PELIACO QVONDAM PROGNATAE VERTICE PINVS
Meter: dactylic hexameter
Catullus' Sixty-Fourth Poem, often called The Marriage of Peleus and Thetis, is not the poet's masterpiece - that honor is reserved for the poet's corpus as a whole, the range and scale of his abilities and skill. What would be considered the magnum opus of almost any other poet, LXIV, an epyllion, a "little epic", almost at times reads like a tongue-in-cheek school exercise, or the result of some contest between Catullus and another poet; for Catullus belonged to the neôteroi school of poets "The Newsters/Youngers/Moderns", a reactionary movement to the Homerists, who held epic to be the highest literary endeavor to be undertaken by a poet. Their founder, the Alexandrian poet Kallimakhos, was an advocate for smaller, wittier, and snappier poems rather than the "winged words" of epic - he would not have been a fan of the three-volume novel. However, epic's siren-song could not be resisted for long, and even Kallimakhos and his followers sought to compromise: thus the epyllion was born. The "little epic" sought to invoke all the loftily-wrought hexameters and weighty diction of Homer, Hesiod, and the like, but without carrying on for several books or several tens of thousands of lines. The goal of these neôteroi lay in capturing the high vocabulary and syntax, the pastoral similes and imagery, and the obscure references commonplace in epic, but using precise wording and clever allusions to achieve the same effect in a more streamlined manner.In this art, Catullus was a master, exceeding even the fragmentary lines of Kallimakhos' own epyllia. His epic hexameters are closely modeled on the original Greek style, which is a feat unto itself given that the dactyl is not a rhythm found naturally in Latin. One can see hints of Catullanisms in Vergil's own Aeneid, as well as allusions to LXIV - how many of Catullus' poeticisms for the act of sea-sailing appear in the first six books of The Aeneid? A lot (though this is not to say that Vergil did not improve on his model - cf. LXIV.115 with Aeneid V.27 - oh, clever boy).
The result of poem LXIV is that Catullus proved that he could not only imitate his rival school's style, but he could excel at it, showing off his skills as a doctus poeta: one imagines him delighting in lifting this imagery from this Greek source and then dressing it up a bit with a touch of Roman rhetoric; or borrowing an allusion to that Greek source, only to mask it in an obscure Alexandrian reference whose hidden meaning only the most educated would fully understand underneath all the pretty words.
Catullus was most likely exceedingly pleased with himself for writing this one - as well he should have been.
Meter
Dactylic hexameter runs in the following template:
Keep also in mind that the fifth foot is almost always is a dactyl, though spondaic lines (where the fifth foot is a spondee) do pop up every now and again and cause delight for the teacher and consternation for the poor student struggling to make sense of his or her scansion. Catullus has more of these spondaic lines than Vergil (the Alexandrians loved them). As such, I've roped off the fifth and sixth feet in purple in the above template as "out-of-bounds" for typical metrical tinkering.
The caesura ("cutting") indicates a pause in the line and are marked above by either the blue or green railroad tracks. These are traditionally called the strong/masculine and weak/feminine caesura, respectively (I avoided the color pink for the feminine caesura in order to throw something in the face of traditional sexism in Classicism - green is a much better color than pink); alternately, they are also respectively known as the penthemimeral ("occurring at the fifth-half measure") caesura and the trochaic ("occurring after the trochee") caesura - these are infinitely cooler names than the aforesaid.
Here is the first line scanned - note the penthemimeral caesura:
Structure
The poem has, traditionally, inflicted some amount of consternation upon some scholars, who cannot seem to understand the dramatic and abrupt jumps in the narrative: why does Catullus start out with a description which reads as though it were taken straight from The Argonautika of Apollonios Rhodikos and then jump to the marriage of Peleüs and Thetis, followed by the description of a quilt on a marriage couch, &c? How are these episodes related?
If one keeps in mind Catullus' goal in the writing of this epyllion, that is, to present as many epicisms in one brief epic telling as possible, then the layout and structure of the poem easily fall into place:
The poem structurally displays a ring composition, where the initial section is matched in theme with the final, the second section with the penultimate, &c.
Footnotes are ordered according to line number, rather than maintaining their internal order.
~~~~~~~~~~~~1 Pelion's peak thereon once were begotten pine trees, 1
Which are said through Neptune's flowing waves to have swum,3To the Phasidan swells and boundaries of Æëtes,
4When chosen men, Argive youth's strongest oaks,
Wishing from Colchis to steal the Golden Fleece, 5
They dared to race down the salty seawaters on their swift sterns,
Sweeping the sky-blue seas with silver-fir oars.
8Their goddess, she who guards the heights of cities, the citadels,
She herself made with a gentle breeze their seachariot fly;
The pineboards she joined together, woven into the unbending hull. 10
11Amphitrite, though untried in sailing, that ship first did baptize,
At the moment when with her beak the windswept sea she cut a forward slice,
And, churned by rowing, the waves with foam were whitened.
And, having lifted their faces out of the spuming eddy,
15This sight-to-be-seen -- a ship! -- the sea-dwelling Nereïds gaze on amazed. 15
In yon ship --in hardly any other -- have in the light of day
Mortals seen with their eyes the sea-maid Nymphs with bodies bare
Up to the breasts as they rise out of the hoary swell.
19Then, it is said that by a love for Thetis, Peleus was inflamed;
Then, a mortal wedding Thetis did not look down upon; 20
Then, the Father himself thought that to Thetis must be wed Peleus.
Oh! In that so oft-wished-for time of ages were born
These heroes! Hail, godly stock! Oh! Of good mothers 23
Begotten, hail again! Hail, good woman, all! 23b
Ye shall I often, yes, ye in my song shall I address.
And thou, so 'specially honored by happy bridal flames, 25
Thessaly's pillar, O Peleus, to whom Jove himself,
27Yea, he himself, the gods' begetter, yielded his own affections.
To thee Peleus did Thetis cleave, that most beautiful daughter of Nereus?
29Did to thee Tethys yield to have grandchildren,
And Oceanus too, who with the sea embraceth he the whole globe? 30
As the longed-for lightbeams at the markéd time
Have arrived, palace-ward in assemblage is the throng in attendance,
All Thessaly, filled is the kingdom in joyous gathering.
Bear they gifts before themselves, show off glad tidings in faces glad!
Emptied is Cieros! Run dry doth Phthia-like Tempe! 35
And Crannon's homes! And even the city-walls of Larissa!
Pharsalum comes together! Pharsalian homes all in attendance!
The countryside no man tills, grow soft the necks of bullocks.
Not is the grounded vine pruned by bent spades,
Not the clod with the slanting plowshare does the bull churn up, 40
Not does the scythe thin out the leafy tree's shade,
And dirty rust upon abandoned plowblades is fallen.
