Myth of Byblis ~ English
She was pleased with her decision to write to Caunus, and this resolution triumphed over her doubtful mind. She propped herself up on her side and, leaning on her left elbow, said “Let him know that I may confess my wild affections! Oh me! Where am I slipping? What ardor does my mind fabricate?
Her right hand held the metal stylus, and the other the blank wax tablet. She began and then hesitated, wrote and then scorned the letters, scrawled and erased and altered, reproved her work and was pleased with it, and in turns she interrupted the sentence begun and continued the sentence suspended. She knew not what she wanted: everything she seemed to be about to do displeased her. In her manner was daring mixed with shame.
Though she had written “Sister”, it seemed best to erase that name and to cut these words into the revised tablet: “This wish, which she will not achieve if you will not yield, this your lover sends to you: it is shameful, oh, it is shameful to disclose her name, and if you ask of what I desire, I should wish that my plea could be defended without my name, and I should wish to not be identified as Byblis until hope of your promise of love is certain. Indeed, both my pallor and loss of weight, and my expression and often-damp eyes, should have been evidence to you of my wounded heart. And even if the clear cause of my sighs was not obvious, my frequent embraces and kisses, if perhaps you noticed, could not be perceived as sisterly.
I, however, though I had a serious wound in my heart, did everything I could (the gods are my witnesses) so that I could be, at last, more sane. For a long time I fought, unhappy, to flee the violent weapon of desire and I bore more hardships than you would think a girl could bear. Defeated, I am forced to confess and to implore, with timid pleas, your help. You alone are able to save or destroy your lover: choose which of the two you will do. It is not your enemy who begs for this, but one who is very much joined to you, and desires to be more connected and bound tighter to you as with a chain.
Let the elderly have sense, and know what is right, what is sin, what is virtue. Let them scrutinize, let them protect the balances of law. Reckless love is appropriate for those of our age: thus far in life we know not what is proper, and we think all things to be allowed, and we follow the example of the great gods. And neither a stern father, nor the integrity of a reputation, nor fear impedes us: and even if there were a cause of fear, we would hide sweet theft under brotherly name. It is my freedom to speak of secret things with you, and we may embrace and kiss publicly. What is still missing? You may pity the one confessing love, who would not be able to admit it if she were not compelled by the strongest of flames, but do not deserve to be written as the cause of my death on my tomb.”
Inscribing such things in vain, she left the wax tablet full with her handwriting, and the last line clung to the margin. Immediately she signed her sins with a signet impressed, which she moistened with tears (liquid lacked from her tongue). Then, blushing, she called one of her slaves, and having coaxed him a little, she said, “bring this, most loyal one, to” and added, after a long time, “my brother.” When she extended them, the tablets fell from her hands, slipped. She was perturbed by the omen, but sent them nonetheless. Having found the right time, the slave went and handed over the secret words.
Shaken by a sudden ire, the grandson of Meander threw down the received letters, only a part having been read. Hardly managing to hold his hand back from the terrified servant’s throat, he said, “flee while it is possible, oh accursed aid of forbidden lust, who, if your fate did not drag with it my sense of honor, would serve me the punishment of death!” He fled terrified, and when he reported Caunus’ ferocious words to his lady, you Byblis, rejected, became pale having heard them, and your body, besieged by a frozen chill, shook.
However, when consciousness returned, her passions returned as well, and her tongue, in a barely audible voice, uttered these words: “And deservedly! Why, reckless, did I even give proof of this wound? Why did I so quickly commit to hasty tablets words that were to be hidden? I should have tested his soul’s sentiment in advance with ambiguous words. I should have noticed which wind was blowing, used a different part of the sails in case these breezes were not to be followed. I should have traveled through the sea without risk, I who now fill my sails with strange winds. I am dragged onto the rocks, therefore, and, overwhelmed, I am crushed by the whole ocean, and my sails have no means of retreat.
Indeed, I was forbidden from indulging in my love by clear omens, when, with my order to bring them to Caunus, the tablets fell and made my hopes fall as well. Surely it was either that day, or the desire itself, but more so the day, that should have been different. The god himself warned me and gave a clear (clear, if I had not been insane) sign. Furthermore, I myself should have spoken, and not have committed myself to tablets, and I should have disclosed my passions in person. He would have seen the tears, he would have seen the face of a lover; I would have been able to say more than that which tablets can contain, I could have surrounded his reluctant neck with my arms. And, if refused, I could have seemed as if on the verge of death, and embraced his feet, and, prostrate, begged for life. I should have done all of these things, and if only one could not have bent his unyielding heart, all of them together certainly could have. Perhaps it was the dispatched messenger’s fault: I believe he did not approach properly, nor chose the right time, nor found Caunus in an unoccupied hour and state of mind.
