My Only Family

Homer, Iliad 6.404-432

[Hektor] smiled when he looked on his child in silence,
But Andromache stood near him, shedding tears.
She took his hand in hers and spoke, naming him,

“Husband, you’re wasting your strength–and you don’t pity
Your infant child or unlucky wife who will soon become
Your widow. The Greeks are going to kill you soon,
All of them attacking one after another. It would be better
For me to have die once I lose you. There’ll be no comfort at all
Once you have met your fate, only pain.

I don’t have a father or queen mother,
Glorious Achilles killed my father on that day
When he sacked the well-populated city of the Kilikians,
High-towered Thebes. He murdered Eetion,
But he didn’t strip him of his weapons, since he felt shame in his heart.
Instead he burned him with all of his fancy arms
And heaped a burial mound up over him then the nymphs
Those mountain daughters of aegis-bearing Zeus, planted elm trees in it.

I had seven brothers in my home.
They all went down to Hades’ realm in a single day.
Over the oxen with their shambling feet and the white sheep.
My mother–who was queen under forested Plakos,
He lead away with the rest of their possessions,
But he released her, after accepting incalculable ransom,
Only for dark-arrowed Artemis to strike her down in her father’s halls.

So Hektor, you are my father and queen mother,
My brother too, as well as my strong husband.
Take pity on me now and stay here on the wall,
Don’t orphan your son and make a widow of your wife.”

ἤτοι ὃ μὲν μείδησεν ἰδὼν ἐς παῖδα σιωπῇ·
᾿Ανδρομάχη δέ οἱ ἄγχι παρίστατο δάκρυ χέουσα,
ἔν τ’ ἄρα οἱ φῦ χειρὶ ἔπος τ’ ἔφατ’ ἔκ τ’ ὀνόμαζε·
δαιμόνιε φθίσει σε τὸ σὸν μένος, οὐδ’ ἐλεαίρεις
παῖδά τε νηπίαχον καὶ ἔμ’ ἄμμορον, ἣ τάχα χήρη
σεῦ ἔσομαι· τάχα γάρ σε κατακτανέουσιν ᾿Αχαιοὶ
πάντες ἐφορμηθέντες· ἐμοὶ δέ κε κέρδιον εἴη
σεῦ ἀφαμαρτούσῃ χθόνα δύμεναι· οὐ γὰρ ἔτ’ ἄλλη
ἔσται θαλπωρὴ ἐπεὶ ἂν σύ γε πότμον ἐπίσπῃς
ἀλλ’ ἄχε’· οὐδέ μοι ἔστι πατὴρ καὶ πότνια μήτηρ.
ἤτοι γὰρ πατέρ’ ἁμὸν ἀπέκτανε δῖος ᾿Αχιλλεύς,
ἐκ δὲ πόλιν πέρσεν Κιλίκων εὖ ναιετάουσαν
Θήβην ὑψίπυλον· κατὰ δ’ ἔκτανεν ᾿Ηετίωνα,
οὐδέ μιν ἐξενάριξε, σεβάσσατο γὰρ τό γε θυμῷ,
ἀλλ’ ἄρα μιν κατέκηε σὺν ἔντεσι δαιδαλέοισιν
ἠδ’ ἐπὶ σῆμ’ ἔχεεν· περὶ δὲ πτελέας ἐφύτευσαν
νύμφαι ὀρεστιάδες κοῦραι Διὸς αἰγιόχοιο.
οἳ δέ μοι ἑπτὰ κασίγνητοι ἔσαν ἐν μεγάροισιν
οἳ μὲν πάντες ἰῷ κίον ἤματι ῎Αϊδος εἴσω·
πάντας γὰρ κατέπεφνε ποδάρκης δῖος ᾿Αχιλλεὺς
βουσὶν ἐπ’ εἰλιπόδεσσι καὶ ἀργεννῇς ὀΐεσσι.
μητέρα δ’, ἣ βασίλευεν ὑπὸ Πλάκῳ ὑληέσσῃ,
τὴν ἐπεὶ ἂρ δεῦρ’ ἤγαγ’ ἅμ’ ἄλλοισι κτεάτεσσιν,
ἂψ ὅ γε τὴν ἀπέλυσε λαβὼν ἀπερείσι’ ἄποινα,
πατρὸς δ’ ἐν μεγάροισι βάλ’ ῎Αρτεμις ἰοχέαιρα.
῞Εκτορ ἀτὰρ σύ μοί ἐσσι πατὴρ καὶ πότνια μήτηρ
ἠδὲ κασίγνητος, σὺ δέ μοι θαλερὸς παρακοίτης·
ἀλλ’ ἄγε νῦν ἐλέαιρε καὶ αὐτοῦ μίμν’ ἐπὶ πύργῳ,
μὴ παῖδ’ ὀρφανικὸν θήῃς χήρην τε γυναῖκα·
λαὸν δὲ στῆσον παρ’ ἐρινεόν, ἔνθα μάλιστα
ἀμβατός ἐστι πόλις καὶ ἐπίδρομον ἔπλετο τεῖχος.
τρὶς γὰρ τῇ γ’ ἐλθόντες ἐπειρήσανθ’ οἱ ἄριστοι
ἀμφ’ Αἴαντε δύω καὶ ἀγακλυτὸν ᾿Ιδομενῆα
ἠδ’ ἀμφ’ ᾿Ατρεΐδας καὶ Τυδέος ἄλκιμον υἱόν·
ἤ πού τίς σφιν ἔνισπε θεοπροπίων ἐ¿ εἰδώς,
ἤ νυ καὶ αὐτῶν θυμὸς ἐποτρύνει καὶ ἀνώγει.

