Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Horace Ode 4.7
Snows have scattered, now grasses return to the plains and leaves to the trees; earth changes its lot and the swelling rivers neglect their banks; the naked Grace with the Nymphs and her twin sisters dare to lead the choral dances. Lest you hope for eternal things, the year and the hour which seizes the nourishing day warns. Winters soften with the west winds, summer, also about to die, crushes spring, at the same time fruit-bearing autumn pours out crops, and soon stagnant winter returns. Yet swift moons repair celestial losses; we are dust and shadow when we have descended to where pious Aeneas, to where rich Tullus and Ancus (went). Who knows whether gods above might add tomorrow’s moments to today’s total? All which you give to a friendly mind will flee the greedy hands of an heir. When once you die and Minos has made his glittering judgments concerning you, Torquatus, no family, no eloquence, no piety will restore you; for neither does Diana free chaste Hippolytus from the infernal shades nor does Theseus prevail to break Lethean chains for his dear Pirithous.
Horace Ode 3.30
I have completed a monument more enduring than bronze and higher than the royal site of the Pyramids, which not devouring rain, not the wild north wind can destroy or the uncountable succession of the years and the flight of seasons. I will not wholly die, and a great part of me will avoid Libitina: I will grow fresh with following praise while the priest climbs the Capitoline with the silent maiden. Where violent Aufidus roars and where Daunus, poor in (lit. of) water, ruled the rustic peoples, I will be called, powerful from humble, first to have lead Aeolian song to Italian measures. Take the pride sought with merits and willingly ring my crown with Delphic laurel, Melpomene.
Horace Ode 3.13
O fountain of Bandusia, more glittering than glass, worthy of sweet wine not without flowers, tomorrow you will be honored with a kid-goat, whose forehead, swelling with first horns, destines both love and battles; in vain, for he will imbue your cold streams with red blood, offspring of the randy herd. The cruel hour of the blazing dog-star does not know to touch you, you offer pleasant chill to bulls wearied by the plow and to the wandering flock. You will become (one) of the noble fountains too, with me naming the oak set over the hollow rocks, whence your talkative waters jump down.
Horace Ode 3.9
“While I was pleasing to you nor was any more valued young man offering arms for your white neck, I flourished more blessed than the king of the Persians.”
“While you were not more inflamed by another and Lydia was not after Chloe, I, Lydia of great account, flourished more famous than Roman Ilia.”
“Now Thracian Chloe rules me, learned in sweet measures and expert of the lyre, for whom I will not fear to die, if the fates spare her life to go on.”
“Calais, son of Ornytus of Thurii, burns me with mutual torch, for whom I will endure to die twice, if the fates spare the boy to live on.”
“What if ancient Venus returns and forces those separated under the bronze yoke, if blond Chloe is shaken out and the door is open to rejected Lydia?”
“Although that man is fairer than a star, you are lighter than cork and more hot-tempered than the immoderate Adriatic, I would love to live with you, I would freely die with you.”
“While you were not more inflamed by another and Lydia was not after Chloe, I, Lydia of great account, flourished more famous than Roman Ilia.”
“Now Thracian Chloe rules me, learned in sweet measures and expert of the lyre, for whom I will not fear to die, if the fates spare her life to go on.”
“Calais, son of Ornytus of Thurii, burns me with mutual torch, for whom I will endure to die twice, if the fates spare the boy to live on.”
“What if ancient Venus returns and forces those separated under the bronze yoke, if blond Chloe is shaken out and the door is open to rejected Lydia?”
“Although that man is fairer than a star, you are lighter than cork and more hot-tempered than the immoderate Adriatic, I would love to live with you, I would freely die with you.”
