path: root/76646-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76646 ***





                         THE SONGS OF BILITIS

 Of this book, intended for private circulation, only 975 copies have
       been printed, after which the type has been distributed.


                          This is Number 229

                            [Illustration]




                             PIERRE LOUŸS

                         THE SONGS OF BILITIS

                       Translated from the Greek

                      _A New Rendering in English
                        With Notes and Comment_

                            [Illustration]


                           PRIVATELY PRINTED
                                MCMXIX




THIS LITTLE BOOK OF ANTIQUE LOVE IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO THE YOUNG
                  GIRLS OF THE SOCIETY OF THE FUTURE




                         THE SONGS OF BILITIS




LIFE OF BILITIS


Bilitis was born at the beginning of the sixth century before our era in
a mountain village situated on the banks of the Melas, to the east of
Pamphylia. The country is stony and sad, shadowed by profound forests,
dominated by the enormous mass of Tauros; lime springs issue from the
rocks; great salty lakes abide on the heights, and the valleys are
filled with silence.

She was the daughter of a Greek and of a Phœnician woman. She seems
never to have known her father for he is not mentioned in any part of
the souvenirs of her childhood. Perhaps he died before she came into the
world. Otherwise, it would be hard to explain how she bore a Phœnician
name which her mother alone could have given her.

In this almost deserted land, she lived a tranquil life with her mother
and her sisters. Other young girls, who were her friends, lived not far
from her. On the woody slopes of Tauros, the shepherds pastured their
flocks.

In the morning, at the crow of the cock, she arose, went to the stable,
led the animals to drink and busied herself milking them. During the
day, if it rained, she remained in the gynæceum and spun wool from her
distaff. If the weather was fair, she ran in the fields and played a
thousand games, with her companions, of which she speaks.

Bilitis regarded the Nymphs with ardent piety. The sacrifices which she
offered, nearly every day, were for their fountain. She often speaks of
them but it seems that she never saw them, for she reports with so much
veneration the accounts of an old man who, one day, had surprised them.

The close of her pastoral existence was saddened by a love of which we
know little, although she speaks of it at length. She ceased to sing of
it when it became unhappy. Having become the mother of a child which she
abandoned, Bilitis quitted Pamphylia for unknown reasons and never
returned to the place of her birth.

We find her again at Mytilene where she went by way of the sea along the
fair coasts of Asia. She was then scarcely sixteen years old, according
to the conjectures of M. Heim, who established with probability some
dates in the life of Bilitis from a verse which alludes to the death of
Pittakos.

Lesbos was then the centre of the world. On the main road between
beautiful Attica and magnificent Lydia, it had for its capital a city
more elegant than Athens and more corrupt than Sardis: Mytilene, built
upon a peninsula overlooking the shores of Asia. The blue sea
encompassed the city. From the height of the temples one could
distinguish on the horizon the white line of Atarnea which was the port
of Pergamos.

The narrow streets were always encumbered by a throng resplendent in
many-colored stuffs, tunics of purple and of hyacinth, cyclas of
transparent silks, mantles trailing in the dust of the yellow shoes. The
women carried in their ears great rings of gold set with raw pearls, and
on their arms massive bracelets of silver roughly chiseled in relief.
The men themselves wore their hair brilliantly perfumed with rare oils.
The Greeks wore sandals with the ends fastened to their bare ankles by
large serpents of bright metal, while the Asiatics wore soft, tinted
boots. The passers-by stood in groups before the façades of the shops
where the goods for sale were on display: rugs of sombre colors, cloths
worked with threads of gold, jewels of amber and of ivory, according to
the quarter. The animation of Mytilene did not end with the day; there
was no hour so late that one could not hear, through the open doors, the
joyous sounds of instruments, the cries of women, the noise of dances.
Pittakos himself, who wished to give a little order to this perpetual
debauch, made a law in defense of players of the flute too young to be
employed in the nocturnal festivals; but this law, like all laws that
pretend to change the course of natural morals, determined the secrecy
but not the observance.

In a society where the husbands were occupied at night with wine and
dancing-girls, the women could not fail to unite and find, among
themselves, consolation for their solitude. Thus it was that they
softened to those delicate loves to which antiquity has given their
name, and which have, whatever men may think, more of true passion than
invoked viciousness.

At this time, Sappho was still beautiful. Bilitis knew her and speaks of
her under the name of Psappha which she bore at Lesbos. Without doubt
she was the admirable woman who taught the little Pamphilian the art of
singing in rhythmic phrases, whereby she preserved to posterity the
remembrance of her loves. Unfortunately, Bilitis has given us few
details of this woman, today so little known, and this is to be
regretted, since the least word is precious which touches that great
Inspiration. Instead, she has left us thirty elegiacs, the history of
her love for a young girl of her own age whom she calls Mnasidika, and
who lived with her. Already we knew the name of this young girl from a
verse of Sappho in which her beauty is exalted; but the name even is
doubtful, and Bergk almost thinks that she was called simply Mnais. The
songs we will read soon, prove that this hypothesis may be abandoned.
Mnasidika seems to have been a little girl, very sweet and very
innocent, one of those charming persons whose mission is simply to
permit themselves to be adored, so cherished that they make little
effort to merit that which is given them. Loves without motives last the
longest: this one endured for ten years. One knows how it was broken
through the fault of Bilitis whose excessive jealousy admitted no
eclecticism.

When she felt that nothing held her longer to Mytilene, except unhappy
memories, Bilitis made a second voyage; she went to Cypros, an island
Greek and Phœnician like Pamphylia itself, which must have recalled to
her the aspect of her native country.

It was there that Bilitis began her life for the third time and in a
manner my readers will understand with difficulty unless they recall the
point to which love was considered holy among the people of antiquity.
The courtesans of Amathus were not, like ours, lost creatures, exiled
from all worldly society; they were girls from the best families of the
city. Aphrodite had given them beauty and they thanked the goddess and
consecreated to the service of her worship the beauty they had received.
All the cities, like those of Cypros, that possessed a temple rich in
courtesans, regarded these women with careful respect.

The incomparable history of Phryne, as transmitted to us from the
Athenæum, gives some idea of the nature of this veneration. It is not
true that Hyperides stripped her naked to soften the Areopagos, and
because her crime was great: she had committed murder. The orator tore
off the top of her tunic and revealed only her breasts. And he
supplicated the judges: “Do not put to death the priestess and the
inspired of Aphrodite.”--In distinction from the other courtesans who
went out in transparent cyclas through which all the details of their
bodies appeared, Phryne wore a costume which enveloped even her hair in
a great folded vestment of which the statuettes of Tanagra have
preserved the grace. No one, unless it were her lovers, had ever seen
her arms and her shoulders, and she never appeared in the pool of the
public baths. But one day an extraordinary thing occurred. It was the
day of the festival of Eleusis; twenty thousand people had come from all
parts of Greece and were assembled on the sea-shore when Phryne advanced
to the waves: she removed her garment, she unfastened her cincture, she
removed even her under tunic, “she unrolled her hair and entered the
sea.” And in that throng stood Praxiteles who, after this living
goddess, designed the Aphrodite of Knidos; and Apelles who, from her,
revealed his Anadyomene. Admirable people, to whom naked Beauty could
appear without exciting laughter or false shame!

I would that this history were that of Bilitis, for, in translating her
songs, I have learned to love the friend of Mnasidika. Without doubt her
life was also wonderful. I regret only that she is not spoken of oftener
by ancient authors, and that those whose works have survived, give us
so few tokens of her person. Philodemos, who pillaged her twice, does
not even mention her name. In default of better anecdotes, I beg that
you will be contented with the details which she herself has given us
about her life as a courtesan. That she was a courtesan is undeniable;
and even her last songs prove that, if she had the virtues of her
vocation, she had also its worst weaknesses. But I would know only her
virtues. She was pious and skillful. She remained faithful to the temple
so long as Aphrodite consented to prolong the youth of her purest
adorer. “The day when she ceased to be loved, she ceased to write,” she
has said. Nevertheless it is difficult to admit that the songs of
Pamphylia could have been written at the epoch when the events took
place. How could a little shepherdess of the mountains learn to scan
verses according to the difficult rhythms of the Æolic delivery? It is
more reasonable to believe that, become old, Bilitis found pleasure in
singing for herself the remembrances of her childhood. We know nothing
of this last period of her life. We know not even at what age she died.

Her tomb was found by M. C. Heim at Paleo-Limisso, at the side of an
antique road, not far from the ruins of Amathus. These ruins have
almost disappeared within the last thirty years and the stones of the
house where perhaps Bilitis lived, today pave the quays of Port Said.
But the tomb was subterranean, according to the Phœnician custom, and it
had escaped even the treasure hunters.

M. Heim entered it by a narrow pit, once filled with earth, at the
bottom of which he found a walled-up door which had to be demolished.
The wide, low tomb, paved with slabs of limestone, had four walls
covered with plaques of black amphibolite, on which were graven, in
primitive capitals, all the songs we are about to read, except the three
epitaphs which decorated the sarcophagus.

There reposed the friend of Mnasidika in a great coffin of terra-cotta,
under a cover modeled in delicate sculpture which figured in the clay
the visage of the dead. The hair was painted black, the eyes half closed
and prolonged by the crayon as though she were living and the painted
cheek softened by a slight smile which brought out the lines of the
mouth. Nothing can ever tell of those lips, so clean-cut, with a soft
outward curve, united one to the other and as though intoxicated by
their own contact.

When the tomb was opened, she appeared in the state in which a pious
hand had placed her, twenty-four centuries before. Vials of perfume hung
from pegs of clay, and one of these, after so long a time, was still
fragrant. The mirror of polished silver in which Bilitis had viewed
herself, the stylus which had trailed the blue pigment over her eyelids,
were found in their place. A little naked Astarte, relic forever
precious, watched always over the skeleton ornamented with all its
jewels of gold, and white like a snow-covered branch, but so soft and so
fragile that at the first breath it mingled with the dust.

PIERRE LOUŸS.

Constantinople. August 1894.




I

BUCOLICS IN PAMPHYLIA

    Ἀδύ δέ μοι τό μέλισμα, καὶ ἤν σύριγγι μελίσδω κἤν αύλῷ
      λαλέω, κἤν δώνκκι, κἤν πλαγιαύλῳ.
                   THEOCRITOS.

    “Sweet, too, is my music, whether I make
    melody on pipe, or discourse on the flute, or reed,
    or flageolet.”

              (XX--28-29. Lang.)




THE TREE


     Stripped of my clothes, I climbed into a tree; my bare thighs
     embraced the smooth, moist bark; my sandals trod upon the branches.

     At the top, yet under the leaves and shadowed from the heat, I sat
     astride a projecting branch and balanced my feet in the void.

     It rained. The water drops fell and slipped over my skin. My hands
     were stained with moss and my toes were reddened from crushed
     flowers.

     When the wind passed through the branches I felt the fair life of
     the tree; then I pressed my legs yet closer and laid my open lips
     upon the hairy nape of a bough.




II

PASTORAL SONG


     Let us sing a pastoral song; call upon Pan, god of the wind of
     summer. Selenis and I each watch our flocks, from the round shadow
     of an olive tree which trembles.

     Selenis lies upon the meadow. She raises herself and runs, searches
     for grasshoppers, gathers the flowers and herbs or bathes her face
     in the cool waters of the brook.

     And I--I draw up the wool from the white backs of the sheep to
     garnish my distaff, and I spin. The hours move slowly. In the sky,
     an eagle passes.

     The shadow turns; let us move the basket of flowers and the jar of
     milk. Let us sing a pastoral song, call upon Pan, god of the wind
     of summer.




III

MATERNAL ADVICE


     My mother bathes me in the darkness, she dresses me in the bright
     sunlight and arranges my hair in the light of lamps; but if we walk
     out in the moonlight she draws my girdle into a double knot.

     She says to me: “Play with virgins, dance with little children;
     look not out of the window, shun the words of young men and turn
     from the counsel of widows.

     “One evening, someone will take thee, as others are taken, over the
     threshold, amidst a great assemblage with sonorous drums and
     amorous flutes.

     “That evening, when thou goest away, Bilito, thou wilt leave me
     three gourds of gall, one for the morning, one for midday and the
     third, the bitterest, the third for the days of festival.”




IV

THE NAKED FEET


     I have black hair all the length of my back and a small round cap.
     My shirt is of white wool. My legs are fast browned by the sun.

     If I lived in the city, I would wear jewels of gold and garments
     broidered with gold and shoes of silver.... I regard my naked feet
     in their slippers of dust.

