Part 4

I remember ... (at what hour of the day is it not before my eyes!) I remember the manner in which She lifted her hair with her slender fingers so pale.

I remember one night which she passed, her cheek upon my breast, so softly that happiness held me awake, and the day following she had upon her face the mark of my rounded nipple.

I see her holding her cup of milk and regarding me sideways, with a smile. I see her, powdered, her hair dressed, opening her great eyes before her mirror and retouching with her finger the red of her lips.

And, above all, if my despair is a perpetual torture, it is because I know, moment by moment, how she swoons in the arms of another, and what she demands of her and what she gives.

XC

TO THE WAX DOLL

Doll of wax, dear plaything which she called her child, she has wearied of thee also and she has forgotten thee like myself, who, with her, was thy father or thy mother, I know not which.

The pressure of her lips has discolored thy little cheeks; and on thy left hand see the broken finger which made her weep so much. This little cyclas which thou wearest, it was she who broidered it for thee.

She said thou couldst already read. Nevertheless thou wert not weaned, and in the evening, bending over thee, she opened her tunic and gave thee the breast, “so that thou wouldst not cry,” she said.

Doll, if I wished to see her again, I would give thee to Aphrodite, as the dearest of my gifts. But I would rather think that she is wholly dead.

XCI

FUNERAL CHANT

Sing a funeral chant, muses of Mytilene, sing! The earth is sombre like a vestment of mourning and the yellow trees shiver like shaken hair.

Heraios! O sweet and sorrowful month! the leaves fall gently like snow, the sun penetrates deeply into the thinning forest.... I hear nothing more, save the silence.

Behold, they have carried Pittakos, laden with years, to the tomb. Many are dead of those I knew. And she who lives is to me as though she were no longer.

This is the tenth autumn I have seen dying upon this plain. It is time that I also vanished away. Weep for me, muses of Mytilene, weep upon my steps!

EPIGRAMS IN THE ISLAND OF CYPROS

Αλλά με ναρκισσοις ἀναδήσατε, καὶ πλαγιαύλων γεύσατε καὶ κροκίνοις χρίσατε γυἰα μύροις.

Καὶ Μυτιληναίῳ τόν πνεύμονα τέγξατε βάκχῳ καὶ συζεύξατε μοι φωλάδα παρθενικήν. PHILODEMOS.

“--Bind my head with narcissus and let me taste the crooked flute. Anoint my limbs with saffron ointment, wet my gullet with wine of Mytilene and mate me with a virgin who will love her nest.”

(Anth. Pal. XI-34. Paton.)

XCII

HYMN TO THE ASTARTE

Mother inexhaustible, incorruptible, creatrix, first-born, self-engendered, self-created, issue of thyself alone and delight of thyself, Astarte!

O perpetually fecund, O virgin and nurse of all, chaste and lascivious, pure and fruitive, ineffable, nocturnal, soft, breather of fire, foam of the sea!

Thou who accordest favors in secret, thou who unitest, thou who lovest, thou who graspest the multiple races of savage beasts in furious desire and joinest the sexes in the forests!

O Astarte, irresistible, hear me, take me, possess me, O moon, and, thirteen times each year, draw from my entrails the libation of my blood!

XCIII.

HYMN TO THE NIGHT

The black masses of the trees are immovable as the mountains. The stars fill the immense sky. A warm breeze like a human breath caresses my eyes and my cheeks.

O Night, who givest birth to the Gods! how sweet thou art upon my lips! how warm thou art in my hair! how thou enterest into me now, and how I feel myself pregnant with all thy springtime!

The flowers that shall blossom shall all be born of me. The wind that respires is my breath. The perfume that passes is my desire. All the stars are in my eyes.

Thy voice, is it the roar of the sea? Is it the silence of the plain? Thy voice; I comprehend it not, but it bends my head to my feet, and my tears lave my two hands.

XCIV

THE MENADES

Through the forests that dominate the sea, the Menades are rushing. Maskale, with hot breasts, shrieks, brandishing the phallos of sycamore smeared with vermilion.

All, under their bassaris skins and their crowns of vine branches, run and cry and leap, the crotales clapping in their hands, and the thyrses cracking the skins of the resounding drums.

