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Book IV.11:1-102

CORNELIA TO PAULLUS:

FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE

Propertius

Paullus, no longer burden my grave with tears: the black gate opens to no prayer. When once the dead obey the laws of the infernal places, the gate remains like adamant, unmoved by plea. Though the god of the dark courts may hear your request, surely the shores of deafness will drink your tears. Entreaty moves the living: when the ferryman has received his coin, the ghastly doorway closes on a world of shadows. The mournful trumpets sang it, when the unkindly torch was placed below my bier, and flames dragged down my head.

What use was my marriage to Paullus, or the triumphal chariot of my ancestors, or such dear children, my glory? Cornelia found the Fates no less cruel: and I am now such a burden as five fingers might gather. Wretched night, and you, shallow sluggish marshes, and whatever waters surround my feet, I come here before my time, yet I am not guilty: Father grant sweet judgement to my soul.

Or if some Aeacus sits as judge, by his urn, let him protect my bones when the lot is drawn. Let the two brothers sit by him, and near to Minos’s seat, let the stern band of Furies stand, in the hushed court. Sisyphus, be free of your rock: Ixion’s wheel be still: deceptive water let Tantalus’s mouth trap you: today let cruel Cerberus not attack the shades, and let his chain hang slack from the silent bar. I plead for myself: if I lie, may the sisters’ punishment, the unhappy urn, weigh down my shoulders.

If fame ever accrued to anyone from ancestral trophies, our statues tell of Numantian ancestry, equalled by the crowd of Libones on my mother’s side, and our house is strong in honour on both counts. Then, when the purple hemmed dress was laid aside for the marriage torches, and a different ribbon caught and tied my hair, I was united to your bed, Paullus, only to leave it so: read it on this stone, she was wedded to one alone. I call as witness the ashes of my forebears, revered by you, Rome, beneath whose honours trampled Africa lies, and Perses, his heart stirred by having Achilles for ancestor, and Hercules, that shattered your house Avernus: and that the censor’s law was never softened for me: and that my hearth never blushed for any sin of mine. Cornelia never harmed such magnificent war-trophies: she was more a pattern to be followed in that great house.

My life never altered: wholly without reproach: we lived in honour from the wedding to the funeral torch. My birth gave me laws to follow from my blood, nor could I be rendered more in fear of judgement. Let the urn deal out whatever harsh measures to me, no woman shall be ashamed to sit by me: not you, Claudia, rare servant of the turret-crowned Goddess, who hauled on the cable of Cybele’s laggard image, or you Aemilia, whose white robe revealed the living flame, when Vesta asked for signs of the fire you swore to cherish. Nor have I wronged you, Scribonia, mother, my sweet origin: what do you wish to change in me, except my fate? My mother’s tears and the city’s grief exalt me, and my bones are protected by Caesar’s moans. He laments that living I was worthy sister to his daughter, and we saw a god’s tears fall.

Moreover I earned the robe of honour through child-bearing: it was not a childless house that I was snatched away from. You Lepidus and Paullus, are my comfort in death: my eyes closed in your embrace. And I saw my brother twice installed in the magistrate’s chair: at the time of celebration of his consulship his sister was taken. Daughter, you who are born to be a mirror of your father’s judgements, imitating me, make sure you have only one husband. And strengthen the race in turn: willingly I cross the ferry with so many of my own as my champions: this is the final reward, a woman’s triumph, that free tongues should praise her deserving ashes.

Now I commend our children to you, Paullus, our mutual pledges: this anxiety still stirs, stamped in my ashes. The father must perform the mother’s duties: your shoulders must bear all my crowd of children. When you kiss their tears away, do so for their mother: now the whole household begins to be your burden. And if you must weep, do it without their seeing! When they come to you, deceive their kisses with dry cheeks!

Let those nights be enough, Paullus, that you wear away for me, and the dreams where you often think it is my image: and when you speak secretly to my phantom, speak every word as though to one who answers.

But if the bed that faces the doorway should be altered, and a careful stepmother occupy my place, boys, praise and accept your father’s wife: captivated, she will applaud your good manners. Don’t praise your mother too much: thoughtless speech that compares her with the first wife will become offences against her. Or if he remembers me, content that my shade suffices, and considers my ashes so worthy, learn now to feel how old age advances, and leave no path open for a widower’s cares. What was taken from me let it increase your years: so my children may delight the aged Paullus. And it is good: that I never dressed in mother’s mourning: all my flock came to my funeral.