M/M: Agamemnon and Argynnus, Propertius 3.7.61-64

 

Name:  Propertius Date:  50 – 15 BCE Region:   Assisium [modern Italy] Citation:    Elegies 3.7.61-64

This shore is a monument to Agamemnon’s grief;

it testifies to Argynnus’ suffering.

When this youth died, Agamemnon forbade his fleet to set sail,

and the delay* caused the death of Iphigenia.

*According to Trojan War myth:  while the Achaean forces were assembling at Aulis, Agamemnon shot a deer sacred to Artemis. In retaliation, Artemis refused to allow adequate sailing weather unless the king sacrificed his own daughter, Iphigenia.  In Propertius' version of the myth, Agamemnon's mourning caused the Achaean ships to miss the sailing season, but were able to resume their sailing with the sacrifice of Iphigenia.

sunt Agamemnonias testantia litora curas,
    quae notat Argynni poena Athamantiadae.
[hoc iuvene amisso classem non solvit Atrides,
    pro qua mactatast* Iphigenia mora.]

 *mactatast = mactata est

 

 

  Propertius [Sextus Propertius; 50-15 BCE, modern Italy] was an Italian-born Roman lyric poet whose love poetry provides insight into the customs of Augustan Rome. Like Catullus and Tibullus, Propertius used a pseudonym for the object of his attention; many of his love poems were addressed to “Cynthia.”

I'll Be Your Anything: The Genderfluid God Vertumnus, Propertius, E. 4.2

Vertumnus  Boasts of His Abilities

Name:  Propertius Date:  50 – 15 BCE Region:   Assisium [modern Italy] Citation:    Elegies 4.2

Why are you surprised by my many shapes in my one body? 

Just accept that I, Vertumnus, am a god.

I’m Tuscan born, and I’m native of Tuscany,

And I’m not ashamed to have abandoned the Volsinian side in battle.

This is my kind of crowd. I’m not too fond of ivory temples,

I’m okay with just watching over the Roman Forum.

This is where the Tiber River once made its way;

It is said that the sound of oars was heard splashing here.

And after Father Tiber granted this land to his offspring, 

I, Vertumnus was named after the “Bend in the Stream [1].”

Or, maybe I’m named that way because I receive first fruits after the “turning of the year [2]"

And you believe this is sacred rite to Vertumnus.

The grape in its cluster ripens for me; the wheat heads grow heavy.

In me, you see the sweet cherry, the autumn plums, and the mulberry deepen in color on a summer day.

You see the grafter dedicate a crown of fruit to me, after an unwilling pear tree begins to sprout apples.

Okay, stop talking about me; there’s another reason to my name.

Believe me, a god, as I tell you about myself:

Nature made me fit for every figure.

I can change into any shape you want.

Clothe me in Coan clothes and I’ll be a flirty girl;

If I put on a toga, who will deny that I’m a man?

 Give me a scythe and put a knot of hay upon my forehead, and you’d swear I was the reaper who cut the grain myself.

There was I time that I remember when I took up arms, and I was renowned for it, and I was a reaper bearing a load of baskets.

I’m serious as a lawyer, but if you put a garland on my head, you’d swear I was a partygoer.  Put a Phrygian cap on my head, and I will rave like a bacchant; I’ll play Apollo, if you give me a lyre. Give me hunting supplies, and I’ll be a hunter; but, with other supplies, I’ll only hunt birds.

And I’ve also been a charioteer, as well as a warrior who can leap from horse to horse. Give me a rod, and I’ll be a fisherman; or give me a long tunic, and I’ll be a fastidious merchant. I can pose like a shepherd with his crook; I can carry a basket of roses through the dusty streets.

What else should I add to heighten my fame, that puts the first fruits of the garden into my hands? Dark cucumbers and fat gourds and cabbages tied with a garland of rushes give away my identity; no flower blossoms in the fields that doesn’t also rest upon my forehead.

But since I alone can turn [3] into every shape, I was named for this in my country’s language.

You, Rome, have given tribute to my Tuscans (this is where the Tuscan Way got its name), when Lycomedius came with armed reinforcement, when he defeated cruel Tatius’ Sabine forces.  I myself saw the broken ranks, the falling weapons, the enemy forced into a shameful retreat.