With wetted hair, agile legs, reddened and pushing breasts, sweating cheeks, foaming lips, O Dionysos, they offer thee, in return, the love thou hast cast within them.

And the wind of the sea lifts toward the sky the ruddy hair of Helikomis, twisting it like a furious flame upon a torch of white wax.

XCV

THE SEA OF CYPRIS

Upon the highest promontory, I stretched myself out. The sea was black like a field of violets. The milky-way gushed out from the great divine breast.

A thousand Menades slept about me in the mangled flowers. The long grasses mingled with their hair. And then, behold, the sun was born from the waters of the east.

They were the same waters and the same shores that, one day, saw appear the white body of Aphrodite.... Suddenly, I hid my eyes in my hands.

For I saw, trembling upon the water, a thousand tiny lips of light: the pure sex or the smile of Cypris Philommeïdes.

XCVI

THE PRIESTESSES OF ASTARTE

The priestesses of Astarte make love at the rising of the moon; then they arise and bathe in a vast basin with a marge of silver.

With their curved fingers, they comb their hair, and their hands, tinted with crimson, blended with their black curls, seem like branches of coral in a sombre and wavering sea.

They never depilate themselves, so that the triangle of die goddess is marked on their belly as on a temple; but they paint themselves with brushes and perfume themselves deeply.

The priestesses of Astarte make love at the setting of the moon; then, in a carpeted hall where burns a tall lamp of gold, they lie down at random.

XCVII

THE MYSTERIES

Within the enclosure thrice mysterious, where the men never enter, we have made a festival for thee, Astarte of the Night, Mother of the World, Fountain of the Life of the Gods!

I will reveal something, but not more than is permitted. About a phallos crowned, an hundred women rocked, shrieking. The initiates wore the habits of men, the others the divided tunics.

The smoke of perfumes, the fumes of torches, wavered between us like clouds. I wept burning tears. All, at the feet of the Berbeia; we cast ourselves upon our backs.

At last when the religious Act was consummated, and when, in the Unique Triangle, had been plunged the crimson phallos, the mystery commenced; but I will tell no more.

XCVIII

THE EGYPTIAN COURTESANS

I have been, with Plango, among the Egyptian courtesans, at the highest part of the old city. They have amphoras of earth, plates of copper and yellow matting where they squat without strain.

Their chambers are silent, without angles and without corners, so much their successive couches of blue limestone have blunted the pillars and rounded the base of the walls.

They sit immobile, their hands resting upon their knees. When they offer pudding they murmur: “Happiness.” And when one thanks them, they say: “Grace to thee.”

They understand Hellene and feign to speak it badly so as to laugh at us in their own tongue; but we, a tooth for a tooth, we speak Lydian and they are suddenly uneasy.

XCIX

I SING OF MY FLESH AND MY LIFE

Surely I will not sing of celebrated past lovers. If they are no more, why speak of them? Am I not like them? Have I not enough to think of in myself?

I will forget thee, Pasiphae, although thy passion was extreme. I will not praise thee, Syrinx, nor thee, Byblis, nor thee, by the goddess chosen before all, Helene of the white arms!

If someone has suffered, I feel not the pain. If someone has loved, I have loved more. I sing of my flesh and my life, and not of the sterile shadow of buried loves.

Rest upon the bed, O my body, according to thy voluptuous mission! Taste thy daily enjoyments and the passions without a tomorrow. Leave not a joy unknown to be regretted upon the day of thy death.

C

THE PERFUMES

I will perfume all my skin in order to attract lovers. Upon my fair legs, in a basin of silver, I will pour the spikenard of Tarsos and the metopion of Egypt.

Upon my arms, crushed mint; upon my lashes and upon my eyes sweet-marjoram of Kôs. Slave, loosen my hair and fill it with the smoke of incense.

Here is oinanthe from the mountains of Cypros; I will let it slip between my breasts; the liquor of roses which comes from Phaselis shall perfume my neck and my cheeks.

And now, pour upon my loins the irresistible bakkaris. It is better, for a courtesan, to know the perfumes of Lydia than the ways of the Peloponnesus.

CI

CONVERSATION

“Good morning.--Good morning also.--Thou art in a great hurry.--Perhaps less than thou thinkest.--Thou art a pretty girl.--Perhaps more so than thou believest.

