Liber Latinus

Latin in translation

Petronius Satyricon 44f

Dixit illa Ganymedes: “narratis quod nec ad caelum nec ad terram pertinet, cum interim nemo curat, quid annona mordet. Non me hercules hodie buccam panis invenire potui. Et quomodo siccitas perseverat. Iam annum esuritio fuit. Aediles male eveniat, qui cum pistoribus colludunt ‘Serva me, servabo te.’ Itaque populus minutus laborat; nam isti maiores maxillae semper Saturnalia agunt. O si haberemus illos leones, quos ego hic inveni, cum primum ex Asia veni. Illud erat vivere. Simila si siligine inferior esset, laruas sic istos percolopabant, ut illis Iupiter iratus esset. Sed memini Safinium: tunc habitabat ad arcum veterem, me puero, piper, non homo. Is quacunque ibat, terram adurebat. Sed rectus, sed certus, amicus amico, cum quo audacter posses intenebris micare. In curia autem quomoda singulos vel pilabat tractabat, nec schemas loquebatur sed derectum. Cum ageret porro in foro, sic illius vox crescebat tanquam tuba. Nec sudavit unquam nec expuit, puto eum nescio quid Asiadis habuisse. Et quam benignus resalutare, nomina omnium reddere, tanquam unus de nobis. Itaque illo tempore annona pro luto erat, Asse panem quem emisses, non potuisses cum altera devorare. Nunc oculum bublum vidi maiorem. Heu heu, quotidie peius. Haec colonia retroversus crescit tanquam coda vituli. Sed quare nos habemus aedilem trium cauniarum, qui sibi mavult assem quam vitam nostram? Itaque domi gaudet, plus in die nummorum accipit, quam alter patrimonium habet. Iam scio, unde acceperit denarios mille aureos. Sed si nos coleos haberemus, non tantum sibi placeret. Nunc populus est domi leones, foras vulpes. Quod ad me attinet, iam pannos meos comedi, et si perseverat haec annona, casulas meas vendam. Quid enim futurum est, si nec dii nec homines huius coloniae miserentur? Ita meos fruniscar, ut ego puto omnia illa a diibus fieri. Nemo enim caelum caelum putat, nemo ieiunium servat, nemo Iovem pili facit, sed omnes opertis oculis bona sua computant. Antea stolatae ibant nudis pedibus in clivum, passis capillis, mentibus puris, et Iovem aquam exorabant. Itaque statim urceatim plovebat: aut tune aut nunquam: et omnes redibant udi tanquam mures. Itaque dii pedes lanatos habent, quia nos religiosi non sumus. Agri iacent—”.

“Oro te” inquit Echion centonarius “melius loquere. ‘Modo sic, modo sic’ inquit rusticus; varium porcum perdiderat. Quod hodie non est, eras erit: sic vita truditur.”