Blessed Jupiter, see to it that the toga-wearing race of Rome stay in my sight forever.

Only six lines left: you are off to court, go on your way, I won’t keep you, don’t bother to read the rest.

I used to be a trunk of a maple tree,

But then I was carved by an ax.

Before Numa’s reign, I was a humble god in a humble city.

But Mamurrius, the artist sculpted me in bronze,

May the Oscan earth never harm your hands, Mammurius,

Since you created me for such a pleasant purpose!

There is only one sculpture of me, but more than one honors for such a sculpture.

 

 Vertumnus Boasts of His Abilities

Quid mirare meas tot in uno corpore formas,

accipe Vertumni signa fatente deo.

Tuscus ego Tuscis orior, nec paenitet inter

proelis Volsinios deseruisse focos.

Haec me turba iuuat, nec templo laetor eburno:

Romanum satis est posse videre Forum.

Hac quondam Tiberinus iter faciebat, et aiunt

remorum auditos per vada pulsa sonos:

at postquam ille suis tantum concessit alumnis,

VertAMNUS verso dicor ab amne deus.

Seu, quia vertentis fructum praecepimus anni,

VertANNI rursus creditur esse sacrum.

Prima mihi variat liventibus uva racemis,

et coma lactenti spicea fruge tumet;

hic dulcis cerasos, hic autumnalia pruna

cernis et aestiuo mora rubere die;

insitor hic soluit pomosa vota corona,

cum pirus invito stipite mala tulit.

Mendax fama, vaces: alius mihi nominis index:

de se narranti tu modo crede deo.

Opportuna mea est cunctis natura figuris:

in quamcumque voles verte, decorus ero.

Indue me Cois, fiam non dura puella:

meque virum sumpta quis neget esse toga?

Da falcem et torto frontem mihi comprime faeno:

iurabis nostra gramina secta manu.

Arma tuli quondam et, memini, laudabar in illis:

corbis et imposito pondere messor eram.

Sobrius ad lites: at cum est imposta corona,

clamabis capiti vina subisse meo.

Cinge caput mitra, speciem furabor Iacchi;

furabor Phoebi, si modo plectra dabis.

Cassibus impositis venor: sed harundine sumpta

fautor plumoso sum deus aucupio.

Est etiam aurigae species cum verbere et eius

traicit alterno qui leve corpus equo.

Suppetat hic, piscis calamo praedabor, et ibo

mundus demissis institor in tunicis.

Pastor me ad baculum possum curvare vel idem

sirpiculis medio pulvere ferre rosam.

Nam quid ego adiciam, de quo mihi maxima fama est,

hortorum in manibus dona probata meis?

Caeruleus cucumis tumidoque cucurbita ventre

me notat et iunco brassica vincta levi;

nec flos ullus hiat pratis, quin ille decenter

impositus fronti langueat ante meae.

At mihi, quod formas unus vertebar in omnis,

nomen ab eventu patria lingua dedit; 

et tu, Roma, meis tribuisti praemia Tuscis,

 (unde hodie Vicus nomina Tuscus habet),

tempore quo sociis venit Lycomedius armis

atque Sabina feri contudit arma Tati.

Vidi ego labentis acies et tela caduca,

atque hostis turpi terga dedisse fugae.

Sed facias, divum Sator, ut Romana per aevum

transeat ante meos turba togata pedes.

Sex superant versus: te, qui ad vadimonia curris,

non moror: haec spatiis ultima creta meis.

Stipes acernus eram, properanti falce dolatus,

ante Numam grata pauper in urbe deus.

At tibi, Mamurri, formae caelator aenae,

tellus artifices ne terat Osca manus,

qui me tam docilis potuisti fundere in usus.

Unum opus est, operi non datur unus honos.  

 

---

[1] A pun on the ‘vert-’ prefix in his name.

[2] Another pun on the ‘vert-’ prefix in his name.

[3] Another pun on the ‘vert-’ prefix in his name.

Propertius [Sextus Propertius; 50-15 BCE, modern Italy] was an Italian-born Roman lyric poet whose love poetry provides insight into the customs of Augustan Rome. Like Catullus and Tibullus, Propertius used a pseudonym for the object of his attention; many of his love poems were addressed to “Cynthia.”