“What is thy charming name?--I tell it not so quickly.--Thou hast someone this evening?--Always there is my lover.--And how dost thou love him?--As he wishes.

“Let us sup together.--If thou desirest. But what givest thou?--This.--Five drachmæ? It is for my slave. And for me?--Say it thyself.--An hundred.

“Where livest thou?--In this blue house.--At what hour may I send to seek thee?--At once, if thou wishest.--At once.--Go before.”

CII

THE TORN ROBE

“Holla! by the two goddesses, who is the insolent one who has put his foot upon my robe?--It is a lover.--It is a blockhead.--I have been awkward, pardon me.

“Imbecile! my yellow robe is all torn in the back, and if I walk thus in the street, they will take me for a poor girl who serves Cypris inversely.

“Wilt thou not stop?--I believe that he speaks to me again!--Why dost thou leave me, thus angered?... Thou respondest not? Alas! I dare speak no more.

“I certainly must return to my house to change my robe.--And may I not follow thee? Who is thy father?--He is the rich captain Nikias.--Thou hast fair eyes, I pardon thee.”

CIII

THE JEWELS

A diadem of fretted gold crowns my straight, white forehead. Five chains of gold that follow the curve of my cheeks and chin, are suspended from my hair by two large clasps.

Upon my arms, which Iris would envy, thirteen silver bracelets twine. How heavy they are! But they are weapons; and I know one enemy who has suffered from them.

I am truly all covered with gold. My breasts are cuirassed with two pectorals of gold. The images of the gods have not more riches than I have.

And I wear upon my heavy robe, a girdle of silver plates. There thou canst read this verse: “Love me eternally; but be not afflicted if I deceive thee three times each day.”

CIV

THE INDIFFERENT ONE

Since he has entered my chamber, whoever he may be (that is his concern): “See,” I say to my slave, “what a handsome man! and should not a courtesan be happy?”

I declare he is Adonis, Ares or Herakles, according to his countenance, or the Old Man of the Sea if his hair is pale silver. And then, what disdain for trifling youth!

“Ah!” I say, “if I had not to pay my florist and my goldsmith tomorrow, how I would love to say to thee: I do not wish thy gold! I am thy passionate servant!”

Then, when he has closed his arms under my shoulders, I see a boatman of the port pass like a divine image over the starry sky of my transparent lids.

CV

PURE WATER OF THE BASIN

“Pure water of the basin, immobile mirror, tell me of my beauty.--Bilitis, or whoever thou art, Tethys perhaps, or Amphitrite, thou art beautiful, thou knowest.

“Thy face inclines beneath thy thick hair, which is heavy with flowers and perfumes. Thy soft eyelids scarcely open, and thy flanks are weary from the movements of love.

“Thy body, fatigued with the weight of thy breasts, carries the fine marks of nails and the blue stains of the kiss. Thine arms are reddened by the embrace. Each line of thy skin was loved.”

“Clear water of the basin, thy freshness brings repose. Receive me, who am truly wearied. Take away the fard of my cheeks and the sweat of my body and the remembrance of the night.”

CVI

VOLUPTUOUSNESS

Upon a white terrace, in the night, they abandoned us, swooning among the roses. The warm perspiration slipped away like tears from our armpits over our breasts. Overwhelming voluptuousness purpled our thrownback heads.

Four captive doves, bathed in four perfumes, fluttered above us in the silence. From their wings, drops of perfume fell upon the naked women. I was covered with the essence of iris.

O lassitude! I rested my cheek upon the belly of a young girl who enveloped herself in the cool of my moist hair. The perfume of her saffroned skin intoxicated my opened mouth. She closed her thighs about my neck.

I slept, but an exhausting dream awakened me: the inyx, bird of nocturnal desires, sang distractedly from afar. I coughed with a shiver. Little by little, a languishing arm like a flower raised itself in the air toward the moon.

CVII

THE INN

Innkeeper, we are four. Give us a chamber and two beds. It is now too late to return to the city and the rain has broken the road.

Bring a basket of figs, some cheese, and dark wine; but first remove my sandals and lave my feet, for the mud tickles me.

Have brought into the chamber, two basins with water, a full lamp, a crater and kylix. Shake thou the covers and beat the cushions.

But let the beds be of good maple, and the planks noiseless! Tomorrow thou needst not awaken us.