Horace Ode 3.1
I hate the uninitiated crowd and I keep (it) away; be propitious with your tongues: as priest of the Muses, for girls and boys I sing songs not before heard. Power of kings to be feared is over their own flocks, over the kings themselves is (the power) of Jove, famous for his triumph over the Giants, moving all thing by his eyebrow. It is for (one) man to arrange his trees more widely in his furrows than (another) man, (it is for) this man to go down to the Campus a more well-bread candidate, (it is for) this man to strive better in morals and reputation, (it is for) that man to have a larger crowd of clients: Necessity with fair rule sorts the famous and the lowest; her spacious urn moves every name. For whom a drawn sword hangs over his impious neck, Sicilian feasts will not enhance sweet flavor, the song of birds and the lyre will not lead back sleep: gentle sleep does not scorn the lowly homes of men and the shady bank, not Tempe shaken by the west winds. Neither the turbulent sea nor the savage attack of falling Arcturus or of rising Haedus worries the one desiring what is enough, not vines beaten by hail and a lying farm, with a tree blaming now the waters, now the stars parching the fields, now unfair winters. Fish feel seas narrowed with masses thrown into the deep; hither crowding the contractor throws down the rubble with his slaves and the master scornful of his land: but Fear and Threats climb to the same (place) as (lit. where) the master, nor does black Care leave the bronze-covered trireme, and she sits behind the knight. But if neither Phrygian stone nor the use, brighter than a star, of purples, nor Falernian vine and Achaemenid plant mollifies the man grieving, why with doorposts to be envied and with new rite am I to build a lofty entrance hall? Why am I to exchange troublesome riches for my Sabine vale?
Friday, November 21, 2008
Catullus 64, lines 50-253
This coverlet, embroidered with the ancient figures of men, displays the virtues of heroes with wonderful skill. For, looking out from the resounding shore of Dia, Ariadne sees Theseus leaving with his swift fleet, carrying fierce madness in her heart, nor yet does she believe she sees what she sees. No wonder, since she awoke herself from deceitful sleep, she sees herself deserted, wretched, lonely. But the forgetful youth strikes the shoals with his oar, leaving vain promises to the windy storm. Who, far off, the sad daughter of Minos with sad eyes gazes out of the seaweed (i.e. from the beach) and sees like a rock effigy of a Bacchant. Alas, she looks out and is thrown about in great waves of care, not holding a fine-spun headdress on her blond head, not covered at her (once) veiled chest with a light cloak, not bound at her milky breast with a smooth band, all of which, having slipped from her whole body everywhere, the waves of salt were playing with before her feet. That ruined woman, caring for the plight neither then for her headdress nor then for her flowing cloak was hanging from you in her whole heart, spirit, and mind, Theseus.
(71) Ah, wretched woman, whom Erycina, sowing thorny cares in her heart, maddened with constant sorrows, from that time when wild Theseus, having left from the curved shores of Piraeus, touched the Gortynian temples of the unjust king. For they say that, once upon a time, compelled by a cruel plague to pay for the slaughter of Androgeon, Athens as custom gave a feast of chosen youths and the glory of maidens to the Minotaur. Because the narrow walls were vexed with which bad things, Theseus himself chose to offer his own body for dear Athens rather than such funerals not-yet-funerals of Athens be carried to Crete. And thus pressing onwards with his light ship and with gentle breezes, he came to great-hearted Minos and his arrogant house. As soon as the royal maiden saw this man with her longing eye—whom her chaste little bed breathing out with sweet smells used to nourish in the soft embrace of her mother—such as the myrtles encircle the rivers of Eurota or golden spring leads out varied colors—she did not lower her burning eyes from that man before she deeply caught the flame in her whole body and wholly she burned in her inmost marrows.
(94) Alas, holy boy, wretchedly stirring up furies in his cruel heart, you who mix joys with the cares of men, and you who rule Golgi and leafy Idalium, with what waves you tossed the girl, burning in mind, often sighing over her blond guest! What great fears that woman bore in her weary heart! By how much more than the gleam of gold did she often blush when Theseus, desiring to strive against the savage monster, sought either death or the prizes of praise! Yet promising not unwelcome small presents to the gods she took vows on silent lip in vain. For as an unconquerable wind twisting the trunk with its breeze tears out an oak shaking its branches on the summit of Taurus or a cone-bearing pine with its sweating bark (that one, torn out at the roots, falls prone, far, breaking widely whatever is in its way), thus Theseus lays low the savage thing with its body conquered, throwing its horns in vain to the empty winds. Thence the safe one turned back his step with much praise, ruling steps prone-to-wandering with a thin thread, lest the untraceable wanderings of the maze deceive the one departing out of the labyrinth’s winding.
