The Art of Love Read Online Free Page B

flutes, the dancers’ feet
    Stamped the smooth floor in the triple beat
    Until amid loud hoorays
    (Applause was pretty crude in the old days)
    The king gave the sign they were waiting for
    And the Rape began. Up they sprang with a lustful roar
    And grabbed the virgins. As eagles scatter a flock
    Of timid doves or wolves scare lambs, so the shock
    Of this wild male charge spread panic. Colour drained
    From every girl’s face; a common terror reigned,
    Though its features varied. Some sat there numb
    With fear, some tore their hair; one girl, struck dumb,
    Simply wept, another
    Called ineffectually for her mother;
    They shrieked or stared, they froze or fled.
    And so, as plunder of the marriage-bed,
    They were carried away, and I dare say their alarm
    Gave some of them a piquant extra charm.
    A girl who struggled and wouldn’t co-operate
    Was hoisted up and hauled off by her new mate
    With “Why spoil those tender eyes with tears? Never mind,
    I’ll be as kind to you as your father was kind
    To your mother.” Romulus, you found the right reward
    For soldiers—for
that
I’ll enlist myself, with a sword!
    Since then time-honoured custom has made our Roman
    Theatres danger spots for pretty women.
        And don’t miss the chariot races: the big Circus
    Offers lots of chances for smart workers.
    No need of finger-language here, no need to guess
    That a nod of the head means yes:
    You can sit as close to a girl as you please,
    So make the most of touching thighs and knees
    (The seating arrangements almost force
    Physical intimacy as a matter of course).
    At this point casually volunteer
    An opening remark for anyone to hear.
    Ask with keen interest, “Whose team’s that going by?”
    And “Who are you backing?” Given a reply,
    Add instantly, “So am I!”
    When the gods’ ivory statues pass in the grand
    Procession, give Venus a big hand,
    And if a speck of dust, as it well may,
    Falls in her lap, brush it away—
    Brush it away even if there’s no dust:
    Any gallant excuse in the service of lust.
    If her cloak trails on the ground, make a great scene
    Of lifting it up to keep it clean,
    And if you’ve played it right
    You’re rewarded at once—with her permission, the sight
    Of her ankles. (Watch out for the man behind—
    His knee may be giving the small of her back a grind.)
    A frivolous mind
    Is won by small attentions. Many a man
    Has scored by arranging a cushion or plying a fan
    Or slipping a little stool
    Under the dainty feet of a sweet fool.
    [L ATIN :
Hos aditus Circusque…
]
        Such openings the Circus offers for the study
    Of the art of the pick-up; so does the grim Forum with its bloody
    Arena of sand. Here Cupid has his killing-ground,
    And the man who came to see blood himself gets a wound—
    In the heart. While he’s touching her hand, bending her ear,
    Borrowing her programme, asking if the charioteer
    He’s backed will win, he feels
    The shock of the arrow, the steel’s
    Struck home, he groans—and the spectator
    Joins in the show, a dying gladiator.
    [L ATIN :
Quid, modo cum…
]
    When Caesar staged that naval mock-battle between
    Athenians and Persians, what a scene!
    From east and west young women and men
    Converged, the whole known world was in Rome then.
    In such a crowd, in such a push-and-shove,
    Who could fail to find someone to love?
    That day hundreds of men learnt
    How hot a foreign flame is, and got burnt.
    [L ATIN :
Ecce, parat Caesar…
]
        Now Caesar’s planning to extend his powers
    To the rest of the untamed world. You shall be ours,
    O farthest East. Parthians, you shall be paid
    In full. Exult, standards that they laid
    Shaming barbarian hands on! Rejoice, the shade
    Of buried Crassus! Now your avenger appears,
    A boy who despite his years
    Proclaims his generalship
    And has strong hands to grip
    The reins of a war that no one of that age
    But he would dare or be allowed to wage.
    Why timidly rely on arithmetic
    When it comes to the age of a god? Valour