     Psophis! come here, little beggar! carry me to the spring, bathe my
     feet in thy hands and press olives and violets to perfume them like
     the flowers.

     Today thou shalt be my slave, thou shalt follow me and serve me
     and, at the end of the day, I will give thee, for thy mother,
     lentils from my garden.




V

THE OLD MAN AND THE NYMPHS


     A blind old man lives upon the mountain. For looking upon the
     nymphs, his eyes have been dead for a long time. And, since, his
     happiness is a distant memory.

     “Yes, I have seen them,” he said to me; “Helopsychria, Limnanthis;
     they were standing near the bank of the green pool of Physos. The
     water sparkled higher than their knees.

     “Their necks inclined beneath their long hair. Their nails were
     thin as the wings of grasshoppers. Their nipples were hollowed like
     the cups of hyacinths.

     “They trailed their fingers upon the water and drew up, from an
     invisible vase, the long-stemmed water-lilies. Around their parted
     thighs, the ripples slowly widened.”




VI

SONG


     “Tori-tortue, what doest thou amongst us?--I wind the wool and the
     thread of Milet.--Alas! Alas! Why dost thou not dance?--I am very
     sorrowful. I am very sorrowful.

     “Tori-tortue, what doest thou amongst us?--I cut a reed for a
     funereal flute.--Alas! Alas! What has befallen him!--I will not
     tell. I will not tell.

     “Tori-tortue, what doest thou amongst us?--I press the olives for
     oil for the stèle.--Alas! Alas! And who, then, is dead?--Canst thou
     ask? Canst thou ask?

     “Tori-tortue, what doest thou amongst us?--He has fallen into the
     sea....--Alas! Alas! And how is that?--From the backs of white
     horses. From the backs of white horses.”




VII

THE PASSER-BY


     As I was seated in the evening before the door of the house, a
     young man passed by. He looked at me, I turned away my head. He
     spoke to me but I did not answer.

     He wished to approach me. I took a sickle from the wall and I would
     have cut open his cheek if he had advanced another step.

     Then, drawing back a little, he began to smile and breathed in his
     hand toward me, saying: “Receive the kiss.” And I cried! And I
     wept! So much so that my mother hastened to me.

     Alarmed, believing that I had been stung as though by a scorpion, I
     wept: “He embraced me.” My mother also embraced me and carried me
     away in her arms.




VIII

THE AWAKENING


     It is already light I should rise. But the drowsiness of morning is
     sweet and the warmth of my bed enfolds me closer. I long to remain
     lying so.

     Soon I will go to the stable. I will give the goats grass and
     flowers and a flask of fresh water drawn from the well where I will
     drink with them.

     Then I will fasten them to the post and milk their soft, warm
     udders; and if the kids are not jealous, I will suck with them from
     the supple teats.

     Amaltheia, has she not fed Dzeus? Therefore I will go. But not yet.
     The sun has risen too soon and my mother is not yet awake.




IX

THE RAIN


     The fine rain has fallen over all things, gently and in silence. It
     still rains a little. I will go out among the trees. My feet shall
     be naked, so that I will not soil my shoes.

     The rain of springtime is delicious. The branches, laden with moist
     flowers, have a perfume which bewilders me. One sees the sparkle of
     the sun on the delicate bark.

     Alas! how many flowers upon the ground! How pitiful, these flowers
     which have fallen. They should not be gathered and mixed with the
     mud but saved for the bees.

     The beetles and the snails traverse the path between the puddles of
     water; I would not tread upon them nor frighten the golden lizard
     which stretches out, blinking his eyelids.




X

THE FLOWERS


     Nymphs of the woods and fountains, sweetest of friends, I am here.
     Hide not, but come to my aid for I am burdened with many flowers.

     I would choose, from all the forest, a poor hamadryad with raised
     arms and in her hair, the color of the leaves, I will place my
     heaviest rose.

     See: I have taken so many from the fields that I cannot carry them
     away unless you help me make a garland. If you refuse, beware:

     She of you with the orange hair, I saw her yesterday embraced like
     a beast by the satyr Lamprosathes and I will denounce the shameless
     one.




XI

IMPATIENCE


     I threw myself into her arms and wept and for a long time she felt
     my hot tears slip over her shoulders; then, when my sorrow let me
     speak:

     “Alas, I am only a child; the young men never look at me. When will
     I have, like thee, a young woman’s breasts to raise my robe and
     entice kisses?

     “There are no curious eyes if my tunic slips; no one gathers up the
     flower that falls from my hair, nor does anyone threaten to kill me
     if my mouth is given to another.”

     She replied to me tenderly: “Bilitis, little virgin, thou criest
     like a cat at the moon and thou art troubled without reason. The
     girls who are most impatient are not the soonest chosen.”




XII

COMPARISONS


     Bergeronnet, bird of Kypris, sing with our first desires! The fresh
     bodies of young girls bloom with flowers like the earth. The night
     of all our dreams approaches and we talk of it among ourselves.

     Sometimes we compare, all together, the differences in our
     beauties, our hair already long, our young breasts still small, our
     puberties round like shells and hidden under the nascent down.

     Yesterday I competed with Melantho, my elder sister. She was proud
     of her breasts which had grown in a month, and pointing to my
     straight tunic, she called me “Little Child.”

     No man could see us, we placed ourselves naked before the girls,
     and if she vanquished me on one point, I far surpassed her on all
     others. Bergeronnet, bird of Kypris, sing with our first desires!




XIII

THE FOREST RIVER


     I bathed myself, alone, in the forest river. I am sure I frightened
     the naiads for I divined them moving anxiously far within the dark
     water.

     I called them. To resemble them better, I plaited upon my neck
     irises black as my hair and branches of yellow gilliflowers.

     Of a long floating grass I made myself a green girdle and, to see
     it, I pressed up my breasts and inclined my head a little.

     And I called: “Naiads! naiads! play with me, be kind.” But the
     naiads are transparent, and perhaps, without knowing, I have
     caressed their delicate arms.




XIV

COME, MELISSA


     When the sun burns less fiercely, we will go and play upon the
     river banks, we will struggle for a frail crocus or for a damp
     hyacinth.

     We will make them into round collars and garlands, prizes for our
     running. We will take each other by the hand and by the ends of our
     tunics.

     Come, Melissa! give us honey. Come, Naiads! we will bathe with you.
     Come, Melissa! throw a shadow gently over our perspiring bodies.

     And we will offer you, kind nymphs, not shameful wine, but oil and
     milk and goats with twisted horns.




XV

THE SYMBOLIC RING


     The voyagers who return from Sardis tell us that the women of Lydia
     are covered with collars and stones from the top of their hair to
     their tinted feet.

     The girls of my country have neither bracelets nor diadems, but one
     of their fingers carries a silver ring and upon the bezel is graven
     the triangle of the goddess.

     When they turn the point outward, they would say: “Psyche is to be
     taken.” When they turn the point inward, they would say: “Psyche is
     taken.”

     The men believe this, the women do not. As for me, I little regard
     which way the point is turned, for Psyche offers herself freely.
     Psyche is always to be taken.




XVI

DANCES BY MOONLIGHT


     On the soft grass, in the night, the young girls with hair of
     violets have all danced together, one of each two playing the part
     of lover.

     The virgins said: “We are not for you.” And, as though they were
     bashful, concealed their virginity. Among the trees, an ægipan
     played upon the flute.

     The others said: “We have come to seek you.” They arranged their
     robes like the tunics of men and they struggled gently while
     entwining their dancing legs.

     Then, each pretending to be vanquished, took her friend by the
     ears, like a cup with two handles, and, inclining the head, drank a
     kiss.




XVII

THE LITTLE CHILDREN


     The river is almost dry; the brittle reeds are dying in the mud;
     the air burns and, far beyond the hollow banks, a clear brook flows
     upon the gravel.

     It is there that, from morning to evening, the little naked
     children come to play. They bathe themselves only as high as their
     calves for the river is low.

     But they walk in the current, sometimes slipping on the rocks, and
     the little boys throw water on the little girls, who laugh.

     And when a troop of passing merchants lead their great white oxen
     to drink, they clasp their hands behind them and watch the enormous
     beasts.




XVIII

THE STORIES


     I am loved by the little children; when they see me they run to me
     and cling to my tunic or clasp my legs in their little arms.

     If they have gathered flowers, they give them all to me; if they
     have caught a beetle, they put it in my hand; if they have nothing,
     they caress me and make me sit before them.

     Then they kiss me on the cheek, they rest their heads upon my
     breasts; they supplicate me with their eyes. I know well what they
     would say.

     They would say: “Dear Bilitis, tell us, for we are quiet, the
     history of the hero Perseus or the death of the little Hellé.”




XIX

THE MARRIED FRIEND


     Our mothers were pregnant at the same time and, this evening, she
     is married, Melissa, my dearest friend. The roses still lie upon
     the path; the torches have not yet burned out.

     And I return, by the same path, with mother, and I dream. Thus, as
     she is now, I also will be later. Am I already a woman?

     The cortège, the flutes, the nuptial song and the flowered car of
     the bridegroom, all the festival, some other evening, will unfold
     for me under the branches of the olives.

     Like Melissa at this same hour, I shall unveil myself before a man,
     I shall know love in the night, and, later, little children will
     nourish themselves at my swollen breasts....




XX

CONFIDENCES


     The next day I went to her house and we reddened when we saw each
     other. She led me into her chamber where we would be alone.

     I had many things to say to her, but when I saw her I forgot them
     all. I did not even throw myself upon her neck, I regarded her high
     girdle.

     I was astonished that nothing in her face had changed, that she
     still resembled my friend although, since the sleepless night, she
     had learned so many things startling to me.

     Suddenly I seated myself upon her knees, took her in my arms, and
     whispered quickly, anxiously, into her ear. Then she laid her cheek
     against mine and told me all.




XXI

THE MOON WITH EYES OF BLUE


     The night mingles with the hair of women and the branches of the
     willows. I walked at the edge of the water. Suddenly I heard
     singing; then only I knew I was there with young girls.

     I said to them: “To whom do you sing?” They replied: “To those who
     return.” One awaited her father, another her brother; but she who
     awaited her lover was the most impatient.

     They had woven for themselves crowns and garlands cut from the
     branches of palms and lotos drawn from the water. They rested their
     arms on each other’s necks and sang one after another.

     I moved along the river, saddened and all alone, but in looking
     about me I saw that, behind the great trees, the moon with eyes of
     blue was guiding me.




XXII

SONG


     “Shadow of the woods, whence she should come, tell me, where has my
     mistress gone?--She has descended upon the plain.--Plain, where has
     my mistress gone?--She has followed the banks of the river.”

     “Fair river who hast seen her pass, tell me, is she near this
     place?--She has left me for the path.--Path, dost thou see her
     still?--She has left me for the road.”

     “O white road, road of the city, tell me, where hast thou led
     her?--To the street of gold which enters into Sardis.--O street of
     light, touchest thou her naked feet?--She has entered the palace of
     the king.”

     “O palace, splendor of the earth, return her to me.--See! She has
     collars on her breasts and circlets in her hair, an hundred pearls
     along her legs, two arms around her waist.”




XXIII

LYKAS


     Come, we will go into the fields, under the thickets of juniper; we
     will eat honey from the hives, we will make snares for grasshoppers
     with the twigs of asphodels.

     Come, we will go to see Lykas who tends his father’s flocks upon
     the slopes of shadowy Tauros. Surely he will give us milk.

     Already I hear the sound of his flute. He plays most skilfully.
     Here are the dogs and the sheep and he himself standing against a
     tree. Is he not fair as Adonis!

     O Lykas! give us milk. Here are figs from our fig trees. We would
     rest with thee. Bearded goats, do not leap, for fear of exciting
     the restless bucks.




XXIV

THE OFFERING TO THE GODDESS


     It is not for Artemis whom they adore at Perga, this garland woven
     with my hands, although Artemis may be a good goddess who would
     guard my couches of pain.

     It is not for Athena whom they adore at Sidon although she may be
     of ivory and of gold and carry in her hand a pomegranate which
     tempts the birds.

     No, it is for Aphrodite whom I adore in my heart, for she only can
     give what my lips most need, if I hang on her sacred tree my
     garland of tender roses.

     But I will not ask aloud that which I beg of her. I will raise
     myself upon my toes and confide my secret to a cleft in the bark.




XXV

THE COMPLAISANT FRIEND


     The storm continued all the night. Selenis of the beautiful hair
     had come to spin with me. She remained for fear of the mud, and,
     pressed one against the other, we filled my little bed.

     When girls lie together, sleep remains at the door. “Bilitis, tell
     me, tell me, whom lovest thou?” She slipped her leg over mine to
     caress me softly.

