Part 3

It is Glottis whom I prefer; but I cannot reject Kyse. What would become of her, all alone? Shall I leave them as they were, and take for myself another friend?

L

THE MEETING

I have found her like a treasure, in a field, under a bush of myrtle, enveloped from throat to feet in a yellow peplos broidered with blue.

“I have no friend,” she said; “for the nearest city is forty stadia from here. I live alone with my mother who is a widow and always sad. If thou wishest, I will follow thee.

“I will follow thee to thy house, were it at the other side of the island, and I will live with thee until thou sendest me away. Thy hand is soft and thine eyes are blue.

“Let us go. I carry nothing with me but this little naked Astarte which hangs from my necklace. We will put it near thine and we will give them roses in recompense for each night.”

LI

THE LITTLE TERRA COTTA ASTARTE

The little guardian Astarte which protects Mnasidika was modeled at Camiros by a skilful potter. It is large as a thumb and of fine yellow earth.

Its hair falls back and curls upon its narrow shoulders. Its eyes are cut very long and its mouth is very small. For it is the Most-Beautiful.

With its right hand it points to its delta which is worked with little holes on the lower belly and along the groins. For it is the Most-Amorous-One.

With the left arm it supports its heavy, round breasts. Between its wide hips protrudes a fecund belly. For it is the Mother-Of-All-Things.

LII

DESIRE

She entered and passionately, her eyes half closed, she united her lips with mine and our tongues touched each other.... Never was there in my life a kiss like that one.

She stood against me, all love and contentment. One of my knees, little by little, mounted between her hot thighs which gave way as though for a lover.

My hand wandered over her tunic seeking to divine the hidden body which, by turns, undulated, yielding itself, or, arching, stiffened itself with shiverings of the skin.

With her eyes in delirium, she pointed toward the bed; but we had not the right to love before the ceremony of wedding, and we separated brusquely.

LIII

THE WEDDING

In the morning they had the wedding-feast in the house of Acalanthis whom she had adopted for a mother. Mnasidika wore the white veil and I the male tunic.

Then, amidst twenty women, she put on her robes of festival. Perfumed with Bakkaris, sifted with powder of gold, her cool and animated skin attracted furtive hands.

In her chamber filled with foliage, she waited for me like a spouse. And I carried her away on a chariot between myself and the nymphagogue. One of her little breasts burned in my hand.

They chanted the nuptial song; the flutes played also. I carried Mnasidika under the shoulders and under the knees and we passed over the threshold covered with roses.

LIV

THE PAST WHICH SURVIVES

I will leave the bed as she has left it, unmade and rumpled, the covers mingled, in order that the form of her body may remain impressed beside mine.

Until tomorrow I will not go to the bath, I I will not wear any garments, I will not comb my hair, for fear lest I efface her caresses.

This morning, I will not eat, nor this evening, and upon my lips I will place neither rouge nor powder, in order that her kiss may remain.

I will leave the shutters closed and I will not open the door for fear lest the remembrance which she has left fly out upon the wind.

LV

METAMORPHOSIS

Formerly I was amorous of the beauty of young men, and the remembrance of their words kept me awake.

I remember having graven a name in the bark of a plane-tree. I remember having left a strip of my tunic in a path where someone would pass.

I remember having loved.... O Pannychis, my babe, in what hands have I left thee? how, O unfortunate one, have I abandoned thee?

Today, and forever, Mnasidika alone possesses me. What she receives as a sacrifice is the happiness of those whom I have deserted for her.

LVI

THE NAMELESS TOMB

Mnasidika took me by the hand and led me outside the gates of the city to a little uncultivated field where there was a marble stèle. And she said: “This was the lover of my mother.”

Then I felt a great shiver and still holding her hand, I leaned on her shoulder in order to read the four lines between the broken cup and the serpent:

“It is not death which has carried me away, but the Nymphs of the fountains. I rest here under the light earth with the severed hair of Xantho. Let her alone weep for me. I tell not my name.”

