And generally to what pursuits soever
Each of us is attached and closely tied,
Or on whatever tasks we have been used
To spend much time, so that therein the mind
Has borne unwonted strain, in those same tasks
We mostly seem in sleep to be engaged.
Lawyers imagine they are pleading causes,
Or drafting deeds; generals that they are fighting
In some pitched battle; mariners that they still
Are waging with the winds their lifelong war;
And we that we are toiling at our task,
Questioning ever the nature of all things,
And setting our discoveries forth in books
Written in our native tongue. And thus in general
Do all other pursuits and arts appear
To fill men’s minds and mock them during sleep.
And with those who for many days together
Have watched stage shows with unremitting zeal,
We generally find that when they have ceased
To apprehend them with their senses, yet
Passages remain open in the mind
Through which the same images of things may enter.
Thus the same sights for many days keep passing
Before their eyes, so that even when awake
They seem to be beholding figures dancing
And moving supple limbs; also their ears
Seem to be listening clear-toned melodies
Of the lyre’s eloquent strings, while they behold
In fancy the same audience, the stage too,
Glowing with all its varied scenery.
So great the influence of zeal and pleasure,
And of those tasks whereon not only men
Are wont to spend their energies, but even
All living animals. Thus you will see
Strong horses, when their limbs are lying at rest,
Nevertheless in slumber sweat and pant
Continually, and as though to win some prize
Strain their strength to the utmost, or else struggle
To start, as if the barriers were thrown open.
And often hunters’ dogs while softly slumbering
Will yet suddenly toss their legs about
And utter hurried yelps, sniffing the air
Again and again, as though following the trail
Of wild beasts they have scented: and roused from sleep
They often chase the empty images
Of stags, as if they saw them in full flight,
Till having shaken their delusions off
They come back to themselves. But the tame brood
Of dogs reared in the house, will shake themselves
And start up from the ground, as if they saw
Unknown figures and faces: and the more savage
Each breed is, the more fierce must be its dreams.
And in the night-time birds of various kinds,
Suddenly taking flight, trouble with their wings
The groves of deities, when in gentle sleep
Hawks have appeared threatening them with havoc
Of battle, flying after them in pursuit.
Again the minds of men, which greatly labouring
Achieve great aims, will often during sleep
Act and perform the same. Kings take by storm,
Are made captive, join battle, cry aloud
As though assassinated then and there.
Many men struggle and utter groans in pain,
And as though mangled by a panther’s fangs
Or savage lion’s, fill the whole neighbourhood
With vehement clamourings. Many in their sleep
Discourse of great affairs, and often so
Have revealed their own guilt. Many meet death:
Many, as though falling with all their weight
From high cliffs to the ground, are scared with terror,
And like men reft of reason, hardly from sleep
Come to themselves again, being quite distraught
By the body’s tumult. Likewise a man will sit
Thirsting beside a river or pleasant spring
And gulp almost the whole stream down his throat.
Innocent children also, slumber-bound,
Often believe they are lifting up their dress
By a tank or broken vessel, and so pour
The liquid, drained from their whole body, forth,
Soaking the gorgeous-hued magnificence
Of Babylonian coverlets. Then too
To those into the currents of whose age
For the first time seed is entering, when the ripe
Fulness of time has formed it in their limbs,
From without there come images emanating
From some chance body, announcing a glorious face
And beautiful colouring, that excites and stirs
Those parts that have grown turgid with much seed,
So that, as if all things had been performed,
The full tide overflows and stains their vesture.
This seed whereof we spoke is stirred in us
When first ripening age confirms our frame.
For different causes move and stimulate
Different things. From man the influence
Of man alone rouses forth human seed.
So soon as, thus dislodged, it has retired
From its abodes throughout the limbs and frame,
It withdraws from the whole body, and assembling
At certain places in the system, straightway
Rouses at last the body’s genital parts.
These places, irritated, swell with seed;
And so the wish arises to eject it
Towards that whereto the fell desire tends;
While the body seeks that by which the mind
Is smitten by love. For all men generally
Fall towards the wound, and the blood glistens forth
In that direction whence the stroke was dealt us.