(116) But why, having digressed from my first song, should I recall more, how the daughter leaving the face of her father, (how) the embrace of her sister (how) finally of her mother, who used to rejoice over her wretched daughter, preferred the sweet love of Theseus to all these; or how, carried on a boat, she came to the foamy shores of Dia; or how her departing husband with his forgetful heart left her bound in the eyes by sleep? Often they say that that one, raging in her burning heart, poured resounding words out of her inmost heart, and then sadly she climbed up the sheer mountains, thence she extended her gaze over the vast swells of the sea; then she ran forward into the opposing waves of the trembling sea, lifting her soft clothes to her bare calf, and sadly she said these thing as her last laments, raising cold sobs with her wet mouth:
(132) “Thus have you left me, carried away from paternal altars, faithless one, on a deserted shore, deceitful Theseus? Leaving thus, with the power of the gods having been neglected—alas, forgetful one! Do you carry false vows home? Was nothing able to bend the plan of your cruel mind? Is there no mercy present in you, that your cruel heart wanted to pity me? But you did not give these promises to me with your flattering voice, you did not order wretched (me) to hope for these things, but for happy marriages, but for desired weddings, which the airy winds snatch away all in vain. Now, now let no woman believe a man making promises, let no woman hope that the words of a man are faithful; for whom, which the desiring mind yearns to reach anything, they fear to swear nothing, they forebear to promise nothing, but as soon as the desire of their desiring mind is satisfied, they fear their words not at all; they care not at all about perjuries. Certainly I snatched you in the middle of the whirlpool of death, and I chose to lose a brother rather than abandon deceitful you in your final hour. For which I will be given to be destroyed by wild animals and as booty for the birds, and, dead, I will not be buried with tossed-on earth.
(154) “What lioness bore you under a lonely cliff? What sea spat you out, conceived, into the foam of the waves? What Syrtis, what grasping Scylla, what vast Charybdis, you who return such prizes for my sweet life? If our marriage had not been pleasing to you because you were dreading savage orders of an old-fashioned parent, but yet you were able to lead me into your abode(s), who, as a servant, might have served you in sweet labor, caressing your white feet with liquid water or strewing your bed with a purple cloth. But why should I lament in vain to the ignorant winds, crazed with evil, which, enhanced with no senses, are able neither to hear nor to return sent voices? Moreover that one is turned in the middle of the waves about now, nor does any mortal appear on the empty seaweed (i.e. beach). Thus fierce chance, boasting too much in my last moment, envies even its ear to our complaints. All powerful Jove, would that Cecropian ships had not touched Cretan shores in the first place; and that the false sailor, bearing harsh tributes for the unconquerable bull, had not untied his rope in Crete; and that this evil guest, hiding his cruel plans with a sweet form, had not rested in our house!
(177) “To what place should I carry myself back? On what hope should I, ruined, rely? Should I seek the mountains of Ida? But the ferocious water of the sea, cutting off with a wide whirlpool, divides (us). Or should I hope for he help of a father? Whom I myself left with my brothers slaughter, having followed a young man? Or am I to consol myself with the faithful love of a spouse? (The one) who flees, bending pliant oars in the surge? Besides this lonely island is inhabited by no home, nor does an exit lay open with the waves of the ocean encircling. There is no means of flight, no hope: everything is silent; everything is deserted; everything offers death. Yet my eyes will not weaken with death, my senses will not withdraw from my body before I, betrayed, demand much justice from the gods and implore the faith of the gods in my final hour. Wherefore, o Eumenides, penalizing the deeds of men with avenging punishment, whose foreheads, wreathed with snaky hair carries before (themselves) breathing angers of their hearts, here, come here, hear my complaints, which I, alas miserable, am compelled to bring forth from my last marrows, powerless, burning, blind with mad fury. Which, because they are born true from my inmost heart, do not allow our grief to vanish, but with what sort of mind Theseus left me alone—with just such a mind, goddess, let him destroy both himself and his own.”