For a long time we remained standing, and we did not pour a libation. For how could we call an unknown soul from the throngs of Hades?

LVII

THE THREE BEAUTIES OF MNASIDIKA

So that Mnasidika may be protected by the gods, I have sacrificed to the Aphrodite-who-loves-the-smiles, two male hares and two doves.

And I have sacrificed to Ares two cocks armed for fighting, and to sinister Hecate two dogs that howled under the knife.

And it is not without reason that I have implored these three immortals, for Mnasidika carries on her countenance the reflection of their triple divinity.

Her lips are red like copper, her hair bluish like iron and her eyes black like silver.

LVIII

THE CAVE OF THE NYMPHS

Thy feet are more delicate than those of silvery Thetis. Between thy crossed arms thou unitest thy breasts, cradling them softly like the bodies of two fair doves.

Beneath thy hair thou dissemblest thy moist eyes, thy trembling mouth and the pink flowers of thine ears; but nothing stops my regard nor the warm breath of my kiss.

For, in the secret of thy body, it is thou, Mnasidika, beloved, who hidest the cave of the nymphs of which old Homer spoke, the place where the naiads weave their purple linens.

The place where glide, drop by drop, the inexhaustible springs and where the gate of the North lets men descend and the gate of the South lets immortals enter.

LIX

MNASIDIKA’S BREASTS

Carefully, with one hand, she opened her tunic and offered me her warm, sweet breasts, as one would offer to the goddess a pair of living turtle-doves.

“Love them well,” she said to me; “I love them so much! They are dear, the little babes. I busy myself with them when I am alone. I play with them; I give them pleasure.

“I douche them with milk. I powder them with flowers. My soft hair which drys them is dear to their little points. I caress them, and shiver. I enfold them in wool.

“Because I shall never have children, be their nursling, my love, and because they are so far from my mouth, give them kisses for me.”

LX

THE DOLL

I have given her a doll, a doll of wax with cheeks of roses. Its arms are attached by little pegs and its legs can be moved.

When we are together, she couches it between us, and it is our child. In the evening she cradles it and gives it the breast before putting it to sleep.

She has woven it three little tunics and we gave it jewels on the day of the Aphrodisian Festival; jewels and flowers also.

She watches over its virtue, and will not let it go out without her; not in the sun, above all, for the little doll would melt into drops of wax.

LXI

TENDERNESSES

Sweetly close thine arms, like a girdle about me. O touch, touch my skin thus! Neither water nor the breeze of noon-tide are so soft as thy hand.

Today, endear me, little sister, it is thy turn. Remember thou the tendernesses which I taught thee in the night past, and kneel thou silently near me, for I am wearied.

Thy lips descend upon my lips. All thine unbound hair follows them like a caress after a kiss. It glides over my left breast, it hides thine eyes from me.

Give me thy hand, it is hot! Press mine; hold it always. Hands better than the mouths unite, and their passion is equalled by nothing.

LXII

GAMES

More than her balls or her doll, I am for her a game. With all parts of my body, she amuses herself like a child, through the long hours, without speaking.

She loosens my hair and reforms it according to her caprice, knotting it under my chin like a thick cloth, or twisting it upon the nape of my neck, or braiding it to the end.

She regards with astonishment the color of my lashes, the folds of my neck. Sometimes she makes me kneel and place my hands upon the bed:

Then (it is one of her games) she slips her little head underneath and imitates the trembling kid which sucks from the belly of its mother.

LXIII

PENUMBRA

Under the cover of transparent wool, we slipped, she and I. Even our heads were covered, and the lamp shone through the cloth above us.

Thus I saw her dear body in a mysterious light. We were very near, one to the other, more free, more intimate, more naked. “In the same shift,” she said.

We had left our hair bound up in order to be still more uncovered, and in the close air of the bed, the odors of two women ascended, of two natural cassolets.

