Ovid: HEROIDES

Siqua tamen caecis errabunt scripta lituris,
     oblitus a dominae caede libellus erit.
dextra tenet calamum, strictum tenet altera ferrum
     et iacet in gremio charta soluta meo.
haec est Aeolidos fratri scribentis imago;
     sic videor duro posse placere patri.

If any written lines nevertheless wander with blind erasures,
     the booklet will be smeared by the mistress’s blood.
my right hand holds the calamus, the other holds the drawn iron,
     and the loosened sheet lies in my lap.
this is the image of an Aeolid writing to her brother;
     thus I seem able to please my hard father.

Ipse necis cuperem nostrae spectator adesset
     auctorisque oculis exigeretur opus
ut ferus est multoque suis truculentior euris,
     spectasset siccis vulnera nostra genis.
scilicet est aliquid cum saevis vivere ventis;
     ingenio populi convenit ille sui.
ille Noto Zephyroque et Sithonio Aquiloni
     imperat et pinnis, Eure proterve, tuis.

I would wish that he himself, the spectator of our killing, were present
     and that the deed be executed under the eyes of its author;
as he is feral and much more truculent than his own winds,
     he would have looked upon our wounds with dry cheeks.
Surely, there is something to living with savage winds;
     he suits the nature of his own people.
He commands Notus and Zephyrus and the Sithonian Aquilo
     and, Eurus, overbold, he commands your pinions.

imperat heu! ventis; tumidae non imperat irae
possidet et vitiis regna minora suis.
quid iuvat admotam per avorum nomina caelo
inter cognatos posse referre Iovem?

he commands—alas!—the winds; he does not command his tumid ire
and his realms are lesser than his vices.
what does it avail, through the names of his forefathers, to be able
to reckon Jove, brought near to heaven, among his kindred?

num minus infestum, funebria munera, ferrum
     feminea teneo, non mea tela, manu?
O utinam, Macareu, quae nos commisit in unum,
     venisset leto serior hora meo!
cur umquam plus me, frater, quam frater amasti
     et tibi, non debet quod soror esse, fui?

am I holding, no less baleful, a funereal gift—the iron—in a feminine hand, weapons not mine?
     O would that, Macareus, the hour which united us into one
     had come later than my death!
why ever, brother, did you love me more than a brother
     and was I to you what a sister ought not to be?

ipsa quoque incalui, qualemque audire solebam,
nescio quem sensi corde tepente deum.
fugerat ore color, macies adduxerat artus,
sumebant minimos ora coacta cibos;

i too grew warm, and the kind i used to hear of,
i felt i know not what god in my tepid heart.
color had fled from my face, emaciation had drawn my limbs,
my constrained lips were taking the minimal foods;

nec somni faciles et nox erat annua nobis
     et gemitum nullo laesa dolore dabam.
nec cur haec facerem, poteram mihi reddere causam
     nec noram quid amans esset; at illud eram.
Prima malum nutrix animo praesensit anili;
     prima mihi nutrix "Aeoli," dixit, "amas!"
erubui gremioque pudor deiecit ocellos;
     haec satis in tacita signa fatentis erant.

nor was sleep easy, and the night was year-long for me
     and I gave a groan, harmed by no pain.
nor as to why I was doing these things could I render a cause to myself,
     nor did I know what a lover was; yet that I was.
The nurse first sensed the evil with her old-woman’s mind;
     first my nurse said to me, "Daughter of Aeolus, you are in love!"
I blushed, and modesty cast my little eyes down into my lap;
     these were sufficient silent signs of one confessing.

iamque tumescebant vitiati pondera ventris
     aegraque furtivum membra gravabat onus.
quas mihi non herbas, quae non medicamina nutrix
     attulit audaci supposuitque manu,
ut penitus nostris—hoc te celavimus unum—
     visceribus crescens excuteretur onus!
a! nimium vivax admotis restitit infans
     artibus et tecto tutus ab hoste fuit.

and now the vitiated weights of my belly were swelling
     and the ailing limbs were weighed down by the furtive burden.
what herbs did my nurse not bring me, what medicaments did she not
     apply with a daring hand,
so that the burden growing deep within our entrails—this one thing
     we hid from you—might be shaken out!
ah! too long-lived, the infant resisted the applied arts
     and, under cover, was safe from the foe.