     And she said, against my mouth: “I know, Bilitis, whom thou lovest.
     Close thine eyes, I am Lykas.” I replied, touching her: “Do I not
     know thou art a girl? Thy jest fits badly.”

     But she replied: “In truth I am Lykas if thou wilt close thine
     eyes. These are his arms, these are his hands....” And tenderly, in
     the silence, she enchanted my reverie into a singular illusion.




XXVI

A PRAYER TO PERSEPHONE


     Purified by the ritual ablutions, and clad in violet tunics, we
     have kissed toward the earth our hands laden with branches of
     olive.

     “O Persephone of the Underworld, or whatever may be the name thou
     desirest, if this name is acceptable, hear us, O Shadowy-Haired,
     Queen sterile and unsmiling.

     “Kokhlis, daughter of Thrasymakos, is ill, and dangerously. Do not
     call her yet. Thou knowest she cannot escape thee; one day, very
     late, thou shalt take her.

     “But drag her not away so soon, O Dominatress invisible! For she
     weeps because of her virginity, she supplicates through our
     prayers, and we will give, for her deliverance, three black unshorn
     ewes.”




XXVII

THE GAME OF DICE


     As we both loved him, we played with the dice. It was a great
     moment. Many of the young girls looked on.

     She threw at first the cast of Kyklopes and I the cast of Solon.
     But she the Kallibolos and I, feeling that I lost, I prayed to the
     goddess.

     I played, I had the Epiphenon, she the terrible cast of Kios, I the
     Antiteukos, she the Trikias, and I the cast of Aphrodite which won
     the disputed lover.

     But, seeing her pale, I threw my arm about her neck and said, close
     to her ear (so that she alone heard me): “Do not weep, little
     friend, we will let him choose between us.”




XXVIII

THE DISTAFF


     All the day, my mother has kept me in the gynæceum with my sisters
     whom I do not love and who talk among themselves in low voices. I,
     in a little corner, I spin my distaff.

     Distaff, because I am alone with thee, it is to thee I will talk.
     With thy wig of white wool thou art like an old woman. Listen to
     me.

     If I could go, I would not be here, seated in the shadow of the
     wall and spinning wearily. I would be sleeping with the violets
     upon the slopes of Tauros.

     Because he is so much poorer than I, my mother will not espouse me.
     However, I say to thee: either I will have no wedding day or it is
     he who will lead me over the threshold.




XXIX

THE FLUTE


     For the day of Hyacinthus he gave me a syrinx made of carefully cut
     reeds united with white wax which was sweet as honey to my lips.

     He taught me to play, seated upon his knees; but I trembled a
     little. He played after me; so softly that I could scarcely hear
     him.

     We had nothing to say to each other, so near we were, one to the
     other; but our songs replied to each other and, by turns, our lips
     touched the flute.

     It has grown late, there is the song of the green frogs who begin
     with the night. My mother will never believe that I have stayed so
     long searching for my lost girdle.




XXX

THE HAIR


     He said to me: “Last night I dreamed. I had thy hair about my neck.
     I had thy locks like a black collar about my neck and over my
     breast.

     “I caressed them; and they were mine; and we were bound thus
     forever, by the same locks, mouth upon mouth, like two laurels with
     but one root.

     “And, little by little, it seemed to me that our limbs were
     mingled; that I became thyself and that thou didst enter into me
     like my dream.”

     When he had finished he softly laid his hands upon my shoulders and
     looked at me with so tender a regard that I lowered my eyes,
     shivering.




XXXI

THE CUP


     Lykas saw me come to him clad only in a light scarf, for the days
     had become overwhelming; he wished to mould my breast which
     remained uncovered.

     He took fine clay, kneaded in the fresh, clear water. When he laid
     it upon my skin I thought I should faint, for the earth was very
     cold.

     From my moulded breast, he made a cup, round and umbilicated. He
     placed it in the sun to dry and tinted it with purple and ochre by
     pressing flowers all around it.

     Then we went to the fountain which is consecrated to the nymphs and
     threw the cup into the current with stalks of gillyflowers.




XXXII

ROSES IN THE NIGHT


     When the night mounts into the sky, the world belongs to us and to
     the gods. We go over the fields to the spring, the dark wood to the
     glades, wherever our naked feet lead us.

     The little stars shine enough for such little shadows as we are.
     Sometimes, beneath the branches, we find sleeping hinds.

     But more charming than all else, in the night, is a place known
     only to ourselves which attracts us across the forest: a thicket of
     mysterious roses.

     For nothing in the world is so divine as the perfume of roses in
     the night. How is it that, in the time when I was alone, I never
     felt their intoxication?




XXXIII

REMORSE


     At first I did not reply; shame flushed upon my cheeks, and the
     beatings of my heart hurt my breasts.

     Then I resisted, I said: “No. No.” I turned away my head and the
     kiss did not open my lips, nor love my fast closed knees.

     Then he begged my forgiveness, he kissed my hair, I felt his
     burning breath, and he departed.... Now, I am alone.

     I regard the empty place, the deserted wood, the trampled earth.
     And I bite my fingers until they bleed and smother my cries in the
     grass.




XXXIV

THE INTERRUPTED SLEEP


     All alone I fell asleep like a partridge in the heather.... The
     light wind, the murmuring of the waters, the sweetness of the
     night, all held me there.

     Imprudently I slept and awakened with a cry, and I struggled, and I
     wept. But already it was too late. What can the hands of a child
     do?

     He would not leave me. Rather, with greater tenderness, he pressed
     me closer to him, and I saw in all the world neither the earth nor
     the trees but only the light in his eyes....

     To thee, Cypris victorious, I consecrate these offerings still
     moist with the dew, vestiges of the pains of virginity, witnesses
     of my sleep and of my resistance.




XXXV

THE WASH-WOMEN


     Wash-women, say not that you have seen me! I confide in you; do not
     repeat it! Between my tunic and my breasts, I bring you something.

     I am like a little frightened hen.... I know not whether I dare
     tell you.... My heart beats as though I would die.... It is a veil
     that I bring you.

     A veil and the ribbons from my legs. You see: there is blood upon
     them. By Apollo, it was in spite of me! I defended myself well; but
     the man who loves is stronger than we.

     Wash them well; spare neither the salt nor the chalk. I will place
     four oboli for you at the feet of Aphrodite; even a drachma of
     silver.




XXXVI

SONG


     When he returned, I hid my face with my two hands. He said to me:
     “Fear nothing. Who has seen our kissing?--Who has seen us? the
     night and the moon.”

     “--And the stars and the first dawn. The moon has mirrored herself
     in the lake and has told it to the water under the willows. The
     water of the lake has told it to the oar.

     “And the oar has told it to the boat and the boat has told it to
     the fisher. Alas; alas! if that were all! But the fisher has told
     it to a woman.

     “The fisher has told it to a woman: my father and my mother and my
     sisters and all Hellas will know it.”




XXXVII

BILITIS


     One woman may envelop herself in white wool. Another may clothe
     herself in silk and gold. Another cover herself with flowers, with
     green leaves and grapes.

     Me, I enjoy life only when naked. My lover, take me as I am:
     without robes or jewels or sandals. Here is Bilitis, quite alone.

     My hair is black with its own blackness and my lips red of their
     own color. My locks float about me, free and round, like feathers.

     Take me as my mother made me in a night of love long past, and if I
     please thee so, forget not to tell me.




XXXVIII

THE LITTLE HOUSE


     The little house where he has his bed is the prettiest in the
     world. It is made from the branches of trees, four walls of dried
     earth and a roof of thatch.

     I love it, for there we have slept since the nights have grown
     cold; and as the nights become still colder, they become longer
     also. When the day comes, I am very weary.

     The mattress lies upon the ground; two covers of black wool shut in
     our bodies which warm each other. His chest presses against my
     breasts. My heart throbs....

     He clasps me so vigorously that he bruises me, poor little girl
     that I am; but when he is within me I know nothing more of the
     world, and one could cut off my limbs without awakening me from my
     delight.




XXXIX

THE LOST LETTER


     Alas for me! I have lost his letter. I had placed it between my
     skin and my strophion, under the warmth of my breast I ran; it must
     have fallen.

     I will return on my steps: if someone has found it they will read
     it to my mother and I shall be whipped before my jeering sisters.

     If it is a man who has found it he will give it to me; or even if
     he wishes to talk to me in secret, I have the means to charm it
     from him.

     If it is a woman who has read it, O Guardian Zeus protect me! for
     she will tell it to all the world or she will take my lover from
     me.




XL

SONG


     “The night is so profound that it penetrates my eyes.--Thou seest
     not the road. Thou wilt lose thyself in the forest.

     “The noise of falling waters fills my ears.--Thou wouldst not hear
     the voice of thy lover though he were not twenty steps away.

     “The perfume of the flowers is so powerful that I grow faint and I
     shall fall.--Thou wouldst not know even if he crossed thy path.

     “Ah! he is very far from here, on the other side of the mountain;
     but I see him and I hear him and I feel him as though he touched
     me.”




XLI

THE OATH


     “When the water of the river remounts to the snow-hidden summits:
     when barley and wheat is sown in the moving furrows of the sea:

     “When the pines grow from the lakes and the water-lilies from the
     rocks: when the sun becomes black, when the moon falls upon the
     grass:

     “Then, but only then, I will take another woman and I will forget
     thee, Bilitis, soul of my life, heart of my heart.”

     He has said that to me, he has said that to me! What matters the
     rest of the world; where art thou, boundless happiness which can
     compare with my happiness!




XLII

THE NIGHT


     It is now I who search for him. Each night, very softly, I leave
     the house and I go by a long path, to his meadow, to see him
     sleeping.

     Sometimes I rest for a long time without speaking, happy merely in
     seeing him, and I approach my lips to his and kiss only his breath.

     Then suddenly I cast myself upon him. He awakens in my arms, and he
     cannot raise himself, for I struggle. He gives up, and laughs, and
     clasps me. Thus we play in the night.

     ... First dawn, O wicked light, thou already! In what ever-darkened
     cave, on what subterranean meadow, can we love so long that we may
     lose remembrance of thee....




XLIII

CRADLE-SONG


     Sleep: I have sent to Sardis for thy toys, and for thy raiment to
     Babylon. Sleep, thou art the daughter of Bilitis and a king of the
     rising sun.

     The wood is the palace which was built for thee alone and which I
     have given to thee. The trunks of the pines are the columns; the
     high branches are the arches.

     Sleep. That he may not awaken thee, I will sell the sun to the sea.
     The breeze from the wings of a dove is less light than thy breath.

     Daughter of mine, flesh of my flesh, when thou openest thine eyes,
     say whether thou wishest the plain or the city or the mountain or
     the moon or the white cortège of the gods.




XLIV

THE TOMB OF THE NAIADS


     Through the woods covered with hoarfrost, I walked; my hair before
     my mouth glistened with little icicles, and my sandals were heavy
     with clinging and heaped-up snow.

     He said to me: “What seekest thou?--I follow the tracks of a satyr.
     His little cloven steps alternate like holes in a white mantle.” He
     said to me: “The satyrs are dead.

     “The satyrs and the nymphs also. For thirty years there has been no
     winter so terrible. The track thou seest is that of a buck. But let
     us rest here, where their tomb is.”

     And with the iron of his hoe, he broke the ice of the spring where
     once laughed the naiads. He lifted the great cold masses and,
     raising them toward the pale sky, he gazed about him.




ELEGIACS AT MYTILENE

    Εὐμορφοτέρα Μνασιδίκα τᾶς ἁπαλᾶς Γυριννῶς.
                    SAPPHO.

    “Mnasidika is more shapely than the tender Gyrinno.”
                    (F. 76. Wharton.)




XLV

TO THE VESSEL


     Beautiful ship that has brought me here, along the shores of Ionia,
     I abandon thee to the glistening waves, and, with a light foot, I
     leap upon the beach.

     Thou wilt return to the country where the virgin is the friend of
     the nymphs. Forget not to thank those invisible counsellors, and
     carry them, as an offering, this branch plucked by my hands.

     Thou wert once a pine, and, on the mountains, the vast hot Notos
     shook thy branches with their squirrels and birds.

     Let Boreos be now thy guide and push thee softly toward the port,
     black ship, escorted by dolphins, at the will of the kindly sea.




XLVI

PSAPPHA


     I rub my eyes.... Is it already day, I wonder. Ah! who is this near
     me?... a woman?... By Paphia, I had forgotten.... O Charites; how I
     am shamed.