All of these things were detrimental to me. Caunus is not born from a tigress, nor does he carry hard stones or strong iron or steel in his chest, nor did he drink the milk of a lioness. He will be conquered! I must claim him, and by my life I will not suffer any weariness in my attempts to do so! My first choice would be, if it were possible to revoke the done deed, to not have ever started. The second is to achieve what I have begun. For he cannot, even if I were to abandon my prayers now, help but remember my exploits for all eternity. And, if I deserted him, I will seem to have wooed facetiously or even to have never been serious about him, and I will seem to have assaulted him with a plot! Or, I shall even be believed to have been overcome surely not by love for him, he who, however, more than anyone else torments and burns my chest, but by lust. In short, it is now impossible for me to not have committed something abominable. I wrote it and I wished for it: my desire is revealed. Though I will add no more deeds to my sins, I cannot be said to be guiltless. As for what is still left unaccomplished, there is much as far as my desires are concerned, and little in wrongdoing.
So she said, and (so much was the contention of her uncertain mind) though it hurt her to have tried, it delighted her to try again. She abandoned moderation and, unlucky, she condemned herself to be rejected frequently. When there seemed to be no end to her passion, Caunus fled from his fatherland and her sin, and founded new walls in a foreign land. Miletus’ sad daughter lost control of her entire mind: she then ripped her garment from her chest and, furious, beat her arms. Now openly insane, she confessed her hope for forbidden lust, and accordingly deserted her fatherland and her hated household gods, and followed the footsteps of her exiled brother.
The young women from Bubassus saw Byblis ululating through the spacious fields, not unlike the way the bacchic Thracians moved by your thyrsus, son of Semele, celebrate your repeated triennial festival. With those lands left behind her, she wandered through Caria and the land of the armed Leleges and Lycia. Now she left behind Cragos and Lymire and the waters of Xanthus, and the ridge where the Chimaera has fire in its body, the trunk and face of a lion, and the tail of a serpent. The woods were behind you when, exhausted from having to follow, you collapsed, and, with your hair spread on the hard earth, Byblis, you lay, and you pressed your face into the fallen leaves.
The Lelegeian nymphs often tried to lift her with tender outstretched arms. Often, they instructed her on how to cure love and offered consolation to her deaf mind. Byblis lay mute, and gripped the green grasses with her fingernails, and moistened the grasses with a stream of tears. They say that the naiads substituted her tears for a spring that could never run dry. What more could they have been able to give her? Immediately, like drops of pitch from cut bark, or as sticky tar oozes from the fertile earth, or as, upon the arrival of the gently blowing West Wind, the sun melts the water that the cold freezes, thus, consumed by her tears, Phoebus’ granddaughter Byblis was turned into a spring, which even now in that valley keeps the name of its lady, and flows under a dark ilex tree.
Her right hand held the metal stylus, and the other the blank wax tablet. She began and then hesitated, wrote and then scorned the letters, scrawled and erased and altered, reproved her work and was pleased with it, and in turns she interrupted the sentence begun and continued the sentence suspended. She knew not what she wanted: everything she seemed to be about to do displeased her. In her manner was daring mixed with shame.
Though she had written “Sister”, it seemed best to erase that name and to cut these words into the revised tablet: “This wish, which she will not achieve if you will not yield, this your lover sends to you: it is shameful, oh, it is shameful to disclose her name, and if you ask of what I desire, I should wish that my plea could be defended without my name, and I should wish to not be identified as Byblis until hope of your promise of love is certain. Indeed, both my pallor and loss of weight, and my expression and often-damp eyes, should have been evidence to you of my wounded heart. And even if the clear cause of my sighs was not obvious, my frequent embraces and kisses, if perhaps you noticed, could not be perceived as sisterly.
I, however, though I had a serious wound in my heart, did everything I could (the gods are my witnesses) so that I could be, at last, more sane. For a long time I fought, unhappy, to flee the violent weapon of desire and I bore more hardships than you would think a girl could bear. Defeated, I am forced to confess and to implore, with timid pleas, your help. You alone are able to save or destroy your lover: choose which of the two you will do. It is not your enemy who begs for this, but one who is very much joined to you, and desires to be more connected and bound tighter to you as with a chain.
Let the elderly have sense, and know what is right, what is sin, what is virtue. Let them scrutinize, let them protect the balances of law. Reckless love is appropriate for those of our age: thus far in life we know not what is proper, and we think all things to be allowed, and we follow the example of the great gods. And neither a stern father, nor the integrity of a reputation, nor fear impedes us: and even if there were a cause of fear, we would hide sweet theft under brotherly name. It is my freedom to speak of secret things with you, and we may embrace and kiss publicly. What is still missing? You may pity the one confessing love, who would not be able to admit it if she were not compelled by the strongest of flames, but do not deserve to be written as the cause of my death on my tomb.”
Inscribing such things in vain, she left the wax tablet full with her handwriting, and the last line clung to the margin. Immediately she signed her sins with a signet impressed, which she moistened with tears (liquid lacked from her tongue). Then, blushing, she called one of her slaves, and having coaxed him a little, she said, “bring this, most loyal one, to” and added, after a long time, “my brother.” When she extended them, the tablets fell from her hands, slipped. She was perturbed by the omen, but sent them nonetheless. Having found the right time, the slave went and handed over the secret words.