Amazons Can Fight, Why Can't I? Propertius 4.3.43-50

 

Name:  Propertius Date:  50 – 15 BCE Region:   Assisium [modern Italy] Citation:    Elegies 4.3.43-50

In this poem, the poet Propertius takes on the persona of Arethusa while she laments the absence of her absent husband Lycotas. Once again Propertius makes a stark contrast between gender roles for Roman women and women from other cultures.

Blessed Hippolyte! With naked breast she took up arms and covered her pretty little face with a barbaric helmet.

If only Romans allowed women to fight!

I would be a faithful follower of your camp; I wouldn’t be discouraged by the Scythian mountains, where the south wind freezes the water into ice.

All love is great, but it is even more potent in a spouse;

Venus herself nourishes this flame with her breath.

Felix Hippolyte! Nuda tulit arma papilla

    et texit galea barbara molle caput.
Romanis utinam patuissent castra puellis!
    Essem militiae sarcina fida tuae,
Nec me tardarent Scythiae iuga, cum Pater altas
    Africus in glaciem frigore nectit aquas.
Omnis amor magnus, sed aperto in coniuge maior:
    hanc Venus, ut vivat, ventilat ipsa facem.

 

Propertius [Sextus Propertius; 50-15 BCE, modern Italy] was an Italian-born Roman lyric poet whose love poetry provides insight into the customs of Augustan Rome. Like Catullus and Tibullus, Propertius used a pseudonym for the object of his attention; many of his love poems were addressed to “Cynthia.”

Women's Longings and Mixing Metaphors: Propertius 4.4

Name:  Propertius Date:  50 – 15 BCE Region:   Assisium [modern Italy] Citation:    Elegies 4.4

This poem showcases a range of women committing sexual transgressions. Although the Roman girl (puella) Tarpeia is universally hated for her betrayal of Rome, in this poem her transgression is seeking legitimate marriage—something Roman girls were expected to do.  This is seen as a criminal act because her legitimate desire goes against the path society has alotted her, as she has been chosen (lecta) to serve as a Vestal Virgin. Despite the fact that the men of her community have recently transgressed sexual boundaries by stealing the Sabine women from their homes to populate their city, Tarpeia alone bears the consequences of committing a sexual taboo. Moreover, the portrayal of the domestic goddess of chastity Vesta as a rampaging bare-breasted Amazon shows the confusion of male perspectives of women’s sexuality by blurring the bounds of asexuality and sexual wantonness.

I’ll tell you a tale of the grove of Tarpeia, and her wicked tomb, too, as well as the siege of Jupiter’s ancient stronghold.

There was once a blessed grove situated in an ivy-covered grotto, where many trees resounded with the echo of local waters.

This was the branch-covered home of Silvanus, where his sweet pan-flutes called his sheep out of the heat and back to their leafy greens.

Tatius had barricaded this spring with a maple-wood palisade, and surrounded his fortifications with stable earth-works.

What was Rome like then,

When Cures’ herald shook the nearby hills of Jupiter with foreboding noise?

Where today’s Rome had conquered this territory, there used to be Sabine spears parading through our Roman Forum.

Where the portico-covered Senate House stands today, there were only hills for protective walls.

This was where Tatius’ warhorse took its drink.

This is where Tarpeia, too, took libations for her goddess; she bore a handmade pitcher balanced upon her head.

Vesta, is only one death enough for this wicked young girl, for wanting to cheat on your flame?

Tarpeia saw Tatius training on the sandy plains. She saw him lift off his sculpted helmet, and she was blown away by the king’s face, his royal presence.

She let the vessel drop from her hands—her task forgotten.

Often, she feigned the moon as an omen and said she went to the stream to “wash her hair” [just to see him].

Often, she brought silver lilies in offering to the graceful water nymphs, praying that Roman spears might never scar Tatius’ pretty face.

While she climbed the Capitoline hill veiled in morning mist, she came back with arms covered in the scratches from its brambles.

She mourned, sitting upon the opposite citadel. She wept, a wound that Jupiter could not let go unpunished.