(202) After she poured forth these words from her sad heart, anxiously demanding punishment for these savage deeds, the ruler of the gods with his unconquerable power nodded: with which motion the earth and bristling waters trembled and the universe shook with twinkling stars. Theseus himself, moreover, having sown his mind with dark mist sent away everything from his forgetful heart with commands formerly held in his constant mind and, not raising sweet signs to his sad father, did not show that he safely saw the port of Erechtheus. For they say once upon a time, when Aegeus entrusted his son to the winds, leaving the walls of the goddess with his fleet, he, having been embraced, gave such commands to the youth:
(215) “My only son, more pleasant to me than long life; son, whom I am compelled to send into uncertain chances, returned recently to me at the very end of old age, since my fortune and your passionate courage have snatched you from unwilling me, whose weak eyes are not yet saturated with the dear figure of my son, I will not send you rejoicing with a happy heart, not allow you to bear the signs of favorable fortune, but first I will reveal the many complains in my mind, polluting my white hair with earth and poured on dust, thence I will hang dyed sails from the wandering mast, so that the canvas, darkened with Spanish iron oxide, will declare our sorrows and the agonies of our mind. But if the inhabitant of sacred Itonus, who agrees to defend out race and the houses of Erechtheus, allows you to sprinkle your right hand with the blood of a bull, then indeed make it so that these orders flourish, preserved in your mindful heart. Nor let any age obliterate them, so that as soon as your eyes see our hills, let the yardarms put down the funereal cloth everywhere, and let the twisted ropes raise the white sails, so that, as soon as discerning, I will recognize joys with a happy mind when a fortunate age presents you returning.”
(238) These orders left Theseus, previously holding (them) in his steadfast mind, like the clouds pushed by a swirl of the winds left the airy peak of a snowy mountain. But his father, seeking a view from the highest citadel, wasting his anxious eyes in continuous tears, as soon as he saw the sheets of the dyed sail, threw himself headlong from the peak of the cliffs, believing Theseus lost to his cruel fate. Thus fierce Theseus, having entered his house roofs polluted with paternal death, himself recovered such grief as he had presented with his forgetful mind to the daughter of Minos, who then, looking out at receding keel, sad (and) wounded was turning over many cares in her mind. But flourishing Bacchus was flying from another direction with a band of satyrs and Sileni born at Nysa, seeking you, Ariadne, and roused with love of you.
(71) Ah, wretched woman, whom Erycina, sowing thorny cares in her heart, maddened with constant sorrows, from that time when wild Theseus, having left from the curved shores of Piraeus, touched the Gortynian temples of the unjust king. For they say that, once upon a time, compelled by a cruel plague to pay for the slaughter of Androgeon, Athens as custom gave a feast of chosen youths and the glory of maidens to the Minotaur. Because the narrow walls were vexed with which bad things, Theseus himself chose to offer his own body for dear Athens rather than such funerals not-yet-funerals of Athens be carried to Crete. And thus pressing onwards with his light ship and with gentle breezes, he came to great-hearted Minos and his arrogant house. As soon as the royal maiden saw this man with her longing eye—whom her chaste little bed breathing out with sweet smells used to nourish in the soft embrace of her mother—such as the myrtles encircle the rivers of Eurota or golden spring leads out varied colors—she did not lower her burning eyes from that man before she deeply caught the flame in her whole body and wholly she burned in her inmost marrows.