But at the king's seat, wherever inward doth the wealthy palace
Extend, in there the blazing gold and even silver shine.
Bright white is the iv'ry on the chairs, blazing are the cups on the table, 45
The whole house rejoices in kingly, shining treasure.
And the gods' couch for a goddess is set up, for the marriage
In the midst of the seats, with Indic ivory polished,
And this couch the purple mantle covers, painted with red mollusk's dye,
This bedspread, with ancient forms of people embroidered, 50
By wond'rous skill, the excellence of heroes it tells.
52For gazing forth on the wave-resounding shore of Dia,
At Theseus, withdrawing with his swift fleet, she gazes on,
The untameable rage in her heart Ariadne bears,
And not yet what she sees o'er an' again does she trust that she sees o'er an' again. 55
No wonder! For she first wakened from a deceitful sleep,
And, deserted -- wretched! -- she found herself on lonesome sand.
Unmindful! The youth unmindful fleeing, he struck the shoals with oars,
His unkept vows he left to the windy gale.
At him, from afar, out of the seaweed, Minos' daughter with sad, poor eyes, 60
As if the stony statue of a bacchante, she looks out -- alas!
She looks out, and flows and ebbs on great waves of worry.
Not does she keep on her flaxen head the well-woven mitra,
Not does she cover her once-veiled breast with a light mantle,
Not with her rounded girdle does she bind her milky breasts, 65
All have fallen from her whole body little by little.
Before her feet the waves of the salt-sea back and forth were playing.
But neither the mitra's nor the drifting mantle's
Plight does she care, and with her heart, Theseus,
With her whole spirit, with her mind, she -- lost! -- was needing thee! 70
Wretched girl, whom with unrelenting griefs Eryxine Venus
Has driven mad, sowing thorny worries in her breast;
From that time, from that moment when fierce Theseus,
Having disembarked from the rounded shores of the Piraeus,
He reached the unjust king's Gortynian palace grounds. 75
For, as people relate, once driven by a brutish blight,
The punishment of Androgeus' slaughter to pay off,
Chosen youths as well as the grace of unwed maids
Cecrops' city was accustomed to offer as a meal for Minos' Bull.
Because of these evils, when the narrow city walls they harried, 80
Theseus himself, for the sake of his dear Athens, his own body
To send forth he wished, rather than Crete-ward
So many corpses of Cecrops --not yet dead!--be sent.
And so, in a light ship he presses on, and on soft breezes
To great-hearted Minos he came and to his haughty throne. 85
Theseus, as soon as with d'sirous eyes the maid besighted,
The royal girl, her chaste little couch breathing out
Sweet smells, her in the soft embrace of her mother it was fost'ring,
The smells, like Eurotan myrtles which gird the rivers
Or as a breeze brings out vivid-dappled flowers in springtime, 90
No sooner from him did her burning eyes she cast down,
Than in all her body did she conceive the flame,
In her core and deepest marrow she burned entire.
Alas! Wretchedly thou whip up in thy pitiless heart madnesses,
Holy boy, Cupid, who with the worries of people their joys thou mingle, 95
And thou, Venus, who rule Golgi and leafy Idalium,
In such waves have ye both tossed the girl, aflamed in mind,
She, over her fair-haired guest often sighing!
What did she bear in her swooning heart -- what fears?
How much more soft than the gleam of gold did she pale, 100
When desiring against the savage monster to struggle,
Either death Theseus would seek, or the rewards of praise!
Yet, not ungrateful -- though in vain -- little offerings to the gods,
Does she put forth, and she took up vows with silent lip.
Just as on the height of Mount Taurus, when a branch-shaking 105
Corktree or cone-bearing pine, its bark sweating,
Then an unmasterable tornado twists it about, with a blast the mighty oak
It rips up and away, rooted is it driven up and at a distance
Headfirst it falls, widespread, whatever is in its path it breaks -
-Just so, the savage beast -- bodily overthrown -- Theseus did lay low 110
For in vain on empty winds it tossed its horns again and again!
Thence his foot he, safe with high praise, bent back,
The a-straying footfalls steering with the slender thread,
Lest out of the twisting labyrinth a-leaving,
115Him the monster's home might confuse -- that unsee-able wand'ring maze! 115
But why have I stepped aside from my song's beginning? More events
Should I recall? Such as leaving her father's sight, his daughter?
Or her sister's arms locked in hers, then at last in the arms of her mother,
119Who for her poor daughter cared -- till ruin -- and was aggrieved,
And before all these things Theseus' sweet love she longed for 120
Or how, carried on a ship, to the foamy shores of Dia
She came, or how her, her eyes bound in sleep,
He abandoned, because of his forgetful heart he left -- he, now her husband?
Often, they say, the girl, now raging in her flaming heart,
Clear-resounding words have from her deepest breast she poured out, 125
And the steep mountains she in sadness scales,
Whence her sharp sight upon the wide sea-swells she casts out.
Then into the shaking salt-sea's turning waves she ran forth,
The soft coverings of her naked calves she raised
And the following she sadly spake -- her final laments, 130
Pathetic sobs from her wet lips up-raised:
132"So in this way, me, taken from my fathers' altars -- thou traitor!
Traitor again! on this deserted shore hast thou abandoned, Theseus?
So in this way, taking leave after the will of the gods forgotten,
Unmindful, ah! homeward dost thou the curse of broken oaths carry? 135
Was nothing able to bend thine unfeeling mind's
Plan? In thyself was there no mercy for me at hand,
That thy ruthless heart might wish to grow sorry for me?
But no, not are these the pledges thou once gave with seductive
Voice to me; not for this to hope were thou bidding me, a wretch! 140
Not for this! But for a happy marriage and wished-for marriage hymns!
All of these, now un-ceremonied, the heavens' winds do rend.
Henceforth, let no woman in an oathing man have any trust,
Let no woman hope a man's words are faithful.
As long as for something --anything!-- he desires, his mind delights in taking, 145
Nothing at all do men fear to swear, nothing to promise do they spare,
But as soon as their greedy mind's lust fulfilled has been,
Their utterings they've n'er feared, broken oaths n'er do they care.
But I -- yes I! -- thee in a maelstrom of death tossing o'er an' again
Have I rescued; and rather a brother to lose did I choose 150
Than in thy deception at that desperate time did I fail.
For this, to be in pieces rent by beasts I shall be given, and to birds
As plunder I, nor shall I be buried, but thrown dead upon the earth.
What sort birthed thee under some lonely crag -- a lioness?
What sea, with thee conceived, from its foaming waves spit thee out? 155
What Syrtis? What snarling Scylla? What immense Charybdis?
