On the Nature of Things

SOME VITAL FUNCTIONS

                              In these affairs     We crave that thou wilt passionately flee     The one offence, and anxiously wilt shun     The error of presuming the clear lights     Of eyes created were that we might see;     Or thighs and knees, aprop upon the feet,     Thuswise can bended be, that we might step     With goodly strides ahead; or forearms joined     Unto the sturdy uppers, or serving hands     On either side were given, that we might do     Life's own demands. All such interpretation     Is aft-for-fore with inverse reasoning,     Since naught is born in body so that we     May use the same, but birth engenders use:     No seeing ere the lights of eyes were born,     No speaking ere the tongue created was;     But origin of tongue came long before     Discourse of words, and ears created were     Much earlier than any sound was heard;     And all the members, so meseems, were there     Before they got their use: and therefore, they     Could not be gendered for the sake of use.     But contrariwise, contending in the fight     With hand to hand, and rending of the joints,     And fouling of the limbs with gore, was there,     O long before the gleaming spears ere flew;     And nature prompted man to shun a wound,     Before the left arm by the aid of art     Opposed the shielding targe. And, verily,     Yielding the weary body to repose,     Far ancienter than cushions of soft beds,     And quenching thirst is earlier than cups.     These objects, therefore, which for use and life     Have been devised, can be conceived as found     For sake of using. But apart from such     Are all which first were born and afterwards     Gave knowledge of their own utility—     Chief in which sort we note the senses, limbs:     Wherefore, again, 'tis quite beyond thy power     To hold that these could thus have been create     For office of utility.                           Likewise,     'Tis nothing strange that all the breathing creatures     Seek, even by nature of their frame, their food.     Yes, since I've taught thee that from off the things     Stream and depart innumerable bodies     In modes innumerable too; but most     Must be the bodies streaming from the living—     Which bodies, vexed by motion evermore,     Are through the mouth exhaled innumerable,     When weary creatures pant, or through the sweat     Squeezed forth innumerable from deep within.     Thus body rarefies, so undermined     In all its nature, and pain attends its state.     And so the food is taken to underprop     The tottering joints, and by its interfusion     To re-create their powers, and there stop up     The longing, open-mouthed through limbs and veins,     For eating. And the moist no less departs     Into all regions that demand the moist;     And many heaped-up particles of hot,     Which cause such burnings in these bellies of ours,     The liquid on arriving dissipates     And quenches like a fire, that parching heat     No longer now can scorch the frame. And so,     Thou seest how panting thirst is washed away     From off our body, how the hunger-pang     It, too, appeased.                        Now, how it comes that we,     Whene'er we wish, can step with strides ahead,     And how 'tis given to move our limbs about,     And what device is wont to push ahead     This the big load of our corporeal frame,     I'll say to thee—do thou attend what's said.     I say that first some idol-films of walking     Into our mind do fall and smite the mind,     As said before. Thereafter will arises;     For no one starts to do a thing, before     The intellect previsions what it wills;     And what it there pre-visioneth depends     On what that image is. When, therefore, mind     Doth so bestir itself that it doth will     To go and step along, it strikes at once     That energy of soul that's sown about     In all the body through the limbs and frame—     And this is easy of performance, since     The soul is close conjoined with the mind.     Next, soul in turn strikes body, and by degrees     Thus the whole mass is pushed along and moved.     Then too the body rarefies, and air,     Forsooth as ever of such nimbleness,     Comes on and penetrates aboundingly     Through opened pores, and thus is sprinkled round     Unto all smallest places in our frame.     Thus then by these twain factors, severally,     Body is borne like ship with oars and wind.     