Oil painting of Hektor departing from Andromache and Astyanax
John Smibert, “Parting of Hector and Andromache ” MFA Boston 17th Century

[Martial Wants] A Lucretia on the Street, but a Lais Between the Sheets (Epigram 11.104)

“Wife, leave my house or adopt my ways!
I am not a Curius, a Numa or a Tatius.
Nights made happy with drink please me:
But you hurry to leave with water to drink.
You love the shadows, but I’m happy to play
With a lamp as witness or with light let in on my ‘bulge’.
Tunics and obscuring robes must cover you:
But no girl could ever be naked enough for me!
Kisses to mimic eager doves delight me;
But you give those from a grandmother’s ‘good morning’.
It is beneath you to help out with movement or voice,
Not even fingers, as if you were readying incense and wine.
Phrygian slaves used to masturbate outside the door
Whenever the wife sat atop her Hectorean ‘horse’;
Chaste Penelope always used to keep her hand down there,
Even when the Ithacan was snoring!
You won’t abide anal sex! Cornelia permitted this to Gracchus!
Julia allowed Pompey; Porcia bent for you, Brutus!
When the Dardanian was not yet his servant mixing sweet wine,
Juno was Jupiter’s Ganymede.
If you want to be grave, then be Lucretia all day
But at night I want a Lais.”

Uxor, vade foras aut moribus utere nostris:
non sum ego nec Curius nec Numa nec Tatius.
Me jucunda juvant tractae per pocula noctes:
tu properas pota surgere tristis aqua.
Tu tenebris gaudes: me ludere teste lucerna
et juvat admissa rumpere luce latus.
Fascia te tunicaeque obscuraque pallia celant:
at mihi nulla satis nuda puella jacet.
basia me capiunt blandas imitata columbas:
tu mihi das aviae qualia mane soles.
Nec motu dignaris opus nec voce juvare
nec digitis, tamquam tura merumque pares:
masturbabantur Phrygii post ostia servi,
Hectoreo quotiens sederat uxor equo,
et quamvis Ithaco stertente pudica solebat
illic Penelope semper habere manum.
Pedicare negas: dabat hoc Cornelia Graccho,
Julia Pompeio, Porcia, Brute, tibi;
dulcia Dardanio nondum miscente ministro
pocula Juno fuit pro Ganymede Jovi.
Si te delectat gravitas, Lucretia toto
sis licet usque die: Laida nocte volo.

*Lais was a name for a prostitute from the time of the Peloponnesian War.