Thou give back such rewards as these for my sweet life?
If in thy heart there had been no marriage betwixt us,
Since the cruel commands of thy stern father thou were fearing,
But even yet to thy throne thou could have led 160
A girl, I for thee in joyful toil would still serve as a slave,
Thy fair feet washing thoroughly with flowing waters,
Or with a reddish cloth cover I thy bed.
But no! Why should I in vain complain to deaf winds?
I am driven mad by this wickedness, for the winds by no feelings are furnished 165
And neither my shouted calls to hear are able, nor can return them!
Yet he -- far off even now!-- is tossed amidst the waves,
And no living soul is seen on this empty sea-weed covered shore.
Thus unduly me does she mock at this final hour, O cruel
Chosen Lot, who has to my complaints begrudged her ear. 170
171Jove All-Mighty, would that never at the outset
Cnossian shores the Cecropian sterns would have touched,
And never he, who to the unmastered bull offered those terrible tributes,
The traitor sailor would have to Crete bound his mooring line,
And never this wicked man, hiding within his charming beauty ruthless 175
Plots, would have in our home rested as a guest!
Whither myself shall I betake? What hope do I, utterly lost, gain?
The Idaean Mountains shall I seek? But no, because of the wide gulf
Separating me and the sea's harsh plain cuts them in twain.
180Or for a father's help should I hope? For him whom I myself abandoned, 180
And afterwards a youth spattered with my brother's gore I followed?
Or with a husband's faithful love should I comfort me, comfort myself?
Yes, he who fled, bending into the gulf his wobbling oars?
Beyond that, by no roof is this lone isle dwelled,
Nor lies open any escape from the sea's girding waves. 185
No plan for flight, no hope: all are voiceless,
All are abandoned, promise they all utter ruin.
Yet not before my eyes grow weak with death,
And not before from my wearied body have my senses surrendered,
What justice from the gods should I demand, I betrayed, 190
And for what heavenly oath should I pray at my final hour?
For this, the deed done by the man ye sentence with avenging penalty,
Ye Eumenides, down from whom serpent tresses hang
About the brows and of your panting breast's wraths they warn,
Hither! Hither! Come! My complaints, hear ye them, 195
Which I, woe to me, a wretch, offer from my deepest marrow,
I am compelled, I am undone, burning, with mad rage blind.
Since truth is born in the deepest heart,
Suffer ye not our lamentation to wane,
But with the same intent that alone Theseus did leave me, 200
With such an intent, goddesses, may he profane himself and his kind."
These words after she poured out from her sad breast,
Retribution she demanded, distressed she by these cruel deeds:
Jove nodded then, whose divinity unconquered, the gods' Ruler he,
And at his nod, the Earth and the rough sea quaked, 205
And did strike upon the quivering constellations Heaven's firmament.
The youth then, with blind fog his own mind Theseus
Sowed, in his forgotten heart he scattered all
The commands which before in his steadfast mind he kept,
And he did not the sweet signs raise for his mournful father 210
Nor unharmed did he announce himself sighting Erechtheus' harbor;
For as they say erewhile, when with a fleet the walls of Athena
The son left, he whom to the winds Aegeus entrusted,
And such these words to the youth embraced he gave:
"Son, to me more joyful than a long life, thou art my only one, 215
Son, whom I into perilous plights am forced to send,
Though thou returned to me recently at the last end of mine old age!
Since my fortune and thy burning courage
Steals thee from me unwilling, I whose drooping eyes
Not yet are full of my son's dear visage. 220
Not rejoicing with a glad heart shall thee I send,
Nor thee shall I allow to bear the markings of favored fortune,
But first many 'plaints shall I draw from my mind,
My hoary hair with earth and fallen ash befouling.
And so, dyed sails on thy roving mast shall I hang, 225
So that my lamentations and my mind's fires
This Iberian canvas, darkened with rusty black, shall announce.
But if to thee the inhabitant of holy Itonus has yielded,
She who our people and the throne of Erectheus to defend
Has agreed, that with the bull's blood splatter'st thou thy right hand, 230
Then yes, do this so that mindful be thee and stored inside thy heart
Be these instructions sleepless, nor any age efface!
So that as soon as upon our hills gaze thine eyes, bright lights,
This burial shroud from the mast set aside utterly,
And shining white sails let the twisted rigging raise! 235
As soon as I discern this with a glad mind, happiness
Shall I know again since thee, when returned, a pros'prous age appears!"
These instructions 'erewhile in his steadfast mind did
Theseus hold, but just as when by the winds' gust blasted are the clouds
And leave the airy head of a snowy mountain, him they likewise forsook. 240
But his father, when from the height of the citadel a sight he sought,
His anxious eyes in constant weeping he wasted away:
No sooner than when the dyed sail's linen he caught sight,
Headfirst himself from the rock's outcropping he threw.
Lost -- so he believed -- Theseus to unpliable Fate. 245
And so under his home's roof, made mournful by his father's
Death, fierce Theseus, just as to Minos' daughter lamentation
He had borne with mind unmindful, just so did he himself take back.
Ah, then Ariadne, gazing forth, grief-stricken at the withdrawing hull,
Manifold were in her heart the cares the wounded girl was turning. 250
251But from another part, in the bloom of youth was Iacchus flying about
With his orgiastic dance of Satyrs and Nysa-born Sileni,
Thee he was seeking, Ariadne, and with thy love did burn.
...Then appeared his women, darting at random with frenzied mind, all the while raging,
"Euhoe!" Bacchantes cry: "Euhoe!" as their heads kept rolling and dropping. 255
Of these, some were shaking, with pointed tip covered, their thyrsoi;
Some the mangled limbs of a bollock were throwing;
Some themselves with twisted snakes were girding;
Some shadowy Mysteries were honoring, enclosed in sacred caskets,
Mysteries, of which vainly to hear desire the uninitiated; 260
Others kept clanging with upraised hands their drums;
And others with burnished bronze cymbals feeble tinning sounds kept making.
Many hoarse-sounding blasts the horns kept bursting,
And the barbarous shinbone flute kept whistling in dreadful song.
With these such figures splendidly was that mantle ornamented 265
And the goddess' couch it embraced and was covering it with its own folds.
When this couch the Thessalian youths desirously in their gazing
Had their fill, to the holy gods they began to give way.
And now, by an early morning's breeze, the once calm sea
Zephyrus is making tremble and the sloping waves he stirs up; 270
And as up Aurora thither rises to the roving Sun's threshold,
Then the waves just soon after by a soothing gust were struck,
And they wash forth and lightly echo with the sound of laughter,
And, after strengthens the wind, more and more do they themselves grow,
In the red-hued light while swimming far off do they gleam. 275
And then now, from the forecourt of the kingshome a-leaving,
To their own homes each by wand'ring foot was departing.