(94) Alas, holy boy, wretchedly stirring up furies in his cruel heart, you who mix joys with the cares of men, and you who rule Golgi and leafy Idalium, with what waves you tossed the girl, burning in mind, often sighing over her blond guest! What great fears that woman bore in her weary heart! By how much more than the gleam of gold did she often blush when Theseus, desiring to strive against the savage monster, sought either death or the prizes of praise! Yet promising not unwelcome small presents to the gods she took vows on silent lip in vain. For as an unconquerable wind twisting the trunk with its breeze tears out an oak shaking its branches on the summit of Taurus or a cone-bearing pine with its sweating bark (that one, torn out at the roots, falls prone, far, breaking widely whatever is in its way), thus Theseus lays low the savage thing with its body conquered, throwing its horns in vain to the empty winds. Thence the safe one turned back his step with much praise, ruling steps prone-to-wandering with a thin thread, lest the untraceable wanderings of the maze deceive the one departing out of the labyrinth’s winding.
(116) But why, having digressed from my first song, should I recall more, how the daughter leaving the face of her father, (how) the embrace of her sister (how) finally of her mother, who used to rejoice over her wretched daughter, preferred the sweet love of Theseus to all these; or how, carried on a boat, she came to the foamy shores of Dia; or how her departing husband with his forgetful heart left her bound in the eyes by sleep? Often they say that that one, raging in her burning heart, poured resounding words out of her inmost heart, and then sadly she climbed up the sheer mountains, thence she extended her gaze over the vast swells of the sea; then she ran forward into the opposing waves of the trembling sea, lifting her soft clothes to her bare calf, and sadly she said these thing as her last laments, raising cold sobs with her wet mouth:
(132) “Thus have you left me, carried away from paternal altars, faithless one, on a deserted shore, deceitful Theseus? Leaving thus, with the power of the gods having been neglected—alas, forgetful one! Do you carry false vows home? Was nothing able to bend the plan of your cruel mind? Is there no mercy present in you, that your cruel heart wanted to pity me? But you did not give these promises to me with your flattering voice, you did not order wretched (me) to hope for these things, but for happy marriages, but for desired weddings, which the airy winds snatch away all in vain. Now, now let no woman believe a man making promises, let no woman hope that the words of a man are faithful; for whom, which the desiring mind yearns to reach anything, they fear to swear nothing, they forebear to promise nothing, but as soon as the desire of their desiring mind is satisfied, they fear their words not at all; they care not at all about perjuries. Certainly I snatched you in the middle of the whirlpool of death, and I chose to lose a brother rather than abandon deceitful you in your final hour. For which I will be given to be destroyed by wild animals and as booty for the birds, and, dead, I will not be buried with tossed-on earth.
(154) “What lioness bore you under a lonely cliff? What sea spat you out, conceived, into the foam of the waves? What Syrtis, what grasping Scylla, what vast Charybdis, you who return such prizes for my sweet life? If our marriage had not been pleasing to you because you were dreading savage orders of an old-fashioned parent, but yet you were able to lead me into your abode(s), who, as a servant, might have served you in sweet labor, caressing your white feet with liquid water or strewing your bed with a purple cloth. But why should I lament in vain to the ignorant winds, crazed with evil, which, enhanced with no senses, are able neither to hear nor to return sent voices? Moreover that one is turned in the middle of the waves about now, nor does any mortal appear on the empty seaweed (i.e. beach). Thus fierce chance, boasting too much in my last moment, envies even its ear to our complaints. All powerful Jove, would that Cecropian ships had not touched Cretan shores in the first place; and that the false sailor, bearing harsh tributes for the unconquerable bull, had not untied his rope in Crete; and that this evil guest, hiding his cruel plans with a sweet form, had not rested in our house!