Shaken by a sudden ire, the grandson of Meander threw down the received letters, only a part having been read. Hardly managing to hold his hand back from the terrified servant’s throat, he said, “flee while it is possible, oh accursed aid of forbidden lust, who, if your fate did not drag with it my sense of honor, would serve me the punishment of death!” He fled terrified, and when he reported Caunus’ ferocious words to his lady, you Byblis, rejected, became pale having heard them, and your body, besieged by a frozen chill, shook.
However, when consciousness returned, her passions returned as well, and her tongue, in a barely audible voice, uttered these words: “And deservedly! Why, reckless, did I even give proof of this wound? Why did I so quickly commit to hasty tablets words that were to be hidden? I should have tested his soul’s sentiment in advance with ambiguous words. I should have noticed which wind was blowing, used a different part of the sails in case these breezes were not to be followed. I should have traveled through the sea without risk, I who now fill my sails with strange winds. I am dragged onto the rocks, therefore, and, overwhelmed, I am crushed by the whole ocean, and my sails have no means of retreat.
Indeed, I was forbidden from indulging in my love by clear omens, when, with my order to bring them to Caunus, the tablets fell and made my hopes fall as well. Surely it was either that day, or the desire itself, but more so the day, that should have been different. The god himself warned me and gave a clear (clear, if I had not been insane) sign. Furthermore, I myself should have spoken, and not have committed myself to tablets, and I should have disclosed my passions in person. He would have seen the tears, he would have seen the face of a lover; I would have been able to say more than that which tablets can contain, I could have surrounded his reluctant neck with my arms. And, if refused, I could have seemed as if on the verge of death, and embraced his feet, and, prostrate, begged for life. I should have done all of these things, and if only one could not have bent his unyielding heart, all of them together certainly could have. Perhaps it was the dispatched messenger’s fault: I believe he did not approach properly, nor chose the right time, nor found Caunus in an unoccupied hour and state of mind.
All of these things were detrimental to me. Caunus is not born from a tigress, nor does he carry hard stones or strong iron or steel in his chest, nor did he drink the milk of a lioness. He will be conquered! I must claim him, and by my life I will not suffer any weariness in my attempts to do so! My first choice would be, if it were possible to revoke the done deed, to not have ever started. The second is to achieve what I have begun. For he cannot, even if I were to abandon my prayers now, help but remember my exploits for all eternity. And, if I deserted him, I will seem to have wooed facetiously or even to have never been serious about him, and I will seem to have assaulted him with a plot! Or, I shall even be believed to have been overcome surely not by love for him, he who, however, more than anyone else torments and burns my chest, but by lust. In short, it is now impossible for me to not have committed something abominable. I wrote it and I wished for it: my desire is revealed. Though I will add no more deeds to my sins, I cannot be said to be guiltless. As for what is still left unaccomplished, there is much as far as my desires are concerned, and little in wrongdoing.
So she said, and (so much was the contention of her uncertain mind) though it hurt her to have tried, it delighted her to try again. She abandoned moderation and, unlucky, she condemned herself to be rejected frequently. When there seemed to be no end to her passion, Caunus fled from his fatherland and her sin, and founded new walls in a foreign land. Miletus’ sad daughter lost control of her entire mind: she then ripped her garment from her chest and, furious, beat her arms. Now openly insane, she confessed her hope for forbidden lust, and accordingly deserted her fatherland and her hated household gods, and followed the footsteps of her exiled brother.
The young women from Bubassus saw Byblis ululating through the spacious fields, not unlike the way the bacchic Thracians moved by your thyrsus, son of Semele, celebrate your repeated triennial festival. With those lands left behind her, she wandered through Caria and the land of the armed Leleges and Lycia. Now she left behind Cragos and Lymire and the waters of Xanthus, and the ridge where the Chimaera has fire in its body, the trunk and face of a lion, and the tail of a serpent. The woods were behind you when, exhausted from having to follow, you collapsed, and, with your hair spread on the hard earth, Byblis, you lay, and you pressed your face into the fallen leaves.
The Lelegeian nymphs often tried to lift her with tender outstretched arms. Often, they instructed her on how to cure love and offered consolation to her deaf mind. Byblis lay mute, and gripped the green grasses with her fingernails, and moistened the grasses with a stream of tears. They say that the naiads substituted her tears for a spring that could never run dry. What more could they have been able to give her? Immediately, like drops of pitch from cut bark, or as sticky tar oozes from the fertile earth, or as, upon the arrival of the gently blowing West Wind, the sun melts the water that the cold freezes, thus, consumed by her tears, Phoebus’ granddaughter Byblis was turned into a spring, which even now in that valley keeps the name of its lady, and flows under a dark ilex tree.