After their departure, foremost from Pelion's height
Arrived Chiron bearing woodland gifts: for
These were whatever the fields do produce, whatever fruit in the great 280
Mountains Thessaly's shores do bear, what flowers beside the river's ripples
The fertile draught of gentle Favonius does beget.
These flowers as garlands unsevered, he himself bore,
The festive home laughed with a joyous scent.
Forthwith arrives Penios, he the green-giving Tempe, 285
Tempe, which the woods gird above over-hanging,
287Did he leave the Naiades to fill with Doric dances.
Not empty-handed came he! For he bore --root and all-- the tall
Beech trees; and also--from the straight stalk-- the lofty laurel;
But not without the wavering plane-tree, and also the supple sister 290
Of enflamed Phaethon, and and sky-sought cypress.
These widely around the kings-seat he placed them interwoven,
So the forecourt, with soft foliage covered, might become lively green.
After him follows he of unbroken-art, Prometheus,
Faint scars a-bearing, traces of an old punishment, 295
Which, once to a crag he was bound, his limbs with a chain,
He has now paid fully, after hanging from fore-broken heights.
Thence, the Father of the Gods and his holy wife and children
Went heavenward; but thee alone, Phoebus, did he leave behind,
300As well as she of thy selfsame-birth, dweller of the mountains of Idrus. 300
For she spurned Peleus, with thee equally thy sister did so,
Nor Thetis' bridal torches did she wish to do honor.
After the gods upon the snowy iv'ry seats bent their joints,
Abundantly with manifold feast the tables were built up;
While in the meantime, shaking their bodies with weak stirring, 305
True-told songs the Parcae began to cry out.
Their shaking bodies their robes did wrap e'rywhere,
The shining white with reddish hem their ankles girded,
While on their snow-white brows were resting rosy bands;
Their eternal task with due solemnity they were plying. 310
The left hand the distaff with soft wool covered was holding aloft,
While the right hand, leading down the threads, with up-turned
Fingers was shaping them, then with down-turned thumb twisting,
The balanced spindle with rounded flywheel she turned again and again;
And then plucking away was the tooth forever making the work even, 315
The woolen bites to dry lips were clinging,
Which before on the light thread had stood out.
Moreover, before their feet the soft shearings of bright wool
The twig-woven baskets were holding safe.
Then they with clear-sounding voice striking the shearings, 320
Such utterances with godly song did they pour forth,
A song, which of fault no age hereafter shall accuse:
"O pride epitome'd, with great honors growing,
Emathia's guardian thou, to Ops' son thou are most dear;
Take unto thee what these Sisters lay open with glad light , 325
This -- a true-spoken utt'rance. But ye, who the Fates follow,
Run on, ye a-leading wefts! Run on, ye spindles!
"Come he will for thee soon, bringing wished-for gifts for the wedded,
Hesperus. Come she will with well-fortune'd star, his wife,
Who over thy reason with soul-bending love deeply pours. 330
And soothed sleeps prepareth she with thee to join,
While her light arms lay she under his strong neck.
Run on, ye a-leading wefts! Run on, ye spindles!
"No house ever such loves has woven strong,
No love has with such a compact joined lovers, 335
As much as for Thetis as it is in the heart of Peleus.
Run on, ye a-leading wefts! Run on, ye spindles!
"There shall be born to ye he who is apart from fear - Achilles,
To his enemies scarcely shall be by his back, but by his strong breast known.
He shall very often be conqueror in the wide-racing contest of chariot, 340
And the fire-y footfalls of the fly-quick hind he shall outfare.
Run on, ye a-leading wefts! Run on, ye spindles!
"Not in yon war will any hero bear himself better,
When Phrygia with Teucrian blood shall run,
And besieging the Trojan walls in long-running war, 345
The third heir of oath-breaking Pelops shall lay it waste.
Run on, ye a-leading wefts! Run on, ye spindles!
"Yon son's outstanding courage and famous deeds
Often at their own sons' death-rites will mothers tell,
When uncombed hair from their aged foreheads they will untie, 350
And their withered breasts with weak hands will beat black and blue.
Run on, ye a-leading wefts! Run on, ye spindles!
"For just as the dense ears of grain the husbandman too early shears,
Under the burning sun he reapeth the tawny fields,
The bodies of Troy-born he shall lay strewn with deadly iron. 355
Run on, ye a-leading wefts! Run on, ye spindles!
"A witness there shall be to his great honors, the wave of Scamander,
Which thoroughly into the quick Hellespont is poured out,
Whose course with clustered corpses of the slain closing up,
And he will make warm the deep rivers with stirred-up slaughter. 360
Run on, ye a-leading wefts! Run on, ye spindles!
Finally, a witness there shall be at his death -- his restored plunder.
When the rounded barrow, heaped with a heaven-grasping mound,
Shall receive the snow-white limbs of the slaughtered maid.
Run on, ye a-leading wefts! Run on, ye spindles! 365
For as soon as to the wearied Achaeans Chance will give an opening,
To undo the Dardanian city's Neptunian engirdments,
Yon high tomb will be made wet with Polyxena's slaying;
Just as a victim under the double-headed iron falling,
The girl shall forward throw her headless body on buckled knees. 370
Run on, ye a-leading wefts! Run on, ye spindles!
Come now! The wished-for loves of your hearts -- join them!
Let the groom accept with happy compact his goddess,
Let be given up -- now, forthwith! -- the bride to her desirous husband!
Run on, ye a-leading wefts! Run on, ye spindles! 375
Not her again will the nursemaid look upon in the rising light,
And in yesterday's riband able her neck to encircle,
And the worrisome mother of a unharmonious girl, sad
In her lone-lying, shall not put away hoping for dear grandchildren.
Run on, ye a-leading wefts! Run on, ye spindles!" 380
Once uttering such fortunate things of Peleus,
Songs from a divine breast sang the Parcae.
For beforehand in bodily presence to visit the pious homes
Of heroes. and themselves in mortal gathering to show --
But no longer do Heaven-dwellers do so, due to devotion spurned. 385
Often the Father of gods in a gleaming temple revisiting,
When the yearly rites had come on feasting days,
He spied on the land a hundred bulls laid forth.
Often wide-roaming Liber on Parnassus' highest height
The Thyiades with disheveled hair crying "Euhoe!" he drove on, 390
When the Delphians eagerly from the whole city rushing,
Might in happiness take into themselves their god from the smoking altars.