iam noviens erat orta soror pulcherrima Phoebi
     et nova luciferos Luna movebat equos;
nescia, quae faceret subitos mihi causa dolores,
     et rudis ad partus et nova miles eram.
nec tenui vocem. "quid" ait "tua crimina prodis?"
     oraque clamantis conscia pressit anus.

now nine times had the most beautiful sister of Phoebus arisen
     and the new Moon was moving her light-bearing horses;
unaware what cause was making sudden pains for me,
     and untrained for childbirth and a new soldier I was.
nor did I keep my voice. “Why,” she said, “do you publish your crimes?”
     and the old woman, privy, pressed the mouth of the one crying out.

quid faciam infelix? gemitus dolor edere cogit,
sed timor et nutrix et pudor ipse vetant.
contineo gemitus elapsaque verba reprendo
et cogor lacrimas combibere ipsa meas.

What am I to do, ill-fated? Pain compels me to put forth groans,
but fear and the nurse and shame itself forbid.
I restrain my groans and catch back the words that have slipped out
and I am forced to imbibe my very own tears.

mors erat ante oculos et opem Lucina negabat
     et grave si morerer mors quoque crimen erat;
cum super incumbens scissa tunicaque comaque
     pressa refovisti pectora nostra tuis,
et mihi "vive, soror, soror o carissima," aisti
     "vive nec unius corpore perde duos.
spes bona det vires; fratri nam nupta futura es.
     illius de quo mater et uxor eris."
Mortua, crede mihi, tamen ad tua verba revixi
     et positum est uteri crimen onusque mei.
quid tibi grataris?

death was before my eyes, and Lucina refused aid,
     and, if I should die, death too was a grave crime;
when, leaning over me, with your tunic torn and your hair
     pressed down, you revived my breast with your own,
and to me, “live, sister, O dearest sister,” you said,
     “live, and do not in one body destroy two.
good hope will give strength; for you are to be wed to your brother—
     to him of whom you will be both mother and wife.”
Dead, believe me, yet at your words I revived,
     and the womb’s crime and my burden were laid down.
why do you congratulate yourself?

media sedet Aeolus aula;
     crimina sunt oculis subripienda patris.
frugibus infantem ramisque albentis olivae
     et levibus vittis sedula celat anus
fictaque sacra facit dicitque precantia verba;
     dat populus sacris, dat pater ipse viam.
iam prope limen erat.

Aeolus sits in the middle of the hall;
     the crimes must be surreptitiously stolen from the father’s eyes.
with fruits and with branches of a whitening olive
     and with light fillets the busy old woman hides the infant,
and she makes feigned sacred rites and speaks praying words;
     the people give way to the rites, the father himself gives way.
now she was near the threshold.

patrias vagitus ad aures
venit et indicio proditur ille suo.
eripit infantem mentitaque sacra revelat
Aeolus. insana regia voce sonat.

the infant’s wail to paternal ears
comes, and by his own indication he is betrayed.
he snatches the infant and reveals the feigned rites
Aeolus. the palace resounds with an insane voice.

ut mare fit tremulum, tenui cum stringitur aura,
     ut quatitur tepido fraxina virga Noto,
sic mea vibrari pallentia membra videres;
     quassus ab imposito corpore lectus erat.
inruit et nostrum vulgat clamore pudorem
     et vix a misero continet ore manus.
ipsa nihil praeter lacrimas pudibunda profudi.

as the sea becomes tremulous when it is brushed by a thin breeze,
     as an ash-wand is shaken by the tepid South Wind,
so you could see my pallid limbs vibrate;
     the bed had been shaken by the body placed upon it.
he rushes in and, with a shout, divulges our modesty/shame,
     and he scarcely holds his hands back from my wretched mouth.
I myself, shamefaced, poured forth nothing except tears.

     torpuerat gelido lingua retenta metu.
Iamque dari parvum canibusque avibusque nepotem
     iusserat in solis destituique locis.
vagitus dedit ille miser—sensisse putares—
     quaque suum poterat voce rogabat avum.

     my tongue had grown torpid, held back by gelid fear.
And now he had ordered that the little grandson be given to dogs and birds
     and to be abandoned in solitary places.
the wretch gave forth a wail—you would think he had sensed it—
     and with whatever voice he could he was begging his own grandfather.

