Catullus 67

Original Latin

O dulci iucunda viro, iucunda parenti,

salve, teque bona Iuppiter auctet ope,

ianua, quam Balbo dicunt servisse benigne

olim, cum sedes ipse senex tenuit,

quamque ferunt rursus gnato servisse maligne,

postquam es porrecto facta marita sene.

dic agedum nobis, quare mutata feraris

in dominum veterem deseruisse fidem.

'Non (ita Caecilio placeam, cui tradita nunc sum)

culpa mea est, quamquam dicitur esse mea,

nec peccatum a me quisquam pote dicere quicquam:

verum istius populi ianua qui te facit,

qui quacumque aliquid reperitur non bene factum

ad me omnes clamant: ianua, culpa tua est.'

Non istuc satis est uno te dicere verbo.

sed facere ut quivis sentiat et videat.

'Qui possum? nemo quaerit nec scire laborat?'

Nos volumus: nobis dicere ne dubita.

'Primum igitur, virgo quod fertur tradita nobis,

falsum est. non illam vir prior attigerit,

languidior tenera cui pendens sicula beta.

numquam se mediam sustulit ad tunicam;

sed pater illius gnati violasse cubile

dicitur et miseram conscelerasse domum,

sive quod impia mens caeco flagrabat amore,

seu quod iners sterili semine natus erat,

ut quaerendum unde foret nervosius illud,

quod posset zonam solvere virgineam.'

Egregium narras mira pietate parentem.

qui ipse sui gnati minxerit in gremium.

Atqui non solum hoc dicit se cognitum habere

Brixia Cycneae supposita speculae,

flavus quam molli praecurrit flumine Mella,

Brixia Veronae mater amata meae,

sed de Postumio et Corneli narrat amore,

cum quibus illa malum fecit adulterium.

dixerit hic aliquis: quid? tu istaec, ianua, nosti,

cui numquam domini limine abesse licet,

nec populum auscultare, sed hic suffixa tigillo

tantum operire soles aut aperire domum?

saepe illam audivi furtiva voce loquentem

solam cum ancillis haec sua flagitia,

nomine dicentem quos diximus, utpote quae mi

speraret nec linguam esse nec auriculam.

praeterea addebat quendam, quem dicere nolo

nomine, ne tollat rubra supercilia.

longus homo est, magnas cui lites intulit olim

falsum mendaci ventre puerperium.'

My Translation

Praise you, sweet door, so pleasing

to a husband, to a father–

may Jupiter bless you with luck!

Praise you, sweet door, 

which they say once served old Balbus well 

when he resided in your home. 

Yet later, they say that you served

his son, after you were given as the old man’s wedding gift, 

so poorly. 

Come on, tell us why they say you changed?

Why did you abandon your loyalty?

“It’s not my fault (after all, I please Caecilius, who owns me now)!

The gossip of others is no sin of mine: 

People always make a door their scapegoat when their lives 

fall apart– they cry out: 

‘Door, it’s all your fault!’” 

I cannot just take your word for it –

you must prove yourself so everyone can 

feel and see your goodness. 

“But how? No one asks, no one bothers 

to know about me.”

We ask now– do not hesitate. 

Tell us!

“Alright. First, they lied when they said 

a virgin resided here– 

her husband, whose limp package hangs 

weaker than a tender Sicilian beet and 

whose tunic was never lifted, 

wasn’t the first to touch her. 

Rather, the father, or so they say, 

violated his own son’s bed, 

polluting my wretched home!

Perhaps it was because of his wicked mind, 

or blinding desire, 

or because his son was so useless,

born, after all, seedless, 

that they needed to find someone stronger 

to steal the maiden’s innocence. 

But what a fine father you described–

remarkable in his devotion–

he then came in his own son’s lap!

“And that’s not all– Brescia, 

beneath Cycnus’s water tower and running past it 

with its gentle stream, 

Brescia, the beloved mother of my Verona, 

she tells of the passion of Postumius and Cornelius–

with them, that “maiden” committed 

filthy crimes of adultery. 

Someone will ask: 

‘What? How do you know this, door?

You can never leave your master’s threshold, 

You cannot listen to the gossiping crowds. 

You are simply fixed to a beam, opening 

and closing the home!’

Yet often, I heard her speaking to her maids in confidence, 

confessing her actions and 

naming these men, thinking that 

I, just a door, 

lacked ears and a tongue. 

She even added another man 

(who I refuse to name, for I don’t want 

to see his raised red eyebrows). 

He’s a tall man, 

once dragged into a great lawsuit, 

by a fake pregnancy 

in a lying womb.”