Often in death-bearing contest of war Mars
Or the Lady of swift Triton or the Rhamnusian Maid,
Armed crowds of men their very presence urged on. 395
But afterwards the land with wickedness was infected by blasphemy
And all put justice from their greedy minds to flight:
Brother befouled his hands with brother's blood;
Ceaseth the son his fallen forebearers to mourn;
Wisheth the father for the death-rites of his firstborn son, 400
And be free so that an un-wedded girl--now stepmother's-- flower he might take;
An impious mother spreading herself under her unknowing son,
Impious, she did not fear the godlike idols to befoul.
All things righteous and blasphemous in wicked madness mixed,
And from us turned the just-dealing mind of the gods. 405
For this reason, such companies they deign not to visit,
Nor allow themselves to be touched in the open daylight.
CATULLI CARMINA - The Poems of Catullus
1. The epyllion begins in grand style with an elegant five word line ("Peliaco quondam prognatae vertice pinus") and alludes to the opening lines of several works, such as Euripides' Medeia:
Τροφός
Εἴθ᾽ ὤφελ᾽ Ἀργοῦς μὴ διαπτάσθαι σκάφος
Nurse:
"Would that the Argo's hull never would have winged
Κόλχων ἐς αἶαν κυανέας Συμπληγάδας,
To the Kolchians' land and the dark-rocked Symplegades,
μηδ᾽ ἐν νάπαισι Πηλίου πεσεῖν ποτε
Nor in the vale of Pelion would ever have fallen
τμηθεῖσα πεύκη, μηδ᾽ ἐρετμῶσαι χέρας
5 The hewn pine, n'er would have furnished oars for the hands
ἀνδρῶν ἀριστέων οἳ τὸ πάγχρυσον δέρος
Of men, of heroes, who for the All-Gilded Fleece,
Πελίᾳ μετῆλθον.[...]
Because of Pelias they came [...]."
-Euripides Medeia 1-6. Interlinear trans. is my own.
_______________________________________________
And also Apollonios Rhodikos' Argonautika:
ἀρχόμενος σέο, Φοῖβε, παλαιγενέων κλέα φωτῶν
"Beginning with thee, Phoibos, the fame of old-born luminaries
μνήσομαι, οἳ Πόντοιο κατὰ στόμα καὶ διὰ πέτρας
Recall to mind, those who along the Sea's mouth and through
Κυανέας βασιλῆος ἐφημοσύνῃ Πελίαο
The Dark Rocks at King Pelias's behest
χρύσειον μετὰ κῶας ἐύζυγον ἤλασαν Ἀργώ.
After the Golden Fleece they drove on the well-benched Argo."
-Apollonios Rhodikos, Argonautika A. 1-4. Interlinear trans. is my own.
_______________________________________________
And any reader of Homer (i.e. most literate people in the ancient world) would be subtly drawn to recall his opening Iliadic line because the reference to Peleus (Mt. Pelion is named after him) and thence to son, Akhilleus:
μῆνιν ἄειδε θεὰ Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος [...]
"Wrath! sing, O goddess, of the wrath of Peleus' son, Akhilleus,"
-Homer, Iliad A.1. Interlinear trans. is my own.
Catullus begins his epyllion with a geographic reference (which the Kallimikean Alexandrians loved, and the more obscure, the better) and quickly launches into an extra-Hellenic quest of the first ship, the Argô, and her sailors (the Argonauts) under the leadership of the pre-Trojan-War-Cycle-hero Jasôn to steal the Golden Fleece from King Æëtes of Colchis.
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| Tim Severin's plans for his full-size Argô reconstruction - it is smaller than the design described by the poet Apollonios Rhodikos. |
The Argonauts' route (the first half, anyway) was as follows:
3 "Phasidan" - The Phasis is a river in ancient Colchis (Kolkhis) a Georgian kingdom on the coast of the Black Sea (Grk: Euxeinos Pontos). Colchis was where the Golden Fleece resided (it hung in an ancient grove) until it was stolen by the Argonauts who sailed from Thessaly to the Eastern coast of the Black Sea.
4. "Argive" - i.e. Greek. Catullus does not mean to say that these heroes are actually from the city of Argos, but he uses Argive, like the epicists before him, as metonymy for Greece. ↩
8. "Their goddess" - Minerva (Grk: Athêna). The citadels on the heights of cities is a reference to Athens and her famous akropolis, the patroness of which was Athêna. Decidedly more craft-oriented than her Grecian counterpart, the Roman Minerva is the goddess who helps the Greeks build the infamous horse to bring an end to the Trojan War (Vergil, Aeneid II). ↩
11. "Amphitritê"- the goddess Ἀμφιτρίτη was originally the wife of Poseidôn, but mythological evolution demoted her to the god's consort and later a poeticism for "the sea". Here, she as the sea is depicted as virginal ("untried"), never before having been cut by the beak of a ship. The Argô, being the first vessel to sail her waters, initiates this "coming of age" ceremony, which I have akinned to a baptism. ↩
15. "Nêreïds" - "the Daughters of Νηρεύς", the Old-Man-in-the-Sea of the Aegean. Nêreüs, a pre-Olympic deity, was the eldest offspring of Pontos ("Sea") and Gaia ("Earth") and fathered fifty daughters with his wife, Doris.
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| Nêreüs, with his fishtail, scepter, and...fish? Elongated conch shell with eyes? A small and confused dolphin? |
The Nêreïds were saltwater nymphs, rather like mermaids. Here, they gaze in wonder at the ship, the Argô, for they've never seen anything like it - literally, as the Argô is the first ship! Thetis, the wife of Peleüs and mother of Akhilleus, was chiefly known among the fifty daughters.↩
19. "Thetis" - the original myth of Peleüs courting Thetis is not much of a courtship at all, in keeping with the ancient tradition of bride-napping. Thetis, wanting nothing to do with marriage, was amorously pursued by Zeus and Poseidon, until Prometheüs prophesized that her offspring would grow to be greater than his father. Instantly becoming suddenly undesirable, she was betrothed by Zeus to the mortal hero, Peleüs. The young Peleüs was instructed by Nêreüs on how to capture his daughter, who refused to consent to a mortal match: the hero would find her sunning on the shore and, as she slept, he was to set upon her and chain her. Given her parentage, the sea-nymph had the power of proteän transformation, and shifted shape from flame to lionness, from seal to sand in her vain attempt to escape the bonds placed on her. She was finally overcome and became Peleüs' wife, albeit unwillingly.