And Ganymedes said: “You go on talking about things that matter not to heaven or earth, and all the while, nobody cares about cost of living pressures! God, I can’t even get a mouthful of bread these days. Oh, and how the drought goes on. There’s been famine for a year now. Damn the politicians, they’re in the pocket of the bakers. ‘You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours’, and ordinary folk come off worse. Because the jaws of the upper classes are always holding some carnival. I only wish I had the sort of money I found here when I first come out from Asia! That was the life. If the flour was at all inferior, they beat up those ghosts to put the fear of God in them. I remember Safinius, he used to live by the old arch back when I was a boy. More of a peppercorn than a person, he used to scorch the ground wherever he went! But he was an honest guy, truthful, a good friend. You wouldn’t be afraid to play scissors-paper-rock with him in the dark. Oh, but how he used to hammer them in the Senate-house, every single one, and never with extravagant figures of speech, always straightforward. Then whenever he used to speak in the forum, how his voice would swell just like a trumpet! Never any sweating or spitting—I guess he had a touch of the Asiatic speaking style. And how kindly he would greet you in return and reply to you with your name, rather like one of us would. So at that time the cost of living was dirt-cheap. You could buy a loaf of bread for a dollar, and when you ate it, you couldn’t get through it even together with your better half! Nowadays I see bulls’ eyes bigger than a loaf of bread. My, my, things are just getting worse every day. This town is going downhill like a heifer’s tail! And then why do we have a three-fig aedile who cares more for a penny than our lives? Why, he just sits grinning at home, raking in more money in a day than others get in an inheritance. I happen to know where he got a thousand in gold. If we had balls, he wouldn’t be so pleased with himself. Nowadays people are lions indoors and foxes in public. As for me, I’ve already had to sell all my rags just to feed myself, and if the cost of living stays as it is, I’ll have to sell my little cottages. Whatever will happen if neither gods nor men take pity on this town? As I may be happy with my kids, I think all these things come from the gods. Because nobody believes that heaven is really heaven, nobody observes fasts, nobody cares a trifle for Jupiter, but everyone just sits there counting their own goods. Back in the day, matrons would go up the hill in bare feet, loose hair, pure hearts, and would pray to Jupiter for rain. And what do you know, it starts raining by the bucketful at once, then or never, and they would all come back wet as drowned rats. Well that’s why the gods have stuffed their ears now, we’ve gotten unreligious. And the fields lie barren—”

“Oh please, don’t be so gloomy,” said Echion, the clothes dealer. “There’s ups and there’s downs, as the old peasant said when he sold his spotted pig. What we don’t have today, we’ll have tomorrow: so we trudge through life.”

Aetna 43-64

temptauere (nefas) olim detrudere mundo
sidera captiuique Iouis transferre gigantes
imperium et uicto leges inponere caelo.
his natura sua est aluo tenus: ima per orbes
squameus intortos sinuat uestigia serpens.
construitur magnis ad proelia montibus agger,
Pelion Ossa premit, summus premit Ossan Olympus.
iam coaceruatas nituntur scandere moles,
impius et miles metuentia comminus astra
prouocat, infestus cunctos ad proelia diuos
prouocat admotis per inertia sidera signis.
Iuppiter et caelo metuit dextramque coruscam
armatus flamma remouet caligine mundum.
incursant uasto primum clamore gigantes.
hinc magno tonat ore pater geminantque fauentes
undique discordi sonitum simul agmine uenti;
densa per attonitas rumpuntur fulmina nubes,
atque in bellandum quae cuique potentia diuum
in commune uenit; iam patri dextera Pallas
et Mars laeuus erat, iam cetera turba deorum
stant utrimque tuens; ualidos tum Iuppiter ignis
increpat et uictor proturbat fulmine montes.

The giants — what sacrilege! — once tried to thrust down the stars from the sky,
and to capture Jupiter, transfer his sovereignty,
and to impose their laws on conquered heaven.
Their nature is human, all to the belly; to the bottom, through coils,
a scaly serpent spools spirals of the soles of their feet.
From great mountains, a battle bulwark is heaped;
Ossa presses upon Pelion, Olympus’s summit presses upon Ossa.
They strive now to scale the mounds, heap on heap,
irreverent, challenge the fearful stars to close combat,
deranged, challenge all the gods to pitched battle,
the soldiers moving their battle-standard through ranks of benumbed constellations.
Jupiter fears for heaven,
and takes the sky from sight with fog,
his hand glistering and wielding flame.
The giants begin the assault with a monstrous shout.
Now the father of gods thunders in a deep voice
and all around the warring wind musters,
redoubles the sound at once with its gust.
Thunderbolts flare thick through stricken cloud
and whatever battle-strength any god has,
it comes to them all.
Now at her father’s right was Pallas, Mars at his left;
Now the rest of the gods crowd, standing guard at either side;
Then Jupiter sounds his candescent fire,
the vanquisher kindles lightening at the mountains.

