the shape of the moon is drawn down to me by my spells, and Phoebus trembles and must turn his fiery steeds as I compel him back in his course. So great is the power of words. The flaming spirit of bulls is quenched and calmed by a maiden’s rites, and Circe, the child of Phoebus, transfigured Ulysses’s crew with magic songs, and Proteus can take what form he will. And I, who am cunning in these arts, can plant the bushes of Mount Ida in the sea, or set rivers back on lofty peaks.”
[CXXXV] lnhorrui ego tam fabulosa pollicitatione conterritus, anumque inspicere diligentius coepi.
“Ergo, exclamat Oenothea, imperio parete!” detersisque curiose manibus inclinavit se in lectulum ac me semel iterumque basiavit. <. . .>
Oenothea mensam veterem posuit in medio altari, quam vivis implevit carbonibus, et camellam etiam vetustate ruptam pice temperata refecit. Tum clavum, qui detrahentem secutus cum camella lignea fuerat, fumoso parieti reddidit. Mox incincta quadrato pallio cucumam ingentem foco apposuit, simulque pannum de carnario detulit furca, in quo faba erat ad usum reposita et sincipitis vetustissima particula mille plagis dolata. Vt soluit ergo licio pannum, partem leguminis super mensam effudit iussitque me diligenter purgare. Servio ego imperio, granaque sordidissimis putaminibus vestita curiosa manu segrego. At illa inertiam meam accusans improba tollit, dentibusque folliculos pariter spoliat, atque in terram veluti muscarum imagines despuit.