Nothing in the world, not even the lamp, saw us that night. Which of us was loved, she alone, and I, could say. But the men know nothing of it.

LXIV

THE SLEEPER

She sleeps in her unbound hair, her hands joined behind her neck. Does she dream? Her mouth is open; she breathes gently.

With a bit of white swan, I dry off the perspiration of her arms, the fever of her cheeks, but without awakening her. Her closed eyelids are two blue flowers.

Very softly, I will raise myself; I will go · to draw water, to milk the cow and ask fire of the neighbors. I would arrange my hair and dress before she opens her eyes.

Sleep, dwell for long between her fair, curved eyelids, and continue the happy night with a dream of good augury.

LXV

THE KISS

I will kiss, from one end to the other, the long dark wings spreading from thy neck, O sweet bird, captive dove, whose heart bounds beneath my hand.

I will take thy lips within my lips as an infant takes the breast of its mother. Shudder!... for the kiss penetrates profoundly and is sufficient to thy love.

I will move my tongue lightly along thine arms, and upon thy neck; and I will wind along thy sensitive sides the lengthening caress of my nails.

Hear, roaring in thine ears, all the rumor of the sea.... Mnasidika! thy look makes me suffer. Like thy lips, I would close thy burning eyelids with my kiss.

LXVI

JEALOUS CARE

Do not arrange thy hair, for fear lest the over-heated iron burn thy neck or thy locks. Leave it upon thy shoulders and spread over thine arms.

Do not dress thyself, for fear lest the girdle redden the slender folds of thy hips. Remain naked like a little girl.

Do not even rise, for fear lest thy fragile feet be injured in walking. Repose in the bed, O victim of Eros, and I will dress thy poor wound.

For I would not see upon thy body other marks, Mnasidika, than the blemish of an over-long kiss, the scratch of a sharp nail, or the reddening bar of my embrace.

LXVII

THE DESPAIRING EMBRACE

Love me, not with smiles, flutes, or plaited flowers, but with thy heart and thy tears, as I love thee with my breast and my lamentations.

When thy breasts alternate with my breasts, when I feel thy life touching my life, when thy knees stand up behind me, then my panting mouth knows not how more to unite with thine.

Clasp me as I clasp thee! See, the lamp has died out, we turn and twist in the night; but I press thy moving body and I hear thy perpetual plaint....

Moan! moan! moan! O woman! Eros leads us in sorrow. Thou wilt suffer less on the bed in bringing a child into the world than when giving birth to thy love.

LXVIII

THE HEART

Breathless, I take her hand and apply it forcibly to the moist skin of my left breast. And I turn my head here and there and I move my lips without speaking.

My excited heart, abrupt and hard, beats and beats in my breast as an imprisoned satyr would knock, imprisoned in a leathern bottle. She says to me: “Thy heart makes thee ill....”

“O Mnasidika,” I respond, “the heart of a woman is not there. That is only a poor bird, a dove which stirs its feeble wings. The heart of a woman is more terrible.

“Like a little myrtle berry, it burns with a red flame and under an abundant foam. It is there that I feel myself bitten by voracious Aphrodite.”

LXIX

WORDS IN THE NIGHT

We rest, our eyes closed, the silence is deep about our couch. Ineffable Nights of summer! But she, believing me asleep, lays her warm hand upon my arm.

She murmurs: “Bilitis, thou sleepest?” My heart throbs, but, without response, I respire regularly like a woman couched in dreams. Then she begins to speak:

“Because thou hearest me not,” she says, “ah! how I love thee!” And she repeats my name: “Bilitis.... Bilitis....” And she touches me with the tips of her trembling fingers.

“It is mine, this mouth! mine alone! Is there another so beautiful in the world? Ah! my happiness, my happiness! Mine are these naked arms, this neck and hair....”

LXX

ABSENCE

She has gone out, she is far away, but I see her, for all things in this chamber are full of her, all are related to her, and I, like the rest.