Ovid, Metamorphoses 3.437–453: non illum Cereris, non illum cura quietis

Non illum Cereris, non illum cura quietis
abstrahere inde potest, sed opaca fusus in herba
spectat inexpleto mendacem lumine formam,
perque oculos perit ipse suos; paulumque levatus
ad circumstantes tendens sua bracchia silvas
“ecquis, io silvae, crudelius” inquit “amavit?
Scitis enim, et multis latebra opportuna fuistis.
Ecquem, cum vestrae tot agantur saecula vitae,
qui sic tabuerit, longo meministis in aevo?
Et placet et video; sed quod videoque placetque,
non tamen invenio: tantus tenet error amantem.
Quoque magis doleam, nec nos mare separat ingens,
nec via nec montes nec clausis moenia portis:
exigua prohibemur aqua. Cupit ipse teneri:
nam quotiens liquidis porreximus oscula lymphis,
hic totiens ad me resupino nititur ore.
Posse putes tangi: minimum est, quod amantibus obstat.
Quisquis es, huc exi! quid me, puer unice, fallis,
quove petitus abis? certe nec forma nec aetas
est mea quam fugias, et amarunt me quoque nymphae.
Spem mihi nescio quam vultu promittis amico,
cumque ego porrexi tibi bracchia, porrigis ultro:
cum risi, adrides; lacrimas quoque saepe notavi
me lacrimante tuas, nutu quoque signa remittis,
et quantum motu formosi suspicor oris,
verba refers aures non pervenientia nostras.

No worry of food or thought can draw him thence, but, stretched out on the shaded grass, he gazes on that false image with insatiable eyes, and through his very own eyes he perishes. Raising himself a little, and stretching his arms to the woods around him, he said: “Did anyone, O woods, love more cruelly than I have? You would know, for you have been a fitting hiding-place for many. Do you remember, in ages past—for you have lived a life of so many centuries—remember anyone who wasted away like this? He pleases me and I see, but what I see and what pleases me, I cannot find: such a delusion holds the beloved. And my sorrow is all the more that there is no mighty ocean which separates us, no long road, no mountain ranges, no city walls with their gates shut; we are just kept apart by a bit of water. He longs to be embraced. For as often as I stretch my lips to the clear waters, he also strives to do the same with his upturned face. You would think he could be touched, so little it is that stands in the way of us lovers. Whoever you are, come out! Why do elude me, you unique boy? Where do you go off to when I try to reach you? Surely you would not flee me on account of my looks or my age; even the nymphs have loved me. You promise me some hope with your friendly expression, and then when I stretch out my arms to you, you stretch out yours; when I laugh, you laugh back; and I have often seen your tears when I am crying; you also return my signs with a nod; and, as I suspect from the movement of your beautiful lips, you answer me with words that do not arrive at my ears.

Ovid, Metamorphoses 3.95-114: dum spatium victor victi considerat hostis

Dum spatium victor victi considerat hostis,
vox subito audita est; neque erat cognoscere promptum
unde, sed audita est: “Quid, Agenore nate, peremptum
serpentem spectas? et tu spectabere serpens.”
Ille diu pavidus pariter cum mente colorem
perdiderat, gelidoque comae terrore rigebant.
Ecce viri fautrix, superas delapsa per auras,
Pallas adest motaeque iubet supponere terrae
vipereos dentes, populi incrementa futuri.
Paret et, ut presso sulcum patefecit aratro,
spargit humi iussos, mortalia semina, dentes.

Inde (fide maius) glaebae coepere moveri,
primaque de sulcis acies apparuit hastae,
tegmina mox capitum picto nutantia cono,
mox umeri pectusque onerataque bracchia telis
exsistunt, crescitque seges clipeata virorum.
Sic ubi tolluntur festis aulaea theatris,
surgere signa solent primumque ostendere vultus,
cetera paulatim, placidoque educta tenore
tota patent imoque pedes in margine ponunt.