CVIII

THE SERVANTS

Four slaves guard my house: two robust Thracians at my door, a Sicilian in my kitchen and a docile and silent Phrygian woman for the service of my bed.

The two Thracians are handsome men. Each has a staff in his hand to chase away poor lovers and a hammer to nail upon the wall the wreaths which are sent me.

The Sicilian is a rare cook; I paid twelve minæ for her. No other knows as she does how to prepare fried croquettes and cakes of poppy.

The Phrygian bathes me, dresses my hair and depilates me. She sleeps in the morning in my chamber, and three nights each month, she takes my place with my lovers.

CIX

THE BATH

Child, guard well the door, and let no passer-by enter, for I and six girls with beautiful arms would bathe ourselves in secret in the warm water of the basin.

We would only laugh and swim. Let the lovers stay in the street. We will dip our legs in the water and, seated on the marble brink, we will play with dice.

We will play also with the ball. Let no lovers enter; our hair is too wet; our throats are all goose-flesh and the ends of our fingers are wrinkled.

Moreover, he would repent it, who surprised us naked! Bilitis is not Athena, but she shows herself only at her hours and chastises too ardent eyes.

CX

TO HER BREASTS

Flowers of flesh, O my breasts! how rich in voluptuousness you are! My breasts in my hands, how soft you are, how gently warm, how youthfully perfumed!

Formerly, you were frozen like the breast of a statue and hard as the insensible marble. Since you have softened, I cherish you more, you who have been so loved.

Your sleek, rounded forms are the honor of my brown torso. When I imprison you in bands of gold or when I deliver you all naked, you precede me with your splendor.

Therefore be happy, this night. If my fingers give forth caresses, you alone will know them until tomorrow morning; for, this night, Bilitis has paid Bilitis.

CXI

MYDZOURIS

Mydzouris, little filth, weep not. Thou art my friend. If the women insult thee again, it is I who will answer them. Come into my arms and dry thine eyes.

Yes, I know thou art a horrible child and that thy mother taught thee early to prove thy courage in all things. But thou art young and therefore thou canst do nothing that is not charming.

The mouth of a girl of fifteen remains pure in spite of all. The lips of a gray-headed woman, although virgin, are degraded; for the only disgrace is to grow old and we are blemished only when we become wrinkled.

Mydzouris, I admire thy frank eyes, thine impudent and bold name, thy laughing voice and thy light body. Come to my house, thou shalt be my aid, and when we go out together, the women shall say to thee: Greeting.

CXII

THE TRIUMPH OF BILITIS

In the procession they have carried me in triumph, me, Bilitis, all naked upon a shell-like car upon which slaves, during the night, had placed ten thousand roses.

I reclined, my hands under my neck, my feet alone clad in gold, and my body outstretched softly upon the bed of my warm hair mingled with the cool petals.

Twelve children, with wingèd shoulders, served me as a goddess; one of them held a shade, the others showered me with perfume or burned incense in the prow.

And about me I heard rustling the ardent murmur of the multitude, whilst the breath of desire floated about my nudity, in the blue mist of the aromatics.

CXIII

TO THE GOD OF THE WOODS

O venerable Priapos, god of the woods, whom I have fastened in the marble border of my bath, it is not without reason, guardian of the orchards, that thou shouldst watch here over the courtesans.

God, we have not bought thee to sacrifice our virginities to thee. No one can give that which is no more, and the zealots of Pallas run not the streets of Amathus.

No. Formerly thou didst watch over the leafy hair of the trees, over the wet flowers, over the heavy and savory fruits. It is for that we have chosen thee.

Guard thou today our blond heads, the opened poppies of our lips and the violets of our eyes. Guard the firm fruit of our breasts and give us lovers who resemble thee.

CXIV

THE DANCING-GIRL WITH CROTALES

Thou attachest to thy light hands the resounding crotales, Myrrhinidion my dear, and, almost naked from thy robe, thou extendest thy nervous limbs. How pretty thou art, thine arms in the air, thy loins arched and thy breasts reddened!

Thou commencest: thy feet, one before the other, pose, hesitate, and glide softly. Thy body bends like a scarf, thou caressest thy shivering skin, and voluptuousness inundates thy long, swooning eyes.