(177) “To what place should I carry myself back? On what hope should I, ruined, rely? Should I seek the mountains of Ida? But the ferocious water of the sea, cutting off with a wide whirlpool, divides (us). Or should I hope for he help of a father? Whom I myself left with my brothers slaughter, having followed a young man? Or am I to consol myself with the faithful love of a spouse? (The one) who flees, bending pliant oars in the surge? Besides this lonely island is inhabited by no home, nor does an exit lay open with the waves of the ocean encircling. There is no means of flight, no hope: everything is silent; everything is deserted; everything offers death. Yet my eyes will not weaken with death, my senses will not withdraw from my body before I, betrayed, demand much justice from the gods and implore the faith of the gods in my final hour. Wherefore, o Eumenides, penalizing the deeds of men with avenging punishment, whose foreheads, wreathed with snaky hair carries before (themselves) breathing angers of their hearts, here, come here, hear my complaints, which I, alas miserable, am compelled to bring forth from my last marrows, powerless, burning, blind with mad fury. Which, because they are born true from my inmost heart, do not allow our grief to vanish, but with what sort of mind Theseus left me alone—with just such a mind, goddess, let him destroy both himself and his own.”
(202) After she poured forth these words from her sad heart, anxiously demanding punishment for these savage deeds, the ruler of the gods with his unconquerable power nodded: with which motion the earth and bristling waters trembled and the universe shook with twinkling stars. Theseus himself, moreover, having sown his mind with dark mist sent away everything from his forgetful heart with commands formerly held in his constant mind and, not raising sweet signs to his sad father, did not show that he safely saw the port of Erechtheus. For they say once upon a time, when Aegeus entrusted his son to the winds, leaving the walls of the goddess with his fleet, he, having been embraced, gave such commands to the youth:
(215) “My only son, more pleasant to me than long life; son, whom I am compelled to send into uncertain chances, returned recently to me at the very end of old age, since my fortune and your passionate courage have snatched you from unwilling me, whose weak eyes are not yet saturated with the dear figure of my son, I will not send you rejoicing with a happy heart, not allow you to bear the signs of favorable fortune, but first I will reveal the many complains in my mind, polluting my white hair with earth and poured on dust, thence I will hang dyed sails from the wandering mast, so that the canvas, darkened with Spanish iron oxide, will declare our sorrows and the agonies of our mind. But if the inhabitant of sacred Itonus, who agrees to defend out race and the houses of Erechtheus, allows you to sprinkle your right hand with the blood of a bull, then indeed make it so that these orders flourish, preserved in your mindful heart. Nor let any age obliterate them, so that as soon as your eyes see our hills, let the yardarms put down the funereal cloth everywhere, and let the twisted ropes raise the white sails, so that, as soon as discerning, I will recognize joys with a happy mind when a fortunate age presents you returning.”
(238) These orders left Theseus, previously holding (them) in his steadfast mind, like the clouds pushed by a swirl of the winds left the airy peak of a snowy mountain. But his father, seeking a view from the highest citadel, wasting his anxious eyes in continuous tears, as soon as he saw the sheets of the dyed sail, threw himself headlong from the peak of the cliffs, believing Theseus lost to his cruel fate. Thus fierce Theseus, having entered his house roofs polluted with paternal death, himself recovered such grief as he had presented with his forgetful mind to the daughter of Minos, who then, looking out at receding keel, sad (and) wounded was turning over many cares in her mind. But flourishing Bacchus was flying from another direction with a band of satyrs and Sileni born at Nysa, seeking you, Ariadne, and roused with love of you.
Horace Satire 1.9
I was going by chance on the Via Sacra, as is my custom, contemplating some (of) trifles; wholly in those. A certain man known to me only by name runs up to me and, my hand having been grabbed, (says) “How are you, sweetest of things?” I say, “Pleasantly as it now is, and I desire all which you want.”
(6) When he follows, “Surely you do not want anything?” I take the lead, but that one says, “That you get to know us; we are learned.”
Here I say, “By this you will be more to me,” seeking pitifully to leave, just now I go more quickly, at times I stop, I say something in my boy’s ear, because sweat is flowing to the bottom of my ankles. “O Bolanus, you are lucky in your anger,” I was saying quietly, because that man was chattering whatever; he was praising the neighborhoods, the city.
