To Evagrius.
A small estate of four fields in Bithynia was given to me by my grandmother, and I now give it to you as a token of my affection. It is too small to make a man wealthy or impressive, but it has qualities that may please you, as you will see when I describe them — and there is no reason I should not write playfully to a man as full of charm and culture as yourself.
It is not more than twenty stades [about 2.5 miles] from the sea — close enough to enjoy the benefits of the coast without any noisy traders or insolent sailors disturbing the peace. But it is not entirely deprived of the sea's gifts: it has a constant supply of fish, still fresh and gasping.
If you climb to the top of the house, you can see the Propontis [the Sea of Marmara], the islands, and the city that bears the name of the noble emperor [Constantinople]. You do not have to stand on seaweed and rubbish and the usual unpleasant litter of a fishing village — instead, you stand on vines and thyme and fragrant grasses.
It is a place of deep silence, perfect for reading. And if you set your book aside and gaze out at the sea, what a view — the fishermen, the merchant ships, the sea-birds. I loved this place as a boy, and I love it still. It has beautiful springs and a charming garden and a bath that would not embarrass you. The whole farm breathes country peace.
I give it to you with my whole heart. Visit it whenever you like; it will never disappoint you.
To Evagrius 5 [362,
Constantinople]
A small estate of four fields, in Bithynia, was given to me by my grandmother,6 and this I give as an
offering to your affection for me. It is too small to bring a man any great benefit on the score of
wealth or to make him appear opulent, but even so it is a gift that cannot wholly fail to please you, as you will see if I describe its features to you one by one. And there is no reason why I should not write in a light vein to you who are so full of the graces and amenities of culture. It is situated not more
than twenty stades from the sea, so that no trader or sailor with his chatter and insolence disturbs the place. Yet it is not wholly deprived of the favours of Nereus, for it has a constant supply of fish, fresh and still gasping; and if you walk up on to a sort of hill away from the house, you will see the sea, the Propontis and the islands, and the city that bears the name of the noble Emperor;1 nor will you have to stand meanwhile on seaweed and brambles, or be annoyed by the filth that is always thrown out on to seabeaches and sands, which is so very unpleasant and even unmentionable; but you will stand on smilax and thyme and fragrant herbage. Very peaceful it is to lie down there and glance into some book, and then, while resting one's eyes, it is very agreeable to gaze at the ships and the sea. When I was still hardly more than a boy I thought that this was the most delightful summer place, for it has, moreover, excellent springs and a charming bath and garden and trees. When I had grown to manhood I used to long for my old manner of life there and visited it often, and our meetings there did not lack talks about literature. Moreover there is there, as a humble monument of my husbandry, a small vineyard that produces a fragrant, sweet wine, which does not have to wait for time to improve its flavour. You will have a vision of Dionysus and the Graces. The grapes on the vine, and when they are being crushed in the press, smell of roses, and the new-made wine in the jars is a "rill of nectar," if one may trust Homer.2 Then why is not such a vine as this abundant and growing over very many acres?
Perhaps I was not a very industrious gardener. But since my mixing bowl of Dionysus is inclined to soberness and calls for a large proportion of the nymphs,1 I only provided enough for myself and my friends—and they are very few. Well then, I now give this to you as a present, dear heart, and though it be small, as indeed it is, yet it is precious as coming from a friend to a friend, "from home, homeward bound," in the words of the wise poet Pindar.2 I have written this letter in haste, by lamplight, so that, if I have made any mistakes, do not criticise them severely or as one rhetorician would another.
5 For Evagrius see above, p. 25.
6 Cf. Vol. 2. 290d; and 251d for his childhood's associations with this coast.
1 Constantinople, named after Constantine.
2 Odyssey 9. 359.
1 i.e. of water.
2 Olympian Ode 6. 99; 7. 5.
A small estate of four fields in Bithynia was given to me by my grandmother, and I now give it to you as a token of my affection. It is too small to make a man wealthy or impressive, but it has qualities that may please you, as you will see when I describe them — and there is no reason I should not write playfully to a man as full of charm and culture as yourself.
It is not more than twenty stades [about 2.5 miles] from the sea — close enough to enjoy the benefits of the coast without any noisy traders or insolent sailors disturbing the peace. But it is not entirely deprived of the sea's gifts: it has a constant supply of fish, still fresh and gasping.
If you climb to the top of the house, you can see the Propontis [the Sea of Marmara], the islands, and the city that bears the name of the noble emperor [Constantinople]. You do not have to stand on seaweed and rubbish and the usual unpleasant litter of a fishing village — instead, you stand on vines and thyme and fragrant grasses.
It is a place of deep silence, perfect for reading. And if you set your book aside and gaze out at the sea, what a view — the fishermen, the merchant ships, the sea-birds. I loved this place as a boy, and I love it still. It has beautiful springs and a charming garden and a bath that would not embarrass you. The whole farm breathes country peace.
I give it to you with my whole heart. Visit it whenever you like; it will never disappoint you.