To Hygieinus. (358/59)
I did not forget the agreement we had about exchanging letters. I was prevented from keeping it by a host of troubles.
First, my head laid me low with a flood of dizzy spells, and neither I nor my doctors could feel any confidence. Then the affliction moved down to my stomach, producing discharges that mimicked rushing streams, with nothing in sight to stop them. And on top of all this came what they call "Lemnian troubles" [proverbially severe misfortunes] -- or rather, that is too mild a term. The earthquake at Nicomedia [the devastating earthquake of 358 AD that destroyed the city] is closer to the mark.
Having come through such a summer, I have now relieved my body with a dose of medicine and am writing to you -- explaining the reasons for my silence, but not presuming to urge you to write to me, since you are a man already inclined to do so on his own. Anyone who has to prod a friend with reminders is implicitly accusing that friend of laziness.
You are far from idle yourself; in fact, you would spur others to be eager on my behalf. Perhaps you find something in me worthy of goodwill, but more than that, I think you are looking to follow in your father's footsteps.
**To Hyginus** (358/59)
I have not forgotten the agreement we made about exchanging letters, but I was prevented from honoring that agreement by countless misfortunes.
First, my head laid me low, having taken on a host of dizzy spells, and neither I nor my doctors could feel any confidence. Then the affliction descended from there to my stomach, producing flows that rivaled mountain streams, and nothing to stop them could be found. And to these troubles, already bad enough, were added what they call "Lemnian evils" — or rather, that is too small a way to put it: I should have said the destruction of Nicomedia, wishing to convey the calamities by comparison with those of Lemnos.
Having passed through such a summer as this, I have now lightened my body with a dose of medicine and write to you, offering the reasons for my silence — but not presuming to urge you toward my interests, since you are a man already inclined of your own accord. For whoever rouses someone with exhortations does so because he has judged him guilty of indifference.
But you, far from being idle yourself, would even spur another to be zealous on my behalf — perhaps because you find something in me worthy of goodwill, but still more because you keep your eye on this: that you should be seen following in your father's footsteps.
For he used to visit me with the greatest pleasure and shared with me both his conversations and his books. And it was he who gave me my first start toward a better reputation. Even now, were he still alive, he alone would be worth as much to me as many men.
Reflecting on all this, you endeavor to show me that, even though Dulcitius is dead, the devotion of your household toward me has not died with him.
This devotion, then, you will keep forever alive. As for your cousins, know that in all other respects they are very highly praised, but in one thing they have distressed their neighbors: for by always gathering their study materials at the top of their voices, they rob those living nearby of sleep — some they have driven away entirely, and others they have worn to a frazzle.
I did not forget the agreement we had about exchanging letters. I was prevented from keeping it by a host of troubles.
First, my head laid me low with a flood of dizzy spells, and neither I nor my doctors could feel any confidence. Then the affliction moved down to my stomach, producing discharges that mimicked rushing streams, with nothing in sight to stop them. And on top of all this came what they call "Lemnian troubles" [proverbially severe misfortunes] -- or rather, that is too mild a term. The earthquake at Nicomedia [the devastating earthquake of 358 AD that destroyed the city] is closer to the mark.
Having come through such a summer, I have now relieved my body with a dose of medicine and am writing to you -- explaining the reasons for my silence, but not presuming to urge you to write to me, since you are a man already inclined to do so on his own. Anyone who has to prod a friend with reminders is implicitly accusing that friend of laziness.
You are far from idle yourself; in fact, you would spur others to be eager on my behalf. Perhaps you find something in me worthy of goodwill, but more than that, I think you are looking to follow in your father's footsteps.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.