Nor yet in these affairs is aught for wonder     That particles so fine can whirl around     So great a body and turn this weight of ours;     For wind, so tenuous with its subtle body,     Yet pushes, driving on the mighty ship     Of mighty bulk; one hand directs the same,     Whatever its momentum, and one helm     Whirls it around, whither ye please; and loads,     Many and huge, are moved and hoisted high     By enginery of pulley-blocks and wheels,     With but light strain.                       Now, by what modes this sleep     Pours through our members waters of repose     And frees the breast from cares of mind, I'll tell     In verses sweeter than they many are;     Even as the swan's slight note is better far     Than that dispersed clamour of the cranes     Among the southwind's aery clouds. Do thou     Give me sharp ears and a sagacious mind,—     That thou mayst not deny the things to be     Whereof I'm speaking, nor depart away     With bosom scorning these the spoken truths,     Thyself at fault unable to perceive.     Sleep chiefly comes when energy of soul     Hath now been scattered through the frame, and part     Expelled abroad and gone away, and part     Crammed back and settling deep within the frame—     Whereafter then our loosened members droop.     For doubt is none that by the work of soul     Exist in us this sense, and when by slumber     That sense is thwarted, we are bound to think     The soul confounded and expelled abroad—     Yet not entirely, else the frame would lie     Drenched in the everlasting cold of death.     In sooth, where no one part of soul remained     Lurking among the members, even as fire     Lurks buried under many ashes, whence     Could sense amain rekindled be in members,     As flame can rise anew from unseen fire?     By what devices this strange state and new     May be occasioned, and by what the soul     Can be confounded and the frame grow faint,     I will untangle: see to it, thou, that I     Pour forth my words not unto empty winds.     In first place, body on its outer parts—     Since these are touched by neighbouring aery gusts—     Must there be thumped and strook by blows of air     Repeatedly. And therefore almost all     Are covered either with hides, or else with shells,     Or with the horny callus, or with bark.     Yet this same air lashes their inner parts,     When creatures draw a breath or blow it out.     Wherefore, since body thus is flogged alike     Upon the inside and the out, and blows     Come in upon us through the little pores     Even inward to our body's primal parts     And primal elements, there comes to pass     By slow degrees, along our members then,     A kind of overthrow; for then confounded     Are those arrangements of the primal germs     Of body and of mind. It comes to pass     That next a part of soul's expelled abroad,     A part retreateth in recesses hid,     A part, too, scattered all about the frame,     Cannot become united nor engage     In interchange of motion. Nature now     So hedges off approaches and the paths;     And thus the sense, its motions all deranged,     Retires down deep within; and since there's naught,     As 'twere, to prop the frame, the body weakens,     And all the members languish, and the arms     And eyelids fall, and, as ye lie abed,     Even there the houghs will sag and loose their powers.     Again, sleep follows after food, because     The food produces same result as air,     Whilst being scattered round through all the veins;     And much the heaviest is that slumber which,     Full or fatigued, thou takest; since 'tis then     That the most bodies disarrange themselves,     Bruised by labours hard. And in same wise,     This three-fold change: a forcing of the soul     Down deeper, more a casting-forth of it,     A moving more divided in its parts     And scattered more.                         And to whate'er pursuit     A man most clings absorbed, or what the affairs     On which we theretofore have tarried much,     And mind hath strained upon the more, we seem     In sleep not rarely to go at the same.     