Suddenly thou strikest the crotales! Arch thyself, erect upon thy feet, shake thy loins, advance thy legs and let thy hands, filled with noise, call all the desires in a band about thy turning body.

We, we applaud with great cries, whether, smiling over thy shoulder, thou agitatest with a shiver thy convulsed muscular croup, or whether thou undulatest, almost extended, to the rhythm of thy memories.

CXV

THE FLUTE-PLAYER

Melixo, thy legs joined, thy body inclined, thine arms forward, thou slippest thy light double-flute between thy lips moist with wine, and thou playest about the couch where Teleas still embraces me.

Am I not most imprudent, I who hire so young a girl to distract my hours of labor? I who show her thus naked to the curious looks of my lovers, am I not careless?

No, Melixo, little musician, thou art an honest friend. Yesterday thou didst not refuse to change thy flute for another when I despaired of accomplishing a love full of difficulties. But thou art safe.

For I know well of what thou thinkest. Thou awaitest the end of this night of excesses which animates thee cruelly and in vain, and, at the first dawn, thou wilt run in the street, with thine only friend Psyllos, to thy little broken mattress.

CXVI

THE WARM GIRDLE

“Thou thinkest thou lovest me no longer, Teleas, and since a month thou hast passed thy nights at the table, as though the fruits, the wines, the honey, could make thee forget my lips. Thou thinkest that thou lovest me no longer, poor fool!”

Saying that, I loosened my moist girdle and I rolled it about his head. It was still quite warm with the heat of my body; the perfume of my skin issued from its fine meshes.

He breathed it deeply, his eyes closed, then I felt that he returned to me and I even saw very clearly his reawakening desires that he hid not from me, but, as a ruse, I resisted him.

“No, my friend. This evening, Lysippos possesses me. Farewell!” And I added, as I fled: “O gormand of fruits and greens! the little garden of Bilitis has only one fig, but it is good.”

CXVII

TO A HAPPY HUSBAND

I envy thee, Agorakrites, for having a wife so zealous. It is she herself who attends to the stable, and in the morning, in place of making love, she gives drink to the cattle.

Thou shouldst rejoice in her. How many others, wouldst thou say, dream of base pleasures, waking the night, sleeping the day, and yet demanding from adultery a criminal satiety?

Yes; thy wife labors in the stable. They say even that she has a thousand tendernesses for the youngest of thine asses. Ah! Ha! there is a good animal. He has a black spot over his eyes.

They say that she plays between his hoofs, under his soft gray belly.... But those who say that are slanderers. If thine ass pleases her, Agorakrites, it is without doubt that she recalls thy look in his.

CXVIII

TO A WANDERER

The love of women is the most beautiful of all that mortals experience, and thou wouldst think so, Kleo, if thou hadst a truly voluptuous soul; but thou dreamest only vanities.

Thou losest thy nights in cherishing youths who are ungrateful to us. Therefore regard them! How ugly they are! Compare to their round heads, our thick hair; seek our white breasts upon their chests.

Beside their narrow flanks, consider our luxuriant hips, broad, hollowed couches for lovers. Say, above all, what human lips, except hers who wishes it, can elaborate the pleasures?

Thou art sick, O Kleo, but a woman can cure thee. Go to young Satyra, the daughter of my neighbor Gorgo. Her croup is a rose of the sun, and she will not refuse thee the pleasure she herself prefers.

CXIX

INTIMACIES

Why I have become Lesbian, O Bilitis, thou askest? But what player of the flute is not, a little? I am poor; I have no bed; I lie with her who wishes me and I thank her with what I have.

While yet small, we dance naked; those dances, thou knowest them, my dear: the twelve desires of Aphrodite. We regard each other, we compare our nudities and we find them so pretty.

During the long night, we inflame ourselves for the pleasure of the spectators; but our ardor is not feigned and we feel it so much that sometimes, behind the doors one of us may animate her companion who consents.

How then can we love a man who is rough with us? He seizes us as girls and leaves us before the delight. Thou, thou art a woman, thou knowest what I mean. Thou canst take it as for thyself.

CXX

THE COMMAND

“Old woman, hear me. I give a festival in three days. It is to divert me. Thou wilt lend me all thy girls. How many hast thou, and what can they do?”