Quintilian: DECLAMATIONES MAIORES

[1] Quamvis, iudices, inter eos, qui liberorum mortibus destituti cuncta vota et praeparatas spes in senectutem ante se egerunt, id fere acerbissimum certamen conflictationis oriatur, ut unusquisque luctibus ac lacrimis suis credat accedere quandam dignitatem, si miserrimus esse videatur, haec tamen femina neque noto neque publico genere miserabilis non impudenter inter ceteras matres, quae aut unicos aut iuvenes pios filios perdiderunt, eminere et occupare quendam maerentium principatum differentia novae calamitatis affectat, quae sola omnium supra fidem infelix in uno filio iam alteram patitur orbitatem. priorem quidem illam, ut communem ceteris et fato accidentem, fortius utcumque tolerabat. nam et de filio nihil aliud perdiderat misera nisi dies, nec iam timebat, ne ille, quo fruebatur, mori posset.

[1] Although, judges, among those who, left destitute by the deaths of their children, have driven all vows and prepared hopes forward into old age before them, there is wont to arise the most bitter contest of conflict, such that each believes a certain dignity accrues to his griefs and tears if he seem the most miserable, nevertheless this woman—miserable in a kind neither familiar nor common—does not shamelessly aspire to stand out among the other mothers who have lost either only sons or dutiful young sons, and to seize a certain primacy of the mourning by the distinctiveness of a new calamity, she who alone of all, unlucky beyond belief, in one son now endures a second bereavement. The former bereavement indeed, as common to others and occurring by fate, she was somehow bearing more stoutly. For of her son the wretched woman had lost nothing other than the day, nor did she now fear lest he, whom she enjoyed, could die.

planctibus lacrimisque, paene improbe dixerim, parcius utebatur, nec sibi permittebat dolor lugere venientem. nunc destituta solacio, persuasione fraudata est: dum non putabat perisse, quem poterat videre, ~eripuit ingrata filio alterum titulum.~ miser ille, nisi teneretur, iam et ad patrem veniret.

she used lamentations and tears, I would almost say shamelessly, more sparingly, nor did her pain permit itself to mourn one who was coming. now, bereft of consolation, she has been defrauded of conviction: while she did not think him to have perished whom she could see, ~the ungrateful woman has snatched from her son another title.~ that wretch, unless he were being held, would already even be coming to his father.

Tantum misera petit, ne minus perdidisse videatur, quam ipsa desiderat. non inani persuasione nec cogitationibus ficta lugentis umbra veniebat, nec agitabat incertos levis imago somnos, ac ne confusi quidem tristi cinere vultus et inspersum favilla caput noctibus suis obibat, sed filius erat qualis aliquando, et iuvenis et pulcher habitu, nec aspici tantum viderique contentus, verum, si quid desiderio creditis miserae, quae sola vidit, amplexus et oscula dabat et tota nocte vivebat.

The wretched woman asks only this: that she may not seem to have lost less than she herself desires. Not by empty persuasion, nor did a shadow of a mourner, feigned by cogitations, come, nor did a light image drive uncertain slumbers, and not even faces blurred with sad ash and a head besprinkled with cinder visited her nights; but it was her son as once he was, both young and beautiful in aspect, and not content to be only looked at and seen, but indeed—if you put any faith in the longing of the wretched woman, who alone saw it—he gave embraces and kisses and lived through the whole night.

[2] multum perdidit mater, si contingebat hoc illi, non minus, si videbatur. nunc tenebras inanis et longas oculis flentibus noctes iuxta somnum mariti pervigil et tantum deserta metitur, [non desiderio fictus aut fucatus habitu nec, ut somniorum vanitate conspicitur, sed experta non totum mori hominem illud, quod nec flammis uritur nec cineribus extinguitur nec urnis sepulcrisque satis premitur, expectat] nunc ista carcere obseratam animam et repugnantem magico iuvenem cogitat ferro. infelicissima omnium mater plus aliquid esse quam umbram filium putat, postquam potuit includi, nec sua tantummodo poena proprioque supplicio deserta consumitur; rescissa orbitate vel magis cruciatur, quod non licet filio venire cupienti: 'nunc barbaro carmine gravem terram totis noctibus pulsat, et impositum sibi sepulcrum, quod non possit evolvere, quae solebat ipsos discutere inferos, umbra miratur.

[2] the mother has lost much, if this befell her; no less, if it only seemed so. now emptiness and darkness, and with weeping eyes she measures long nights, keeping vigil beside her husband’s sleep, and, utterly deserted, she measures them; [not a figure fashioned by longing or painted with a faked guise, nor, as is beheld by the vanity of dreams, but, having learned by experience that not all of a man dies— that thing which is neither burned by flames nor extinguished by ashes nor sufficiently pressed down by urns and sepulchers— she awaits] now she imagines that soul shut fast in a prison and the youth resisting the magic iron. most unhappy of all mothers, she thinks her son to be something more than a shade, since he was able to be enclosed; nor is she consumed only by her own punishment and deserted to her own torment; with her bereavement torn open she is even more tortured, because it is not permitted for her son, who longs to come: 'now with a barbarous chant he beats the heavy earth through whole nights, and the shade marvels at the tomb laid upon it—which she cannot roll away—she who was wont to scatter even the very infernal powers.'

miser, quem non tantum verba clauserunt (nam forsitan per illa transisset), sed vincula ferrea solidique nexus ad mortem reduxerunt. quomodo tenetur infelix, qui ne propter hoc quidem venit, ut queratur!'

wretched man, whom not only words shut in (for perhaps through those he would have passed), but iron chains and solid bonds led back to death. how the ill-fated one is held fast, who did not come even for this very purpose, to complain!'

Misereor feminae, cuius invidiae totum facinus ascribitur. maritus sic filium inclusit, tamquam se inquietari mater ista quereretur. igitur, iudices, nemo miretur, si ad tam crudelem, ad tam immitem patrem umbra non venit.

I pity the woman, to whose envy the whole crime is ascribed. the husband thus shut in the son, as though that mother were complaining that she was being disturbed. therefore, judges, let no one wonder if the shade did not come to so cruel, to so harsh a father.

sciebat, ubi lacrimas, ubi posset invenire singultus, a quo magis desideraretur. namque isti ferreum pectus et dura praecordia, nec sunt de orbitate sensus. quid enim inhumanius patre, quid inveniri truculentius potest?

He knew where to find tears, where he could find sobs, by whom he would be more longed for. For that man has an iron breast and hard precordia, nor is there any sense of bereavement. For what is more inhuman than that father, what can be found more truculent?

[3] invidit matri, ne filio frueretur, nec hoc ideo fecit, quia videre ipse malebat; ne viventem quidem adhuc et incolumem tam blanda tamque debita pietate prosequebatur, ut defuncto servaturus affectum etiam sepulti pater videretur. tanto magis effusa mater et suis ac paternis vicibus occurrens: haec pallidior ad metus, ad vota pronior, non diebus secura, non noctibus. et ille miser intellegebat, utri promptior ex parentibus et facilior esset affectus.