And if he is at close quarters, the red drops
Sprinkle the foe. Thus he who has been struck
By the missiles of Venus, whether a boy
With womanish limbs launches the shaft, or else
Some woman darting love from her whole body,
Yearns towards that whereby he has been wounded,
And longs to unite with it, and shoot the stream
Drawn from the one into the other body.
For dumb desire gives presage of the pleasure.
This desire we call Venus: from it came
The Latin name for love[E]; and from this source
There trickled first into the heart that drop
Of Venus’ honeyed sweetness, followed soon
By chilling care. For though that which you love
Be absent, yet are images of it present,
And its sweet name still haunts within your ears.
But it is wise to shun such images,
And scare off from you all that feeds your love,
Turning your mind elsewhere, and vent instead
Your gathering humours on some other body,
Rather than hold them back, set once for all
Upon the love of one, and so lay up
Care and unfailing anguish for yourself.
For the wound gathers strength and grows inveterate
By feeding, while the madness day by day
Increases, and the misery becomes heavier,
Unless you heal the first wounds by new blows,
And roving in the steps of vagrant Venus
So cure them while yet fresh, or can divert
To something else the movements of your mind.
Nor does the man who shuns love go without
The fruits of Venus; rather he makes choice
Of joys that bring no after-pain: for surely
The pleasure of intercourse must be more pure
For those that are heart-whole than for the love-sick.
For in the very moment of possession
The passion of lovers fluctuates to and fro,
Wandering undecidedly, nor know they
What first they would enjoy with eyes and hands.
What they have sought, they tightly press, and cause
Pain to the body, and often print their teeth
Upon the lips, and kiss with bruising mouths,
Because the pleasure is not unalloyed,
And there are secret stings which stimulate
To hurt that very thing, whate’er it be,
From which those germs of madness emanate.
But easily, while love lasts, Venus allays
Such pains; and soft delight, mingled therein,
Bridles their bites. For in this there is hope
That from that very body whence proceeds
Their burning lust, the flame may in turn be quenched,
Although Nature protests the opposite
Must happen, since this is the one sole thing
Whereof the more we have, so much the more
Must the heart be consumed by fell desire.
For food and drink are taken within the body;
And since they are wont to settle in fixed parts,
In this way the desire for water and bread
Is easily satisfied: but from the face
And beautiful colouring of a man there enters
Nothing into the body to enjoy
Save tenuous images, a love-sick hope
Often snatched off by the wind. As when in sleep
A thirsty man seeks to drink, and no liquid
Is given to quench the burning in his limbs,
Yet he pursues the images of water,
Toiling in vain, and still thirsts, though he drink
In a rushing river’s midst; even so in love
Venus deludes lovers with images:
For neither, gaze intently as they may,
Can bodies satiate them, nor with their hands
Can they pluck anything off from the soft limbs,
Aimlessly wandering over the whole body.
And when at last with limbs knit they enjoy
The flower of their age, when now the body
Presages rapture, and Venus is in act
To sow the fields of woman, eagerly
They clasp bodies and join moist mouth to mouth
With panted breath, imprinting lips with teeth;
In vain, for naught thence can they pluck away,
Nor each with the whole body entering pass
Into the other’s body; for at times
They seem to wish and struggle so to do.
So greedily do they hug the bonds of Venus,
While their limbs melt, enfeebled by the might
Of pleasure. Finally, when the gathered lust
Has burst forth from the frame, awhile there comes
A brief pause in their passion’s violent heat.
Then returns the same madness: the old frenzy
Revisits them, when they would fain discover
What verily they desire to attain;
Yet never can they find out what device
May conquer their disease: in such blind doubt
They waste away, pined by a secret wound.
Consider too how they consume their strength
And are worn out with toiling; and consider
How at another’s beck their life is passed.
Meantime their substance vanishes and is changed
To Babylonian stuffs; their duties languish;
Their reputation totters and grows sick.
While at her lover’s cost she anoints herself
With precious unguents, and upon her feet
Beautiful Sicyonian slippers laugh.