     To what country am I come, and what is this island where one learns
     thus of love? If I were not all wearied, I would believe it a
     dream.... Is it possible that this is the Psappha?

     She sleeps.... She is certainly beautiful, although her hair is cut
     like that of an athlete. But this astonishing countenance, this
     virile breast, and these narrow hips....

     I would like to go before she awakens. Alas! I am against the wall.
     I must step over her. I am afraid lest I touch her hip and that she
     will take me as I pass.




XLVII

THE DANCE OF GLOTTIS AND KYSE


     Two little girls carried me away to their house and, with the door
     firmly closed, they lighted the wick of a lamp and wished to dance
     for me.

     Their cheeks were not painted and were brown as their little
     bellies. They pulled each other by the arms and talked at the same
     time in an agony of gaiety.

     Seated on a mattress raised upon two trestles, Glottis sang in a
     sharp voice and struck the measures with her sonorous little palms.

     Kyse danced shakily, then stopped, suffocated with laughter, took
     her sister by the breasts, bit her on the shoulder and threw her
     down like a goat that wishes to play.




XLVIII

COUNSELS


     Then Syllikmas entered and, seeing us so familiar, seated herself
     upon the bench. She took Glottis upon one knee, Kyse on the other,
     and said:

     “Come here, little one.” But I remained away. She resumed: “Art
     thou afraid of us? Approach, thou: these children love thee. They
     will teach thee something thou knowest not: the honey of the
     caresses of a woman.

     “Man is violent and lazy. Doubtless thou knowest this. Avoid him.
     He has a flat chest, a rough skin, short hair, shaggy arms. But
     women are altogether beautiful.

     “Women alone know how to love; stay with us, Bilitis, stay. And if
     thou hast an ardent soul, thou wilt see thy beauty, as in a mirror,
     upon the bodies of women, thy lovers.”




XLIX

UNCERTAINTY


     I know not whether I should espouse Glottis or Kyse. As they are
     not like each other, one would not console me for the other, and I
     fear lest I choose badly.

     They each hold one of my hands and one of my breasts also. But to
     which shall I give my mouth? to which shall I give my heart and all
     that one cannot divide?

     It is shameful to remain thus, all three in one house. They talk of
     it in Mytilene. Yesterday, before the temple of Ares, a woman who
     passed did not greet me.

     It is Glottis whom I prefer; but I cannot reject Kyse. What would
     become of her, all alone? Shall I leave them as they were, and take
     for myself another friend?




L

THE MEETING


     I have found her like a treasure, in a field, under a bush of
     myrtle, enveloped from throat to feet in a yellow peplos broidered
     with blue.

     “I have no friend,” she said; “for the nearest city is forty stadia
     from here. I live alone with my mother who is a widow and always
     sad. If thou wishest, I will follow thee.

     “I will follow thee to thy house, were it at the other side of the
     island, and I will live with thee until thou sendest me away. Thy
     hand is soft and thine eyes are blue.

     “Let us go. I carry nothing with me but this little naked Astarte
     which hangs from my necklace. We will put it near thine and we will
     give them roses in recompense for each night.”




LI

THE LITTLE TERRA COTTA ASTARTE


     The little guardian Astarte which protects Mnasidika was modeled at
     Camiros by a skilful potter. It is large as a thumb and of fine
     yellow earth.

     Its hair falls back and curls upon its narrow shoulders. Its eyes
     are cut very long and its mouth is very small. For it is the
     Most-Beautiful.

     With its right hand it points to its delta which is worked with
     little holes on the lower belly and along the groins. For it is the
     Most-Amorous-One.

     With the left arm it supports its heavy, round breasts. Between its
     wide hips protrudes a fecund belly. For it is the
     Mother-Of-All-Things.




LII

DESIRE


     She entered and passionately, her eyes half closed, she united her
     lips with mine and our tongues touched each other.... Never was
     there in my life a kiss like that one.

     She stood against me, all love and contentment. One of my knees,
     little by little, mounted between her hot thighs which gave way as
     though for a lover.

     My hand wandered over her tunic seeking to divine the hidden body
     which, by turns, undulated, yielding itself, or, arching, stiffened
     itself with shiverings of the skin.

     With her eyes in delirium, she pointed toward the bed; but we had
     not the right to love before the ceremony of wedding, and we
     separated brusquely.




LIII

THE WEDDING


     In the morning they had the wedding-feast in the house of
     Acalanthis whom she had adopted for a mother. Mnasidika wore the
     white veil and I the male tunic.

     Then, amidst twenty women, she put on her robes of festival.
     Perfumed with Bakkaris, sifted with powder of gold, her cool and
     animated skin attracted furtive hands.

     In her chamber filled with foliage, she waited for me like a
     spouse. And I carried her away on a chariot between myself and the
     nymphagogue. One of her little breasts burned in my hand.

     They chanted the nuptial song; the flutes played also. I carried
     Mnasidika under the shoulders and under the knees and we passed
     over the threshold covered with roses.




LIV

THE PAST WHICH SURVIVES


     I will leave the bed as she has left it, unmade and rumpled, the
     covers mingled, in order that the form of her body may remain
     impressed beside mine.

     Until tomorrow I will not go to the bath, I I will not wear any
     garments, I will not comb my hair, for fear lest I efface her
     caresses.

     This morning, I will not eat, nor this evening, and upon my lips I
     will place neither rouge nor powder, in order that her kiss may
     remain.

     I will leave the shutters closed and I will not open the door for
     fear lest the remembrance which she has left fly out upon the wind.




LV

METAMORPHOSIS


     Formerly I was amorous of the beauty of young men, and the
     remembrance of their words kept me awake.

     I remember having graven a name in the bark of a plane-tree. I
     remember having left a strip of my tunic in a path where someone
     would pass.

     I remember having loved.... O Pannychis, my babe, in what hands
     have I left thee? how, O unfortunate one, have I abandoned thee?

     Today, and forever, Mnasidika alone possesses me. What she receives
     as a sacrifice is the happiness of those whom I have deserted for
     her.




LVI

THE NAMELESS TOMB


     Mnasidika took me by the hand and led me outside the gates of the
     city to a little uncultivated field where there was a marble stèle.
     And she said: “This was the lover of my mother.”

     Then I felt a great shiver and still holding her hand, I leaned on
     her shoulder in order to read the four lines between the broken cup
     and the serpent:

     “It is not death which has carried me away, but the Nymphs of the
     fountains. I rest here under the light earth with the severed hair
     of Xantho. Let her alone weep for me. I tell not my name.”

     For a long time we remained standing, and we did not pour a
     libation. For how could we call an unknown soul from the throngs of
     Hades?




LVII

THE THREE BEAUTIES OF MNASIDIKA


     So that Mnasidika may be protected by the gods, I have sacrificed
     to the Aphrodite-who-loves-the-smiles, two male hares and two
     doves.

     And I have sacrificed to Ares two cocks armed for fighting, and to
     sinister Hecate two dogs that howled under the knife.

     And it is not without reason that I have implored these three
     immortals, for Mnasidika carries on her countenance the reflection
     of their triple divinity.

     Her lips are red like copper, her hair bluish like iron and her
     eyes black like silver.




LVIII

THE CAVE OF THE NYMPHS


     Thy feet are more delicate than those of silvery Thetis. Between
     thy crossed arms thou unitest thy breasts, cradling them softly
     like the bodies of two fair doves.

     Beneath thy hair thou dissemblest thy moist eyes, thy trembling
     mouth and the pink flowers of thine ears; but nothing stops my
     regard nor the warm breath of my kiss.

     For, in the secret of thy body, it is thou, Mnasidika, beloved, who
     hidest the cave of the nymphs of which old Homer spoke, the place
     where the naiads weave their purple linens.

     The place where glide, drop by drop, the inexhaustible springs and
     where the gate of the North lets men descend and the gate of the
     South lets immortals enter.




LIX

MNASIDIKA’S BREASTS


     Carefully, with one hand, she opened her tunic and offered me her
     warm, sweet breasts, as one would offer to the goddess a pair of
     living turtle-doves.

     “Love them well,” she said to me; “I love them so much! They are
     dear, the little babes. I busy myself with them when I am alone. I
     play with them; I give them pleasure.

     “I douche them with milk. I powder them with flowers. My soft hair
     which drys them is dear to their little points. I caress them, and
     shiver. I enfold them in wool.

     “Because I shall never have children, be their nursling, my love,
     and because they are so far from my mouth, give them kisses for
     me.”




LX

THE DOLL


     I have given her a doll, a doll of wax with cheeks of roses. Its
     arms are attached by little pegs and its legs can be moved.

     When we are together, she couches it between us, and it is our
     child. In the evening she cradles it and gives it the breast before
     putting it to sleep.

     She has woven it three little tunics and we gave it jewels on the
     day of the Aphrodisian Festival; jewels and flowers also.

     She watches over its virtue, and will not let it go out without
     her; not in the sun, above all, for the little doll would melt into
     drops of wax.




LXI

TENDERNESSES


     Sweetly close thine arms, like a girdle about me. O touch, touch my
     skin thus! Neither water nor the breeze of noon-tide are so soft as
     thy hand.

     Today, endear me, little sister, it is thy turn. Remember thou the
     tendernesses which I taught thee in the night past, and kneel thou
     silently near me, for I am wearied.

     Thy lips descend upon my lips. All thine unbound hair follows them
     like a caress after a kiss. It glides over my left breast, it hides
     thine eyes from me.

     Give me thy hand, it is hot! Press mine; hold it always. Hands
     better than the mouths unite, and their passion is equalled by
     nothing.




LXII

GAMES


     More than her balls or her doll, I am for her a game. With all
     parts of my body, she amuses herself like a child, through the long
     hours, without speaking.

     She loosens my hair and reforms it according to her caprice,
     knotting it under my chin like a thick cloth, or twisting it upon
     the nape of my neck, or braiding it to the end.

     She regards with astonishment the color of my lashes, the folds of
     my neck. Sometimes she makes me kneel and place my hands upon the
     bed:

     Then (it is one of her games) she slips her little head underneath
     and imitates the trembling kid which sucks from the belly of its
     mother.




LXIII

PENUMBRA


     Under the cover of transparent wool, we slipped, she and I. Even
     our heads were covered, and the lamp shone through the cloth above
     us.

     Thus I saw her dear body in a mysterious light. We were very near,
     one to the other, more free, more intimate, more naked. “In the
     same shift,” she said.

     We had left our hair bound up in order to be still more uncovered,
     and in the close air of the bed, the odors of two women ascended,
     of two natural cassolets.

     Nothing in the world, not even the lamp, saw us that night. Which
     of us was loved, she alone, and I, could say. But the men know
     nothing of it.




LXIV

THE SLEEPER


     She sleeps in her unbound hair, her hands joined behind her neck.
     Does she dream? Her mouth is open; she breathes gently.

     With a bit of white swan, I dry off the perspiration of her arms,
     the fever of her cheeks, but without awakening her. Her closed
     eyelids are two blue flowers.

     Very softly, I will raise myself; I will go · to draw water, to
     milk the cow and ask fire of the neighbors. I would arrange my hair
     and dress before she opens her eyes.

     Sleep, dwell for long between her fair, curved eyelids, and
     continue the happy night with a dream of good augury.




LXV

THE KISS


     I will kiss, from one end to the other, the long dark wings
     spreading from thy neck, O sweet bird, captive dove, whose heart
     bounds beneath my hand.

     I will take thy lips within my lips as an infant takes the breast
     of its mother. Shudder!... for the kiss penetrates profoundly and
     is sufficient to thy love.

     I will move my tongue lightly along thine arms, and upon thy neck;
     and I will wind along thy sensitive sides the lengthening caress of
     my nails.

     Hear, roaring in thine ears, all the rumor of the sea....
     Mnasidika! thy look makes me suffer. Like thy lips, I would close
     thy burning eyelids with my kiss.




LXVI

JEALOUS CARE


     Do not arrange thy hair, for fear lest the over-heated iron burn
     thy neck or thy locks. Leave it upon thy shoulders and spread over
     thine arms.

     Do not dress thyself, for fear lest the girdle redden the slender
     folds of thy hips. Remain naked like a little girl.

     Do not even rise, for fear lest thy fragile feet be injured in
     walking. Repose in the bed, O victim of Eros, and I will dress thy
     poor wound.

     For I would not see upon thy body other marks, Mnasidika, than the
     blemish of an over-long kiss, the scratch of a sharp nail, or the
     reddening bar of my embrace.




LXVII

THE DESPAIRING EMBRACE


     Love me, not with smiles, flutes, or plaited flowers, but with thy
     heart and thy tears, as I love thee with my breast and my
     lamentations.