The lawyers seem to plead and cite decrees,     Commanders they to fight and go at frays,     Sailors to live in combat with the winds,     And we ourselves indeed to make this book,     And still to seek the nature of the world     And set it down, when once discovered, here     In these my country's leaves. Thus all pursuits,     All arts in general seem in sleeps to mock     And master the minds of men. And whosoever     Day after day for long to games have given     Attention undivided, still they keep     (As oft we note), even when they've ceased to grasp     Those games with their own senses, open paths     Within the mind wherethrough the idol-films     Of just those games can come. And thus it is     For many a day thereafter those appear     Floating before the eyes, that even awake     They think they view the dancers moving round     Their supple limbs, and catch with both the ears     The liquid song of harp and speaking chords,     And view the same assembly on the seats,     And manifold bright glories of the stage—     So great the influence of pursuit and zest,     And of the affairs wherein 'thas been the wont     Of men to be engaged-nor only men,     But soothly all the animals. Behold,     Thou'lt see the sturdy horses, though outstretched,     Yet sweating in their sleep, and panting ever,     And straining utmost strength, as if for prize,     As if, with barriers opened now…     And hounds of huntsmen oft in soft repose     Yet toss asudden all their legs about,     And growl and bark, and with their nostrils sniff     The winds again, again, as though indeed     They'd caught the scented foot-prints of wild beasts,     And, even when wakened, often they pursue     The phantom images of stags, as though     They did perceive them fleeing on before,     Until the illusion's shaken off and dogs     Come to themselves again. And fawning breed     Of house-bred whelps do feel the sudden urge     To shake their bodies and start from off the ground,     As if beholding stranger-visages.     And ever the fiercer be the stock, the more     In sleep the same is ever bound to rage.     But flee the divers tribes of birds and vex     With sudden wings by night the groves of gods,     When in their gentle slumbers they have dreamed     Of hawks in chase, aswooping on for fight.     Again, the minds of mortals which perform     With mighty motions mighty enterprises,     Often in sleep will do and dare the same     In manner like. Kings take the towns by storm,     Succumb to capture, battle on the field,     Raise a wild cry as if their throats were cut     Even then and there. And many wrestle on     And groan with pains, and fill all regions round     With mighty cries and wild, as if then gnawed     By fangs of panther or of lion fierce.     Many amid their slumbers talk about     Their mighty enterprises, and have often     Enough become the proof of their own crimes.     Many meet death; many, as if headlong     From lofty mountains tumbling down to earth     With all their frame, are frenzied in their fright;     And after sleep, as if still mad in mind,     They scarce come to, confounded as they are     By ferment of their frame. The thirsty man,     Likewise, he sits beside delightful spring     Or river and gulpeth down with gaping throat     Nigh the whole stream. And oft the innocent young,     By sleep o'ermastered, think they lift their dress     By pail or public jordan and then void     The water filtered down their frame entire     And drench the Babylonian coverlets,     Magnificently bright. Again, those males     Into the surging channels of whose years     Now first has passed the seed (engendered     Within their members by the ripened days)     Are in their sleep confronted from without     By idol-images of some fair form—     Tidings of glorious face and lovely bloom,     Which stir and goad the regions turgid now     With seed abundant; so that, as it were     With all the matter acted duly out,     They pour the billows of a potent stream     And stain their garment.                            And as said before,     That seed is roused in us when once ripe age     Has made our body strong…     As divers causes give to divers things     Impulse and irritation, so one force     In human kind rouses the human seed     To spurt from man. As soon as ever it issues,     Forced from its first abodes, it passes down     In the whole body through the limbs and frame,     Meeting in certain regions of our thews,     And stirs amain the genitals of man.     The goaded regions swell with seed, and then     Comes the delight to dart the same at what     The mad desire so yearns, and body seeks     That object, whence the mind by love is pierced.     For well-nigh each man falleth toward his wound,     And our blood spurts even toward the spot from whence     The stroke wherewith we are strook, and if indeed     The foe be close, the red jet reaches him.     Thus, one who gets a stroke from Venus' shafts—     Whether a boy with limbs effeminate     Assault him, or a woman darting love     From all her body—that one strains to get     Even to the thing whereby he's hit, and longs     To join with it and cast into its frame     The fluid drawn even from within its own.     For the mute craving doth presage delight.