(14) As I was saying nothing back to that one, he says, “You want to go terribly; I have seen that for a long time. But you will do nothing; I will hold you all the way. I will follow you hither, to where now your journey is.”
“There is no need for you to be lead around: I want to see a certain man not known to you; this man lies ill far across the Tiber, near the gardens of Caesar.”
(19) “I have nothing which I might do, and I am not lazy: I will follow you.” I reluctantly turned down my ears like a young donkey of a discontented frame of mind when he has undertaken a too heavy burden on his back.
That one begins, “If I know myself well, you will make not Viscus, not Varius a friend of more value: for who can write more verses than me, or faster? Who (can) move their limbs more gently? Even Hermogenes might envy what I sing.”
(26) This was the spot for interrupting, “Have you a mother (or) relatives, for whom there is need of you in good health?” “I haven’t anyone at all; I have buried everyone.”
“The lucky ones! Now I remain. Finish (me)! For a sad fate presses upon me, which an old Sabine woman, her prophetic urn having been shaken, sang to me as a boy: neither terrible poisons not an enemy’s sword will carry off this one, nor a pain of the lungs or a cough, nor a slow gout: a talkative man will destroy this one at some time or another. He will avoid the talkative, if he is wise, as soon as his age has reached its peak.”
(35) It had been come to (the temple) of Vesta, already the fourth part of the day having passed by, and then he was obliged to respond to the plaintiff in an accident, which unless he did (he must) loose the lawsuit. “If you love me, “ he says, “be here for me a while.”
“May I die if either I am strong enough to stand or know civil law, and you know to where I hurry.” He says, “I am uncertain what to do. Will I leave you or my case.” “Me, please.” That one (said) and began to press on. I follow, as it is hard to contend with the winner.
(43) Hence he resumes, “How is Maecenas with you? (He is) of few men and of quite sane mind; no one has used his luck more skillfully. You would have a great helper, one who can bear the second (roles), if you should be willing to introduce this man. May I die unless you might have banished all (others).”
“We do not live there in such a way, (as) by which you suppose. And there is not any purer house than this one, nor one more alien to these evils. It does not impede me at all, I say, because this one is richer or more learned: his own place for each one is.”
(52) “You tell a great, scarcely believable (tale).” “Thus it is nevertheless.” “You inflame (the reason) whereby I wish more to be right next to that man.” “You would wish it only: such (lit. which) is your excellence and you will overcome who can be overcome, and therefore a difficult approach manages men first.”
“I will not fail myself: I will bribe his servants with gifts; if I am shut out today, I will not quit; I will look for opportunities, I will meet (him) in the crossroads, I will escort (him). Life gives nothing to mortals without great effort.”
(61) While he delivers these (words), behold! Fuscus Aristius turns up, (one) dear to me and who knows that man beautifully. We stop. “Whence do you come?” and “To where do you proceed?” he asks and responds. I began to tug at and press his softest arms with my hand, nodding, twisting my eyes this way and that to rescue me. The wickedly witty man, laughing, pretends not to notice and bile burns my liver: “Certainly you were saying to (lit. with) me that you wanted to mention something secretly.”
“You remember well, but I will speak at a better time: today is the thirtieth Sabbath. Do you want to fart in the face of the circumcised Jews?” I say, “Religion is nothing to me.” “But to me! I am a little weaker, (I am) one of many. You will forgive (me); I will talk at another time.”
(72) That this so black a sun rose for me! The unprincipled man flees and leaves me under the knife. The plaintiff in his case comes to confront that man and calls out in a loud voice, “Where to, you most foul fellow?” and “Is it permitted to call (you) as witness?” I indeed proffer my ear. He snatches (him) into court. A shout on both sides, everywhere a running to and fro. Thus Apollo saved me.
(6) When he follows, “Surely you do not want anything?” I take the lead, but that one says, “That you get to know us; we are learned.”