     When thy breasts alternate with my breasts, when I feel thy life
     touching my life, when thy knees stand up behind me, then my
     panting mouth knows not how more to unite with thine.

     Clasp me as I clasp thee! See, the lamp has died out, we turn and
     twist in the night; but I press thy moving body and I hear thy
     perpetual plaint....

     Moan! moan! moan! O woman! Eros leads us in sorrow. Thou wilt
     suffer less on the bed in bringing a child into the world than when
     giving birth to thy love.




LXVIII

THE HEART


     Breathless, I take her hand and apply it forcibly to the moist skin
     of my left breast. And I turn my head here and there and I move my
     lips without speaking.

     My excited heart, abrupt and hard, beats and beats in my breast as
     an imprisoned satyr would knock, imprisoned in a leathern bottle.
     She says to me: “Thy heart makes thee ill....”

     “O Mnasidika,” I respond, “the heart of a woman is not there. That
     is only a poor bird, a dove which stirs its feeble wings. The heart
     of a woman is more terrible.

     “Like a little myrtle berry, it burns with a red flame and under an
     abundant foam. It is there that I feel myself bitten by voracious
     Aphrodite.”




LXIX

WORDS IN THE NIGHT


     We rest, our eyes closed, the silence is deep about our couch.
     Ineffable Nights of summer! But she, believing me asleep, lays her
     warm hand upon my arm.

     She murmurs: “Bilitis, thou sleepest?” My heart throbs, but,
     without response, I respire regularly like a woman couched in
     dreams. Then she begins to speak:

     “Because thou hearest me not,” she says, “ah! how I love thee!” And
     she repeats my name: “Bilitis.... Bilitis....” And she touches me
     with the tips of her trembling fingers.

     “It is mine, this mouth! mine alone! Is there another so beautiful
     in the world? Ah! my happiness, my happiness! Mine are these naked
     arms, this neck and hair....”




LXX

ABSENCE


     She has gone out, she is far away, but I see her, for all things in
     this chamber are full of her, all are related to her, and I, like
     the rest.

     This bed still warm, over which I pass my mouth, is impressed with
     the form of her body. On this soft pillow has lain her little head
     enveloped in her hair.

     There is the basin in which she has bathed, the comb which has
     penetrated the knots of her tangled hair. These slippers long for
     her naked feet. The pockets of gauze enclosed her breasts.

     But that which I dare not touch with my finger is the mirror in
     which she viewed her hot bruises and in which, perhaps, still
     exists the reflection of her moist lips.




LXXI

LOVE


     Alas! if I think of her, my throat becomes dry, my head droops, my
     breasts grow hard and pain me, I shiver and I weep as I walk.

     If I see her, my heart stops, my hands tremble, my feet grow cold,
     the crimson of fire mounts to my cheeks, my temples throb
     grievously.

     If I touch her, I become mad, my arms weaken, my knees swoon. I
     fall before her and lie like a woman about to die.

     Always, whenever she speaks to me, I feel myself wounded. Her love
     is torture and the passers-by hear my plaints.... Alas! How can I
     call her Well-Beloved?




LXXII

PURIFICATION


     Thou art there! Take off thy bandelets and thy clasps and thy
     tunic. Remove even thy sandals, even the ribbons of thy legs, even
     the band of thy breast.

     Wash the black from thine eyebrows and the red from thy lips.
     Efface the white of thy shoulders and uncurl thy hair in the water.

     For I would have thee all pure as thou wert born upon the bed at
     the feet of thy fecund mother and before thy proud father.

     So chaste that my hand in thy hand will make thee redden even to
     thy lips and one word of mine in thine ear will fill, with an
     excess of love, thy wandering eyes.




LXXIII

THE CRADLE OF MNASIDIKA


     My little child, so few years have I had only thee: I love thee,
     not as a lover but as though thou hadst come forth from my laboring
     entrails.

     When, stretched upon my knees, thy two frail arms about me, thou
     seekest my breast, thy mouth clinging, and press my nipples softly
     between thy palpitating lips:

     Then I dream that, at some time, I have truly nursed this delicate
     mouth, supple and moist, this vase of crimson myrrhine in which the
     happiness of Bilitis is mysteriously enclosed.

     Sleep. I will cradle thee with one hand upon my knee which rocks
     thee. Sleep so. I will sing for thee little mournful songs which
     bring sleep to the newly-born.




LXXIV

A PROMENADE BY THE SEA


     As we were walking on the seashore, without speaking, and enveloped
     to the chin in our robes of sombre wool, joyous young girls passed
     by.

     “Ah! it is Bilitis and Mnasidika! See, the pretty little squirrel
     we have caught: it is soft as a bird and timid as a rabbit.

     “At Lydia’s house we will put it in a cage, give it plenty of milk
     with lettuce leaves. It is a female, she will live a long time.”

     And the mad ones set out, running. As for us, without speaking, we
     seated ourselves, I on a rock, she upon the sand, and we gazed at
     the sea.




LXXV

THE OBJECT


     Greeting, Bilitis, Mnasidika, greeting.--Be seated. How is thy
     husband?--Too well. Do not tell him that you have seen me. He would
     slay me if he knew I had been here.--Have no fear.

     “And this is your chamber? and this your bed? Pardon me. I am
     curious.--Thou knowest, however, the bed of Myrrhina.--So
     little.--It is said to be pretty.--And lascivious, O my dear! let
     us not speak of it.

     “What wishest thou of me?--That thou lend me....--Speak.--I dare
     not name the object.--We do not have one.--Truly?--Mnasidika is a
     virgin.--Then, where can one buy it?--From the harness-maker,
     Drakon.

     “Tell also, where thou buyest thy thread for embroidery? Mine
     breaks if one looks at it.--I make mine myself, but that which
     Nais sells is excellent.--At what price?--Three oboli.--It is dear.
     And the object?--Two drachmæ.--Farewell.”




LXXVI

EVENING NEAR THE FIRE


     The winter is hard, Mnasidika. All is frozen, except our bed. But
     rise and come with me, for I have lit a great fire with dead twigs
     and broken wood.

     We will warm ourselves, crouching quite naked, our hair upon our
     backs, and we will drink milk from the same cup and we will eat
     cakes with honey.

     How gay and noisy the flame is! Art thou not too near? Thy skin
     reddens. Let me kiss it wherever the fire has burned it.

     Amidst the ardent firebrands, I will heat the iron and I will dress
     thy hair here. With dead coals I will write thy name upon the wall.




LXXVII

SUPPLICATIONS


     What dost thou wish? If it must be, I will sell my last jewels so
     that an attentive slave may wait upon the desire of thine eyes, and
     every thirst of thy lips.

     If the milk of our goats seems insipid to thee, I will hire for
     thee, as for an infant, a nurse with swollen breasts who will
     suckle thee each morning.

     If our bed seems rough to thee, I will buy thee all the soft
     cushions, all the coverlets of silk, all the cloths, soft with
     feathers, of the Amathusian merchants.

     All. But I should suffice thee, and though we sleep upon the earth,
     thou shouldst find it softer than the warm bed of a stranger.




LXXVIII

THE EYES


     Great eyes of Mnasidika, how happy you make me when love darkens
     your lids and quickens you and shadows you with tears:

     But how maddened, when you turn elsewhere, distracted by a woman
     who passes or by a remembrance which is not mine.

     Then my cheeks hollow themselves, my hands tremble and I suffer....
     It seems to me from all parts, and before you, my life goes away.

     Great eyes of Mnasidika, cease not to regard me! or I will stab you
     with my needle and then you will see only the terrible night.




LXXIX

FARDS


     All, all my life, and my world, and the men, all that is not of
     her, is nothing. All that is not of her, I give to thee, passer-by.

     Does she know the labor I have accomplished to be fair to her eyes,
     with my hair and with my fards, with my robes and my perfumes?

     As long a time I would turn a millstone, I would wield the oar or
     labor in the earth, if it were a necessary price to retain her
     here.

     But perhaps she will never know, Goddesses who watch over us. The
     day she learns that I love her, she will seek another woman.




LXXX

THE SILENCE OF MNASIDIKA


     She had laughed all the day, and she even had mocked me a little.
     She had refused to obey me before many strange women.

     When we returned, I affected not to speak to her, and, as she cast
     herself upon my neck, saying: “Thou art offended?” I said to her:

     “Ah! thou art not as formerly, thou art not as on the first day. I
     no longer recognize thee, Mnasidika.” She did not respond to me.

     But she put on all the jewels which she had not worn for a long
     time, and the same yellow robe, broidered with blue, as on the day
     of our meeting.




LXXXI

SCENE


     “Where wast thou?--At the flower merchant’s. I have bought some
     very beautiful irises. Here they are, I have brought them to
     thee.--In so long a time thou hast bought four flowers?--The
     flower-woman detained me.

     “Thy cheeks are pale and thine eyes brilliant.--It is fatigue from
     the walk.--Thy hair is moist and tangled.--It is the heat and the
     wind which almost blew down my hair.

     “Someone has untied thy girdle. I made the knot myself, looser than
     this one.--So loose that it became undone; a slave who passed
     retied it for me.

     “There is a spot upon thy robe.--It is water which has fallen from
     the flowers.--Mnasidika, my little soul, thine irises are fairer
     than any in all Mytilene.--That I know well, that I know well.”




LXXXII

WAITING


     The sun has passed all the night among the dead while I have
     waited, seated upon my bed, weary from watching. The wick of the
     exhausted lamp has burned to the end.

     She will never return: there is the last star. I know well that she
     will never return. I know even the name that I hate. Nevertheless,
     I still wait.

     That she would come now! yes, that she would come, her hair
     disordered and without roses, her robe soiled, spotted, rumpled,
     her tongue dry and her eyelids black!

     When she opened the door, I would say to her.... But here she
     is.... It is her robe that I touch, her hands, her hair, her skin!
     I kiss her with distracted lips, and I weep.




LXXXIII

SOLITUDE


     For whom, now, shall I paint my lips? For whom shall I polish my
     nails? For whom shall I perfume my hair?

     For whom are my breasts powdered with rouge, if they no longer
     tempt her? For whom are my arms laved with milk, if they may never
     more embrace her?

     How can I sleep? How can I lay myself upon the bed? In the evening
     my hand, in all my bed, could not find her warm hand.

     I dare not return to my house, to the chamber so frightfully empty.
     I dare not reopen the door. I dare not even reopen mine eyes.




LXXXIV

A LETTER


     That is impossible, impossible. I supplicate thee upon my knees,
     with tears, all the tears I have wept over this horrible letter,
     not to abandon me thus.

     Consider thou how terrible it is to lose thee forever for a second
     time, after having had the great joy of hoping to reconquer thee.
     Ah! my love! thou knowest not to what point I have adored thee!

     Listen to me. Consent to see me one time more. Wilt thou be,
     tomorrow, at sundown, before thy door? Tomorrow, or the day
     following. I will come to take thee. Do not refuse me that.

     Perhaps the last time, so, but still for this once, for this one
     time! I demand it of thee, I beg it of thee, and know that, upon
     thy reply, the rest of my life depends.




LXXXV

THE ATTEMPT


     Thou wast jealous of us, Gyrinno, too ardent girl. How many
     garlands didst thou suspend from the knocker of our door! Thou
     didst wait for us in the passage, and thou didst follow us in the
     street.

     Now thou art, according to thy vows, extended upon the loved place
     and thy head is upon the pillow about which floats the odor of
     another woman. Thou art larger then she was. Thy different body
     startles me.

     See! I have yielded at last. Yes, it is I. Thou mayest play with my
     breasts, caress my belly, open my knees. My entire body is
     delivered to thy tireless lips--alas!

     Ah! Gyrinno! with love my tears also overflow! Wipe them with thy
     hair; do not kiss them, my dear; and enlace me yet closer to subdue
     my tremblings.




LXXXVI

THE EFFORT


     Again! enough of sighs and stretching arms! Recommence! Thinkest
     thou, then, that love is a recreation? Gyrinno, it is a task, and
     of all the most rude.

     Awaken, thou! Thou shall not sleep! What to me are thy blue eyelids
     and the bar of pain which burns thy thin legs. Astarte seethes in
     my loins.

     We entered our couch with the twilight. Behold already the wicked
     dawn; but I am not wearied with so little. I will not sleep before
     the second evening.

     I will not sleep; neither shalt thou sleep. Oh! how bitter is the
     taste of morning! Gyrinno, realize it. The embraces are more
     difficult, but stranger and softer.




LXXXVII

GYRINNO


     Think not that I have loved thee. I have eaten thee like a ripe
     fig, I have drunk thee like an ardent water, I have carried thee
     about me like a girdle of skin.

