To Anatolius. (361 AD)
What outrages have been committed — not on the Danube near the Scythians, nor at the ends of Libya, but in Phoenicia, the most civilized region of all, where laws exist, governors are in charge, and an emperor lives under arms to keep all violence at bay.
A certain Lucianus, a man holding some minor office, collecting money from certain farmers as if he were Dionysius the master of Sicily or that famous Gelo with his great power, burst in upon the marriage of this Eustathius here — a poor man married to a poor woman, though her virtue was his consolation. She had lost her city (he is from Nicomedia) and married him; the dowry the woman brought was her character.
Eustathius, at Elpidius's orders, had gone to bring certain people to account. Lucianus, having cast unjust eyes upon the woman living nearby, did not dare to send a message or speak to her of desire — he knew he would not persuade her — but ordered his daughter to befriend the wife.
They became familiar, and his daughter often visited her, knowing full well the purpose of these visits — for such was the education he gave his daughter. At some point the wife invited the daughter to her home in return, expecting equal treatment. And because she herself had kept away from such deeds, she did not even suspect them. She accepted and was inside the doors — or rather, in a net.
For that violent man locked her in a room and told her she should worship Fortune if, living by her hands, she would lie with one who could give her wealth. But when he found her well armed with virtue, and neither promises persuaded nor threats frightened her, he applied his hands and force. She fought back, and her character made her display strength beyond her nature.
At this point Lucianus drew a sword — O gods! She welcomed only this: that she might die before any disgrace. When he realized she was ready to give up her very life, he called slaves and ordered them to bring ropes. She was bound on a bed and, though she screamed, her body was violated.
Now if, having done this, he had thrown the wronged woman into a well — as the Spartans did at Leuctra with the women they raped — he would have been wicked for the rape, but by trying to conceal the deed he would at least have seemed to fear the laws. But as if demonstrating that even if you, even if Modestus, even if Elpidius, even if all mankind knew of the crime there is nothing to fear, he sent the woman away laughing.
She went to her husband — for by chance he had just arrived — told him everything, and begged him to kill her, since after suffering such things she could not go on living well.
He entrusted her to people who would watch her lest she slit her own throat, then came here knowing that I loved Nicomedia both when it stood and weep for it now that it has fallen. He asked me to inform and rouse Modestus by letter, since he intended to prosecute the rapist there.
But I send him to you, judging that the former course would involve much toil, while the latter offers equal thoroughness without the toil. So, most temperate and most just man, you who live with a wife and raise legitimate children — show that there is someone who will prevent such outrages.
What outrages have been committed — not on the Danube near the Scythians, nor at the ends of Libya, but in Phoenicia, the most civilized region of all, where laws exist, governors are in charge, and an emperor lives under arms to keep all violence at bay.
A certain Lucianus, a man holding some minor office, collecting money from certain farmers as if he were Dionysius the master of Sicily or that famous Gelo with his great power, burst in upon the marriage of this Eustathius here — a poor man married to a poor woman, though her virtue was his consolation. She had lost her city (he is from Nicomedia) and married him; the dowry the woman brought was her character.
Eustathius, at Elpidius's orders, had gone to bring certain people to account. Lucianus, having cast unjust eyes upon the woman living nearby, did not dare to send a message or speak to her of desire — he knew he would not persuade her — but ordered his daughter to befriend the wife.
They became familiar, and his daughter often visited her, knowing full well the purpose of these visits — for such was the education he gave his daughter. At some point the wife invited the daughter to her home in return, expecting equal treatment. And because she herself had kept away from such deeds, she did not even suspect them. She accepted and was inside the doors — or rather, in a net.
For that violent man locked her in a room and told her she should worship Fortune if, living by her hands, she would lie with one who could give her wealth. But when he found her well armed with virtue, and neither promises persuaded nor threats frightened her, he applied his hands and force. She fought back, and her character made her display strength beyond her nature.
At this point Lucianus drew a sword — O gods! She welcomed only this: that she might die before any disgrace. When he realized she was ready to give up her very life, he called slaves and ordered them to bring ropes. She was bound on a bed and, though she screamed, her body was violated.
Now if, having done this, he had thrown the wronged woman into a well — as the Spartans did at Leuctra with the women they raped — he would have been wicked for the rape, but by trying to conceal the deed he would at least have seemed to fear the laws. But as if demonstrating that even if you, even if Modestus, even if Elpidius, even if all mankind knew of the crime there is nothing to fear, he sent the woman away laughing.
She went to her husband — for by chance he had just arrived — told him everything, and begged him to kill her, since after suffering such things she could not go on living well.
He entrusted her to people who would watch her lest she slit her own throat, then came here knowing that I loved Nicomedia both when it stood and weep for it now that it has fallen. He asked me to inform and rouse Modestus by letter, since he intended to prosecute the rapist there.
But I send him to you, judging that the former course would involve much toil, while the latter offers equal thoroughness without the toil. So, most temperate and most just man, you who live with a wife and raise legitimate children — show that there is someone who will prevent such outrages.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.