This bed still warm, over which I pass my mouth, is impressed with the form of her body. On this soft pillow has lain her little head enveloped in her hair.

There is the basin in which she has bathed, the comb which has penetrated the knots of her tangled hair. These slippers long for her naked feet. The pockets of gauze enclosed her breasts.

But that which I dare not touch with my finger is the mirror in which she viewed her hot bruises and in which, perhaps, still exists the reflection of her moist lips.

LXXI

LOVE

Alas! if I think of her, my throat becomes dry, my head droops, my breasts grow hard and pain me, I shiver and I weep as I walk.

If I see her, my heart stops, my hands tremble, my feet grow cold, the crimson of fire mounts to my cheeks, my temples throb grievously.

If I touch her, I become mad, my arms weaken, my knees swoon. I fall before her and lie like a woman about to die.

Always, whenever she speaks to me, I feel myself wounded. Her love is torture and the passers-by hear my plaints.... Alas! How can I call her Well-Beloved?

LXXII

PURIFICATION

Thou art there! Take off thy bandelets and thy clasps and thy tunic. Remove even thy sandals, even the ribbons of thy legs, even the band of thy breast.

Wash the black from thine eyebrows and the red from thy lips. Efface the white of thy shoulders and uncurl thy hair in the water.

For I would have thee all pure as thou wert born upon the bed at the feet of thy fecund mother and before thy proud father.

So chaste that my hand in thy hand will make thee redden even to thy lips and one word of mine in thine ear will fill, with an excess of love, thy wandering eyes.

LXXIII

THE CRADLE OF MNASIDIKA

My little child, so few years have I had only thee: I love thee, not as a lover but as though thou hadst come forth from my laboring entrails.

When, stretched upon my knees, thy two frail arms about me, thou seekest my breast, thy mouth clinging, and press my nipples softly between thy palpitating lips:

Then I dream that, at some time, I have truly nursed this delicate mouth, supple and moist, this vase of crimson myrrhine in which the happiness of Bilitis is mysteriously enclosed.

Sleep. I will cradle thee with one hand upon my knee which rocks thee. Sleep so. I will sing for thee little mournful songs which bring sleep to the newly-born.

LXXIV

A PROMENADE BY THE SEA

As we were walking on the seashore, without speaking, and enveloped to the chin in our robes of sombre wool, joyous young girls passed by.

“Ah! it is Bilitis and Mnasidika! See, the pretty little squirrel we have caught: it is soft as a bird and timid as a rabbit.

“At Lydia’s house we will put it in a cage, give it plenty of milk with lettuce leaves. It is a female, she will live a long time.”

And the mad ones set out, running. As for us, without speaking, we seated ourselves, I on a rock, she upon the sand, and we gazed at the sea.

LXXV

THE OBJECT

Greeting, Bilitis, Mnasidika, greeting.--Be seated. How is thy husband?--Too well. Do not tell him that you have seen me. He would slay me if he knew I had been here.--Have no fear.

“And this is your chamber? and this your bed? Pardon me. I am curious.--Thou knowest, however, the bed of Myrrhina.--So little.--It is said to be pretty.--And lascivious, O my dear! let us not speak of it.

“What wishest thou of me?--That thou lend me....--Speak.--I dare not name the object.--We do not have one.--Truly?--Mnasidika is a virgin.--Then, where can one buy it?--From the harness-maker, Drakon.

“Tell also, where thou buyest thy thread for embroidery? Mine breaks if one looks at it.--I make mine myself, but that which Nais sells is excellent.--At what price?--Three oboli.--It is dear. And the object?--Two drachmæ.--Farewell.”

LXXVI

EVENING NEAR THE FIRE

The winter is hard, Mnasidika. All is frozen, except our bed. But rise and come with me, for I have lit a great fire with dead twigs and broken wood.

We will warm ourselves, crouching quite naked, our hair upon our backs, and we will drink milk from the same cup and we will eat cakes with honey.