THE PASSION OF LOVE

     This craving 'tis that's Venus unto us:     From this, engender all the lures of love,     From this, O first hath into human hearts     Trickled that drop of joyance which ere long     Is by chill care succeeded. Since, indeed,     Though she thou lovest now be far away,     Yet idol-images of her are near     And the sweet name is floating in thy ear.     But it behooves to flee those images;     And scare afar whatever feeds thy love;     And turn elsewhere thy mind; and vent the sperm,     Within thee gathered, into sundry bodies,     Nor, with thy thoughts still busied with one love,     Keep it for one delight, and so store up     Care for thyself and pain inevitable.     For, lo, the ulcer just by nourishing     Grows to more life with deep inveteracy,     And day by day the fury swells aflame,     And the woe waxes heavier day by day—     Unless thou dost destroy even by new blows     The former wounds of love, and curest them     While yet they're fresh, by wandering freely round     After the freely-wandering Venus, or     Canst lead elsewhere the tumults of thy mind.     Nor doth that man who keeps away from love     Yet lack the fruits of Venus; rather takes     Those pleasures which are free of penalties.     For the delights of Venus, verily,     Are more unmixed for mortals sane-of-soul     Than for those sick-at-heart with love-pining.     Yea, in the very moment of possessing,     Surges the heat of lovers to and fro,     Restive, uncertain; and they cannot fix     On what to first enjoy with eyes and hands.     The parts they sought for, those they squeeze so tight,     And pain the creature's body, close their teeth     Often against her lips, and smite with kiss     Mouth into mouth,—because this same delight     Is not unmixed; and underneath are stings     Which goad a man to hurt the very thing,     Whate'er it be, from whence arise for him     Those germs of madness. But with gentle touch     Venus subdues the pangs in midst of love,     And the admixture of a fondling joy     Doth curb the bites of passion. For they hope     That by the very body whence they caught     The heats of love their flames can be put out.     But nature protests 'tis all quite otherwise;     For this same love it is the one sole thing     Of which, the more we have, the fiercer burns     The breast with fell desire. For food and drink     Are taken within our members; and, since they     Can stop up certain parts, thus, easily     Desire of water is glutted and of bread.     But, lo, from human face and lovely bloom     Naught penetrates our frame to be enjoyed     Save flimsy idol-images and vain—     A sorry hope which oft the winds disperse.     As when the thirsty man in slumber seeks     To drink, and water ne'er is granted him     Wherewith to quench the heat within his members,     But after idols of the liquids strives     And toils in vain, and thirsts even whilst he gulps     In middle of the torrent, thus in love     Venus deludes with idol-images     The lovers. Nor they cannot sate their lust     By merely gazing on the bodies, nor     They cannot with their palms and fingers rub     Aught from each tender limb, the while they stray     Uncertain over all the body. Then,     At last, with members intertwined, when they     Enjoy the flower of their age, when now     Their bodies have sweet presage of keen joys,     And Venus is about to sow the fields     Of woman, greedily their frames they lock,     And mingle the slaver of their mouths, and breathe     Into each other, pressing teeth on mouths—     Yet to no purpose, since they're powerless     To rub off aught, or penetrate and pass     With body entire into body—for oft     They seem to strive and struggle thus to do;     So eagerly they cling in Venus' bonds,     Whilst melt away their members, overcome     By violence of delight. But when at last     Lust, gathered in the thews, hath spent itself,     There come a brief pause in the raging heat—     But then a madness just the same returns     And that old fury visits them again,     When once again they seek and crave to reach     They know not what, all powerless to find     The artifice to subjugate the bane.     In such uncertain state they waste away     With unseen wound.                       To which be added too,     They squander powers and with the travail wane;     Be added too, they spend their futile years     Under another's beck and call; their duties     Neglected languish and their honest name     Reeleth sick, sick; and meantime their estates     Are lost in Babylonian tapestries;     And unguents and dainty Sicyonian shoes     Laugh on her feet; and (as ye may be sure)     Big emeralds of green light are set in gold;     And rich sea-purple dress by constant wear     Grows shabby and all soaked with Venus' sweat;     And the well-earned ancestral property     Becometh head-bands, coifs, and many a time     The cloaks, or garments Alidensian     Or of the Cean isle. And banquets, set     With rarest cloth and viands, are prepared—     And games of chance, and many a drinking cup,     And unguents, crowns and garlands. All in vain,     Since from amid the well-spring of delights     Bubbles some drop of bitter to torment     Among the very flowers—when haply mind     Gnaws into self, now stricken with remorse     For slothful years and ruin in baudels,     Or else because she's left him all in doubt     By launching some sly word, which still like fire     Lives wildly, cleaving to his eager heart;     Or else because he thinks she darts her eyes     Too much about and gazes at another,—     And in her face sees traces of a laugh.     