# The Romans and infidelity



## Martin12 (Apr 27, 2012)

A little different from the usual stories, but my wife and I found it helpful to read some poems from ancient Rome and other sources.

With regard to human failings, there is nothing new under the sun.

Could start with Catullus writing about his love Lesbia:

*Catullus 85*

I hate and I love. Wherefore would I do this, perhaps you ask?
I do not know. But I feel that it happens and I am tortured.

[Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris.
nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.]
*
Catullus 75*

To this point here my mind has been dragged down, Lesbia, by your fault
And so by its own devotion the mind itself has destroyed itself,
As now it is not possible to respect you, if you should become very good,
Nor is it able to stop loving you, even if you should do every bad thing.



And then Ovid has a lot to say on aspects of infidelity:

*Ovid, Amores*

*Book II Elegy V: Her Kisses*

No love is worth this – away, Cupid’s quiver! –
so that death has often been my greatest wish.
Death is my wish, when I recall your deceptions,
O girl born to be my eternal misfortune!
It wasn’t a half-erased tablet that laid bare your acts,
no furtive gifts gave away your crime.
Oh I wish if I were to argue my case I couldn’t win it!
Woe is me! Why’s my story so good?
Happy the man who can strongly defend what he loves,
whose little friend can say ‘I didn’t do it!’
He’s harsh and exercises his grief too much
who seeks the victor’s palm drenched in blood.
I saw your crime myself you wretch, sober,
when you thought I was asleep with wine.
I saw the many messages from those flickering eyebrows:
a good part of your speech was in your nods.
Your eyes never silent, nor letters under your fingers,
writing on the table with your wine.
Effecting secret messages, that go unseen,
the words prescribed meaning definite things.
And then the crowd of guests had left the table:
a few boys there left laid out together.
Then I truly saw her locked in sinful kisses –
tongues were entwined, that was clear to me –
not like a sister greeting her sober brother,
but an eager lover greeting his sweet friend:
It’s not credible that Phoebus would kiss Diana that way,
but Mars often does that with his Venus.
‘What are you up to?’ I cried, ‘spreading my joys around?
I claim jurisdiction over my girl!
What’s yours is shared with me, what’s mine with you –
Why has some third come into our property?’
I said this with a sorrowful tongue:
and a blush of shame came to her guilty face,
as the sky is tinged red by Tithonus’s bride,
or like a young girl seeing her betrothed:
like roses glowing bright among the lilies,
or when the Moon labours with charmed horses,
or as Lydian women stain oriental ivory
so that it’s not yellowed by the years.
That was the colour of her face or something like it,
and she had never looked more beautiful.
She looked at the ground – it became her to look down:
Sadness was in her face – sadness was becoming.
It was as if I wanted to tear her hair, all done up as it was,
and tear her tender cheeks, with anger, in my passion –
But I saw her beauty, and the strength of my arm abated:
the girl’s the weapon of her own defence.
I who was savage a moment ago, begged her as a suppliant
to give me no worse a set of kisses.
She laughed, and gave them with true spirit – such as can
counter the triple-forked bolt of angry Jove:
I was tormented, unhappy, lest that other felt such joy,
and I wished their quality wasn’t as good as it was.
Also these were so much better, where had she learnt?
And something new seemed to be added to them.
What pleases too much is bad, as when your whole tongue
is admitted by my lips, and mine by yours.
Nor do I grieve at that alone – I don’t just lament
at mouths being so joined, I lament what else is joined too:
She could have been taught nowhere but in bed.
I don’t know which grand master has his reward.


