Letter 103.13

My lord, poets are allowed to make new words so they can express what they feel more easily; I need the same license to bring out my joy. Ordinary and familiar words are not enough for me. I rejoice too joyfully for common speech to show the gladness of my heart: you have written me so many letters in so few days, and composed them so elegantly, so warmly, so kindly, so freely, so fragrantly, though you are pulled apart by so much business, so many duties, and so many letters to answer from the provinces. Yet I had decided, for it is not right for me to hide or disguise anything from you, that I would rather be blamed by you for laziness by writing to you less often than burden you with my letters while you were busy with so many things and provoke you to answer, when you were already writing to me every day of your own accord. But why do I say "every day"? Here I need new word-making. "Every day" would apply if you had written one letter on each day. Since there are more letters than days, the word "daily" says too little. And there is no reason, my lord, for you to be saddened because I feared that my more frequent letters might be a burden to you. The more you love me, the more sparing I ought to be with your labors and the more modest toward your occupations. What is sweeter to me than your kiss? That sweet fragrance, that fruit, lies for me in your neck and your kiss. Yet recently, when you were setting out, after your father had already climbed into the carriage and the crowd of people greeting and kissing you was holding you up too long, it helped you that I alone, out of everyone, did not embrace or kiss you. So too in every other matter I will never put my own convenience before your interests. If necessary, I would buy even your slightest ease at the cost of my heaviest labor and trouble. So, thinking how much labor writing letters imposed on you, I had decided to address you more sparingly, though you kept writing to me every day. When I received those letters of yours, I felt what a lover feels when he sees his beloved running toward him along a rough and dangerous road: he rejoices that the beloved is coming, and at the same time fears the danger. That is why I dislike the story so loved by actors, in which a girl in love stands at night in a tower with a lamp lit, waiting for the young man she loves as he swims through the sea. Though I burn with love for you, I would rather be utterly separated from you than allow you to swim so deep a sea so late at night, lest the moon set, the wind put out the lamp, the cold seize you, or a wave, a shoal, or a fish somehow harm you. Better and healthier language for lovers would be this: do not pursue a brief and regretful use of pleasure at the deadly risk of another person's life. Now to turn from the story to the truth: my special anxiety was that I might add some unnecessary trouble and burden to your necessary labors, if, besides the letters that unavoidable duties force you to write daily to very many people, I too wore you out with answering mine. I would rather lack every benefit of your love than have you suffer even the smallest inconvenience for my pleasure.

145–147 A.D. To my Lord. 1. The coining of new words, or onomatopoeia, which is allowed to poets to enable them more easily to express their thoughts, is a necessity to me for describing my joy. For customary and habitual words do not satisfy me; so transported am I with joy that I cannot in ordinary language signify the gladness of my heart at your having written me so many letters in so few days, composed too with such felicity, such friendship, such kindness, such fulness, such ardour, though you were distracted by so much business, so many duties, so many letters to be answered throughout the provinces. But indeed I had purposed—for I must not keep anything hidden or dissembled from you—I had purposed, I say, to incur even the reproach of laziness from you by writing to you less often, rather than to trouble you, amid your many engagements, with my letters and tempt you to write, whereas you of your own accord have written to me daily. But why do I say daily? It is just here that the need of word-coining comes in. For it would be daily , if you had written one letter a day; since however, there are more letters than days, that word daily falls short of the meaning. For is there need, my Lord, for you to be vexed with me for actually fearing that my too frequent letters should be a burden to you; for the more you love me, the more chary should I be of adding to your work, and the more forbearing in respect of your occupations. 2. What is sweeter to me than your kiss? That sweet fragrance, that delight dwells for me in your neck, on your lips. Yet the last time you were setting out, when your father had already got into the carriage, but you were delayed by the crowd of those who were saying good-bye and kissing you, it was to your advantage that I alone of all did not embraee or kiss you. So too in all other things, I will never set my convenience before your interests, for, if need were, with heaviest toil and service of mine I would purchase your slightest ease. 3. Considering therefore, how much labour the writing of letters imposed upon you, I had determined to address you more sparingly, when you wrote daily to me. When I got those letters of yours I was in similar plight to a lover, who sees his darling running towards him along a rough and dangerous pathway. For he rejoices at the loved one's coming at the same time that he fears the danger. Consequently I do not care for the story, which is such a favourite with actors, where a loving girl standing by night in a turret with a lighted taper in her hand, awaits her young lover as he swims the straits. For though I burn with love for you, I would rather be severed utterly from you than let you swim so deep a sea so late at night, for fear the moon should set, the wind dash out your light, the cold benumb your senses there, a wave, a reef, a sea-beast in some way work you harm. This language were more fitting for a lover and better and more sound—not at the peril of another's life to seek to enjoy a pleasure short in duration and fraught with regret. 4. Now to turn from fiction to reality, my especial anxiety was lest I should add to your unavoidable labours some superfluous trouble and burden, if besides those letters which your unavoidable duties require you to write daily to very many correspondents, I too should weary you with answering my letters. For I should prefer to sacrifice every advantage of your love, rather than that you should suffer the slightest inconvenience to gratify my pleasure.