[3] He envied the mother, lest she might enjoy the son, nor did he do this for this reason, that he himself preferred to see him; not even while he was still living and unharmed did he attend him with so winning and so owed piety, such that, when defunct, the father would seem about to preserve affection even for one buried. By so much the more the mother was effusive and, by turns, stepping in for her own and the father’s parts: she, paler toward fears, more prone toward vows, secure neither by days nor by nights. And that poor wretch understood to which of the parents the affection was readier and easier.

itaque ab huius osculis, ab huius feminae cervice pendebat. et, quia longum est officia praeterita debitae pietatis agitare, illo ipso languore, quo filius caducum illud et fragile corpus amisit, quam perdite mulier et usque in exemplum modo super ora pallentis infelices lacerabat oculos, nunc siccata frustra ubera querebatur, nunc superstitem caedebat uterum! notabat haec ille deficiens mandabatque morti suae, cui periret.

and so he was hanging from her kisses, from this woman’s neck. And, since it is long to agitate the past offices of owed piety, in that very languor by which the son lost that caducous and fragile body, how desperately the woman—even into an exemplar—now over the face of the pallid one was tearing her unhappy eyes, now she was lamenting the breasts dried in vain, now she was beating the surviving womb! He, failing, was noting these things and was commending her to his own death, to which he would perish.

ubi sunt, qui cito iubent stare lacrimas, quibus non placet longum agere maerorem? retulit umbra gratiam matri. scio et intellego: cum inter gementis iacet medium cadaver, et cum omnis videtur remisisse curas, tunc sentit aliquid et intellegit et inter suos iudicat.

Where are those who quickly bid the tears to stand, to whom it does not please to carry on mourning long? The shade returned gratitude to the mother. I know and I understand: when the corpse lies in the middle among the groaning, and when all seems to have remitted their cares, then he senses something and understands and judges among his own.

moneo te, orbitas, moneo, effusius fleas, effusius <te> efferas, numquam perisse <lacrimas> credas. filii sui umbra cui non apparet, irascitur.

I warn you, bereavement, I warn: weep more effusively, make <yourself> more unrestrained; never believe that <tears> have perished. The shade of her son is irate with her to whom it does not appear.

[4] Iam gelidi piger corporis sanguis omnis in mortem strinxerat venas, et nutantium fulgor extremus vanescebat oculorum, et iam desperantibus medicis crediderat pater. adhuc tamen spirare matri videbatur, et quamcumque corporis partem osculis misera tepefecerat, illo vitae calorem redisse clamabat. oderat ignes, oderat rogos; reponi corpus et servari membra cupiebat.

[4] Already the gelid, sluggish blood of the body had tightened all the veins toward death, and the final gleam of the wavering eyes was vanishing, and now, with the physicians despairing, the father had believed them. Yet to the mother he still seemed to breathe, and whatever part of the body the wretched woman had made warm with kisses, she cried that the warmth of life had returned there. She hated fires, she hated pyres; she desired that the body be laid away and the limbs preserved.

et nunc infelicem magis matrem paenitet, quod sepultus est, qui poterat reverti. scitis ipsi, quo exequiarum die<s> labore extracta sit, quamdiu filium tenuerit a lambentibus flammis. unde enim speraret, ut postea videre contingeret, ut extra orbitatem haberet oculos?

and now the more unfortunate mother regrets that he was interred, he who could have returned. You yourselves know, on which day of the exequies she was by effort dragged away, how long she held her son back from the lambent flames. For whence, indeed, would she hope that afterwards it might befall her to see him, that she might have eyes beyond bereavement?

iam magum misera quaerebat, ut umbra evocaretur.

already the wretched woman was seeking a magus, that the shade might be evoked.

Reliqua, mater infelix, tu ad iudices referre debebas, et, nisi orbitate, nisi lacrimis vox mutaretur in gemitus, noctes tuas quanto melius tuo ore lugeres! ego, utcumque potero, perferam. satiare, misera, satiare saltem memoria diei illius, quo exequias unici duximus.

The rest, unhappy mother, you ought to have reported to the judges; and, were it not that by bereavement, were it not that by tears, your voice were changed into groans, how much better you would lament your nights with your own mouth! I, however I shall be able, will endure. Satiate yourself, wretched woman, be sated at least with the memory of that day, on which we conducted the exequies of our only son.

'iam planctus,' inquit, 'lacrimasque consumpseram et tenebras veluti perpetuas venire gaudebam, iam fatigata propinquorum officia defecerant, iam plangorem familiae altus sopor vicerat.

'Already,' she said, 'I had exhausted lamentation and tears, and I was rejoicing that darkness, as if perpetual, was coming; already the worn-out offices of my kinsfolk had failed; already deep sleep had conquered the wailing of the household.'

[5] rogo, ne quis tam contumeliosus sit in matrem, ut per quietem contigisse filium dicat; unde miserae tunc, unde somnus? nihil de te, marite, nihil queror; satis magnas dedisti poenas. si totis noctibus mecum flere voluisses, vidisses utique, non quemadmodum tenues rerum imagines solent cogitationibus accipere corpus, cum vanae absenti animo ~cogitationes~ finguntur, sed ipsum filium, qualis blandissimus erat, et, si dimittatur, videbis.

[5] I beg, let no one be so contumelious toward a mother as to say that the son appeared to her in sleep; whence for the wretched woman then, whence sleep? I complain of nothing about you, husband, nothing; you have paid sufficiently great penalties. If you had wished to weep with me through whole nights, you would surely have seen, not in the way that tenuous images of things are accustomed to take on body to cogitations, when vain ~thoughts~ are fashioned for a mind from which the object is absent, but the son himself, just as he was, most endearing; and, if he be released, you will see.

subito ante me diductis constitit tenebris, non ille pallens nec acerbo languore consumptus, nec qualis super rogos videbatur et flammas, sed viridis et sane pulcher habitu nescio ubi totam reliquerat mortem: non igne torridae comae nec favilla funebri nigra facies nec vix bene cinere composito umbrae recentis igneus squalor. proclamaret mater infelix, etiamsi talem videre desisset. Primo tantum stetit et se permisit agnosci.

suddenly, with the darkness drawn apart, he stood before me—not pale, nor consumed by bitter languor, nor as he had appeared upon the pyres and the flames, but verdant and truly handsome; in aspect he had, I know not where, left death entirely behind: no locks scorched by fire, no face black with funereal cinder, no igneous squalor of a recent shade, with the ash scarcely well composed. An unhappy mother would have cried out, even if she had forborne to look. At first he only stood and allowed himself to be recognized.

ego tunc plurimum stupui; non ausa oscula dare, non iungere amplexus; infelix primam perdidi noctem, dum timeo, ne fugeret.

I then was exceedingly stupefied; I did not dare to give kisses, nor to join embraces; unfortunate, I lost the first night, while I feared lest he should flee.