She prayed,

“Campfires, tents of Tatius’ squadrons, simply stunning Sabine armor in my eyes, if only I could be captive to your gods! As your prisoner, I might look upon my Tatius’ face.

Farewell, Roman hills!

Farewell, Rome!

And Farewell to you, too, Vesta, embarrassed by my sin!

Tatius’ horse, with his mane plaited by his master’s own hands, will return me to his camp and my lover’s arms.

Why is anyone surprised that Scylla hurt her father Nisus’ magical hair, when her pale loins were turned to savage dogs? Why is anyone surprised that Ariadne showed the way with a spool of thread [leading Theseus] to her monstrous brother’s horns?

Although I was chosen to serve the virgin goddess’ flame, I’ll become the shame of Ausonian girls.

If anyone questions Pallas’ extinguished flames [Minerva’s asexuality], then please forgive me! The altar is drenched in my tears.

From what I’ve heard, tomorrow the entire city will be ritually cleansed. You, Tatius, take dewy path up to that thorny hill. The whole journey will be slippery and treacherous, and hidden pools of water are on your path.

If only I knew songs of magic Muses, then I could help you, my handsome man. You are worthy of royal robes. Unlike Romulus, no harsh teat of a she-wolf nursed you; you had an actual legitimate mother.

Sir, why should I fear being queen in the royal palace? My dowry is not meager—it is Rome itself!

Or “kidnap me,” and follow the precedent of the Sabine women, taken without consequence. Let no consequence occur to me as well! I can stop the coming battle. Brides, join me in treaty as I get married; bring Hymenaeus to offer his blessing, and let the herald proclaim it, too. Trust that my wedding will cause an armistice.

Now the fourth reveille heralds the coming dawn. The stars fall into the Ocean. Let me dream, and seek dreams of you. May pleasant shade come to my eyes.”

She spoke, and allowed her body to succumb to troubled sleep, not knowing she slept among nightmares.

For Vesta, the blessed guardian of Troy’s embers, nursed the girl’s obsession and poured fires into her bones. Then the goddess rushed away the way an Amazon races along the Thermodon River, with her mutilated breast exposed.

There was a holiday in the city (our ancestors called it “Parilia”). I was the first day of the construction of the city walls, and the annual festival of pastoral festivities held in the city. Villager’s plates were dripping with rich and fatty foods, and drunken crowds dragged their dirty feet over scattered heaps of burning hay.

Romulus decreed that the night watch could have the night off, and the camps were empty; everyone was off doing their revels. Tarpeia thought this was her chance to meet the enemy. She made her bargain, she bound herself to its conditions.

The hill was difficult to climb, but unguarded because of the holiday.

Tatius’ first act was to silence the yappy guard dogs with his sword. Everything at this time was asleep, but Jupiter alone kept watch, mindful of his own justice.

Tarpeia betrayed the trust of the city’s gate; she betrayed her sleeping country, too, while seeking the wedding day that SHE wanted. But even the enemy gives no honor to a criminal: Tatius told her, “Put on the veil, and enter the bedroom of my reign.” He spoke and tossed down heaps of his companion’s weaponry.

This was your dowry, woman, appropriate for your status. The Tarpeian hill is a name given appropriately; o tourist, consider the consequences of her unjust lot.