How gay and noisy the flame is! Art thou not too near? Thy skin reddens. Let me kiss it wherever the fire has burned it.

Amidst the ardent firebrands, I will heat the iron and I will dress thy hair here. With dead coals I will write thy name upon the wall.

LXXVII

SUPPLICATIONS

What dost thou wish? If it must be, I will sell my last jewels so that an attentive slave may wait upon the desire of thine eyes, and every thirst of thy lips.

If the milk of our goats seems insipid to thee, I will hire for thee, as for an infant, a nurse with swollen breasts who will suckle thee each morning.

If our bed seems rough to thee, I will buy thee all the soft cushions, all the coverlets of silk, all the cloths, soft with feathers, of the Amathusian merchants.

All. But I should suffice thee, and though we sleep upon the earth, thou shouldst find it softer than the warm bed of a stranger.

LXXVIII

THE EYES

Great eyes of Mnasidika, how happy you make me when love darkens your lids and quickens you and shadows you with tears:

But how maddened, when you turn elsewhere, distracted by a woman who passes or by a remembrance which is not mine.

Then my cheeks hollow themselves, my hands tremble and I suffer.... It seems to me from all parts, and before you, my life goes away.

Great eyes of Mnasidika, cease not to regard me! or I will stab you with my needle and then you will see only the terrible night.

LXXIX

FARDS

All, all my life, and my world, and the men, all that is not of her, is nothing. All that is not of her, I give to thee, passer-by.

Does she know the labor I have accomplished to be fair to her eyes, with my hair and with my fards, with my robes and my perfumes?

As long a time I would turn a millstone, I would wield the oar or labor in the earth, if it were a necessary price to retain her here.

But perhaps she will never know, Goddesses who watch over us. The day she learns that I love her, she will seek another woman.

LXXX

THE SILENCE OF MNASIDIKA

She had laughed all the day, and she even had mocked me a little. She had refused to obey me before many strange women.

When we returned, I affected not to speak to her, and, as she cast herself upon my neck, saying: “Thou art offended?” I said to her:

“Ah! thou art not as formerly, thou art not as on the first day. I no longer recognize thee, Mnasidika.” She did not respond to me.

But she put on all the jewels which she had not worn for a long time, and the same yellow robe, broidered with blue, as on the day of our meeting.

LXXXI

SCENE

“Where wast thou?--At the flower merchant’s. I have bought some very beautiful irises. Here they are, I have brought them to thee.--In so long a time thou hast bought four flowers?--The flower-woman detained me.

“Thy cheeks are pale and thine eyes brilliant.--It is fatigue from the walk.--Thy hair is moist and tangled.--It is the heat and the wind which almost blew down my hair.

“Someone has untied thy girdle. I made the knot myself, looser than this one.--So loose that it became undone; a slave who passed retied it for me.

“There is a spot upon thy robe.--It is water which has fallen from the flowers.--Mnasidika, my little soul, thine irises are fairer than any in all Mytilene.--That I know well, that I know well.”

LXXXII

WAITING

The sun has passed all the night among the dead while I have waited, seated upon my bed, weary from watching. The wick of the exhausted lamp has burned to the end.

She will never return: there is the last star. I know well that she will never return. I know even the name that I hate. Nevertheless, I still wait.

That she would come now! yes, that she would come, her hair disordered and without roses, her robe soiled, spotted, rumpled, her tongue dry and her eyelids black!

When she opened the door, I would say to her.... But here she is.... It is her robe that I touch, her hands, her hair, her skin! I kiss her with distracted lips, and I weep.

LXXXIII

SOLITUDE

For whom, now, shall I paint my lips? For whom shall I polish my nails? For whom shall I perfume my hair?

For whom are my breasts powdered with rouge, if they no longer tempt her? For whom are my arms laved with milk, if they may never more embrace her?

How can I sleep? How can I lay myself upon the bed? In the evening my hand, in all my bed, could not find her warm hand.