Hanc tu, marite, persuasionem putas et vanum animi mei lugentis errorem? quicquid est in filio, plus apud matrem fit, cum desinit. vis denique scire, quid uxori tuae detraxeris?

Do you, husband, think this a persuasion and the vain error of my mourning mind? Whatever is in the son becomes more with the mother, when it ceases. Do you, at last, wish to know what you have taken away from your wife?

ex defuncto filio non habet aliud, quod speret.

from her deceased son she has nothing else to hope for.

[6] Iam nox altera aderat, et primis statim tenebris praesto filius erat, non ille, ut pridie, procul et tantum videndus, sed audacius et propius et ad matris manus tamquam corpus accedens. nec iam nisi cum luce certa fugatisque sideribus invitus ille vanescebat ex oculis multum resistens, saepe respiciens, et qui se promitteret etiam proxima nocte venturum.'

[6] Already a second night was at hand, and at the very first darkness straightway the son was present—not, as on the previous day, far off and only to be seen, but more boldly and nearer, and approaching his mother’s hands as if a body. Nor now did he vanish from her eyes except with the sure light and the stars put to flight, unwilling, resisting much, often looking back, and he would promise that he would even come on the next night.'

Iam maerori locus non erat: mulier filium nocte videbat, die sperabat. quid attinet singula referre? 'nullis,' inquit, 'destituta sum tenebris, donec scelerata tacui; satiabar osculis, satiabar amplexibus et colloquebar et audiebam.

Now there was no place for mourning: the woman saw her son by night, by day she hoped. What is the point to relate the particulars? 'By no darkness,' she says, 'was I left destitute, so long as, a guilty woman, I kept silent; I was sated with kisses, I was sated with embraces, and I conversed and I listened.

misera plus perdidi, si nemo credit. iam coeperam tuam quoque, marite crudelis, agere causam rogabamque iuvenem, ut paternis oculis quoque laetus occurreret, et tibi, ingrate, dimidia nocte cedebam. iam miser et ille pollicebatur.

Wretched, I have lost even more, if no one believes me. Already I had begun to plead your cause as well, cruel husband, and I was begging the youth to present himself gladly to his father’s eyes too, and to you, ingrate, I was yielding half the night. Already he too, poor wretch, was promising.

Haec me fiducia perdidit, ut confiterer.' rogo, quid tam muliebre, quid tam maternum fieri potest? 'gaude,' inquit, 'marite, gaude; filium fortasse nocte proxima videbis, illum, quem crudelibus flammis exussisti, ex quo cineres et ossa supersunt, iuvenem videbis et forte etiam ~die speres~ ego certe totis noctibus mater sum, video, fruor, iam et narro.' exitum paterni affectus quaeritis? filium videre timuit.

'This confidence destroyed me, so that I confessed.' I ask, what can be done that is so womanly, so maternal? 'Rejoice,' she says, 'husband, rejoice; perhaps on the next night you will see our son—him whom you burned to ashes with cruel flames, of whom ashes and bones remain—you will see the young man, and perhaps even ~you may hope by day~; I for my part am a mother through all the nights, I see, I enjoy, and now I even tell the tale.' You ask the outcome of the paternal affection? He was afraid to see his son.

[7] Sic magum protinus nescia matre, cuius horrido murmure imperiosisque verbis dii superi manesque torquentur, excogitator iste mortis alterius advocat, non ut exorati manes deducerentur, nec ut evocata nocturnis ululatibus undecumque umbra properaret, sed tamquam parum sepulcra premerent et tumulorum leve pondus esset, 'filius,' inquit, 'meus non satis periit; adhuc fulgore siderum fruitur et nocte nostra. nam cum dies occidit, imponit morti suae finem, domum repetit et maternos territat somnos. inveni aliqua, inveni vincla verborum, sed arte tota, sed labore toto.

[7] Thus straightway, the mother unknowing, that contriver of another’s death summons a magus, by whose horrid mutter and imperious words the supernal gods and the Manes are tormented, not so that appeased Manes might be led down, nor that a shade, evoked by nocturnal ululations from wherever, might hasten, but as though the sepulchres weighed too little and the weight of the tumuli were light: 'my son,' he says, 'has not perished enough; he still enjoys the splendor of the stars and our night. For when day sets, he imposes a limit on his death, he returns home and terrifies his mother’s sleep. Find something, find chains of words, but with all your art, but with all your toil.'

magna tua gloria est, si retines filium, qui redit etiam a morte ad matrem.' noxium sepulcro circumdatur carmen. tunc horrentibus verbis urna praecluditur, tunc primum miser filius mors et umbra fit. ite nunc et putate vana fuisse matris solacia; filium ista si cogitationibus et inani persuasione vidisset, adhuc videret.

Great is your glory, if you retain a son who returns even from death to his mother.' A noxious song is cast around the sepulcher. Then, with hair-raising words, the urn is shut fast, then for the first time the wretched son becomes death and a shade. Go now and suppose the mother’s solaces to have been vain; if she had seen her son by those thoughts and empty persuasion, she would still be seeing him even now.

At quae supplicia sustinuit infelix illa statim nocte! iam totam domum ac familiam quies prima sopiverat, et tacentibus tenebris venerat tempus dulcissimum matri. iacebat haec insomnis, inquieta, cum diceret: 'iam statim apparebit, iam statim veniet.

But what torments that unhappy woman endured that very night! Already the first quiet had lulled the whole house and household, and, the darkness silent, the sweetest time had come for the mother. She lay sleepless, unquiet, as she kept saying: 'right away he will appear, right away he will come.'

numquam tamen tardius venit. miseram me, fili, proxima nocte iam veneras. ecce iam medios sidera tenent cursus; indignor, irascor; ita demum mihi satisfacies, si apud patrem fuisti.

Yet never has he come more slowly. Wretched me, my son, last night you had already come. Behold, now the stars hold the middle of their courses; I am indignant, I grow angry; only thus at last will you satisfy me, if you have been with your father.

miseram me, iam maligna mundus luce clarescit; quando venies?

wretched me, now the world grows bright with malignant light; when will you come?

[8] iam redire debebas.' ac postquam alteram tertiamque noctem deserta vanis questibus duxit, tum tristiora lugubria, tum squalidae magis placuere vestes, tum repetitis sanguinavere planctibus iam convalescentes lacerti. nihil est infelicius matre, quae perdidit aliquid in filio, postquam extulit.

[8] by now you ought to have returned.' And after she, deserted, passed the second and the third night with vain lamentations, then more lugubrious mournings pleased her, then more squalid garments, then, the beatings being repeated, her upper arms, now convalescent, ran with blood. Nothing is more unhappy than a mother, who has lost something in a son, after she has brought him up.