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| Thetis transforms into a lion to escape Peleüs, red Attic kylix by Douris, c. 490 B.C. |
In the original myth, the marriage feast is described as a joyous and momentous occasion, in which mortals and immortals alike were in attendance - absences were notable: Apollo and Artemis (Lat: Diana) were absent in some mythological accounts, due to Apollo being responsible for Akhilleus' death (cf. #300); and Eris, Discord, who threw a golden apple into the marriage feast and began the events which led to the Trojan War. After the birth of Akhilleus, Thetis sought to make her semi-mortal son immortal - one of the prescribed ways to accomplish this was to put the infant in flames (cf. Demeter and Demophoon). When Peleus discovered her doing this, he was enraged at her witchery and cast her out. Nereid that she was, she merely returned to the sea, never forgiving Peleus for interrupting her attempt to save her son from future death. The best she could do was return in secret one night to the infant's cradle, steal Akhilleus off to the Lower World, and dip him in the Styx; this act fortified and hardened his flesh against wounds (cf. Norse: Sigurd), but the heel where Thetis held him was untouched by the Waters of Hate and was thus his only vulnerable spot. Catullus will
↩
27. "yielded his own affections" - Zeus once pursued Thetis, but ceased his interest when it was foretold that her offspring would surpass his father. ↩
29. "Tethys [and] Oceänus"- Tethys, a Titaness, the mother of Doris, was the wife of Nêreüs, and therefore the grandmother of Thetis.
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| Reconstruction of a "world" map offered by Hekataios of Miletos (c. 550 BC – c. 476 B.C.) - note the outer Oceänus, believed to be like an ever-flowing river. |
52-264. For a sea-centered people, one can imagine that being abandoned on an island would easily be one of their greatest fears: thus is the story of Ariadne, the daughter of Minos. Entranced by Theseus when the hero arrived from Athens (with a little help from Eros [cf. Aeneid I, Dido falls in love with Aeneas]), she betrayed her father and kinsmen -- a most serious taboo in patriarchal societies -- by aiding her father's enemy. In order to solve the Minoan labyrinth of Daidalos, she gave Theseus a clew, a literal ball of string (cf. Eng. "clue"), and then she made him swear that he would take her back with him to Athens as his wife; for in no way could she stay with her father once she had betrayed him, and in no way would she survive as a foreign girl in Athens without being joined to him in marriage. The youth agreed and the next day was thrown into the labyrinth to slake the hunger of the monster within: the Minotaur, "the Bull of Minos", the horrifying offspring of his wife and the bull of Poseidon. Once Theseus explored the depths of the maze, he slew the Minotaur (in one account by goring it on one of its own wrenched-off horns) and then escaped the labyrinth by rewinding the ball of string back to the exit. Triumphant, in stealth he made good on his promise to whisk Ariadne away and then escaped the island via ship. However, stopping on the island of Naxos (Dia in Catullus), Theseus left his young bride-to-be and sailed on to Athens, still a bachelor. She was found by the god Dionysos and made her wife. Rescued and taken to Greece, she was later killed by Perseus in some versions and then made a goddess by Dionysos.
She seems to have been originally a Minoan goddess or perhaps something of a weaving deity (cf. Arachne), given that her iconography centers around the clew she gives Theseus; additionally, some alternate myths have her hanging herself under a tree, which again recalls a winding/unwinding theme.
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| Ariadne, Waterhouse 1898 |
| XIX. |
The lover false, who, hatching treason lies, Stole from his bed in silence, when he knew She slept: his clothes he in a bundle ties, Nor other raiment on his body threw. Then issuing forth from the pavilion hies, As if on new-born wings, towards his crew; Who, roused, unmoor without a cry, as he Commands, and loosen thence and put to sea. |
| XX. |
Behind the land was left; and there to pine Olympia, who yet slept the woods among; Till from her gilded wheels the frosty rhine Aurora upon earth beneath had flung; And the old woe, beside the tumbling brine, Lamenting, halcyons mournful descant sung; When she, ’twixt sleep and waking, made a strain To reach her loved Bireno, but in vain. |
| XXI. |
She no one found: the dame her arm withdrew; She tried again, yet no one found; she spread Both arms, now here, now there, and sought anew; Now either leg; but yet no better sped. Fear banished sleep; she oped her eyes: in view Was nothing: she no more her widowed bed Would keep, but from the couch in fury sprung, And headlong forth from the pavilion flung. |
| XXII. |
And seaward ran, her visage tearing sore, Presaging, and now certain of her plight: She beat her bosom, and her tresses tore, And looked (the moon was shining) if she might Discover any thing beside the shore; Nor, save the shore, was any thing in sight. She calls Bireno, and the caverns round, Pitying her grief, Bireno’s name rebound. |
| XXIII. |
On the far shore there rose a rock; below Scooped by the breaker’s beating frequently: The cliff was hollowed underneath, in show Of arch, and overhung the foaming sea. Olympia (MIND such vigour did bestow) Sprang up the frowning crest impetuously, And, at a distance, stretched by favouring gale, Thence saw her cruel lord’s departing sail. |
| XXIV. |
Saw it, or seemed to see: for ill her eyes, Things through the air, yet dim and hazy, view. She falls, all-trembling, on the ground, and lies With face than snow more cold and white in hue: But when she has again found strength to rise, Guiding her voice towards the bark which flew, Calling with all her might, the unhappy dame Calls often on her cruel consort’s name. |
| XXV. |
Where unavailing was the feeble note, She wept and clapt her hands in agony. “Without its freight,” she cried, “thy ship does float. —Where, cruel, dost thou fly so swiftly?—Me Receive as well:—small hinderance to thy boat, Which bears my spirit, would my body be.” And she her raiment waving in her hand, Signed to the frigate to return to land. -Ariosto, Orlando Furioso, Canto 10. trans. by William Stewart Rose |
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| Doré, Olympia |
Some of Ariadne's speech in Catullus makes its way into Ariosto's Olympia's mouth as well:
XXVII. Stretched on the bed, upon her face she lay,
Bathing it with her tears. “Last night in thee
Together two found shelter,” did she say;
“Alas! why two together are not we
At rising? False Bireno! cursed day
That I was born! What here remains to me
To do? What can be done?—Alone, betrayed—
Who will console me, who afford me aid?
-ibid.
Most amusingly is that when it comes time to translate the sentiments and style of the following Catullus passage to his Italian epic, Ariosto does not give this complaint to his own Olympia:
"Henceforth, let no woman in an oathing man have any trust,
Let no woman hope a man's words are faithful.
As long as for something --anything!-- he desires, his mind delights in taking, 145
Nothing at all do men fear to swear, nothing to promise do they spare,
But as soon as their greedy mind's lust fulfilled has been,
Their utterings they've n'er feared, broken oaths n'er do they care."
-Catullus LXIV. 143-148. Trans. is my own.Instead, he puts this oath and warning in his own mouth -- Ariosto! The poet! -- as advice for ladies to stay clear of young men and trust only older men (like himself):
I. OF all the loves, of all fidelity
Yet proved, of all the constant hearts and true,
Of all the lovers, in felicity
Or sorrow faithful found, a famous crew,
To Olympia I would give the first degree
Rather than second: if this be not due,
I well may say that hers no tale is told
Of truer love, in present times or old.