These ills are found in prospering love and true;     But in crossed love and helpless there be such     As through shut eyelids thou canst still take in—     Uncounted ills; so that 'tis better far     To watch beforehand, in the way I've shown,     And guard against enticements. For to shun     A fall into the hunting-snares of love     Is not so hard, as to get out again,     When tangled in the very nets, and burst     The stoutly-knotted cords of Aphrodite.     Yet even when there enmeshed with tangled feet,     Still canst thou scape the danger-lest indeed     Thou standest in the way of thine own good,     And overlookest first all blemishes     Of mind and body of thy much preferred,     Desirable dame. For so men do,     Eyeless with passion, and assign to them     Graces not theirs in fact. And thus we see     Creatures in many a wise crooked and ugly     The prosperous sweethearts in a high esteem;     And lovers gird each other and advise     To placate Venus, since their friends are smit     With a base passion—miserable dupes     Who seldom mark their own worst bane of all.     The black-skinned girl is "tawny like the honey";     The filthy and the fetid's "negligee";     The cat-eyed she's "a little Pallas," she;     The sinewy and wizened's "a gazelle";     The pudgy and the pigmy is "piquant,     One of the Graces sure"; the big and bulky     O she's "an Admiration, imposante";     The stuttering and tongue-tied "sweetly lisps";     The mute girl's "modest"; and the garrulous,     The spiteful spit-fire, is "a sparkling wit";     And she who scarcely lives for scrawniness     Becomes "a slender darling"; "delicate"     Is she who's nearly dead of coughing-fit;     The pursy female with protuberant breasts     She is "like Ceres when the goddess gave     Young Bacchus suck"; the pug-nosed lady-love     "A Satyress, a feminine Silenus";     The blubber-lipped is "all one luscious kiss"—     A weary while it were to tell the whole.     But let her face possess what charm ye will,     Let Venus' glory rise from all her limbs,—     Forsooth there still are others; and forsooth     We lived before without her; and forsooth     She does the same things—and we know she does—     All, as the ugly creature, and she scents,     Yes she, her wretched self with vile perfumes;     Whom even her handmaids flee and giggle at     Behind her back. But he, the lover, in tears     Because shut out, covers her threshold o'er     Often with flowers and garlands, and anoints     Her haughty door-posts with the marjoram,     And prints, poor fellow, kisses on the doors—     Admitted at last, if haply but one whiff     Got to him on approaching, he would seek     Decent excuses to go out forthwith;     And his lament, long pondered, then would fall     Down at his heels; and there he'd damn himself     For his fatuity, observing how     He had assigned to that same lady more—     Than it is proper to concede to mortals.     And these our Venuses are 'ware of this.     Wherefore the more are they at pains to hide     All the-behind-the-scenes of life from those     Whom they desire to keep in bonds of love—     In vain, since ne'ertheless thou canst by thought     Drag all the matter forth into the light     And well search out the cause of all these smiles;     And if of graceful mind she be and kind,     Do thou, in thy turn, overlook the same,     And thus allow for poor mortality.     Nor sighs the woman always with feigned love,     Who links her body round man's body locked     And holds him fast, making his kisses wet     With lips sucked into lips; for oft she acts     Even from desire, and, seeking mutual joys,     Incites him there to run love's race-course through.     Nor otherwise can cattle, birds, wild beasts,     And sheep and mares submit unto the males,     Except that their own nature is in heat,     And burns abounding and with gladness takes     Once more the Venus of the mounting males.     And seest thou not how those whom mutual pleasure     Hath bound are tortured in their common bonds?     How often in the cross-roads dogs that pant     To get apart strain eagerly asunder     With utmost might?—When all the while they're fast     In the stout links of Venus. But they'd ne'er     So pull, except they knew those mutual joys—     So powerful to cast them unto snares     And hold them bound. Wherefore again, again,     Even as I say, there is a joint delight.     