Cum vero comperit noctes suas iuveni[s] necessitatibus magicis et cantato perisse ferro, quam tum illa praefixum clausumque tumulum nudis cecidit uberibus, quo fletu sepulcra perfudit, quo gemitu audientem forsitan et exire cupientem frustra vocavit animam! o natura crudelis, plus magum posse quam matrem! ubi sunt, qui acerbas mortium necessitates et ferrea iura fatorum et invictas nec ullo maerore mutabiles inanium leges querebantur umbrarum?

When indeed she discovered that her nights for the young man had perished by magical necessities and by a chanted steel, how then did she fall with bare breasts upon the fenced and closed tomb, with what weeping she drenched the sepulchres, with what groan she in vain called the soul—perhaps hearing and desiring to go out! O cruel Nature, that a magus can be more powerful than a mother! Where are they who used to complain of the bitter necessities of deaths and the iron rights of the Fates and the unconquered laws of the empty shades, not changeable by any mourning?

filium tuum, mulier infelix, non impositae inferis clusere terrae nec spissa perpetuae noctis caligo compescuit, non fabulosa vatibus palus multumque celebrati curvato igne torrentes. haec permeabat, haec omnia nocte transibat levioremque mortem suam fecerat, quam si peregrinaretur et abesset. et nunc minus mali pateretur, si non sentiret: ille, qui non venit, in quendam carcerem translatus a tumulo patitur veneficia vitae.

your son, unhappy woman, was not shut in by the earth laid upon those below, nor did the dense gloom of perpetual night restrain him, nor the fabled marsh of the vates and the torrents much celebrated, burning with a curving fire. He permeated these, he was passing through all these by night, and he had made his death lighter than if he should peregrinate and be absent. And now he would suffer less evil, if he did not feel it: he, who does not come, having been translated from the tomb into a certain prison, suffers the sorceries of life.

magnae sunt ergo umbrarum catenae, et quamquam volatilem vagamque imaginem, morti stringunt atque alligant tamquam reum corpus animam. ferro vero ac lapidibus artare et, ut solent bellicae robur accipere portae, ipsam umbram iam catenis alligare, iam claustris, non dico crudele, est portentosum, nefarium, utique si hoc faciat, qui sensurum filium credat. et nunc illos miserrima mater in corpus putat et in membra descendisse mucrones.

Great, then, are the chains of the shades, and although they seize the volatile and vagrant image, they tighten and alligate the soul to death as though it were a guilty body. To press it, in truth, with iron and stones, and—as martial gates are wont to receive reinforcement—to bind the shade itself now with chains, now with bars, I do not say is cruel: it is portentous, nefarious, especially if the doer is one who believes that his son will feel it. And now the most wretched mother thinks that those sword-points have descended into the body and into the limbs.

[9] O mage saeve, crudelis, o in lacrimas artifex nostras, vellem non dedisses tam magnum experimentum! irascimur tibi, et blandiri necesse est: dum cludis umbram, intelleximus solum te esse, qui possis evocare.

[9] O savage mage, cruel one, O artificer of our tears, I would that you had not given so great an experiment! We are angry with you, and it is necessary to flatter: while you shut the shade, we understood that you alone are the one who can evoke.

Videtur itaque mulier infelix a dignitatis dolore secedere, quod tam<quam> uxorias in forum querelas et tamquam delicata matronae desideria pertulerit? non enim vestes nec aurum nec ambitiosos quaerit ornatus; contenta est orbitas sordibus suis. ac ne pelicis quidem dolore compellitur, nec tacita gaudia mariti impatientia et muliebri vanitate complorat.

Does the unhappy woman, then, seem to withdraw from dignified grief, because she has carried into the forum as though they were wifely complaints and as though matronal, pampered desires? For she seeks neither garments nor gold nor ambitious ornaments; bereavement is content with its own squalor. And she is not even driven by the pain of a mistress, nor does she bewail her husband’s secret joys out of impatience and womanly vanity.

sed nec relictum torum desertumque genialem velut contempta vilitas uxoris ulciscitur: alia longe, alia de noctibus cura est. ne timueris, quaecumque dignitas es magni doloris; nihil queritur misera nisi par orbitati, nisi matri dignum, quod publicos consumat oculos, quod ignotas quoque exigat lacrimas. quantam enim a marito acceperit iniuriam, scire vultis?

but neither does she avenge the abandoned couch and the deserted nuptial bed, as though the scorned cheapness of a wife: her care is far other, and other in the nights. be not afraid, O dignity of great grief, whatever you are; the wretched woman complains of nothing except what is equal to her bereavement, except what is worthy of a mother, something to consume the public eyes, to exact tears even from the unknown. for how great an injury she has received from her husband, do you wish to know?

sola mater filium perdidit nec potest invidiam facere morti.

the mother alone has lost her son, and she cannot make death the object of invidious reproach.

Ante itaque quam sciatis, iudices, quis dolor quisve maeror, quae tanta impatientia eruperit, ut mulier aliquando dulcium oblita tenebrarum clarum nitorem publicae lucis et diem etiam domi invisum in foro interque leges notabilis et sepulcris abstracta pateretur, certum profecto habetis non audaciam neque impudentiam nec vanitatem umquam querelas habuisse miserorum. quam verum est quicquid exclamat calamitas, nec ab infelicibus ficti temere exeunt gemitus! mulier, quae sanguinantes ad iudicem porrigit lacertos, quae scisso laniatoque vultu, quae lividis profertur uberibus, magno dolore cogitur, ut hoc potius, agat quam cineres osculetur, quam complectatur urnam.

Therefore, before you know, judges, what pain or what mourning, what such great impatience burst forth, that a woman, sometime forgetful of the sweet shadows, would endure the clear luster of the public light and the day even hated at home, to be conspicuous in the forum and among the laws, and to be torn away from the sepulchers, you surely have as certain that neither audacity nor impudence nor vanity have ever given rise to the laments of the wretched. How true is whatever calamity cries aloud, nor do feigned groans readily go forth from the unfortunate! A woman who stretches out to the judge her bleeding upper arms, who with a rent and torn countenance, who is brought forth with livid breasts, is compelled by great dolor to do this rather than kiss the ashes, rather than embrace the urn.

gravis testis querelae suae orbitas est.

Her bereavement is a grave witness of her complaint.

[10] Et antequam ad genus illatae inique ei iniuriae venio, cur, marite, quae ex te filium perdidit, quicquam potest queri? crudelis orbitatem feris adhuc alio dolore, tamquam parum desideria conficiant, quae de unico gerit; non pateris animam vacare lacrimis suis tu, qui sinum debes, qui colloquia et amplexus. quam misera est, quae queritur et de solacio suo!