quid mihi tunc animi credis, germane, fuisse
     (nam potes ex animo colligere ipse tuo)
cum mea me coram silvas inimicus in altas
     viscera montanis ferret edenda lupis?
exierat thalamo. tunc demum pectora plangi
     contigit inque meas unguibus ire comas.

what do you think then was my state of mind, brother
     (for you can yourself gather it from your own mind),
when my enemy, before my face, was bearing my very viscera into the deep woods
     to be eaten by the mountain wolves?
he had gone out from the bedchamber. then at last it befell me that my breast be beaten
     and for my nails to go into my hair.

Interea patrius vultu maerente satelles
     venit et indignos edidit ore sonos:
'Aeolus hunc ensem mittit tibi'—tradidit ensem—
     'et iubet ex merito scire, quid iste velit.'
scimus et utemur violento fortiter ense;
     pectoribus condam dona paterna meis.
his mea muneribus, genitor, conubia donas?
     hac tua dote, pater, filia dives erit?

Meanwhile my father’s attendant, with a grieving countenance,
     came and emitted unworthy sounds from his mouth:
'Aeolus sends you this sword'—he handed over the sword—
     'and bids you, in accordance with desert, to know what this intends.'
We know, and we will use the violent sword bravely;
     into my breast I will bury the paternal gifts.
With these gifts, father, do you endow my marriage?
     With this your dowry, father, will your daughter be rich?

tolle procul, decepte, faces, Hymenaee, maritas
     et fuge turbato tecta nefanda pede!
ferte faces in me quas fertis, Erinyes atrae,
     et meus ex isto luceat igne rogus!
nubite felices Parca meliore sorores;
     amissae memores sed tamen este mei!

Take far away, deceiver, the wedded torches, Hymenaeus,
     and flee this unspeakable house with a troubled step!
Bring the torches against me which you carry, black Erinyes,
     and let my funeral pyre gleam from that fire!
Marry, sisters, happy with a better Parca;
     yet be mindful of me, though lost!

Quid puer admisit tam paucis editus horis?
quo laesit facto vix bene natus avum?
si potuit meruisse necem, meruisse putetur;
a! miser admisso plectitur ille meo!

What has the boy committed, brought forth for so few hours?
By what deed has he, scarcely newly-born, injured his grandfather?
If he could have merited death, let him be thought to have merited it;
ah! the poor one is punished for my admitted offense!

nate, dolor matris, rapidarum praeda ferarum,
     ei mihi! natali dilacerate tuo,
nate, parum fausti miserabile pignus amoris,
     haec tibi prima dies, haec tibi summa fuit.
non mihi te licuit lacrimis perfundere iustis,
     in tua non tonsas ferre sepulcra comas;
non super incubui, non oscula frigida carpsi;
     diripiunt avidae viscera nostra ferae.

son, the grief of your mother, prey of the rushing wild beasts,
     alas for me! torn apart on your very birthday,
son, pitiable pledge of a love too inauspicious,
     this was your first day, this was your last.
it was not permitted me to bathe you with rightful tears,
     nor to bear shorn locks to your sepulcher;
I did not lie upon you, I did not snatch cold kisses;
     greedy wild beasts tear my vitals.

Ipsa quoque infantis cum vulnere prosequar umbras;
     nec mater fuero dicta nec orba diu.
tu tamen, o frustra miserae sperate sorori,
     sparsa, precor, nati collige membra tui
et refer ad matrem socioque impone sepulcro
     urnaque nos habeat quamlibet arta duos!
vive memor nostri lacrimasque in vulnera funde,
     neve reformida corpus amantis amans.

I myself also will follow the shades of the infant along with his wound;
     nor shall I be called mother, nor long bereft.
you, however, O you hoped-for in vain by your wretched sister,
     gather, I pray, the scattered limbs of your son
and carry them back to the mother and set them on a shared sepulcher,
     and let the urn, however strait, hold us two!
live mindful of us and pour tears into the wounds,
     nor, loving, shrink in dread from the body of your loving one.

tu, rogo, dilectae nimium mandata sororis
perfer! mandatum persequar ipsa patris.

you, I ask, carry through the mandates of the too‑beloved sister!
I myself will pursue the father’s mandate.