Then doubtless she has set for her in gold
Big green-lit emeralds; and the sea-purple dress,
Worn out by constant use, imbibes the sweat
Of love’s encounters. The wealth which their fathers
Had nobly gathered, becomes hair-ribbons
And head-dresses, or else may be is turned
Into a long Greek gown, or stuffs of Alinda
And Ceos. Feasts with goodly broideries
And viands are prepared, games, numerous cups,
Unguents, crowns and festoons; but all in vain;
Since from the well-spring of delights some touch
Of bitter rises, to give pain amidst
The very flowers; either when the mind
Perchance grows conscience-stricken, and remorse
Gnaws it, thus to be spending a life of sloth,
And ruining itself in wanton haunts;
Or else because she has launched forth some word
And left its sense in doubt, some word that clings
To the hungry heart, and quickens there like fire;
Or that he fancies she is casting round
Her eyes too freely, or looks upon some other,
And on her face sees traces of a smile.
When love is permanent and fully prosperous,
These evils are experienced; but if love
Be crossed and hopeless, there are evils such
That you might apprehend them with closed eyes,
Beyond numbering; so that it is wiser,
As I have taught you, to be vigilant
Beforehand, and watch well lest you be snared.
For to avoid being tripped up in love’s toils
Is not so difficult as, once you are caught,
To issue from the nets and to break through
The strong meshes of Venus. None the less
Even when you are tangled and involved,
You may escape the peril, unless you stand
In your own way, and always overlook
Every defect whether of mind or body
In her whom you pursue and long to win.
For this is how men generally behave
Blinded by lust, and assign to those they love
Good qualities which are not truly theirs.
So we see women in various ways misformed
And ugly, to be fondly loved and held
In highest favour. And a man will mock
His fellows, urging them to placate Venus,
Because they are troubled by a degrading love,
Yet often the poor fool will have no eyes
For his own far worse plight. The tawny is called
A honey brown; the filthy and unclean,
Reckless of order; the green-eyed, a Pallas;
The sinewy and angular, a gazelle;
The tiny and dwarfish is a very Grace,
Nothing but sparkle; the monstrous and ungainly,
A marvel, and composed of majesty.
She stammers, cannot talk, why then she lisps;
The mute is bashful; but the fiery-tongued
Malicious gossip becomes a brilliant torch.
One is a slender darling, when she scarce
Can live for lack of flesh; and one half dead
With cough, is merely frail and delicate.
Then the fat and full-bosomed is Ceres’ self
Suckling Iacchus; the snub-nosed, a female
Silenus, or a Satyress; the thick-lipped,
A kiss incarnate. But more of this sort
It were a tedious labour to recite.
Yet be she noble of feature as you will,
And let the might of Venus emanate
From every limb; still there are others too;
Still we have lived without her until now;
Still she does, and we know she does, the same
In all things as the ugly, and, poor wretch,
Perfumes herself with evil-smelling scents,
While her maids run and hide to giggle in secret.
But the excluded lover many a time
With flowers and garlands covers tearfully
The threshold, and anoints the haughty posts
With oil of marjoram, and imprints, poor man,
Kisses upon the doors. Yet when at last
He has been admitted, if but a single breath
Should meet him as he enters, he would seek
Specious excuses to be gone, and so
The long-studied, deep-drawn complaint would fall
To the ground, and he would then convict himself
Of folly, now he sees he had attributed
More to her than is right to grant a mortal.
Nor to our Venuses is this unknown:
Wherefore the more are they at pains to hide
All that takes place behind the scenes of life
From those they would keep fettered in love’s chains
But all in vain, since in imagination
You yet may draw forth all these things to light,
Discovering every cause for ridicule:
And if she be of a mind that still can charm,
And not malicious, you may in your turn
Overlook faults and pardon human frailty.
Nor always with feigned love does the woman sigh,
When with her own uniting the man’s body
She holds him clasped, with moistened kisses sucking
His lips into her lips. Nay, from the heart
She often does it, and seeking mutual joys
Woos him to run to the utmost goal of love.
And nowise else could birds, cattle, wild beasts,
And sheep and mares submit to males, except
That their exuberant nature is in heat,
And burning draws towards them joyously
The lust of the covering mates. See you not also
That those whom mutual pleasure has enchained
Are often tormented in their common chains?
How often on the highroads dogs desiring
To separate, will strain in opposite ways
Eagerly with all their might, yet the whole time
They are held fast in the strong bonds of Venus!