While the conqueror gazed upon the immensity of his conquered enemy, a voice was heard. And he does not know whence it comes, but it is heard: “Why do you look upon the slain serpent, Cadmus? You too will be a serpent to be looked upon.” For a long while he stood there, having lost his colour as much as his composure, and his hairs stand up, frozen with fear. But behold his protector, Pallas, gliding down through the high air; she stands beside him and orders him to sow the serpent’s teeth into the ploughed earth, which would one day grow into a nation. He obeys and, as he opens up the furrows with his sunken plough, he sows in the ground the bidden teeth, a human seed.

Then, unbelievably, the earth begins to move, and first, the points of spears appear from the furrows, and then helmets with coloured plumes and then emerge shoulders and chests and arms laden with weapons, and the crop grows with shield-bearing men. So when the curtain is raised at the theatre on festival days, figures rise up: they show first their faces, and then, little by little, all the rest, and with a gentle pace they are wholly brought forth, and lie open, and they place their feet on the very edge.

Ovid, Metamorphoses 3.1-25: iamque deus posita fallacis imagine tauri

iamque deus posita fallacis imagine tauri
se confessus erat Dictaeaque rura tenebat,
cum pater ignarus Cadmo perquirere raptam
imperat et poenam, si non invenerit, addit
exilium, facto pius et sceleratus eodem.
orbe pererrato (quis enim deprendere possit
furta Iovis?) profugus patriamque iramque parentis
vitat Agenorides Phoebique oracula supplex
consulit et, quae sit tellus habitanda, requirit.
‘bos tibi’ Phoebus ait ‘solis occurret in arvis,
nullum passa iugum curvique inmunis aratri.
hac duce carpe vias et, qua requieverit herba,
moenia fac condas Boeotiaque illa vocato.’
vix bene Castalio Cadmus descenderat antro,
incustoditam lente videt ire iuvencam
nullum servitii signum cervice gerentem.
subsequitur pressoque legit vestigia gressu
auctoremque viae Phoebum taciturnus adorat.
iam vada Cephisi Panopesque evaserat arva:
bos stetit et tollens speciosam cornibus altis
ad caelum frontem mugitibus inpulit auras
atque ita respiciens comites sua terga sequentis
procubuit teneraque latus submisit in herba.
Cadmus agit grates peregrinaeque oscula terrae
figit et ignotos montes agrosque salutat.

And now the god had lain aside his bull disguise and given himself up, and lived in the Cretan countryside; Cadmus’s father, unaware of this, ordered him to search for the girl, and added the penalty of exile if he not find her — a deed at once dutiful and wicked. Having roamed the globe (for who could find what Jupiter has concealed?), Cadmus as a fugitive evaded both his father’s country and his wrath, and as a supplicant consulted the Phoeban oracle and asked which land is to be settled.

‘A cow will come to meet you in the lone plains,’ Phoebus said, ‘which has never borne yoke, and is free from crooked plough. Wend your way by her guide, and wheresoever she lies to rest upon the grass, see to it you found a city there, and you shall call it Boeotia.’ Scarcely had Cadmus left the Castilian cavern when he saw a young heifer plodding unguarded, bearing no mark of servitude upon her neck. He followed, and tracked her path with checked paces, and silently revered Phoebus for showing the way.

Now that she had passed the fords of Cephisus and the fields of Panope, the cow stood, lifting to the heavens her beautiful head, with tall horns, and filled the air with lowing. And looking back to her partners following her, she kneeled and lowered her flank into the soft grass. Cadmus gave thanks and imprints kisses upon the foreign land, then greeted the unknown mountains and plains.

Public International Law Notes

Here are my notes for Public International Law (LAWS1023, Sydney Law School LLB, Semester 1 2014).

Topic 1: Introduction to PIL

Topic 2: Sources of PIL

Topic 3: Treaties

Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties

Topic 4: PIL and Municipal Law

Topic 5: Jurisdiction

Topic 6 Part A: Diplomatic Immunity

Topic 6 Part B: Foreign State Immunity

Topic 6 Part C: Immunity for Heads and Ministers of Foreign States

Topic 7 Part A: State Responsibility

Topic 7 Part B: Mistreatment of Foreign Nationals

Topic 8: Use of Force

Topic 9: Dispute Resolution

Petron. Sat. 42

Ego, inquit, non cotidie lavor; baliscus enim fullo est: aqua dentes habet, et cor nostrum cotidie liquescit.