And when perchance, in mingling seed with his,     The female hath o'erpowered the force of male     And by a sudden fling hath seized it fast,     Then are the offspring, more from mothers' seed,     More like their mothers; as, from fathers' seed,     They're like to fathers. But whom seest to be     Partakers of each shape, one equal blend     Of parents' features, these are generate     From fathers' body and from mothers' blood,     When mutual and harmonious heat hath dashed     Together seeds, aroused along their frames     By Venus' goads, and neither of the twain     Mastereth or is mastered. Happens too     That sometimes offspring can to being come     In likeness of their grandsires, and bring back     Often the shapes of grandsires' sires, because     Their parents in their bodies oft retain     Concealed many primal germs, commixed     In many modes, which, starting with the stock,     Sire handeth down to son, himself a sire;     Whence Venus by a variable chance     Engenders shapes, and diversely brings back     Ancestral features, voices too, and hair.     A female generation rises forth     From seed paternal, and from mother's body     Exist created males: since sex proceeds     No more from singleness of seed than faces     Or bodies or limbs of ours: for every birth     Is from a twofold seed; and what's created     Hath, of that parent which it is more like,     More than its equal share; as thou canst mark,—     Whether the breed be male or female stock.     Nor do the powers divine grudge any man     The fruits of his seed-sowing, so that never     He be called "father" by sweet children his,     And end his days in sterile love forever.     What many men suppose; and gloomily     They sprinkle the altars with abundant blood,     And make the high platforms odorous with burnt gifts,     To render big by plenteous seed their wives—     And plague in vain godheads and sacred lots.     For sterile are these men by seed too thick,     Or else by far too watery and thin.     Because the thin is powerless to cleave     Fast to the proper places, straightaway     It trickles from them, and, returned again,     Retires abortively. And then since seed     More gross and solid than will suit is spent     By some men, either it flies not forth amain     With spurt prolonged enough, or else it fails     To enter suitably the proper places,     Or, having entered, the seed is weakly mixed     With seed of the woman: harmonies of Venus     Are seen to matter vastly here; and some     Impregnate some more readily, and from some     Some women conceive more readily and become     Pregnant. And many women, sterile before     In several marriage-beds, have yet thereafter     Obtained the mates from whom they could conceive     The baby-boys, and with sweet progeny     Grow rich. And even for husbands (whose own wives,     Although of fertile wombs, have borne for them     No babies in the house) are also found     Concordant natures so that they at last     Can bulwark their old age with goodly sons.     A matter of great moment 'tis in truth,     That seeds may mingle readily with seeds     Suited for procreation, and that thick     Should mix with fluid seeds, with thick the fluid.     And in this business 'tis of some import     Upon what diet life is nourished:     For some foods thicken seeds within our members,     And others thin them out and waste away.     And in what modes the fond delight itself     Is carried on—this too importeth vastly.     For commonly 'tis thought that wives conceive     More readily in manner of wild-beasts,     After the custom of the four-foot breeds,     Because so postured, with the breasts beneath     And buttocks then upreared, the seeds can take     Their proper places. Nor is need the least     For wives to use the motions of blandishment;     For thus the woman hinders and resists     Her own conception, if too joyously     Herself she treats the Venus of the man     With haunches heaving, and with all her bosom     Now yielding like the billows of the sea—     Aye, from the ploughshare's even course and track     She throws the furrow, and from proper places     Deflects the spurt of seed. And courtesans     Are thuswise wont to move for their own ends,     To keep from pregnancy and lying in,     And all the while to render Venus more     A pleasure for the men—the which meseems     Our wives have never need of.                                 Sometimes too     It happens—and through no divinity     Nor arrows of Venus—that a sorry chit     Of scanty grace will be beloved by man;     For sometimes she herself by very deeds,     By her complying ways, and tidy habits,     Will easily accustom thee to pass     With her thy life-time—and, moreover, lo,     Long habitude can gender human love,     Even as an object smitten o'er and o'er     By blows, however lightly, yet at last     Is overcome and wavers. Seest thou not,     Besides, how drops of water falling down     Against the stones at last bore through the stones?