LP0113 cat64b Ariadne's Curse

Legendary Passages #0113, The Poems of Catullus, Part II of Poem [64], Ariadne's Curse. Previously, Catullus described a couch covered with images of Theseus and Ariadne. Here the passage continues with her lamentations, her curse, and her rescue, of sorts. Ariadne had hoped for marriage, would have endured slavery, but being left to die alone was the ultimate betrayal by Theseus. She insulted his parentage, complained to the uncaring wind about the evilness of men, and despaired that even if she escaped off the island, she had no where else to go. Her love spurned, her fate sealed, as her final act she cursed Theseus to die alone. Meanwhile, his mind in a haze, Theseus dimly recalled his father Aegeus' parting words to him. Aegeus believed that Theseus would die as had all the youths before him, thus the tribute ship was given a black sail, the color of grief and death. Should a miracle occur, the Minotaur slain and he survive, Theseus was told to hoist a white sail, to let his father know that he yet lived. The final section has Ariadne rescued by the god Dionysus, here called Bacchus, and his strange entourage of followers and satyrs. It is hinted that Bacchus himself compelled Theseus to leave, and the god of liberation declared his own love for Ariadne. Bacchus throws a massive party for their wedding, she became a goddess, and received her happily ever after. Ariadne's Curse, a Legendary Passage from, A. S. Kline translating, Gaius Valerius Catullus, Part II of Poem [64]. https://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Latin/Catullus.php#anchor_Toc531846789 But what should I relate, digressing further from my poem’s theme: the girl, abandoning her father’s sight, her sisters’ embraces, and lastly her mother’s, she wretched at her lost daughter’s joy in preferring the sweet love of Theseus to all this: or her being carried by ship to Naxos’s foaming shore, or her consort with uncaring heart vanishing, she conquered, her eyes softening in sleep? Often loud shrieks cried the frenzy in her ardent heart poured out from the depths of her breast, and then she would climb the steep cliffs in her grief, where the vast sea-surge stretches out to the view, then run against the waves into the salt tremor holding her soft clothes above her naked calves, and call out mournfully this last complaint, a frozen sob issuing from her wet face: ‘False Theseus, is this why you take me from my father’s land, faithless man, to abandon me on a desert shore? Is this how you vanish, heedless of the god’s power, ah, uncaring, bearing home your accursed perjuries? Nothing could alter the measure of your cruel mind? No mercy was near to you, inexorable man, that you might take pity on my heart? Yet once you made promises to me in that flattering voice, you told me to hope, not for this misery but for joyful marriage, the longed-for wedding songs, all in vain, dispersed on the airy breezes. Now, no woman should believe a man’s pledges, or believe there’s any truth in a man’s words: when their minds are intent on their desire, they have no fear of oaths, don’t spare their promises: but as soon as the lust of their eager mind is slaked they fear no words, they care nothing for perjury. Surely I rescued you from the midst of the tempest of fate, and more, I gave up my half-brother, whom I abandoned to you with treachery at the end. For that I’m left to be torn apart by beasts, and a prey to sea-birds, unburied, when dead, in the scattered earth. What lioness whelped you under a desert rock, what sea conceived and spat you from foaming waves, what Syrtis, what fierce Scylla, what vast Charybdis, you who return me this, for the gift of your sweet life? If marriage with me was not in your heart, because you feared your old father’s cruel precepts, you could still have led me back to your house, where I would have served you, a slave happy in her task, washing your beautiful feet in clear water, covering your bed with the purple fabric. But why complain to the uncaring wind in vain? It is beyond evil, and without senses, unable to hear what is said, without voice to reply. It is already turning now towards mid-ocean, and nothing human appears in this waste of weed. So cruel chance taunts me in my last moments, even depriving my ears of my own lament. All-powerful Jupiter, if only the Athenian ships had not touched the shores of Cnossos, from the start, carrying their fatal cargo for the ungovernable bull, a faithless captain mooring his ropes to Crete, an evil guest, hiding a cruel purpose under a handsome