     I have amused myself with thy body, because thou hast short hair,
     pointed breasts upon thy lean chest, and nipples black like two
     little dates.

     Like water and fruits, a woman is also necessary, but already I
     have forgotten thy name, thou who hast passed through my arms like
     the shadow of another adored one.

     Between thy flesh and mine, a burning dream has possessed me. I
     pressed thee upon me as upon a wound and I cried: Mnasidika!
     Mnasidika! Mnasidika!




LXXXVIII

THE LAST ESSAY


     “What wishest thou, old woman?--To console thee.--It is useless
     trouble.--They have told me that since thy parting thou goest from
     love to love without finding forgetfulness or peace. I have come to
     offer thee someone.

     “Speak.--It is a young slave, born at Sardis. She has no equal in
     the world for she is at the same time man and woman, although her
     chest and her long hair and her clear voice produce the illusion.

     “Her age?--Sixteen years.--Her form?--Large. She has known no one
     here except Psappha who loves her desperately and would buy her of
     me for twenty minæ. If thou wouldst hire her, she is thine.--And
     what will I do with her?

     “Behold, for twenty two nights I have essayed in vain to escape my
     memories.... Done, I take this one more, but warn the poor little
     one that she be not frightened if I sob in her arms.”




LXXXIX

THE WOUNDING MEMORY


     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?”

     “I have seven. Three dance the Kordax with the scarf and the
     phallos. Nephele of the sleek armpits will mimic the love of doves
     between her rosy breasts.

     “One singer in a broidered peplos will chant the songs of Rhodes,
     accompanied by two auletrides who will have garlands of myrtle
     rolled about their brown legs.”

     “It is well. See that they be freshly depilated, laved and perfumed
     from head to foot, ready for other games if they are demanded. Go
     give the orders. Farewell.”




CXXI

THE FIGURE OF PASIPHAE


     In a debauch that two young men and some courtesans made at my
     house, where love gushed out like wine, Damalis, in honor of her
     name, danced the Figure of Pasiphae.

     She had caused to be made at Kition two masks of a cow and of a
     bull, for herself and for Karmantidea. She wore terrible horns, and
     a hairy tail upon her croup.

     The other women, led by me, held the flowers and the torches, and
     we turned about ourselves with cries and we caressed Damalis with
     the tips of our pendent tresses.

     Their lowings and our songs and the dancing of our loins lasted
     longer than the night. The empty chamber is still warm. I regard my
     reddened knees and the canthares of Kôs where the roses float.




CXXII

THE JUGGLER


     When the first dawn blended with the feeble glimmer of the torches,
     I sent into the orgie a flute-player, vicious and agile, who
     trembled a little, being cold.

     Praise the little girl of the blue lids, of the short hair, of the
     sharp breasts, clad only in a girdle from which hung yellow ribbons
     and the stems of black iris.

     Praise her! for she was adroit and performed difficult tricks. She
     juggled with hoops, without breaking anything in the room, she
     glided through them like a grasshopper.

     Sometimes she made a wheel, bending upon her hands and feet. Or,
     with her two legs in the air and her knees apart, she curved
     herself backward and touched the ground, laughing.




CXXIII

THE DANCE OF THE FLOWERS


     Anthis, dancing-girl of Lydia, has seven veils about her. She
     unrolls the yellow veil, her black hair spreads out. The rosy veil
     slips from her mouth. The white veil falls, revealing her naked
     arms.

     She releases her little breasts from the red veil that unties
     itself. She lets fall the green veil from her double, rounded
     croup. She draws the blue veil from her shoulders, but she presses
     upon her puberty the last transparent veil.

     The young men supplicate her; she tosses her head backward. Only at
     the sound of the flutes, she tears it a little, then, suddenly, and
     with the gestures of the dance, she culls the flowers of her body.

     Singing: “Where are my roses? where are my perfumed violets! Where
     are my tufts of parsley!--Behold my roses, I give them to you.
     Behold my violets, will you have them? Behold my fair curled
     parsley.”




CXXIV

VIOLENCE


     No, thou shalt not take me by force, count not on that, Lamprias.
     If thou hast heard it said that someone violated Parthenis, know
     that she gave herself, for one plays not with us without being
     invited.

     Oh! do thy best, make efforts. See: it is a failure. I scarcely
     defend myself, yet. I will not call for help. And I do not even
     struggle; but I stir. Poor friend, it is a failure again.

     Continue. This little game amuses me. The more as I am sure to
     conquer. Again an unhappy essay, and perhaps thou wilt be less
     disposed to show me thine extinguished desires.

     Butcher, what doest thou! Cur! thou wilt break my wrists! and this
     knee, this knee which opens me! Ah! go, now, it is a fine victory,
     that of ravishing a young girl, in tears, upon the ground.




CXXV

SONG


     The first gave me a collar, a collar of pearls, worth a city with
     its palaces and its temples, and its treasures and its slaves.

     The second made verses for me. He said that my tresses were black
     as those of the night and my eyes blue as those of the morning.

     The third was so beautiful that his mother could not embrace him
     without reddening. He put his hands upon my knees and his lips upon
     my naked foot.

     Thou, thou hast told me nothing, thou hast given me nothing, for
     thou art poor. And thou art not beautiful, but it is thee I love.




CXXVI

ADVICE TO A LOVER


     If thou wouldst be loved by a woman, O young friend, whoever she
     may be, tell her not that thou wishest her, but have her see thee
     every day; then disappear, to return.

     If she address her speech to thee, be amorous without eagerness.
     She, of herself, will come to thee. But thou must take her by
     force, the day when she intends to give herself.

     When thou receivest her in thy bed neglect thine own pleasure. The
     hands of an amorous woman are trembling and without caresses.
     Excuse them from being zealous.

     But thou, take no repose. Prolong thy kisses to breathlessness.
     Allow her no sleep, even though she beg it of thee. Kiss always the
     part of her body toward which she turns her eyes.




CXXVII

FRIENDS AT DINNER


     Myromeris and Maskale, my friends, come with me, for I have no
     lover this evening and, lying upon beds of byssus, we will converse
     over our dinner.

     A night of repose will do you good; you shall sleep in my bed, even
     without fards and with unkempt hair. Wear a simple tunic of wool
     and leave your jewels in their box.

     No one shall make you dance to admire your legs and the heavy
     movements of your loins. No one shall demand the Sacred Figures to
     judge whether you are amorous.

     And I have not commanded for us two flute-players with fair mouths,
     but two pans of browned peas, cakes of honey, fried croquettes, and
     my last leathern bottle of Kôs.




CXXVIII

THE TOMB OF A YOUNG COURTESAN


     Here lies the delicate body of Lydé, little dove, the most joyous
     of all the courtesans, who more than all others loved orgies and
     floating hair, soft dances and tunics of hyacinth.

     More than all others she loved the savory glottisms, the caresses
     upon her cheek, games that only the lamp saw, and love which
     bruised the limbs. And now she is a little shadow.

     But before putting her in the tomb, they have arranged her hair
     marvelously and laid her in roses; even the stone which covers her
     is all impregnated with essences and perfumes.

     Sacred earth, nurse of all, receive gently the poor dead, let her
     sleep in thine arms, O Mother! and make to grow about the stèle,
     not nettles and briers, but tender white violets.




CXXIX

THE LITTLE ROSE MERCHANT


     Yesterday, Nais said to me, I was in the market when a little girl
     in red tatters passed, carrying roses, before a group of young men.
     And this is what I heard:

     “Buy something from me.--Explain thyself, little one, for we know
     not what thou sellest; thyself? thy roses or all at once?--If you
     will buy from me all these flowers, you may have mine for nothing.

     “And how much wishest thou for thy roses?--I must have six oboli
     for my mother, else I shall be beaten like a bitch.--Follow us.
     Thou shalt have a drachma.--Then, shall I seek my little sister?”

     And both followed those men. They had no breasts, Bilitis. They
     knew not even how to smile. They trotted along like two kids which
     one leads to the butcher.




CXXX

THE DISPUTE


     Ah! by Aphrodite, behold thee! bloody head! rottenness! infection!
     sterile one! carcanet! clumsy one! good for nothing! evil sow! Do
     not try to escape me; come yet nearer.

     Behold this woman of the sailors, who knows not even how to fold
     her garment upon the shoulder and who puts on the fard so badly
     that the black of her brows runs over her cheek in floods of ink.

     Thou art Phœnician: lie with those of thy race. As for me, my
     father was Hellene: I have right over all those who wear the
     petasus. And even over the others if it pleases me so.

     Stop not in my street or I will send thee to Hades to make love
     with Karon and I will say very justly: “Let the earth cover thee
     lightly,” so that the dogs may dig thee out.




CXXXI

MELANCHOLY


     I shiver; the night is cool, and the forest all wet. Why hast thou
     led me here? is my great bed not softer than this moss strewn with
     stones?

     My flowery robe will be spotted with verdure; my hair will be
     tangled with twigs; my neck; look at my neck, already soiled with
     the damp earth.

     Formerly, I followed into the woods he who.... Ah! leave me for a
     time. I am sad, this evening. Leave me, without speaking, my hand
     over my eyes.

     In truth, canst thou not wait! are we beasts to take each other so!
     Leave me. Thou shalt not open my knees nor my lips. Even my eyes
     shall stay closed, lest they weep.




CXXXII

THE LITTLE PHANION


     Stranger, pause; see who is signing to thee: it is little Phanion
     of Kôs, she merits that thou shouldst choose her.

     See, her hair is curled like parsley, her skin is smooth as the
     down of a bird. She is small and brown. She speaks nicely.

     If thou wouldst follow her, she would not demand of thee all the
     money from thy voyage: no, only a drachma or a pair of slippers.

     Thou wilt find that she has a good bed, fresh figs, milk, wine,
     and, if it be cold, there will be a fire.




CXXXIII

INDICATIONS


     Passer-by who pauses, if thou wishest slender thighs and nervous
     loins, a firm throat, knees that clasp, go to Plango; she is my
     friend.

     If thou seekest a laughing girl, with exuberant breasts, delicately
     shaped, the croup plump and the loins hollowed, go to the corner of
     this street, where Spidhorodellis dwells.

     But if long tranquil hours in the arms of a courtesan, soft skin,
     the warmth of the body and the fragrance of the hair please thee,
     seek Milto; and thou wilt be content.

     Expect not too much from love; but profit from its experience. One
     may demand all from a woman when she is naked, when it is night,
     and when the hundred drachmæ are upon the hearth.




CXXXIV

THE MERCHANT OF WOMEN


     “Who is there?--I am the merchant of women. Open the door,
     Sostrata, I offer thee two opportunities. This is the first.
     Approach, Anasyrtolis, and strip thyself.--She is a trifle large.--

     “She is a beauty. Besides, she dances the Kordax and she knows
     eighty songs.--Turn thyself. Raise the arms. Lift the hair. Give me
     thy foot. Smile. It is good.--

     “Now this one.--She is too young!--Not at all, she was twelve years
     old the day before yesterday and thou wilt teach her
     nothing.--Remove thy tunic. Let me see? No, she is thin.--

     “I demand but one mina.--And the first?--Two minæ, thirty.--Three
     minæ for the two?--It is said.--Enter here and bathe yourselves.
     And thou, farewell.”




CXXXV

THE STRANGER


     Stranger, go not farther into the city. Thou wilt not find
     elsewhere than with me girls younger or more expert. I am Sostrata,
     celebrated even beyond the sea.

     See this one whose eyes are green as water in the grass. Thou
     wouldst not have her? Here are other eyes which are black as
     violets, and hair three cubits long.

     I have better still. Xantho, open thy cyclas. Stranger, these
     breasts are hard as quinces; touch them. And her fair belly, thou
     seest, carries the three folds of Cypris.

     I bought her with her sister who is not yet of the age for love,
     but who will second her usefully. By the two goddesses! thou art of
     a noble race. Phyllis and Xantho, follow the illustrious one!




CXXXVI

THE REMEMBRANCE OF MNASIDIKA


     They danced, one before the other, with rapid, flying movements;
     they seemed always wishing to entangle, and yet touched not at all,
     unless with the tips of their lips.

     When they turned their backs in dancing, they looked at each other,
     the head upon the shoulder, the perspiration gleaming upon their
     lifted arms, and their fine hair passing over their breasts.

     The languor of their eyes, the fire of their cheeks, the gravity of
     their faces, were three ardent songs. They grazed each other
     furtively, they bent their bodies upon their hips.

