_He has beaten his mistress, and endeavours to regain her favour._
|Put my hands in manacles (they are deserving of chains), if any friend
of mine is present, until all my frenzy has departed. For frenzy has
raised my rash arms against my mistress; hurt by my frantic hand, the
fair is weeping. In such case could I have done an injury even to my
dear parents, or have given unmerciful blows to even the hallowed
Gods. Why; did not Ajax, too, [080] the owner of the sevenfold shield,
slaughter the flocks that he had caught along the extended plains?
And did Orestes, the guilty avenger of his father, the punisher of his
mother, dare to ask for weapons against the mystic Goddesses? [081]
And could I then tear her tresses so well arranged; and were not her
displaced locks unbecoming to my mistress? Even thus was she beauteous;
in such guise they say that the daughter of Schoeneus [082] pursued the
wild beasts of Mænalus with her bow. 'Twere more fitting for her face to
be pale from the impress of kisses, and for her neck to bear the marks
of the toying teeth.
In such guise did the Cretan damsel [083] weep, that the South winds, in
their headlong flight, had borne away both the promises and the sails of
the forsworn Theseus. Thus, _too_, chaste Minerva, did Cassandra [084]
fall in thy temple, except that her locks were bound with the fillet.
Who did not say to me, "You madman!" who did not say _to me_, "You
barbarian!" She herself _said_ not a word; her tongue was restrained
by timid apprehensions. But still her silent features pronounced my
censure; by her tears _and_ by her silent lips did she convict me.
First could I wish that my arms had fallen from off my shoulders; to
better purpose could I have parted with a portion of myself. To my own
disadvantage had I the strength of a madman; and for my own punishment
did I stoutly exert my strength. What do I want with you, ye ministers
of death and criminality? Impious hands, submit to the chains, your due.
Should I not have been punished had I struck the humblest Roman [085]
of the multitude? _And_ shall I have a greater privilege against my
mistress? The son of Tydeus has left the worst instance of crime: he was
the first to strike a Goddess, [086] I, the second. But less guilty
was he; by me, she, whom I asserted to be loved _by me_, was injured;
against an enemy the son of Tydeus was infuriate.
Come now, conqueror, prepare your boastful triumphs; bind your locks
with laurel, and pay your vows to Jove, and let the multitude, the
train, that escorts your chariot, shout aloud, "Io _triumphe!_ by
_this_ valiant man has the fair been conquered!" Let the captive, in her
sadness, go before with dishevelled locks, pale all over, if her hurt
cheeks [087] may allow.
In short, if, after the manner of a swelling torrent, I was impelled,
and if impetuous anger did make me its prey; would it not have been
enough to have shouted aloud at the trembling girl, and not to have
thundered out my threats far too severe? Or else, to my own disgrace, to
have torn her tunic from its upper edge down to the middle? Her girdle
should, at the middle [089] have come to its aid. But now, in the
hardness of my heart, I could dare, seizing her hair on her forehead,
to mark her free-born cheeks [090] with my nails. _There_ she stood,
amazed, with her features pale and bloodless, just as the marble is
cut in the Parian mountains. [091] I saw her fainting limbs, and her
palpitating members; just as when the breeze waves the foliage of the
poplars; just as the slender reed quivers with the gentle Zephyr; or,
as when the surface of the waves is skimmed by the warm South wind. Her
tears, too, so long repressed, flowed down her face, just as the water
flows from the snow when heaped up.
Then, for the first time, did I begin to be sensible that I was guilty;
the tears which she was shedding were _as_ my own blood. Yet, thrice
was I ready, suppliantly to throw myself before her feet; thrice did
she repel my dreaded hands. But, _dearest,_ do not you hesitate, (_for_
revenge will lessen your grief) at once to attack my face with your
nails. Spare not my eyes, nor _yet_ my hair; let anger nerve your hands,
weak though they may be.
And that tokens so shocking of my criminality may no longer exist, put
your locks, arranged anew, in their proper order. [092]