“I myself do not bathe every day,” Seleucus said. “The bath attendant scours you like a fuller, the water bites, and my heart is melted away.”

Cicero Fam. 7.30: ego vero iam te nec hortor nec rogo


ego vero iam te nec hortor nec rogo ut domum redeas; quin hinc ipse evolare cupio et aliquo pervenire, ‘ubi nec Pelopidarum nomen nec facta audiam.’ incredibile est quam turpiter mihi facere videar, qui his rebus intersim. ne tu videris multo ante providisse quid impenderet, tum cum hinc profugisti. quamquam haec etiam auditu acerba sunt, tamen audire tolerabilius est quam videre. in campo certe non fuisti, cum hora secunda comitiis quaestoriis institutis sella Q. Maximi, quem illi consulem esse dicebant, posita esset; quo mortuo nuntiato sella sublata est. ille autem, qui comitiis tributis esset auspicatus, centuriata habuit, consulem hora septima renuntiavit, qui usque ad K. Ian. esset quae erant futurae mane postridie. ita Caninio consule scito neminem prandisse. nihil tamen eo consule mali factum est; fuit enim mirifica vigilantia, qui suo toto consulatu somnum non viderit.

haec tibi ridicula videntur; non enim ades. quae si videres, lacrimas non teneres. quid, si cetera scribam? sunt enim innumerabilia generis eiusdem; quae quidem ego non ferrem, nisi me in philosophiae portum contulissem et nisi haberem socium studiorum meorum Atticum nostrum. cuius quoniam proprium te esse scribis mancipio et nexo, meum autem usu et fructu, contentus isto sum. id enim est cuiusque proprium, quo quisque fruitur atque utitur. sed haec alias pluribus.

Acilius, qui in Graeciam cum legionibus missus est, maximo meo beneficiost (bis enim est a me iudicio capitis rebus salvis defensus) et est homo non ingratus meque vehementer observat. ad eum de te diligentissime scripsi eamque epistulam cum hac epistula coniunxi. quam ille quo modo acceperit et quid tibi pollicitus sit velim ad me scribas.

Cicero to Curius. Rome, 44 BC.

Well I don’t ask or urge you to come home anymore. I’m longing to fly off, and to arrive someplace “where I can’t hear the name or deeds of Pelopidae“. You wouldn’t believe how disgusting I feel when I meddle in these things. But you saw the writing on the wall, before you escaped.

This is harsh to hear about, but that’s still easier than seeing it happen. You weren’t in the campus for the opening of the comitia for the election of quaestors at seven in the morning. This is when the official chair of Quintus Maximus, who they had declared consul, was set in its place. Then his death was announced and the chair was put away. Then Caesar, despite taking the auspices for the comitia tributa, held a comitia centuriata, and by one o’clock had announced the election of a consul, who would hold office until the morning of the first of January — the next day! So I can inform you that nobody had lunch during the consulship of Caninius. And nothing bad happened in that consulship. In fact the consul was extraordinarily watchful, as he didn’t catch a wink of sleep in the whole consulship.

You probably think this is a joke, but you aren’t here to see it. If you saw it, you wouldn’t be able to contain your tears. What if I told you the rest? Because there are countless examples of this sort of thing. I wouldn’t be able to take it if I hadn’t turned to the refuge of philosophy and if I didn’t have my friend Atticus as a partner in my studies. Since you say he’s yours officially and by ownership, but mine in using and enjoying him. And indeed, what one uses and enjoys is his property. But more on this later.

Acilius, who was sent into Greece with the legions, is very much indebted to me (in fact I successfully defended him twice on capital charges). He isn’t an ungrateful man, and he pays me earnest respect. I have written keenly to him about you, and I’ve attached that letter to this letter. Please write and tell me how he has taken it and what he’s offered to do for you.