     And suddenly they fell, to finish the soft dance upon the earth....
     Remembrance of Mnasidika, it was then thou camest to me, and all,
     except thy dear image, troubled me.




CXXXVII

THE YOUNG MOTHER


     Believe not, Myromeris, that, in becoming a mother, thou hast
     lessened thy beauty. See how thy body, beneath thy robe, has
     drowned its slim form in a voluptuous softness.

     Thy breasts are two vast flowers, reversed upon thy chest, whose
     cut stems give out a milky sap. Thy softened belly swoons beneath
     the hand.

     And now consider the tiny babe born of a quiver which thou didst
     feel, one evening, in the arms of a passer-by whose name thou dost
     not even know. Dream of her distant destiny.

     Her eyes which now scarcely open will one day be elongated by a
     line of black fard, and they will sow among men sorrow or joy by
     one movement of their lashes.




CXXXVIII

THE UNKNOWN


     He sleeps. I know him not. He horrifies me. Nevertheless, his purse
     is filled with gold and he gave four drachmæ to the slave on
     entering. I expect a mina for myself.

     But I told the Phrygian to enter the bed in my place. He was drunk
     and took her for me. I would rather die in torment than stretch
     myself out near this man.

     Alas! I dream of the meadows of Tauros.... I was a little
     virgin.... Then I had a light heart, and I was so mad with amorous
     envy that I hated my married sisters.

     What would I not have done to obtain that which I have refused this
     night! Today, my breasts are pliant and in my worn heart, Eros
     slumbers from lassitude.




CXXXIX

THE CHEAT


     I awaken.... Is he then gone! He has left something! No: two empty
     amphoras and some soiled flowers. All the rug is red with wine.

     I have slept, but I am still drunk.... With whom, then, did I
     return?... At least, we lay down together. The bed is still steeped
     with sweat.

     Perhaps there were several; the bed is so disordered. I know no
     more.... But someone saw them! There is my Phrygian. She still
     sleeps across the door.

     I give her a kick in the breast and I cry: “Bitch, thou couldst
     not....” I am so hoarse that I can say no more.




CXL

THE LAST LOVER


     Child, do not pass without loving me, I am still beautiful in the
     night; thou shalt see how much warmer my autumn is than the
     springtime of another.

     Seek not for love from virgins. Love is a difficult art in which
     young girls are little versed. I have prepared it all my life to
     give it to my last lover.

     My last lover shall be thou; I know it. Behold my mouth, for which
     a nation has paled with desire. Behold my hair, the same hair that
     Psappha the Great has sung.

     I will gather for thee all that remains of my lost youth. I will
     burn even the memories. I will give thee the flute of Lykas, the
     girdle of Mnasidika.




CXLI

THE DOVE


     For a long time I have been beautiful; the day comes when I shall
     no longer be a woman. And then I will know heart-rendering
     memories, burning solitary envy and tears in my hands.

     If life is a long dream, of what good to resist? Now, four and five
     times a night, I demand amorous enjoyment, and when my loins are
     exhausted, I sink asleep wherever my body falls.

     In the morning, I open my eyelids and I shiver in my hair. A dove
     is upon my window; I ask of her, in what month we are. She says to
     me: “It is the month when women are in love.”

     Ah! whatever be the month, the dove speaks truly, Cypris. And I
     throw my two arms about my lover, and with great tremblings, I
     stretch my still benumbed legs to the foot of the bed.




CXLII

THE RAIN OF THE MORNING


     The night has worn away. The stars are far away. See, the last
     courtesans have returned with their lovers. And I, in the rain of
     morning, I write this verse upon the sand.

     The leaves are laden with brilliant water. The rivulets across the
     paths drag along the earth and the dead leaves. The rain, drop by
     drop, makes holes in my song.

     Oh! how sad and alone I am here! The young regard me not; the old
     have forgotten me. It is well. They will learn my verses, and the
     children of their children.

     That is what neither Myrtale nor Thais nor Glykera may say, the day
     when their fair cheeks deepen with wrinkles. Those who shall love
     after me, will sing my strophes together.




CXLIII

THE TRUE DEATH


     Aphrodite; merciless goddess, thou hast willed that, for me also,
     the happy youth of beautiful hair shall disappear in a few days.
     Why am I not dead now!

     I have regarded myself in my mirror: I have no longer smiles or
     tears. O sweet face that loved Mnasidika, I cannot believe that
     thou wast mine.

     Can it be that all is ended! I have not yet lived five times eight
     years; it seems to me that I was born only yesterday, and now,
     behold, I must say: No one will love me more.

     All my cut hair, I have twisted into a girdle, and I offer it to
     thee, Cypris eternal! I will never cease to adore thee. This is the
     last verse of the pious Bilitis.




THE TOMB OF BILITIS




FIRST EPITAPH


     In the country where the springs rise from the sea, and where the
     bed of flowers is made of leaves of rock, I, Bilitis, was born.

     My mother was Phœnician; my father, Damophylos, Hellene. My mother
     taught me the songs of Byblos, sad as the first dawn.

     I have adored Astarte at Cypros. I have known Psappha at Lesbos. I
     have sung as I have loved. If I have loved well, Passer-by, tell it
     to thy daughter.

     And sacrifice not for me a black goat; but in soft libation, press
     her teats above my tomb.




SECOND EPITAPH


     Upon the sombre banks of Melos, at Tamassos of Pamphylia, I,
     daughter of Damophylos, Bilitis, was born. I repose far from my
     native land, thou seest.

     Even as a child, I learned the loves of Adonis and of Astarte, the
     mysteries of the holy Serfs, and the death and return to
     Her-of-the-rounded-eyes.

     If I have been a courtesan, what is the harm? Was it not my duty as
     a woman? Stranger, the Mother-of-all-things guides us. To forget
     her is not prudent.

     In gratitude to thee who hast paused, I wish thee this destiny:
     Mayest thou be loved, but never love. Farewell; remember thou, in
     thine old age, that thou hast seen my tomb.




LAST EPITAPH


     Under the black leaves of the laurels, under the amorous blooms of
     the roses, it is here that I lie, I who have known how to braid
     line with line, and exalt the kiss.

     I grew in the land of the nymphs; I lived in the isle of lovers; I
     died in the isle of Cypros. It is for this that my name is
     illustrious and my stèle cleaned with oil.

     Weep not for me, thou who pausest; they made me fair funeral rites;
     the weepers bruised their cheeks; they have laid in my tomb my
     mirrors and my necklaces.

     And now, over the pale meadows of asphodel, I walk, an impalpable
     shadow, and the remembrance of my earthly life is the joy of my
     life in the underworld.




BIBLIOGRAPHY


I. Bilitis’ saemmtliche Lieder zum ersten Male herausgegeben und mit
einem Woerterbuche versehen, von G. Heim.--Leipzig. 1894.

II. Les Chansons de Bilitis, traduites du Grec pour la première fois par
P. L. Paris. 1895.

III. Six Chansons de Bilitis, traduites en vers par Mme. Jean
Bertheroy.--Revue pour les jeunes filles. Paris. Armand Colin. 1896.

IV. Vingt-six Chansons de Bilitis, traduites en allemand par Richard
Dehmel.--Die Gesellschaft. Zeitung. 1896.

V. Vingt Chansons de Bilitis, traduites en allemand par le Dr. Paul
Goldmann. Frankfurter Zeitung. 1896.

VI. Les Chansons de Bilitis, par le Pr. von
Willamovitz-Moellendorf.--Goettingsche Gelehrte--Goettingen. 1896.

VII. Huit Chansons de Bilitis, traduites en tcheque par Alexandre
Backovsky.--Prague. 1897.

VIII. Quatre Chansons de Bilitis, traduites en suédois par Gustav
Uddgren.--Nordisk Revy.--Stockholm. 1897.

IX. Trois Chansons de Bilitis, mises en musique par Claude
Debussy.--Paris. Fromont. 1898.




NOTES AND COMMENT


“Translated from the Greek.”

The antique sketches here rendered in English, some of which possess
great beauty, appeared first, in French, in 1894, bearing the legend
“Translated from the Greek.” This feeling of translation the Author
attempted to strengthen by recording, in his Index, certain “songs”
marked “not translated” which, as a matter of fact, never existed. It is
extremely doubtful, however, whether anyone really acquainted with the
Greek Poets was misled, even for a moment. Internal evidence often
points to modern thought and ideas; and a number of the pieces, if not
exactly “translated” are at least adapted from epigrams by various
writers of established place in the Greek Anthology. These would at once
indicate “Bilitis” as an imaginary personage.

In the following notes, some of the more important of the direct
translations and paraphrases from antique writers have been indicated,
with an occasional comment, for the convenience and interest of the
reader.

The English translation itself is complete and has been kept in close
parallel with the French text, except for a few changes in tense which
seemed advisable.

M. S. B.


LIFE OF BILITIS

“Psappha.”

No authority is evident for the statement that Sappho was known at
Lesbos under the name of “Psappha.”

It seems likely, from Pierre Louÿs’ general attitude toward the
“Poetess” and his description of her in XLVI, that at the time he wrote
the Songs of Bilitis he was either indifferently acquainted with the
known facts of Sappho’s life or deliberately chose, with some other
modern writers, to disregard or misunderstand them. Dr. Horace
Manchester Brown, in the Preface to his translation of the present work
(Aldus Society. 1904) remarks that “the translator has felt that such a
protest (in defense of Sappho by a professor of Göttingen) and such a
defense were unnecessary and has believed that the beauty of the
pictures presented by many of the songs is sufficient excuse for their
existence....” A few words on the subject of Sappho seem desirable,
however, since it cannot be assumed that all the readers of this volume
are familiar with the facts of Sappho’s life.

On the testimony of many writers of antiquity--who, at least, had more
on which to base an opinion than we have--the description in XLVI of “
... her hair cut like that of an athlete ... virile breast ... narrow
hips,” and, as assumed, ready to prey lasciviously upon any passer-by,
becomes ridiculous and defamatory. Sappho’s brother, Larichus, was
public cup-bearer at Mytilene, an office held only by young men of noble
birth. She herself, “violet-weaving, pure, soft-smiling” as Alcæus says,
although “small and dark” according to Maximus Tyrius, was, according to
her own words, “of a quiet temper” and in all probability was married
and mother of a daughter named Cleis whom she mentions in an extant
fragment (72), which, considering the personal tone of so many of her
poems, may be taken as something more than a poetic fancy; “I have a
fair daughter with a form like a golden flower, Cleis the beloved, above
whom I prize nor all Lydia nor lovely Lesbos.” (Wharton.) Philoxemus
describes her as “sweet-voiced.” Damocharis, in the Anthology (Plan.
App. XVI-310) describes her picture in glowing terms: “Her eyes overflow
with brilliance, showing a fancy rich in happy images. Her skin, smooth
and not too reddened, shows simplicity; and the blended gaiety and
gravity of her features proclaims the union, in her, of the Muse and
Cypris.”

That she gathered about her a society of maidens to whom she taught the
art of poetry, is well known; the names of many of her pupils and
friends have been preserved in fragments of her verse. How much farther
her friendships were carried, as indicated in the poems, will always be
a matter for speculation; but that she was a charming, lovely woman,
sufficiently reserved, of perfect maturity and free from petty or
promiscuous vice seems undeniable. Otherwise, we may be sure the writers
of antiquity would have treated her with far less veneration and
respect.

       *       *       *       *       *

“A verse of Sappho.”

This is the verse placed by Pierre Louÿs at the beginning of “Elegiacs
in Mytilene.”

       *       *       *       *       *

“Phryne.”

The crime of which Phryne was accused, and for which she was tried
before the Areopagos at Athens, was of profaning the Eleusinian
Mysteries--a crime even more serious than Pierre Louÿs’ “murder.”

       *       *       *       *       *

“Apelles revealed his Anadyomene.”

Pierre Louÿs writes “entrevit la forme.” Apelles was a painter.


BUCOLICS IN PAMPHYLIA

XIV “Melissa.”

That is: “bee.” Marcus Argentarius has an epigram in the Anthology using
the word (Anth. Pal. V-32): “Melissa is thy name and truly so, as my
heart bears witness. Thy soft lips sweeten thy kisses with honey, but
thou also piercest with a cruel sting.”

       *       *       *       *       *

XVI “Like a cup with two handles.”

The “amphora kiss,” as though one drank the kiss from a beaker.

       *       *       *       *       *

XXXVI “My father.”

An oversight, as Pierre Louÿs says in the “Life of Bilitis,” she seems
never to have known her father for he is not mentioned ...” See also the
First and Second Epitaphs.

       *       *       *       *       *

XLII “First dawn.”

