Untitled

by C. P. Cavafy, tr. Rae Dalven

When I learned of the misfortune, that Myres was dead,

I paid a visit to his house, though I avoid

going into the homes of the Christians,

especially in time of mournings or feasts.

I stayed in the vestibule. I did not want

to go farther inside, because I had noticed

that the dead boy's relatives kept staring at me

in strange astonishment and displeasure.

They had placed him in a large room,

and from the corner where I stood

I could see a little; expensive carpets everywhere,

and vessels of silver and of gold.

I stood at one end of the vestibule and wept.

And I thought how our reunions and excursions

would no longer be worth-while without Myres;

and I thought how I would see him no more

at our fine, immodest all-night revels

enjoying himself, and laughing, and reciting verses

with his perfect sense of Greek rhythm;

and I thought how I had lost his beauty

forever, how I had lost forever

the youth whom I so madly adored.

Some old women near me spoke in low voices

of the last day of his life—

that the name of Christ was constantly on his lips,

that he held a cross in his hands.—

Then into the room entered

four Christian priests fervently saying

prayers and supplications to Jesus,

or to Mary! (I do not know their religion well.)

We know of course, that Myres was a Christian.

We knew it from the first moment when he

joined our group, the year before last.

But he lived precisely as we did.

Of all of us, the most addicted to pleasures;

squandering his money recklessly on amusements.

Careless about the world's estimate of him,

he flung himself happily into nocturnal street brawls

every time our gang happened

to meet a hostile gang.

He never spoke of his religion.

Indeed, one time we told him that we

would take him with us to Serapeum.

However, it seemed that our jest

had displeased him: I remember now.

Ah and two other instances now come to mind.

When we offered libations to Poseidon,

he withdrew from our group and turned his eyes elsewhere.

When enthusiastically one of us

said, "May our companions be under

the favor and the protection of the mighty,

the all-beautiful Apollo,"—Myres murmured

(the others did not hear him), "Except for me."

The Christian priests prayed in a loud voice

for the soul of the young man.—

I observed with what care

and with what meticulous attention

for their religious rites they prepared

every detail for the Christian burial.

And suddenly a queer impression

seized me. I had the vague feeling

that Myres was leaving my side;

I felt that he was united, a Christian,

with his own people, and I was becoming

a stranger, a total stranger; I also sensed

a doubt approaching me; perhaps I had been deluded

by my own passion, and I had always been a stranger to him.—

I flew out of their horrible house,

I left quickly before the memory of Myres should be