[...]
V. And when you shall have heard the impiety,
Which of such passing goodness was the meed,
Woman take warning from this perfidy,
And let none make a lover’s word her creed.
Mindless that God does all things hear and see,
The lover, eager his desires to speed,
Heaps promises and vows, aye prompt to swear,
Which afterwards all winds disperse in air.
VI. The promises and empty vows dispersed
In air, by winds all dissipated go,
After these lovers have the greedy thirst
Appeased, with which their fevered palates glow.
In this example which I offer, versed,
Their prayers and tears to credit be more slow.
Cheaply, dear ladies mine, is wisdom bought
By those who wit at other’s cost are taught.
VII. Of those in the first flower of youth beware,
Whose visage is so soft and smooth to sight:
For past, as soon as bred, their fancies are;
Like a straw fire their every appetite.
So the keen hunter follows up the hare
In heat and cold, on shore, or mountain-height;
Nor, when ’tis taken, more esteems the prize;
And only hurries after that which flies.
VIII. Such is the practise of these striplings who,
What time you treat them with austerity,
Love and revere you, and such homage do,
As those who pay their service faithfully;
But vaunt no sooner victory, than you
From mistresses shall servants grieve to be;
And mourn to see the fickle love they owed,
From you diverted, and elsewhere bestowed.
IX. I not for this (for that were wrong) opine
That you should cease to love; for you, without
A lover, like uncultivated vine,
Would be, that has no prop to wind about.
But the first down I pray you to decline,
To fly the volatile, inconstant rout;
To make your choice the riper fruits among,
Nor yet to gather what too long has hung.
-Ariosto, Orlando Furioso, Canto 10. trans. by William Stewart Rose
Whoa, dude. Whoa.
The words being carried off by the winds is an image found in both Ariosto and Catullus ("All of these, now un-ceremonied, the heavens' winds do rend." Cat. LXIV.142) and emphasizes the loneliness and hopelessness of the poor girl's plight. Here also can be found the sentiment about the fickleness of men and their affections (above, 145-148). The sentiment is also found in Vergil:
Audiit et voti Phoebus succedere partem
So he heard, and part of the prayer Phoebus had in mind
mente dedit, partem volucris dispersit in auras: 795
To grant -- the other part he scattered to the swift winds.
-Vergil, Aeneid XI. 794-795. Trans is my own.
My officemate has pointed out that Ariosto's Olympia story retains the narrative thread of LXIV (a story of love, romance, and matrimony is interrupted by an extended ekphrasis, which tells a story of infidelity and abandonment on an island), but Ariosto doesn't utilize this "tale-within-a-tale" structure - instead, he offers a straight-line narrative in which the same characters transition from "love and marriage" to "infidelity and abandonment" without the ekphrasis . Give Teaching Boys Badly a read.
115. "Him the monster's home might confuse -- unsee-able wand'ring maze!" - Vergil imitates this line in Aeneid VI.27 - "hic labor ille domus et inextricabilis error" ("Here is yon toil, his [the Minotaur's] home and insoluble wand'ring maze"). By changing "inobservabilis error" to "inextricabilis error" The Poet hyperbolizes the maze's twists and turns from the mere Catullan "unsee-able" to the Vergilian "unsoluble".↩
119. The Latin here is corrupted, with the final few words being a matter of debate. By my count, four emendations have been found/proposed:
I. quae misera in gnata deperdita laeta"
II. quae misera in gnata deperdita leta"
III. quae misera in gnata deperdita laetabatur"
IV. quae misera in gnata deperdita lamentata est"
I remain puzzled as to why two of these options haven't been long ago laid to rest, as I and II don't even scan properly; ergo, they cannot work here. Once again, some very intelligent scholars with some very impressive letters before and after their names (Dr. and PhD. among them) forget the first rule of emending a work of poetry: if your fix doesn't scan, it ain't right - ever.
Either way, I have chosen option IV as the most probably reading, as "lamenting" works better than "rejoicing" in this instance.↩
132. Catullus puts a good portion of Medeia's laments and complaints from the Euripides tragedy into Ariadne's mouth. This in understandable, as the two women have similar stories: both are non-Greek princesses, both fall in love with a dashing Greek hero who comes as a stranger to her father's house, both aid this hero in the murder of her brother, both leave their homeland with his hero and end up being abandoned by him.↩
180 "Jove All-Mighty, would that never at the outset
Cnossian shores the Cecropian sterns would have touched,
And never he, who to the unmastered bull offered those terrible tributes,
The traitor sailor would have to Crete bound his mooring line,
And never this wicked man, hiding within his charming beauty ruthless
Plots, would have in our home rested as a guest!
Whither myself shall I betake? What hope do I, utterly lost, gain?
The Idaean Mountains shall I seek? But no, because of the wide gulf
Separating me and the sea's harsh plain cuts them in twain.
Or for a father's help should I hope? For him whom I myself abandoned,
And afterwards a youth spattered with my brother's gore I followed?
Or with a husband's faithful love should I comfort me, comfort myself?
Yes, he who fled, bending into the gulf his wobbling oars?
Beyond that, by no roof is this lone isle dwelled,
Nor lies open any escape from the sea's girding waves.
No plan for flight, no hope: all are voiceless,
All are abandoned, promise they all utter ruin."
-Catullus LXIV. 180-196. Trans. is my own.
Cf.
Μήδεια
νῦν ποῖ τράπωμαι; πότερα πρὸς πατρὸς δόμους,
Medeia
Now, whither shall I turn? Or to my father's house,
οὓς σοὶ προδοῦσα καὶ πάτραν ἀφικόμην;
Which it and my homeland I betrayed for thee when I came here?
ἢ πρὸς ταλαίνας Πελιάδας; καλῶς γ᾽ ἂν οὖν
Or thither to the sad daughters of Pelias? Oh yes, so well indeed
δέξαιντό μ᾽ οἴκοις ὧν πατέρα κατέκτανον.
Should they receive me in their home -- where their father I murdered!
ἔχει γὰρ οὕτω: τοῖς μὲν οἴκοθεν φίλοις
For things are thus: to mine own kin at home,
ἐχθρὰ καθέστηχ᾽, οὓς δέ μ᾽ οὐκ ἐχρῆν κακῶς
Hateful I am to them, those to whom I should n'er harm
δρᾶν, σοὶ χάριν φέρουσα πολεμίους ἔχω.
Have done -- when to thee aid I bore, enemies I made of them.