Here I say, “By this you will be more to me,” seeking pitifully to leave, just now I go more quickly, at times I stop, I say something in my boy’s ear, because sweat is flowing to the bottom of my ankles. “O Bolanus, you are lucky in your anger,” I was saying quietly, because that man was chattering whatever; he was praising the neighborhoods, the city.
(14) As I was saying nothing back to that one, he says, “You want to go terribly; I have seen that for a long time. But you will do nothing; I will hold you all the way. I will follow you hither, to where now your journey is.”
“There is no need for you to be lead around: I want to see a certain man not known to you; this man lies ill far across the Tiber, near the gardens of Caesar.”
(19) “I have nothing which I might do, and I am not lazy: I will follow you.” I reluctantly turned down my ears like a young donkey of a discontented frame of mind when he has undertaken a too heavy burden on his back.
That one begins, “If I know myself well, you will make not Viscus, not Varius a friend of more value: for who can write more verses than me, or faster? Who (can) move their limbs more gently? Even Hermogenes might envy what I sing.”
(26) This was the spot for interrupting, “Have you a mother (or) relatives, for whom there is need of you in good health?” “I haven’t anyone at all; I have buried everyone.”
“The lucky ones! Now I remain. Finish (me)! For a sad fate presses upon me, which an old Sabine woman, her prophetic urn having been shaken, sang to me as a boy: neither terrible poisons not an enemy’s sword will carry off this one, nor a pain of the lungs or a cough, nor a slow gout: a talkative man will destroy this one at some time or another. He will avoid the talkative, if he is wise, as soon as his age has reached its peak.”
(35) It had been come to (the temple) of Vesta, already the fourth part of the day having passed by, and then he was obliged to respond to the plaintiff in an accident, which unless he did (he must) loose the lawsuit. “If you love me, “ he says, “be here for me a while.”
“May I die if either I am strong enough to stand or know civil law, and you know to where I hurry.” He says, “I am uncertain what to do. Will I leave you or my case.” “Me, please.” That one (said) and began to press on. I follow, as it is hard to contend with the winner.
(43) Hence he resumes, “How is Maecenas with you? (He is) of few men and of quite sane mind; no one has used his luck more skillfully. You would have a great helper, one who can bear the second (roles), if you should be willing to introduce this man. May I die unless you might have banished all (others).”
“We do not live there in such a way, (as) by which you suppose. And there is not any purer house than this one, nor one more alien to these evils. It does not impede me at all, I say, because this one is richer or more learned: his own place for each one is.”
(52) “You tell a great, scarcely believable (tale).” “Thus it is nevertheless.” “You inflame (the reason) whereby I wish more to be right next to that man.” “You would wish it only: such (lit. which) is your excellence and you will overcome who can be overcome, and therefore a difficult approach manages men first.”
“I will not fail myself: I will bribe his servants with gifts; if I am shut out today, I will not quit; I will look for opportunities, I will meet (him) in the crossroads, I will escort (him). Life gives nothing to mortals without great effort.”
(61) While he delivers these (words), behold! Fuscus Aristius turns up, (one) dear to me and who knows that man beautifully. We stop. “Whence do you come?” and “To where do you proceed?” he asks and responds. I began to tug at and press his softest arms with my hand, nodding, twisting my eyes this way and that to rescue me. The wickedly witty man, laughing, pretends not to notice and bile burns my liver: “Certainly you were saying to (lit. with) me that you wanted to mention something secretly.”
“You remember well, but I will speak at a better time: today is the thirtieth Sabbath. Do you want to fart in the face of the circumcised Jews?” I say, “Religion is nothing to me.” “But to me! I am a little weaker, (I am) one of many. You will forgive (me); I will talk at another time.”
(72) That this so black a sun rose for me! The unprincipled man flees and leaves me under the knife. The plaintiff in his case comes to confront that man and calls out in a loud voice, “Where to, you most foul fellow?” and “Is it permitted to call (you) as witness?” I indeed proffer my ear. He snatches (him) into court. A shout on both sides, everywhere a running to and fro. Thus Apollo saved me.
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