[10] And before I come to the kind of injury unjustly inflicted upon her, why, husband, can she who has lost the son she had from you complain of anything? Cruel man, you add to her bereavement yet another pain, as though the longings that she bears for her only one did not suffice to consume her; you do not allow her soul to be free for her own tears—you, who owe her your bosom, who owe her colloquies and embraces. How wretched is she, who even must complain of her solace!

nun<c> coniugis desideriis large indulge[t]: nihil aspere, nihil contra voluntatem! habet privilegium suum mater infelix. molles manus et mitia fomenta magnis vulneribus admoveas.

now he indulgently grants the spouse’s desires lavishly: nothing harsh, nothing against her will! the unhappy mother has her own privilege. apply soft hands and gentle fomentations to great wounds.

quae se adhuc secari plaga permittit, in summo est. viri forsitan, quomodo fortior sexus, sic et contra dolorem quam imbecillis animus magis pugnat, itaque totum istud lugere femineum est, et simul orbitas imbelle pectus invadit, animus ille, qui luctus suos sequitur, incipit indulgentiam sentire lacrimarum. fidem tuam, marite, coniugi flere liceat; satiare gemitu orbitatem, permitte, quamdiu velit, flere.

A wound that still allows itself to be cut is at the surface. Men, perhaps—as the stronger sex—have a spirit that fights against pain more than a feeble one; and so the whole business of lamenting is feminine, and at the same time bereavement invades an unwarlike breast; that spirit which follows its griefs begins to feel the indulgence of tears. By your good faith, husband, let your spouse be allowed to weep; let her sate bereavement with groaning; permit her, as long as she wills, to weep.

odi patrem, qui, cum filium et ipse perdiderit, putat nimis lugere matrem.

I hate the father who, although he himself has lost a son, thinks the mother laments too much.

[11] 'Quid ergo queritur?' inquit; hoc primum: filium , quomodo debes, scelerate, desideras; magno animo orbus es, loqueris fuisse mortalem et interpretaris nihil superesse post flammas. flet iuxta latus et plangit uxor, tu siccos oculos habes. illa totis noctibus funebres exercet ululatus, tu graves somnos ac placidam quietem.

[11] 'What then does he complain of?' he says; this first: you do , as you ought, scoundrel, long for your son; you are bereft of magnanimity, you say he was mortal and you interpret that nothing survives after the flames. Your wife weeps at your side and beats her breast, you have dry eyes. She throughout whole nights practices funereal ululations, you heavy slumbers and placid repose.

pater crudelis, pater immemor, quid vis tibi amplius obiciamus? ex quo perdidisti filium, numquam sic desiderasti, ut videres. quid, quod eripuisti matri solacium, puta vanum et supervacuum?

cruel father, unmindful father, what more do you wish us to object to you? Since you lost your son, you have never so desired as to see him. What then of this, that you have snatched from the mother her solace—grant it be vain and superfluous?

nolo iudices, nolo corripias; scires, quantum esset hoc, si tantundem doleres. res indignior non est, quam quod tibi de eo postulas credi, quod non vidisti. indulge sane vanae rei, ignosce; libenter se orbitas decipit.

I do not wish you to judge, I do not wish you to censure; you would know how great a thing this is, if you grieved as much. There is nothing more unworthy than that you demand that credence be given you concerning that which you have not seen. Indulge, to be sure, the vain thing; forgive it; bereavement gladly deceives itself.

magnas calamitates una ratio sustentat, quod indulgent mala persuasionibus suis. quicquid ad miseros pertinet, crudelius eripitur quo minus est. clamat itaque, clamat mater infelix: 'si mihi aliquam imaginem filii mei vel parvuli vel iam adulti vel novissimam iuvenis auferres, inicerem tamen misera tamquam corpori manum, illam similitudinem flens tenerem, illos oculos, illam gratissimam faciem et risus oris, expressos et adumbratos artificis manu vultus.

one reason sustains great calamities, that evils indulge their own persuasions. whatever pertains to the wretched is more cruelly snatched away the less it is. she cries then, the unhappy mother cries: 'if you were to take from me any image of my son, whether as a little child or now grown, or the very latest as a youth, I would nonetheless, wretch that I am, lay my hand upon it as upon a body; weeping I would hold that likeness, those eyes, that most welcome face and the smiles of the mouth, the countenances expressed and adumbrated by the artificer’s hand.

sed illum perdidi, unde imago, unde similitudo, unde solacium.

but I have lost him—whence an image, whence a similitude, whence solace.

[12] fili, plus hodie amisi, quam cum elatus es: post mortem te tuam vidi. si mehercules notas in corpore unici vestes subtrahere temptares, dicerem: succurre solacio meo. haec omnia apud me filii mei membra sunt; ego osculabor, amplectar, flebo supra.

[12] son, today I have lost more than when you were borne out: after your death I saw you. if, by Hercules, you were to try to remove from the body of my only one the well-known garments, I would say: succor my solace. all these things are, for me, the members of my son; I will kiss, embrace, I will weep over them.

non est ratio fortasse; adeo quicquid rationem vincit, affectus est. nihil est sceleratius prudenti orbitate.'

there is perhaps no reason; indeed whatever conquers reason is an affect. nothing is more criminal than prudent bereavement.'

'Levia,' inquit, 'levia loquor; ego filium meum videbam.' quaenam istum fortuna, quae indulserat condicio naturae? non excludebat orbitas oculos tuos, eras iam consecuta, mater, ut iuvenem die absentem putares. maximam perdidit mors acerbitatem, si possis videre quem amiseris.

'Light,' he says, 'I speak light things; I was seeing my son.' What fortune was this, what indulging condition of nature? Bereavement was not shutting out your eyes; you had already attained, mother, to think the youth absent for the day. Death has lost its greatest acerbity, if you can see whom you have lost.

videre ergo tibi contingebat, o mulier, vultum, habitum, corpus, incessum? non crederem, nisi te perdidisse sentires. tempora ergo cum morte diviseras, et superstite filio fruebaris omnibus tenebris.

therefore was it coming to you, O woman, to see the face, the habit, the body, the gait? I would not believe it, unless you felt that you had lost him. therefore you had divided your times with death, and, with your son surviving, you were enjoying all the darkness.

quantum perdideris, hinc aestima: hoc tibi si non contigisset, non eras tam improba, ut optares. aliquis, o pietas, sepultus et conditus, veteri<s> corporis cinis et favilla, tamen corpus sumebat in noctes, et ad solida viventis membra revocatus praebebat se matris oculis qualem non crederes recessurum! nec queri de luce poteramus; quantum licebat, aderat.

Estimate from this how much you have lost: if this had not fallen to you, you would not have been so shameless as to wish for it. Someone—O piety!—buried and laid away, the ash and cinder of an old body, nevertheless would assume a body in the nights, and, recalled to the solid limbs of the living, offered himself to a mother’s eyes such as you would not believe would withdraw! Nor could we complain of the light; as much as was permitted, it was present.

videbas ergo, mulier, ac praesentia fruebaris? 'videbam', inquit, 'et fruebar, et ad quem pertinebat, rogo, etiamsi decipiebar?' sed quid ego utor testimonio tuo? mago credo et vidisse te filium et nunc non videre.

were you seeing, then, woman, and enjoying the presence? 'i was seeing,' she says, 'and i was enjoying; and to whom did it pertain, i ask, even if i was being deceived?' but why do i make use of your testimony? i give credence to the magus, both that you saw your son and that you now do not see him.