*Book I Elegy IV: The Dinner-Party*


Your husband too will be present at my banquet –
I pray it’s his last meal, that man of yours!
Shall I look at my beloved girl, like any guest?
One of you will be touching what he pleases, and will you
the other, rightly subject, be cherishing your love?
If he wishes, may he throw his arms round your neck?
I cease to wonder that the Centaurs full of wine
snatched up lovely Hippodamia in their arms.
I don’t live in the woods, or have limbs like a horse
but I can barely contain my hands when I see you!
Still, know what you must do, and don’t let
the east or the south wind go carrying off my words!
Arrive before your husband – not that I see what’s do-able
if you do come first, but still come before him.
When he sinks on the couch, as you recline at the table
there be the face of modesty itself – secretly touch my foot!
Watch me and my nods, and loquacious expression:
pick up their secret messages and yourself reply.
Voiceless, I’ll speak eloquent words with eyebrows:
my fingers will write words, words traced out in wine.
When the lasciviousness of our lovemaking occurs to you,
touch your radiant cheek with a delicate thumb.
If it’s some silent complaint against me you have in mind,
shadow your earlobe with a tender hand.
When what I do, and say, pleases you, light of my life,
keep continually twisting a ring with your fingers.
Touch your hands on the table, in the manner of prayer,
when you wish your husband many well-earned evils.
What he mixes for you, you know, order him to drink:
lightly ask the boy for what you wish, yourself.
What you give up to the boy I’ll take again first,
and, where you’ll drink from, I’ll sip from there.
If by chance he offers you what he’s tasted himself,
reject the gift of food from his mouth.
Don’t let him drape his arms around your neck,
or lay your gentle head on his firm chest,
or your breasts or convenient nipples accept his fingers.
Don’t, above all, be willing to yield a single kiss!
If you surrender kisses, I’ll make it clear I’m your lover,
and say ‘they’re mine!’, and take possession.
Still all this I can see, but what the cloth may well hide
that’s the cause of my secret fears.
Don’t touch thigh to thigh, or mingle legs,
or join the hard and the tender foot to foot.
Wretch, I fear everything, who’ve boldly done it all,
behold, I’m tormented by fear of my own example.
Often my girl and I, with quick pleasure,
completed the sweet work, the cloth covering us.
You won’t do that: but, so you’re not thought to have done,
remove that guilty cloth from your table.
Always suggest he drinks – but lips, disappoint his prayers!
While he drinks, if you can, in secret, add neat wine.
If he lies there sedately full of drink and sleep,
the time and place will give us wisdom.
When you and I and all get up to leave for home,
remember to be in the middle of the moving crowd.
I’ll find you in that procession, or you me:
whenever you’ve a chance to touch me, touch away.
Alas for me! I’m reminded, I only gain a few hours:
I’ll be separated, on night’s orders, from my girl.
The man shuts you in at night, I sad, with welling tears,
as is right, always haunt that cruel entrance.
now he exacts kisses, now not merely kisses,
what you give me secretly, you give him by force of law.
But give them reluctantly –you can do it – as if forced,
hold back blandishments, and let Venus be stingy.
If my prayers have power, I wish no pleasure for either:
if not that, then at least no pleasure for you!
But still whatever fortune brings tonight, tomorrow
to me, with constant voice, deny you gave him anything!

*Book II Elegy VII: Her Jealousy*

So I’m always to be accused of some new crime?
Even if I win I hate fighting my case so often.
If I glance up at the heights of the marbled theatre,
you pick someone out, so you can choose to be pained:
If some lovely girl looks at my expressionless face,
secret messages are deduced from its lack of expression.
If I praise someone, you try to tear my hair out:
if I damn her, you think I’m covering up a crime.
If my colour’s good, I’m also cold towards you,
if pale, pronounced to be dying for another.
And I wish I had some guilty secret!
Those who merit punishment take it calmly:
but you accuse me rashly and, groundlessly believe it all,
you stop your own anger carrying weight.
Look, pity the long-eared ass’s fate,
continually beaten to tame him, he goes slow!
Behold a new crime! With that clever dresser Cypassis,
I’m reproached for defiling the bed of our mistress.
Think better of me than that, if I wronged you in passion,
than to joy in a common girl with a contemptible fate!
What free man would want to take up with a slave,
and embrace the scars on her whipped back?
Added to which she takes pains to dress your hair,
and a well-taught servant is dear to you –
Of course, I’d beg it of a maid so faithful to you!
What! So she could tell you she’d spurned my offer?
I swear by Venus, and the bow of her winged boy,
I won’t allow myself to be accused of crime!


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## lamaga (May 8, 2012)

I love Catullus!


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## Shaggy (Jul 17, 2011)

I don't think you want to cite the Romans for anything involving morals. They we're very very nasty and in some cases pure evil.


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## lamaga (May 8, 2012)

Oh, please. They were human beings like any other human beings. Their government was quite corrupt in some instances, which has absolutely bupkus to do with Catullus and Ovid.

If you want to disregard the classics in your education, feel free.


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## Martin12 (Apr 27, 2012)

The similarities between the Roman Empire and the USA are striking, including the corruption leading to the decline and fall.

anyways, married people are going to stray, at least they had some sense of humor about it.


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## Martin12 (Apr 27, 2012)

Not out of the classics, but classicly-inspired, here's one by Cavafy:

Their Beginning

Their illicit pleasure has been fulfilled.
They get up and dress quickly, without a word.
They come out of the house separately, furtively;
and as they move along the street a bit unsettled,
it seems they sense that something about them betrays
what kind of bed they’ve just been lying on.

But what profit for the life of the artist:
tomorrow, the day after, or years later, he’ll give voice
to the strong lines that had their beginning here.


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## lamaga (May 8, 2012)

Oh, I didn't know Cavafy before, thanks!


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## Almostrecovered (Jul 14, 2011)

will this all be on the test?


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## lamaga (May 8, 2012)

Yes, AR, but there will be bonus points for snarky. I don't think you need to worry


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## Thorburn (Nov 23, 2011)

I like Anacreon the Greek poet who it seems Catullus borrowed from his writings. I can't read Latin but I can read ancient Greek so my influence after 7 years of studying ancient Greek was a little earlier then the Latin writers who I could only read in English. Wish they still had Latin when I was in school I would have loved it.


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