appearance, finding rest in our halls! Now where can I return? What desperate hope depend on? Shall I seek out the slopes of Ida? But the cruel sea with its divisive depths of water separates me from them. Or shall I hope for my father’s help? Did I not leave him, to follow a man stained with my brother’s blood? Or should I trust in a husband’s love to console me? Who hardly bends slow oars in running from me? More, I’m alive on a lonely island without shelter, and no escape seen from the encircling ocean waves. No way to fly, no hope: all is mute, all is deserted, all speaks of ruin. Yet still my eyes do not droop in death, not till my senses have left my weary body, till true justice is handed down by the gods, and the divine help I pray for in my last hour. So you Eumenides who punish by avenging the crimes of men, your foreheads crowned with snaky hair, bearing anger in your breath, here, here, come to me, listen to my complaints, that I, wretched alas, force, weakened, burning, out of the marrow of my bones, blind with mad rage. Since these truths are born in the depths of my breast, you won’t allow my lament to pass you by, but as Theseus left me alone, through his intent, goddesses, by that will, pursue him and his with murder.’ When these words had poured from her sad breast, the troubled girl praying for cruel actions, the chief of the gods nodded with unconquerable will: at which the earth and the cruel sea trembled and the glittering stars shook in the heavens. Now Theseus’s mind was filled with a dark mist and all the instructions he had held fixed in memory before this, were erased from his thoughts, failing to raise the sweet signal to his mourning father, when the harbour of Athens safely came in sight. For they say that when Aegeus parted from his son, as the goddess’s ship left the city, he yielded him to the wind’s embrace with these words: ‘Son, more dear to me than my long life, son, whom I abandoned through chance uncertainty, lately returned to me in the last days of my old age, since my fate and your fierce virtue tear you away from me, against my will, whose failing eyes are not yet sated with my dear son’s face, I don’t send you off happily with joyful heart, or allow you to carry flags of good fortune, but start with the many sorrows in my mind, marring my white hairs with earth and sprinkled ashes, then hang unfinished canvas from the wandering mast, so the darkened sail of gloomy Spanish flax might speak the grief and passion in my mind. But if the one who dwells in sacred Iton, who promised to defend the people and city of Erectheus, allows you to wet your hand with the blood of the bull, then make sure this command is done, buried in your remembering heart, not to be erased by time: that as soon as you set eyes on our hills, strip the dark fabric fully from the yards, and hoist white sails with your twisted ropes, so that seeing them from the first, I’ll know joy in my glad heart, when a happy time reveals your return.’ These words to Theseus, once held constantly in mind, vanished like clouds of snow struck by a blast of wind on the summits of high mountains. But when his father, searching the view from the citadel’s height, endless tears flooding his anxious eyes, first saw the sails of dark fabric, he threw himself head first from the height of the cliff, believing Theseus lost to inexorable fate. So fierce Theseus entered the palace in mourning for his father’s death, and knew the same grief of mind that he had caused neglected Ariadne, she who was gazing then where his ship had vanished pondering the many cares in her wounded heart. But bright Bacchus hurries from elsewhere with his chorus of Satyrs and Silenes from Nysa, seeking you, Ariadne, burning with love for you. In rapture his Bacchantes raved madly, crazed in mind, with cries of ‘euhoe’ and tossing heads, some brandished the thyrsus with hidden tip, some flourished the torn limbs of bullocks, some wreathed themselves with twining snakes, some celebrated the secret rites of the hollow box, rights they wished the profane to hear in vain: others beat the drums with the flat of their hands, or raised a clear ringing from rounded cymbals: they blew endless strident calls on the horns and the barbarous flute shrilled with fearful tunes. Such the splendid workings of figured tapestry covering the sacred couch its cloth embraced. https://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Latin/Catullus.php#anchor_Toc531846789 This passage continues with the wedding of Peleus & Thetis, but in our next episode we hear the stories of Pasiphae & Semele.