[13] At tu misera nihil crudelius ex marito timebas, quam ne tibi non crederet. 'nemo,' inquit, 'oculis meis fidem detrahat. fili, indulgentissime adolescens, vidi te, nec semel vidi; certum est, fixum est, eripi non potest.

[13] But you, wretched woman, feared nothing more cruel from your husband than that he would not believe you. 'let no one,' she says, 'take credence from my eyes. son, most indulgent adolescent, I saw you, nor did I see you only once; it is certain, it is fixed, it cannot be snatched away.'

quatenus impius pater et hoc tibi auferre conatur, ut te venisse non credam,nec illud garrula nec vana voce vulgavi; venire te nulli indicavi, nisi qui deberet optare, ut hoc posses. patri tantum tuo, patri—ignosce deceptae ˜confessa sum, dum interrogo, an te et ille vidisset.'

since your impious father even tries to take this from you as well, that I should not believe you had come, nor did I spread that abroad with a garrulous or empty voice; I indicated to no one that you were coming, except to one who ought to wish that you could do this. to your father only, to your father—pardon one deceived ˜I confessed, while I was asking whether he too had seen you.'

Itaque das, mulier infelix, graves <satis> nimiumque poenas. effecit magus, ne filium videres, et solum apud te reliquit, ut meminisses, quod videras. totum tamen illud solacium tuum refer, misera, si potes, et primum confitere simpliciter, an soporis pondus illud et nesciae quietis vanitas fuerit.

And so, unhappy woman, you pay heavy <enough> and overmuch penalties. The magus effected that you should not see your son, and left with you only this: that you might remember what you had seen. Yet recount that whole solace of yours, wretched one, if you can, and first confess simply whether that was the weight of sopor and the vanity of unknowing quiet.

apud me quidem satis misera, satis eras, mater, infelix, etiamsi tale somnium perdidisses. 'miserere,' inquit, 'melius de affectibus meis sentias. non ego fatigata planctibus sensi venisse noctem; videre filium pervigiles meruistis, oculi.

With me, indeed, you were wretched enough, enough, mother, unhappy one, even if you had lost such a dream. ‘Have pity,’ she says, ‘may you judge better concerning my affections. I did not, wearied with lamentations, feel that night had come; ever-vigilant, you deserved to see my son, O eyes.

sed primum, dum metuo, umbra processit. Subito —dii boni, quod ego gaudium, quam vidi felicitatem?—constitit ante me filius discussis tenebris; ita dimittatur aliquando! prosilui protinus et accessi, vultus, comas, ora perspexi: meus erat.

but first, while I was afraid, a shade advanced. Suddenly —good gods, what joy had I, what felicity did I see?— my son stood before me, with the darkness dispelled; so may he at last be released! I sprang forth at once and approached, I closely inspected his countenance, his locks, his features: he was mine.

quam laetum se, quam hilarem offerebat, quomodo persuadebat mihi, ne crederem morti!

how joyful he, how cheerful he was offering himself, how he was persuading me not to credit Death!

[14] scelerate, nescis, pater, quam similem viventi filium cluseris. circuibant totum corpus oculi, non inveniebam, quid ignis egisset. subinde dicebam: hunc ego extuli, hunc rogo imposui?

[14] Wretch, you do not know, father, how like to the living man a son you have shut in. My eyes went around his whole body; I could not discover what the fire had wrought. Again and again I kept saying: Is this the one I carried out, this the one I placed on the pyre?

ex hoc ego cineres et ossa collegi? si talis est, quid habeo, quod lugeam? perisse filium meum hoc uno intellegebam, quod illum non poteram et patri ostendere.

From this did I collect the ashes and bones? If he is such, what have I that I should mourn? I understood that my son had perished by this one thing: that I could not show him even to his father.

Confitebor, primae tamen nec ego credidi nocti, et tamquam victis irascebar oculis et erubescebam misera, si quies fuisset. ecce iterum iuvenis, ecce iam cotidie venit! Quid habeo, quod . . . interpreter?

I will confess, yet not even I gave credence to the first night, and I grew irate at my eyes as though vanquished, and, wretched, I blushed if there had been quiet. ecce again the youth, ecce now he comes every day! What have I, that I . . . should interpret?

verum est utique quod semper est. novissime, non tamquam umbra veniebat sed assidebat, sed amplexus dabat. ego sentiebam et recipiebam.

True is assuredly that which always is. Most recently, he was not coming as a shadow but sat beside me, and he gave embraces. I felt them and received them.

quotienscumque domus fuerat grato sopore prostrata, aderat ille, quales humanis se offerunt oculis propitii dii, quale laetissimum numen est, cum se patitur videri. sicut omnis religio templorum, omnis religio lucorum, cum tacuere mortalia et profani procul erravere sedibus totis, solitudine frui et de suis dicitur exire simulacris, ita iuvenis meus noctibus totis agebat filium et paterna domo et penatibus suis fruebatur placidus et mitis et matri propitius; ut numen et deus delabi sideribus et venire de liquido puroque aere videbatur. quid imprecer sceleratissimo patri?

Whenever the house had been laid low by welcome sleep, he was there, such as propitious gods present themselves to human eyes, such as the most joyous numen is when it allows itself to be seen. Just as the whole religion of temples, the whole religion of groves, when mortal things have fallen silent and the profane have wandered far from all the precincts, is said to enjoy solitude and to go forth from its own simulacra, so my young man through whole nights played the son, and enjoyed his paternal house and his own Penates—peaceful and mild and propitious to his mother; he seemed, as a numen and a god, to glide down from the stars and to come from the limpid and pure air. What should I imprecate upon my most wicked father?

umbram probare voluit!'

He wished to prove the shade!'

[15] Miseremini, iudices, ut hoc facinus, quibus debetis, accipiatis animis, maius parricidio, maius, quam si filii sepulcrum funditus eruisset et sacratos morte lapides, etiam cineres et ossa religiose quiescentia fracta sparsisset urna. advocatur homo, cuius ars est ire contra naturam, qui simul ore squalido barbarum murmur intonuit, pallere superos, audire inferos, tremere terras, ut experimentis loquentium fama est. constitit iuxta tumulum miserrimi iuvenis mors certior: 'nunc,' opinor, inquit, 'arcana mea tenebrae adiuvate me digna, nunc omne terrenum numen et religio, quam isti inrogo, propius adeste, succurrite.