Execrations of the morning light were popular among the Greek amatory
poets. See Meleager (Anth. Pal. V-172): “Star of Morning, enemy of
lovers, why shinest thou so quickly upon the couch where, a moment
since, I lay warm with Demo?...”

       *       *       *       *       *

XLIII “The trunks of the pines.”

The same thought in the “Song of Songs” (Song of Solomon) I-17: “The
beams of our house are of cedar and our rafters of fir.”


ELEGIACS AT MYTILENE

John Addington Symonds in his “Problem in Greek Ethics” (London. 1901.
pp 71-72) remarks: “Lesbian passion, as the Greeks called it, never
obtained the same social sanction as boy-love. It is significant that
Greek Mythology offers no legends of the goddesses parallel to those
which consecrated paederastia among the male deities. Again, we have no
recorded example, so far as I can remember, of noble friendships between
women rising into political and historical prominence.... The Greeks,
while tolerating, regarded it rather as an eccentricity of nature, or a
vice, than as an honourable and socially useful emotion.... There is an
important passage in the ‘Amores’ of Lucian which proves that the Greeks
felt an abhorrence of sexual inversion among women similar to that which
moderns feel for its manifestation among men.... And ... while the love
of males for males in Greece obtained moralisation, and reached the high
position of a recognized social function, the love of female for female
remained undeveloped and unhonoured, on the same level as both forms of
homosexual passion in the modern European world are.”

The exposition, perhaps beyond decorum, of Lesbian love in this section
of the Songs of Bilitis has no parallel in all Greek literature where
references to the subject are very few.

       *       *       *       *       *

LXXI “My throat becomes dry.”

See Sappho, Frag. 2. (Wharton): “ ... For when I see thee but a little,
I have no utterance left, my tongue is broken down, and straightway a
subtle fire has run under my skin. With my eyes I have no sight, my ears
ring, sweat pours down, and a trembling seizes all my body; I am paler
than grass, and seem in my madness little better than one dead....”

       *       *       *       *       *

LXXV “The object.”

See the sixth mime of Herondas (too long to reproduce here) translated
in Symonds’ “Studies of the Greek Poets” (Third edition. 1893. II-237).
This mime describes a visit between two women in reference to the same
sort of object sought by Bilitis’ friend. One of Herondas’ ladies
remarks, about her leather worker, “He works at his own house and sells
on the sly ... but the things he makes, they’re like Athene’s handiwork
... a cobbler more kindly disposed toward the female sex you would not
find....” The price was “fourpence.”

       *       *       *       *       *

LXXXI “Thy hair is moist.”

See Meleager (Anth. Pal. V-175): “Truly, thou betrayest thyself; thy
locks, still moist with perfumes, denounce thy dissolute life; thine
eyes, heavy with fatigue, show well how thy night has been passed; this
coronal upon thy forehead reveals the festival; this disordered hair
shows the path of amorous hands; and all thy body staggers under the
vapors of the wine....”

       *       *       *       *       *

LXXXIII “For whom, now, shall I paint my lips?”

See Paulus Silentiarius (Anth. Pal. V-228): “For whom shall I curl my
hair? for whom trim my nails? for whom perfume my hands? To what end
this purple-banded cloak, since I go not to beautiful Rhodopis?...”


EPIGRAMS IN THE ISLAND OF CYPROS

XCIV “Thyrses.”

These were long rods, often surmounted by a pine cone, carried by
votaries of Dionysos. Too long to be used as drum-sticks.

       *       *       *       *       *

CI “Conversation.”

See Philodemos (Anth. Pal. V-46): “I salute thee.--I salute thee
also.--What is thy name?--And thine? Thou mayest know mine later.--Thou
art in a hurry?--And thou art not?--Hast thou someone?--I have always my
lover.--Wilt thou eat dinner with me to-day?--If thou wishest.--Good.
What shall I give thee?--Give me nothing in advance.--That is
strange.--But when the night is over, give what thou wishest.--Thou art
a just girl. Where is thy dwelling? I will send for thee.--I will show
thee.--And when wilt thou come?--At once, if thou wishest--At once,
then.--Lead the way.”

       *       *       *       *       *

CIII “A girdle of silver plates.”

See Asclepiades (Anth. Pal. V-158): “Upon a day, I played with facile
Hermione. Like the Goddess, she wore a girdle broidered with flowers;
and on it I read, in letters of gold: Love me, but grieve not if I give
myself to another.”

       *       *       *       *       *

CIX “Athena.”

Artemis was more likely to be seen bathing, with disastrous results to
the spectator, as noted in the legend of Actæon.

       *       *       *       *       *

CXXIX “The little Rose Merchant.”

See Dionysius (Anth. Pal. V-81): “Little vendor of roses, thou art fair
as thine own flowers. But what sellest thou? thyself? or thy roses? or
both together?”

       *       *       *       *       *

CXXXII “She has a good bed.”

See Antipater (Anth. Pal. V-109): “For a drachma one may have Europa the
Athenian, without fear of rivals or refusals. She has a soft bed and, if
the night is cold, a fire. Surely, O Zeus, there was no need for thee to
make thyself a bull!”

       *       *       *       *       *

CXL “My autumn.”

See Paulus Silentiarius (Anth. Pal. V-258): “Philinna, thy wrinkles are
preferable to the fresh tints of young girls. I love less in my hands
their straight, hard breasts than thine which incline like full-blown
roses. Thine autumn is fairer than their springtime; their summer is
colder than thy time of snows.”

       *       *       *       *       *

CXLIII “The True Death.”

Compare Rufinus (Anth. Pal. V-76): “Once I had soft skin, firm breasts
and pretty feet; my body was supple, mine eyebrows arched, my hair
undulating. Time has changed all. Not one treasure of my youth
remains....”

For the theme developed, see François Villon’s “Les regrets de la belle
Heaulmière.”




INDEX


BUCOLICS IN PAMPHYLIA

Life of Bilitis                                                      iii

I. The Tree                                                            3

II. Pastoral Song                                                      4

III. Maternal Advice                                                   5

IV. The Naked Feet                                                     6

V. The Old Man and the Nymphs                                          7

VI. Song                                                               8

VII. The Passer-By                                                     9

VIII. The Awakening                                                   10

IX. The Rain                                                          11

X. The Flowers                                                        12

XI. Impatience                                                        13

XII. Comparisons                                                      14

XIII. The Forest River                                                15

XIV. Come, Melissa                                                    16

XV. The Symbolic Ring                                                 17

XVI. Dances by Moonlight                                              18

XVII. The Little Children                                             19

XVIII. The Stories                                                    20

XIX. The Married Friend                                               21

XX. Confidences                                                       22

XXI. The Moon with Eyes of Blue                                       23

      * Reflections (not translated)

XXII. Song                                                            24

XXIII. Lykas                                                          25

XXIV. The Offering to the Goddess                                     26

XXV. The Complaisant Friend                                           27

XXVI. A Prayer to Persephone                                          28

XXVII. The Game of Dice                                               29

XXVIII. The Distaff                                                   30

XXIX. The Flute                                                       31

XXX. The Hair                                                         32

XXXI. The Cup                                                         33

XXXII. Roses in the Night                                             34

XXXIII. Remorse                                                       35

XXXIV. The Interrupted Sleep                                          36

XXXV. The Wash-woman                                                  37

XXXVI. Song                                                           38

XXXVII. Bilitis                                                       39

XXXVIII. The Little House                                             40

      * Pleasure (not translated)

XXXIX. The Lost Letter                                                41

XL. Song                                                              42

XLI. The Oath                                                         43

XLII. The Night                                                       44

XLIII. Cradle-Song                                                    45

XLIV. The Tomb of the Naiads                                          46


ELEGIACS AT MYTILENE

XLV. To the Vessel                                                    49

XLVI. Psappha                                                         50

XLVII. The Dance of Glottis and Kyse                                  51

XLVIII. Counsels                                                      52

XLIX. Uncertainty                                                     53

L. The Meeting                                                        54

LI. The Little Terra Cotta Astarte                                    55

LII. Desire                                                           56

LIII. The Wedding                                                     57

      * The Bed (not translated)

LIV. The Past Which Survives                                          58

LV. Metamorphosis                                                     59

LVI. The Nameless Tomb                                                60

LVII. The Three Beauties of Mnasidika                                 61

LVIII. The Cave of the Nymphs                                         62

LIX. Mnasidika’s Breasts                                              63

      * Contemplation (not translated)

LX. The Doll                                                          64

LXI. Tendernesses                                                     65

LXII. Games                                                           66

      * Episode (not translated)

LXIII. Penumbra                                                       67

LXIV. The Sleeper                                                     68

LXV. The Kiss                                                         69

LXVI. Jealous Care                                                    70

LXVII. The Despairing Embrace                                         71

      * Recovery (not translated)

LXVIII. The Heart                                                     72

LXIX. Words in the Night                                              73

LXX. Absence                                                          74

LXXI. Love                                                            75

LXXII. Purification                                                   76

LXXIII. The Cradle of Mnasidika                                       77

LXXIV. A Promenade by the Sea                                         78

LXXV. The Object                                                      79

LXXVI. Evening Near the Fire                                          81

LXXVII. Supplications                                                 82

LXXVIII. The Eyes                                                     83

LXXIX. Fards                                                          84

LXXX. The Silence of Mnasidika                                        85

LXXXI. Scene                                                          86

LXXXII. Waiting                                                       87

LXXXIII. Solitude                                                     88

LXXXIV. A Letter                                                      89

LXXXV. The Attempt                                                    90

LXXXVI. The Effort                                                    91

      * Myrrhine (not translated)

LXXXVII. Gyrinno                                                      92

LXXXVIII. The Last Essay                                              93

LXXXIX. The Wounding Memory                                           95

XC. To the Wax Doll                                                   96

XCI. Funeral Chant                                                    97


EPIGRAMS IN THE ISLAND OF CYPROS

XCII. Hymn to the Astarte                                            101

XCIII. Hymn to the Night                                             102

XCIV. The Menades                                                    103

XCV. The Sea of Cypris                                               104

XCVI. The Priestesses of Astarte                                     105

XCVII. The Mysteries                                                 106

XCVIII. The Egyptian Courtesans                                      107

XCIX. I Sing of My Flesh and My Life                                 108

C. The Perfumes                                                      109

CI. Conversation                                                     110

CII. The Torn Robe                                                   111

CIII. The Jewels                                                     112

CIV. The Indifferent One                                             113

CV. Pure Water of the Basin                                          114

      * Nocturnal Festival (not translated)

CVI. Voluptuousness                                                  115

CVII. The Inn                                                        117

CVIII. The Servants                                                  118

CIX. The Bath                                                        119

CX. To Her Breasts                                                   120

      * Liberty (not translated)

CXI. Mydzouris                                                       121

CXII. The Triumph of Bilitis                                         122

CXIII. To the God of the Woods                                       123

CXIV. The Dancing-Girl with Crotales                                 124

CXV. The Flute-Player                                                126

CXVI. The Warm Girdle                                                128

CXVII. To a Happy Husband                                            130

CXVIII. To a Wanderer                                                131

CXIX. Intimacies                                                     133

CXX. The Command                                                     135

CXXI. The Figure of Pasiphae                                         136

CXXII. The Juggler                                                   137

CXXIII. The Dance of the Flowers                                     138

      * The Dance of Satyra (not translated)

      * Mudzouris Crowned (not translated)

CXXIV. Violence                                                      140

CXXV. Song                                                           142

CXXVI. Advice to a Lover                                             143

CXXVII. Friends at Dinner                                            144

CXXVIII. The Tomb of a Young Courtesan                               145

CXXIX. The Little Rose Merchant                                      146

CXXX. The Dispute                                                    147

CXXXI. Melancholy                                                    148

CXXXII. The Little Phanion                                           149

CXXXIII. Indications                                                 150

CXXXIV. The Merchant of Women                                        151

CXXXV. The Stranger                                                  152

      * Phyllis (not translated)

CXXXVI. The Remembrance of Mnasidika                                 153

CXXXVII. The Young Mother                                            154

CXXXVIII. The Unknown                                                155

CXXXIX. The Cheat                                                    156

CXL. The Last Lover                                                  157

CXLI. The Dove                                                       158

CXLII. The Rain of the Morning                                       160

CXLIII. The True Death                                               161

The Tomb of Bilitis                                                  163

First Epitaph                                                        165

Second Epitaph                                                       166

Third Epitaph                                                        167

Bibliography                                                         169

Notes and Comment                                                    171

Note: The Songs marked * are marked in the French index, “not
translated,” and do not appear in the French text.

M. S. B.



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76646 ***