Cicero Fam. 8.7: quam cito tu istinc decedere


quam cito tu istinc decedere cupias nescio; ego quidem eo magis, quo adhuc felicius res gessisti, dum istic eris, de belli Parthici periculo cruciabor, ne hunc risum meum metus aliqui perturbet. breviores has litteras properanti publicanorum tabellario subito dedi; tuo liberto pluribus verbis scriptas pridie dederam.

res autem novae nullae sane acciderunt, nisi haec vis tibi scribi, quae certe vis: Cornificius adulescens Orestillae filiam sibi despondit; Paula Valeria, soror Triari, divortium sine causa, quo die vir e provincia venturus erat, fecit nuptura est D. Bruto. mundum rettuleras. multa in hoc genere incredibilia te absente acciderunt. Servius Ocella nemini persuasisset se moechum esse, nisi triduo bis deprensus esset. quaeres, ubi. Ubi hercules ego minime vellem. relinquo tibi quod ab aliis quaeras; neque enim displicet mihi imperatorem singulos percontari cum qua sit aliqui deprensus.

Caelius to Cicero. Rome, 50 BC.

I don’t know how soon you wish to leave from where you are. I for one, am tormented all the more by the danger of a Parthian war when your achievements have been more successful to this point, for fear that some dread should disturb this laughter I have. This letter is shorter than usual, but I gave it to a messenger of the publicani who was in a hurry; yesterday I gave a longer letter to your freedman.

What’s more, nothing new has happened at all, unless you want me to tell you these little tidbits (which I’m sure you do). Cornificius promised Orestilla he’d marry his daughter! And Paula Valeria (Triarus’ daughter), got a divorce without cause, on the day that her husband left his province, so that she could marry Decimus Brutus. She gave him back her whole wardrobe.

Lots of these incredible things have happened in your absence. Servius Ocella wouldn’t have convinced anyone that he wasn’t an adulterer if he hadn’t been caught in the act twice in three days! Where, you ask? God, it was the very last place I would want. I’ll leave that one for others to tell. And I quite like the idea of a general interrogating one person after another about which woman’s someone been caught with.

Cicero Fam. 7.9: iam diu ignoro


iam diu ignoro quid agas; nihil enim scribis; neque ego ad te bis duobus mensibus scripseram. quod cum Quinto fratre meo non eras, quo mitterem aut cui darem nesciebam. cupio scire quid agas et ubi sis hiematurus; equidem velim cum Caesare, sed ad eum propter eius luctum nihil sum ausus scribere; ad Balbum tamen scripsi. tu tibi desse noli: —

“serius potius ad nos, dum plenior”

quod huc properes, nihil est, praesertim Battara mortuo. sed tibi consilium non dest. quid constitueris, cupio scire. Cn. Octavius est an Cn. Cornelius quidam, tuus familiaris, summo genere natus, terrae filius. is me quia scit tuum familiarem esse, crebro ad cenam invitat. adhuc non potuit perducere, sed mihi tamen gratum est.

Cicero to Trebatius. Rome, October 54 BC.

It’s been a long time since I heard how you were going, as you don’t write, nor have I written to you for two months. I didn’t know where to send a letter or who to give it to, as you weren’t with my brother Quintus. I’m keen to know what you’re doing and where you’ll spend the winter. I think it should be with Caesar, but I haven’t dared to send him anything because of his grief. But I wrote to Balbus nonetheless. Don’t despair of yourself! —

“Better return to us later, with your pockets filled”

There’s no reason to hurry home, especially now that Battara is dead. But you don’t lack a plan. I’m interested to know what you’ve decided on.

There is a certain Cn. Octavius (or Cn. Cornelius), a friend of yours, comes from old money (‘of the land’, so to speak). He keeps asking me to dinner because he knows I’m your friend. He hasn’t managed it so far, but I’m grateful for it anyway.


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