Thus they would never act, unless they had
Experience of mutual joys, enough
To thrust them into the snare and hold them bound.
Therefore I assert, the pleasure must be common.
Often when, mingling her seed with the man’s,
The woman with sudden force has overwhelmed
And mastered the man’s force, then children are borne
Like to the mother from the mother’s seed,
As from the father’s seed like to the father.
But those whom you see sharing the form of both,
Mingling their parents’ features side by side,
Grow from the father’s body and mother’s blood,
When mutual ardour has conspired to fling
The seeds together, roused by the goads of Venus
Throughout the frame, and neither of the two
Has gained the mastery nor yet been mastered.
Moreover sometimes children may be born
Like their grandparents, and will often recall
The forms of their remoter ancestors,
Because the parents often hold concealed
Within their bodies many primal atoms
Mingled in many ways, which, handed down
From the first stock, father transmits to father.
And out of these Venus produces forms
With ever-varying chances, and recalls
The look and voice and hair of ancestors:
Since truly these things are no more derived
From a determined seed, than are our faces
Bodies and limbs. Also the female sex
May spring from a father’s seed, and males come forth
Formed from a mother’s body: for the birth
Is always fashioned out of the two seeds.
Whichever of the two that which is born
Is most like, of that parent it will have
More than an equal share; as you may observe,
Whether it be a male or female offspring.
Nor do divine powers thwart in any man
A fruitful sowing, so that he may never
Receive from sweet children the name of father,
But in sterile wedlock must live out his days;
As men in general fancy, and so sprinkle
The altars sorrowfully with much blood,
And heap the shrine-tables with offerings,
To make their wives pregnant with copious seed.
But vainly they importune the divinity
And sortilege of the gods. For they are sterile
Sometimes from too great thickness of the seed,
Or else it is unduly thin and fluid.
Because the thin cannot adhere and cleave
To the right spots, it forthwith flows away
Defeated, and departs abortively.
Others again discharge a seed too thick,
More solid than is suitable, which either
Does not shoot forth with so far-flung a stroke,
Or cannot so well penetrate where it should,
Or having penetrated, does not easily
Mix with the woman’s seed. For harmonies
Seem to be most important in love’s rites.
And some men will more readily fertilise
Some women, and other women will conceive
More readily and grow pregnant from other men.
And many women, sterile hitherto
In several marriages, have yet at last
Found mates from whom they could conceive children,
And so become enriched with a sweet offspring.
And even for those to whom their household wives,
However fruitful, had failed so far to bear,
A well-matched nature has been often found
That they might fortify their age with children.
So important is it, if seeds are to agree
And blend with seeds for purposes of birth,
Whether the thick encounters with the fluid,
And the fluid with the thick. Also herein
It is of moment on what diet life
Is nourished; for the seed within the limbs
By some foods is made solid, and by others
Is thinned and dwindled. Also in what modes
Love’s bland delight is dealt with, that likewise
Is of the highest moment. For in general
Women are thought more readily to conceive
After the manner of wild beasts and quadrupeds,
Since so the seeds can find the proper spots,
The breasts being bent downward, the loins raised.
Nor have wives the least need of wanton movements.
For a woman thwarts conception and frustrates it,
If with her loins she joyously lures on
The man’s love, and, with her whole bosom relaxed
And limp, provokes lust’s tide to overflow.
For then she thrusts the furrow from the share’s
Direct path, turning the seed’s stroke aside
From its right goal. And thus for their own ends
Harlots are wont to move, because they wish
Not to conceive nor lie in childbed often,
Likewise that Venus may give men more pleasure.
But of this surely our wives should have no need.
Sometimes, by no divine interposition
Nor through the shafts of Venus, a plain woman,
Though of inferior beauty, may be loved.
For sometimes she herself by her behaviour,
Her gentle ways and personal daintiness
Will easily accustom you to spend
Your whole life with her. And indeed ’tis custom
That harmonises love. For what is struck
However lightly by repeated blows,
Yet after a long lapse of time is conquered
And must dissolve. Do you not likewise see
That drops of water falling upon stones
After long lapse of time will pierce them through?