Tarpeium nemus et Tarpeiae turpe sepulcrum
    fabor et antiqui limina capta Jouis.
Lucus erat felix hederoso conditus antro,
    multaque nativis obstrepit arbor aquis,
Silvani ramosa domus, quo dulcis ab aestu
    fistula poturas ire iubebat ovis.
Hunc Tatius fontem vallo praecingit acerno,
    fidaque suggesta castra coronat humo.
Quid tum Roma fuit, tubicen vicina Curetis
    cum quateret lento murmure saxa Jouis?
Atque ubi nunc terris dicuntur iura subactis,
    stabant Romano pila Sabina Foro.
Murus erant montes: ubi nunc est curia saepta,
    bellicus ex illo fonte bibebat equus.
Hinc Tarpeia deae fontem libavit: at illi
    urgebat medium fictilis urna caput.
Et satis una malae potuit mors esse puellae,
    quae voluit flammas fallere, Vesta, tuas?
Vidit harenosis Tatium proludere campis
    pictaque per flavas arma levare iubas:
obstipuit regis facie et regalibus armis,
    interque oblitas excidit urna manus.
Saepe illa immeritae causata est omina lunae,
    et sibi tingendas dixit in amne comas:
saepe tulit blandis argentea lilia Nymphis,
    Romula ne faciem laederet hasta Tati.
Dumque subit primo Capitolia nubila fumo,
    rettulit hirsutis bracchia secta rubis,
et sua Tarpeia residens ita fleuit ab arce
    vulnera, vicino non patienda Jovi:
"Ignes castrorum et Tatiae praetoria turmae
    et formosa oculis arma Sabina meis,
o utinam ad vestros sedeam captiva Penatis,
    dum captiva mei conspicer ora Tati!
Romani montes, et montibus addita Roma,
    et valeat probro Vesta pudenda meo:
ille equus, ille meos in castra reponet amores,
    cui Tatius dextras collocat ipse iubas!
Quid mirum in patrios Scyllam saevisse capillos,
    candidaque in saevos inguina versa canis?
Prodita quid mirum fraterni cornua monstri,
    cum patuit lecto stamine torta via?
Quantum ego sum Ausoniis crimen factura puellis,
    improba virgineo lecta ministra foco!
Pallados exstinctos si quis mirabitur ignis,
    ignoscat: lacrimis spargitur ara meis.
Cras, ut rumor ait, tota potabitur urbe:
    tu cape spinosi rorida terga iugi.
Lubrica tota via est et perfida: quippe tacentis
    fallaci celat limite semper aquas.
O utinam magicae nossem cantamina Musae!
    haec quoque formoso lingua tulisset opem.
Te toga picta decet, non quem sine matris honore
    nutrit inhumanae dura papilla lupae.
Hic, hospes, patria metuar regina sub aula?
    Dos tibi non humilis prodita Roma venit.
Si minus, at raptae ne sint impune Sabinae:
    me rape et alterna lege repende vices!
Commissas acies ego possum solvere: nuptae
    vos medium palla foedus inite mea.
Adde Hymenaee modos, tubicen fera murmura conde:
    credite, vestra meus molliet arma torus.
Et iam quarta canit venturam bucina lucem,
    ipsaque in Oceanum sidera lapsa cadunt.
Experiar somnum, de te mihi somnia quaeram:
    fac venias oculis umbra benigna meis."
Dixit, et incerto permisit bracchia somno,
    nescia se furiis accubuisse novis.
Nam Vesta, Iliacae felix tutela favillae,
    culpam alit et plures condit in ossa faces.
Illa ruit, qualis celerem prope Thermodonta
    Strymonis abscisso fertur aperta sinu.
Urbi festus erat (dixere Parilia patres),
    hic primus coepit moenibus esse dies,
annua pastorum convivia, lusus in urbe,
    cum pagana madent fercula divitiis,
cumque super raros faeni flammantis acervos
    traicit immundos ebria turba pedes.
Romulus excubias decrevit in otia solvi
    atque intermissa castra silere tuba.
Hoc Tarpeia suum tempus rata convenit hostem:
    pacta ligat, pactis ipsa futura comes.
Mons erat ascensu dubius festoque remissus
    nec mora, vocalis occupat ense canis.
Omnia praebebant somnos: sed Juppiter unus
    decrevit poenis invigilare suis.
Prodiderat portaeque fidem patriamque iacentem,
    nubendique petit, quem velit, ipsa diem.
At Tatius (neque enim sceleri dedit hostis honorem)
    "Nube" ait "et regni scande cubile mei!"
Dixit, et ingestis comitum super obruit armis.
    Haec, virgo, officiis dos erat apta tuis.
A duce Tarpeia mons est cognomen adeptus:
    o vigil, iniustae praemia sortis habes.

Propertius [Sextus Propertius; 50-15 BCE, modern Italy] was an Italian-born Roman lyric poet whose love poetry provides insight into the customs of Augustan Rome. Like Catullus and Tibullus, Propertius used a pseudonym for the object of his attention; many of his love poems were addressed to “Cynthia.”