Flete meos casus—tristes rediere tabellae
infelix hodie littera posse negat.
omina sunt aliquid; modo cum discedere vellet,
ad limen digitos restitit icta Nape.
Weep for my misfortunes—the tablets have returned with sad news; today the unhappy letter says “no can do.” Omens mean something; just now when she wanted to leave, Nape stumbled, striking her toes at the threshold.
The passage reflects several aspects of Roman daily life and beliefs. Writing tablets (tabellae) were the common medium for correspondence, consisting of wooden boards covered with wax that could be written on with a stylus and reused. They were often carried by slaves acting as messengers.
Nape is a slave-girl’s name, likely of Greek origin, typical of the sophisticated urban household slaves who appear in Roman love poetry. Her role here is as a message carrier between lovers.
The Romans were deeply superstitious and paid careful attention to omens. Stumbling at a threshold (limen) was considered particularly unfortunate - thresholds were sacred spaces associated with Janus, the god of doorways and transitions. This everyday accident would have been interpreted as a divine sign confirming the bad news contained in the returned message tablets.
missa foras iterum limen transire memento
cautius atque alte sobria ferre pedem!
Ite hinc, difficiles, funebria ligna, tabellae,
tuque, negaturis cera referta notis!—
When sent outside again, remember to cross the threshold more carefully and, being sober, lift your foot high! Go away from here, you troublesome tablets, you funeral wood, and you too, wax filled with characters that spell rejection!
The Romans paid special attention to thresholds (limina), considering them sacred boundaries protected by the god Janus. Stumbling over a threshold was considered a particularly bad omen that could doom an endeavor before it began. The writing tablets mentioned were wooden boards coated with wax (cera), into which letters were scratched with a stylus. These were the standard medium for everyday writing and correspondence, as papyrus was too expensive for routine use.
The reference to “funeral wood” is a melodramatic curse on the tablets themselves, treating them as bearers of death (to hopes or desires) and suggesting they’d be better used as kindling for a funeral pyre. The phrase “negaturis notis” (characters spelling rejection) reflects the Roman practice of responding to requests with simple “yes” or “no” answers written on returned tablets. The mocking tone toward the tablets themselves is characteristic of Roman poetry’s tendency to personify and address inanimate objects.
quam, puto, de longae collectam flore cicutae
melle sub infami Corsica misit apis.
at tamquam minio penitus medicata rubebas—
ille color vere sanguinolentus erat.
proiectae triviis iaceatis, inutile lignum,
vosque rotae frangat praetereuntis onus!
Which [wax], I think, a Corsican bee made from hemlock flowers it gathered, mixed with its infamous honey. But you were blushing red as if thoroughly dyed with cinnabar—that color was truly bloodlike. May you lie thrown out at the crossroads, useless wood, and may the weight of a passing wheel crush you!
Corsican honey was notorious in antiquity for its bitter taste, caused by bees feeding on hemlock and other toxic plants that grew abundantly on the island. The reference to cinnabar (minium) reflects Roman familiarity with this bright red mercuric pigment, commonly used in painting and cosmetics.
The curse calling for the tablets to be thrown at the crossroads (trivia) has religious significance - crossroads were considered liminal spaces associated with magic and disposal of cursed objects. They were sacred to Hecate and other chthonic deities. The specific mention of being crushed by wagon wheels suggests the busy intersection of a Roman city, where cart traffic would have been constant during daylight hours.
The poem’s conceit that the red wax of the tablets comes from toxic honey, rather than simple dye, transforms a common writing material into something sinister and dangerous, matching the speaker’s bitter mood about the message’s contents.
illum etiam, qui vos ex arbore vertit in usum,
convincam puras non habuisse manus.
praebuit illa arbor misero suspendia collo,
carnifici diras praebuit illa cruces;
illa dedit turpes raucis bubonibus umbras,
vulturis in ramis et strigis ova tulit.
Even that man who transformed you from a tree into something useful, I will prove did not have clean hands. That tree provided hanging for a wretched neck, it provided dreadful crosses for the executioner; it gave foul shelter to hoarse owls, and bore on its branches the eggs of vultures and screech-owls.
The passage drips with dark Roman superstition, describing a tree associated with death and ill omens. The Romans considered owls (especially screech-owls) to be birds of ill omen, harbingers of death and misfortune. Their calls were thought to predict doom. Vultures, as carrion birds, carried similar negative associations but were also paradoxically considered sacred to Romulus.
The reference to crosses (cruces) evokes the common Roman method of execution by crucifixion, carried out by the carnifex - a social outcast who performed executions and disposed of corpses. The hanging (suspendium) mentioned was another form of execution or suicide, considered particularly shameful in Roman society.
The idea of “clean hands” (puras manus) has both literal and metaphorical significance, relating to ritual purity. In Roman religion, people who had contact with death were considered polluted and required purification before participating in religious activities. The craftsman who worked with wood from such an ill-omened tree would have been considered spiritually contaminated.
his ego commisi nostros insanus amores
molliaque ad dominam verba ferenda dedi?
aptius hae capiant vadimonia garrula cerae,
quas aliquis duro cognitor ore legat;
inter ephemeridas melius tabulasque iacerent,
in quibus absumptas fleret avarus opes.
Did I, insane, entrust our love affairs to these tablets and give them tender words to be carried to my mistress? These wax tablets would be more suitably filled with chattering legal bonds, which some attorney might read with a harsh expression; they would be better placed among account books and ledgers, in which a miser might weep over his consumed wealth.
The passage contrasts the world of love with that of Roman business and law. The wax tablets (cerae) mentioned were the standard writing material for both personal and business use in Rome - wooden boards covered with wax that could be written on with a stylus and reused.
The legal terminology is specific and technical: vadimonia were guarantees to appear in court, while a cognitor was a formal legal representative who would speak on behalf of a client in litigation. The “harsh expression” (duro ore) suggests the stereotypical severity of Roman legal professionals.
The reference to account books (ephemerides) reflects the meticulous Roman practice of keeping daily financial records. The Greek word emphasizes the influence of Greek business practices on Roman commerce. The image of a miser weeping over his accounts draws on a common literary type in Roman satire and comedy - the wealthy man obsessed with monitoring his fortune.
Ergo ego vos rebus duplices pro nomine sensi.
auspicii numerus non erat ipse boni.
quid precer iratus, nisi vos cariosa senectus
rodat, et inmundo cera sit alba situ?
So I have found you two-faced in reality, just as your name suggests. The very number was not one of good omen. What should I pray for in my anger, except that moldering old age might gnaw at you, and that your wax turn white with filthy decay?
The “duplices” tablets mentioned were hinged pairs of wooden boards coated with wax for writing. Their dual nature made them a natural metaphor for duplicity and betrayal. Roman thought was deeply concerned with numbers and their significance - even numbers were often considered unlucky or associated with death and the underworld, while odd numbers were considered more fortunate.
The curse invoked on the tablets reflects common Roman attitudes about decay and aging. The detailed vocabulary of decomposition (cariosa, situs) reveals how familiar Romans were with the processes of material decay in their pre-industrial world. The whitening of wax (cera alba) through mold or decay would render the tablets useless for writing - a fitting punishment for tablets that failed in their communicative purpose. The curse’s emphasis on physical deterioration is characteristic of Roman magic, which often sought to inflict tangible harm on objects associated with the target of the spell.