ad M. Caesarem 3.14 [45 Hout; 1.218 Haines] Domino meo. 1 Quod poetis concessum est ὀνοματοποιεῖν, verba nova fingere, quo facilius, quod sentiunt, exprimant, id mihi necessarium est ad gaudium meum expromendum. Nam solitis et usitatis verbis non sum contentus, sed laetius gaudeo quam, ut sermone volgato significare laetitiam animi mei possim: Tot mihi a te in tam paucis diebus epistulas scriptas easque tam eleganter, tam amice, tam blande, tam effuse, tam fraglanter conpositas, cum jam tot negotiis quot officiis, quot rescribendis er provinsias litteris distringere. 2 Atenim proposueram (nihil enim mihi a te occultum aut dissimulatum retinere fas est) ita, inquam, proposueram vel desidiae culpam a te subire rarius scribendo tibi potius, quam te multis rebus occupatum epistulis meis onorarem et ad rescribendum provocarem, quom tu cotidie ultro scripsisti mihi. Sed quid dico ‘cotidie’? Ergo jam hic mihi ὀνοματοποιίας opus est. Nam ‘cotidie’ foret, si singulas epistulas per dies singulos scripsisses; quom vero plures epistulae quam sint dies, verbum istud ‘cottidie’ minus significat. Nec est, domine, quod mihi tristior sis, cur omnino veritus sim ne tibi litterae meae crebriores oneris essent: Nam quo mei amantior es, tanto me laborum tuorum parciorem et occupationum tuarum modestiorem esse oportet. 3 Quid est mihi osculo tuo suavius! Ille mihi suavis odor, ille fructus in tuo collo atque osculo situs est. Attamen proxime, cum proficiscere, cum jam pater tuus vehiculum conscendisset, te salutantium et exosculantium turba diutius moraretur. profuit ut te solus ex omnibus non complecterer nec exoscularer. Item in ceteris aliis rebus omnibus numquam equidem mea commoda tuis utilitatibus anteponam; quin si opus sit, meo gravissimo labore atque negotio tuum levissimum et otium redimam. 4 Igitur cogitans quantum ex epistulis scribendis laboris caperes proposueram parcius te appellare quom tu cotidie scripsisti mihi. Quas ego epistulas quom acciperem, simile patiebar, quod amator patitur, qui delicias suas videat currere ad se per iter asperum et periculosum. Namque is simul advenientem gaudet, simul periculum reveretur. Unde displicet mihi fabula histrionibus celebrata, ubi amans amantem puella juvenem nocte lumine accenso stans in turri natantem in mare opperitur. Nam ego potius te caruero, tametsi amore tuo ardeo, potius quam “te ad hoc noctis natare tantum profundi patiar ne luna occidat, ne ventus lucernam interemat, ne quid ibi ex frigore inpliciscare, ne fluetur, ne vadus, ne piscis aliquo noxsit”. Haec ratio amantibus decuit et melior et salubrior fuit: Non alieno capitali periculo sectari voluptatis usuram brevem ac paenitendam. 5 Nunc ut a fabula ad verum convertar, id ego non mediocriter anxius eram, ne necessariis laboribus tuis ego insuper aliquod molestiae atque oneris inponerem, si praeter eas epistulas, quas ad plurimos necessario munere cotidie rescribis, ego quoque ad rescribendum fatigarem. Nam me carere omni fructu amoris tui malim quam te ne minimum quidem incommodi voluptatis meae gratiae subire.