τοιγάρ με πολλαῖς μακαρίαν Ἑλληνίδων
Oh doubtless to many of Hellas' women me "blessed"
ἔθηκας ἀντὶ τῶνδε: θαυμαστὸν δέ σε
Thou hast made: a wond'rous husband in thee
ἔχω πόσιν καὶ πιστὸν ἡ τάλαιν᾽ ἐγώ,
I have, and trustworthy as well - oh wretched me!
εἰ φεύξομαί γε γαῖαν ἐκβεβλημένη,
If I shall fly (ha! in vain!), upon the Earth be thrown,
φίλων ἔρημος, σὺν τέκνοις μόνη μόνοις:
Of my friends bereft, with my children only I shall be alone;
καλόν γ᾽ ὄνειδος τῷ νεωστὶ νυμφίῳ,
Oh, of course well is this reproach upon thee, new-made groom,
πτωχοὺς ἀλᾶσθαι παῖδας ἥ τ᾽ ἔσωσά σε.
For beggars to wander are thy children made and I who saved thee!
ὦ Ζεῦ, τί δὴ χρυσοῦ μὲν ὃς κίβδηλος ᾖ
O, Zeus, yea, why on counterfeited gold didst thou
τεκμήρι᾽ ἀνθρώποισιν ὤπασας σαφῆ,
Sure signs for mankind's eyes make clear,
ἀνδρῶν δ᾽ ὅτῳ χρὴ τὸν κακὸν διειδέναι
Yet in the case of men themselves - their wickedness to discern
οὐδεὶς χαρακτὴρ ἐμπέφυκε σώματι;"
Not a true mark - like on a coin! - has stamped onto his body?"
-Euripides, Medeia 502-519. Interlinear translation is my own.↩
251. After Theseus abandons Ariadne, she is famously rescued and wedded by Dionysos (here called Iacchus), who enters with his troupe of Sileni.
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| Dionysos, 2nd Century A.D. Roman copy of Greek original |
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| Silenus Mask. The Athenian aristocratic pretty-boy Alkibiades described Sokrates looking similar to a statue of Silenus. |
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| Silenus Being Taken to His Ass, Roman Mosaic, North Africa |
Nysa - Nysa was a mythological place identified variously with Arabia, India, Ethiopia, or Libya, i.e. far away, usually Eastward. It was depicted as a remote, wild place where the Hyades (the Rain Nymphs) and Silenus raised the infant Dionysos, the "Zeus of Nysa". Vergil, (as usual) is almost certainly recalling Catullus when he describes Dionysos/Liber:
nec qui pampineis victor iuga flectit habenis
Nor the victor who in ivy-bound reins bends his yoked team
Liber, agens celso Nysae de vertice tigris. 805
Liber, driving from the lofty heights of Nysa his tigers.
-Vergil, Aeneid VI.804-805. Trans is my own.
↩
287. Another corrupted line, another series of bizarre emendation proposals.
The Latin appears in most texts as "Minosim linquentes doris celebranda choreis" with a cautionary note that "Minosim" and "doris" have not been adequately explained. However, after making a few adjustments, I think we can arrive at a much cleaner line.
- "Minosim" - one text I found offered the emendation "Naiasin", with the explanation that Catullus is using a Greek poetic form for the Dative plural of Naiades -on f. pl. - "the Water-Nymphs", Naiads. The letter M and N are constantly confused in manuscripts either by the author or the lector; the first "i" in "Minosim" becoming Naiasin's "i" doesn't seem too egregiously tricky given that manuscriptors inconsistently applied shorthand for ligatures which were often more-or-less uncodified. A symbol for "ai" might be written in such a way that would be unfamiliar to another writer, who copied the text and mistook the unknown symbol for an "i" - this sort of thing happens all the time, even today (check out a middle-schooler's classroom notes - compare the child's letters in the notes with the teacher's notes on the board: the mistakes are often freakish and instant highlight all the mind-blowingly possible ways a copying hand can alter a single line of text). To illustrate this, here are two examples of the same line (LXIV, 287), but written by two different authors from two different manuscript traditions:
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| O (top) and G (bottom) Mss. |
The Dative plural is necessary here to act as an agent to the passive periphrastic "celebranda" - the Nymphs of
Mount Tempe are left behind at the mountain (the mountain being the object of linquentes) and are obligated to
fill up Tempe with...wait, with what? Let's continue:
- "doris" - What the hell, Catullan Scholarship? Capitalize the "d" (for the Romans, as we know, did not regularly distinguish between an ordered majuscule vs. minuscule set of writing. Any alterations between capital/lowercase letters were made by the editor of the text, not by Catullus. Tread at your own risk when reading any text - editors oft err.). Now it's "Doris", a perfectly acceptable pluralized adjectival form of the name Dorus (cf. Gallus -i m. [a noun] "Gaul, a Gaul, a Gaulish person" and Gallus - a -um [an adjective] - "Gallic, belong to a Gaul"), the founder of the Dorian branch of the Greeks (i.e. Western Greeks, the Peloponnese). The Doric Spartans were well-known for their dancing and also for the importance they placed on dancing, an importance which was a integral to performing their strictly observed religious festivals and rituals. So much so was the Doric mode of dancing well-regarded that Athenian dramatist composed their highly-musicalized tragedies in Doric modes, emphasizing the severe and the stern. Over time, the chorus (a choreographer, a "dance-writer" led the chorus "the dance") lost their original dancing aspect and kept only their operatically-sung laments and deliberations, a hallmark of Classical Athenian tragedy.
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| Hekate |
300. "As well as she of thy selfsame-birth, dweller of the mountains of Idrus." - Artemis (Lat: Diana), the twin sister of Apollo, both children of Leto (Lat: Latona), a Titaness who caught the attentions of Zeus. Here, Catullus is repeating a tradition of mythology which has Apollo barred from the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, due to him being the god primarily responsible for the death of Akhilleus (the knowledge of the deed is foreknown to all). In true twinly fashion, Artemis joins her brother apart from the nuptial feast.
Notably here, Artemis is more strongly identified with the goddess Hekate than usual: though Catullus doesn't specifically name Artemis in this passage, he refers to her as unigenam "once-born, only-begotten", a common epithet of Hekate, though curiously inapplicable to Artemis with this reading: she can't be "only-begotten" if her twin brother is mentioned in the preceding and succeeding lines. (I've tried to restrict the translation to "same-born, same-begotten" in order to appease both the etymology of the word itself and in keeping with narrative coherence.). She is further called the cultricem montibus Idri - "the dweller of the mountains of Idrus". A nicely obscure line, Idrus is not known with certainty, but it is commonly identified with Idrias in Caria, southern Phrygia (Turkey), a region oft associated with the worship of Hekate.↩
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