[15] Take pity, judges, so that you may receive this enormity with the dispositions to which you owe it—greater than parricide, greater than if he had utterly dug up his son’s sepulcher and, the stones hallowed by death, had even scattered the ashes and the bones, reverently resting, from a shattered urn. A man is summoned whose art is to go against nature, who, the moment with a squalid mouth he thundered a barbarous murmur, makes the gods above grow pale, the gods below hear, the lands tremble, as the common report of those versed in such experiments has it. He took his stand beside the tomb of the most wretched youth—death now made more certain: ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I suppose, darkness worthy of my secrets, aid me; now every earthly numen and religio, which I implore on behalf of this man, draw nearer, come to my aid.

magis mihi laborandum est, quam cum sidera mundo revelluntur, cum iubentur hiberni fluviorum stare decursus, cum potentiore carminis veneno victi rumpuntur in mea strumenta serpentes. custodiendus est iuvenis, assignandus est inferis et densioribus transfuga claudendus est tenebris. quanto facilius opus erat, si revocaretur!' mox in ipsam dicitur incubuisse pronus urnam et inter ossa et inter cineres verba clusisse.

I must labor more than when the stars are torn from the world, when the hibernal courses of rivers are bidden to stand still, when serpents, conquered by the more potent venom of chant, are burst apart upon my instruments. The youth must be kept in custody, must be assigned to the infernal powers, and, as a fugitive, must be shut up in denser darkness. How much easier the work would be, if he were called back!'

hoc tamen subinde respiciens confitebatur: 'repugnat umbra, itaque carminibus non satis credo; praefigamus omne tumuli latus et multo vinciamus saxa ferro. iam bene habet, expiravit aliquando, non videri, non progredi potest. an mentiar, scies proxima nocte.'

however, repeatedly looking back at this, he confessed: 'the shade resists, and so I do not trust sufficiently in the incantations; let us affix every side of the tomb and bind the stones with much iron. now it is well: he has at last expired; he cannot be seen, cannot advance. or am I lying? you will know on the next night.'

[16] Omnes mehercules parentes, utique qui liberos perdiderunt, ire in istos oculos, in ista ora debebant! tu sic filium tuum clusisti, tamquam nocentes ad inferos revocari soleant animae, quae inter languentium familiam et tristes penatium morbos vagae errantesque magica sanitate captantur. laqueone vitam damnatus eliserat, noxium per sua viscera exegerat ferrum, an ex conscientia venena praesumpserat, nec recipiebat se nisi carmine inclusus?

[16] All parents, by Hercules, especially those who have lost children, ought to go up to those eyes, to those faces! you have thus shut in your son, as though guilty souls are wont to be called back to the underworld, which, amid a household of the languishing and the gloomy diseases of the Penates, wandering and errant, are captured by magical sanitation. had he, condemned by the noose, dashed out his life; had he driven the noxious iron through his own entrails; or had he, out of conscience, anticipated with poisons—and would he not withdraw except when enclosed by a charm?

quando domum tuam funereus et squalidus, quando te terruit? crudelissime omnium pater, de filio tuo malam umbram fecisti! quas nunc putas uxoris miserrimae esse cogitationes, qua materna viscera persuasione torqueri?

When did he, funereal and squalid, ever come to your house, when did he terrify you? Most cruel of all fathers, you have made a bad shade out of your son! What do you suppose are now the thoughts of your most wretched wife, by what persuasion are her maternal viscera being tormented?

'nunc filius meus illic, unde venire consueverat, iacet strictus, alligatus, inpatiens. queritur subito terram graviorem, utique cum sentit venisse noctem, quando umbrae feliciores dimittuntur ad matres. at vero, si qua inter manes colloquia sunt (et esse credo), non deest, qui iuveni meo dicat: 'quam vilis tuis fuisti, quam libenter te perdiderunt.' quid?

'now my son there, from the place whence he was accustomed to come, lies constricted, bound, impatient. He suddenly complains that the earth is heavier, especially when he senses that night has come, when the more fortunate shades are dismissed to their mothers. But indeed, if there are any colloquies among the shades (and I believe there are), there is no lack of someone to say to my young man: 'how cheap you were to your own, how willingly they lost you.' What?'

illa mater, ad quam ire consueveras, has tibi catenas, haec vincula pro merito reddidit?' ita infelicissima omnium mulier, et si magus etiam recedat, hoc periclitatur, ne filius se putet venisse ad invitam.

'That mother, to whom you were wont to go, has rendered to you these chains, these bonds in return for your deserts?' Thus the most ill-fortuned of all women, even if the magus also withdraws, runs this peril, lest the son think he has come to one unwilling.

Agit iam hoc loco nobiscum maritus gravius, altius, sapientius, ut homo sine dolore; negat ullos esse manes, contendit omnia perire cum corpore, nec remanere viventes a cinere sensus, nec tam videri imagines hominum quam cogitari et oculos luctibus credere. quod si ita est, magum ad quid advocavit? pessimi parentium, qui liberos suos sepeliunt flere contenti, ut obiter ab rogo siccis oculis revertantur!

Already in this place the husband argues with us more gravely, more deeply, more sapiently, as a man without pain; he denies that there are any Manes, contends that all things perish with the body, that living senses do not remain from the ash, and that the images of men are not so much seen as thought, and that our eyes, because of griefs, give credence. But if this is so, for what did he summon the magus? Most wicked of parents, who, content with weeping, bury their children, so that, by the way, they may return from the pyre with dry eyes!

negat ad manes, negat ad umbras pertinere quod plangas, adfirmat perire lacrimas, adfirmat perire singultus. o sceleratum hominem, quisquis luget et timet, ne hoc perdat!

He denies that what you bewail pertains to the Manes, he denies that it pertains to the shadows; he affirms that tears perish, he affirms that sobs perish. O wicked man, whoever mourns and fears, lest he lose this!

[17] vana ergo sapientes persuasione frustrati, qui constare homines et perfici corporis elementis animaeque dixerunt; corpus caducum, fragile, terrenum, ut sicca humidis, calida frigidis, resolutis adstricta pugnarent, partim aut doloribus adfici aut novissime annis et senectute dissolvi, animam vero flammei vigoris impetum pernicitatemque non ex nostro igne sumentem, sed quo sidera volant et quo sacri torquentur axes, inde venire, unde rerum omnium auctorem parentemque spiritum ducimus, nec interire nec solvi nec ullo mortalitatis adfici fato, sed, quotiens humani pectoris carcerem effregerit et exonerata membris mortalibus levi se igne lustraverit, petere sedes in astra; donec in alia fata saeculo ~pugnante~ transmigret, diu prioris corporis meminisse. inde evocatos prodire manes, inde corpus et vultus et quicquid videmus accipere, occurrere suis imagines caras, aliquando et oracula fieri et nocturnis admonere praeceptis, sentire, quas mittamus, inferias et honorem percipere tumulorum. rogo, cum filius perit, nonne satius est hoc credere?

[17] therefore are we not cheated by the empty persuasion of the wise, who said that men consist and are completed by the elements of body and of soul?—the body falling, fragile, earthy, so that dry things might contend with moist, hot with cold, relaxed with tight-bound; to be in part afflicted by pains, or at last dissolved by years and old age; but the soul to take its rush of fiery vigor and its celerity not from our fire, but from that by which the stars fly and by which the sacred axles are wheeled; to come from that source whence we draw the Spirit, the author and parent of all things; neither to perish nor be dissolved nor be affected by any doom of mortality, but, whenever it has broken the prison of the human breast, and, disburdened of mortal limbs, has purified itself with a light fire, to seek seats among the stars; until, with the age ~warring~, it transmigrates into other destinies, long remembering its former body. Thence the summoned Manes come forth; thence they receive body and countenance and whatever we behold; dear images go to meet their own; sometimes they even become oracles and admonish with nocturnal precepts; they sense the funeral offerings which we send and receive the honor of tombs. I ask, when a son perishes, is it not better to believe this?

'Tuae tamen,' inquit, 'hoc quieti praestiti, ne attonitis agitata terroribus sollicitas semper ageres suspensasque duceres noctes.' ita, parricida, commune facinus fecisti et inputas, quod filium videre desiimus? somnum enim a te petebamus et placidum soporem? crudelis, nunc inquieta, nunc attonita mater est, nunc perdidimus noctes!

'Yet,' he says, 'I have provided this for your repose, lest, stupefied and agitated by terrors, you should always be anxious and spend your nights in suspense.' Thus, parricide, you have committed a crime in common and set it down to your credit, that we have ceased to see our son? For was it sleep that we were asking of you, and placid slumber? Cruel one, now the mother is restless, now thunderstruck; now we have lost our nights!

[18] umbramne tu fili rem formidulosam, rem plenam putasti esse terroris? quid illa laetius facie, quid illo blandius vultu, quid magis adulatur oculis, quid possunt videre libentius lacrimae? non magis metuenda est umbra filii quam cadaver, [necesse est, ut mors horrida fiat aliena] sed aliae forsitan animum imagines territant, et tunc inferi vocantur, cum ignoti sunt; itaque prudenter, si tantum ad suos veniunt.

[18] Did you, son, think a shade to be a fearsome thing, a thing full of terror? What is more gladsome in face than that, what more coaxing in countenance, what more flatters the eyes, what can tears more willingly behold? The shade of a son is no more to be feared than the cadaver; [it is necessary that death become horrid when it is alien]; but perhaps images of what is ali to us terrify the mind, and then they are called the inferi, when they are unknown; therefore they act prudently, if they come only to their own.

sceleratus ille, ille impius, quicumque defunctum filium vidit et meminit quod elatus est! 'terrebaris,' inquit, 'et sollicitis noctibus laborabas.' itane es, marite, crudelis? tu clusisses filium, etiam si ad te veniret?

That nefarious one, that impious one—whoever has seen a deceased son and remembers that he was borne out! 'You were being terrified,' he says, 'and you were laboring through anxious nights.' Is that so, husband—cruel one? Would you have shut out your son, even if he were to come to you?

'nec magus,' inquit, 'inclusit umbram, sed persuasioni tuae succurrit, ideoque putas non venire illum, quia nec ante veniebat, [quia] nec factum est aliquid, nisi quo avocareris.' hoc ipso incipit mater sibi gratulari. 'ita non tenetur,' inquit, 'ille, non premitur, nullo carmine, nullo inclusus est ferro? removete ergo omnia et interrogabo.

'Nor did the magus,' he says, 'enclose the shade, but he came to the aid of your persuasion, and so you think he does not come, because neither was he coming before, [because] nothing has been done, except that by which you might be called off.' At this very point the mother begins to congratulate herself. 'So he is not held,' she says, 'he is not pressed, by no charm, by no iron is he enclosed? Remove, then, everything and I will question.'

ego autem scelerata tam cito credidi; ita non ille ad me veniret solutus et liber, non ad hos oculos, non ad hos properaret amplexus? quando enim me iuvenis ipse nisi flentem, quando non lividum pectus et sanguinantes vidit lacertos, quando non erubuit matri fecisse maerorem? arte cluditur miser, arte retinetur.' quid vis carmina amplius tibi praestent?

But I, a wicked woman, believed so quickly; so would he not come to me released and free, would he not hasten to these eyes, would he not hasten to these embraces? For when did the youth ever see me except weeping, when did he not see a livid breast and bleeding upper arms, when did he not blush to have made mourning for his mother? He is shut in by art, the poor one, he is held by art.' What do you want the incantations to provide you further?

effecerunt quod repromiserant: desinis erubescere iam, quod filium non vides.

They have effected what they had promised: you cease now to blush, because you do not see your son.

[19] At tu, cuius in leges di superi manesque torquentur, qui nocturno terribilis ululatu profundum specus et ima terrarum moves, modo servientium revocator animarum, nunc idem crudelis et inexorabilis custos, aliquando preces et matris admitte. paciscere quantilibet, totos lugentis posce census, non ut labores, nec ut horridum carmen exerceas, sed ut ferrum tuum refigas, ut verba tua resolvas, ut nihil feceris; dimitte tantum, et evocasti. nihil ipse crudeliter; patri, scio, paruisti, sed et huius etiam lacrimis, planctibus huius indulge.

[19] But you, under whose laws the gods above and the Manes are constrained, who with nocturnal, terrible ululation stir the deep cavern and the lowest parts of the earth, now the revoker of souls in servitude, now likewise the cruel and inexorable custodian, at least sometimes admit prayers—even a mother’s. Bargain as much as you please, demand the entire resources of the mourner—not that you should toil, nor that you should ply the horrid incantation, but that you should unfasten your iron, that you should unloose your words, that you should have done nothing; only release, and you have called him forth. You yourself have done nothing cruelly; you obeyed your father, I know; but to this one’s tears also, to this one’s lamentations, grant indulgence.

consule famae tuae: execrabilem te, mage, facies et invisum, si facilius de filio exoraris, ut includas. nec tu marite, nec tu timeris, ne ultricis umbrae vanis exagitere terroribus, ulli imaginibus; huic secura dabitur quies; scit ad quam debeat venire dimissus.

Consult your repute: you will make yourself, mage, execrable and odious, if you are more easily prevailed upon concerning the son, so as to shut him in. And you, husband, do not fear—do not fear that the avenging shade be harried by empty terrors, by any phantoms; to this one secure repose will be given; he knows to what place he ought to come, once dismissed.

'Iuvenis piissime, iuvenis indulgentissime, numquam matri tuae umbra nec manes, si modo veneficum pondus et terris omnibus verba graviora mago patiente discusseris, ad me,' inquit mater infelix, 'ad tuas noctes, ad meas lacrimas, ad illos viventes mihi semper amplexus, miserere, propera. scio, quid mihi nocuerit, scio, quid me torserit, fruar et tacebo.'

'Most pious youth, most indulgent youth, never be to your mother a shade nor manes, if only you will shatter the sorcerous weight and the words heavier than all the lands, the mage being patient, to me,' says the unhappy mother, 'to your nights, to my tears, to those embraces living to me always, take pity, make haste. I know what has harmed me, I know what has tortured me; I will enjoy and I will be silent.'