To Euodius [a Gallo-Roman courtier at the Visigothic court].
When the letter-carrier delivered your letter — he confirmed to certain friends that you were about to depart for Toulouse on the king's orders — I too was leaving town for a distant country estate. It was the chance of receiving your letter that, early that morning, tore me from the tenacious crowd of well-wishers, so that I could at least fulfill your request while still on horseback and still on the road.
Meanwhile, my household had gone ahead eighteen miles to the spot where we planned to pitch camp — a place with much to recommend it for unloading baggage: a cold spring on a wooded hill, a grassy field below, a river before our eyes teeming with birds and fish, and besides this, a new house belonging to an old friend whose immense hospitality knows no limit whether you accept or refuse it.
So with my people gone ahead, I stayed behind for your sake, and by the time the boy could be sent back even from the nearest village, a good two hours had already passed. The sun was well up and had drunk the dew of the dewy night with its growing warmth. Heat and thirst were setting in. Against the sun, the only shelter in the deep clear sky was a cloud of dust. The length of the road stretched visible across the green level of the open plain — a torment for men who had no prospect of an early lunch, since the distance, though not yet punishing the travelers with actual labor, was already terrifying them with anticipation.
All of this preface, my dear brother, is to prove that I had very little free time, energy, or opportunity when I complied with your request. To return to the substance of your letter: after the opening greeting, you asked me to compose an epigram of twelve lines, to be fitted to a large silver bowl whose inner surface is carved with six fluted grooves spiraling from the base up through the handles on either side.
I imagine you intend to inscribe one verse in each of the wide grooves, or — better judgment — in the curved spaces at the top, and to present the bowl, so decorated, to Queen Ragnahild [wife of Euric, king of the Visigoths], thereby securing for yourself the invincible patronage of both your prayers and your deeds. I obey the commission as best I can — not as I would have liked. But the first blame is yours: you gave the silversmith more room than the poet. You must know that in the workshop of letters, whatever the metrical anvil produces needs no less heavy and vigorous filing. But enough of such excuses — here is the poem:
The shell that carries Venus on its Triton's back
would not hesitate to yield before this bowl.
We ask: incline your royal head a moment
and accept this small gift, great patroness.
Do not scorn your client Euodius:
by making him great, you become greater still.
So may your son be king — with his father and after him —
you whose father, father-in-law, and husband are all kings.
Happy waters, enclosed in gleaming metal,
that bathe the face of a mistress more radiant still!
For when the queen condescends to dip her features here,
the brightness passes from her face into the silver.
If your love for me is strong enough that you are not embarrassed to present these trifles, hide the author — you are safer on your end. For in that court, your paper will be praised more than my writing. Farewell.
EPISTULA VIII
Sidonius Euodio suo salutem.
1. Cum tabellarius mihi litteras tuas reddidit, qui te Tolosam rege mandante mox profecturum certis amicis confitebatur, nos quoque ex oppido longe remotum rus petebamus. me quidem mane primo remoratum vix e tenaci caterva prosecutorum paginae tuae occasio excussit, ut satisfacere mandato saltim viator, saltim eques possem.
2. ceterum diluculo familia praecesserat ad duodeviginti milia passuum fixura tentorium, quo quidem loci sarcinulis relaxandis multa succedunt conducibilia, fons gelidus in colle nemoroso, subditus ager herbis abundans, fluvius ante oculos avibus ac pisce multo refertus, praeter haec iunctam habens ripae domum novam vetus amicus, cuius inmensae humanitati nec si adquiescas nec si recuses modum ponas.
3. igitur huc nostris antecedentibus, cum tui causa substitissemus, quo puer ocius vel e capite vici remitteretur, iam duae secundae facile processerant, iam sol adultus roscidae noctis umorem radio crescente sorbuerat: aestus ac sitis invalescebant eratque in profunda serenitate contra calorem sola quae tegeret nebula de pulvere, tum longinquitas viae per virens aequor campi patentis exposita visentibus, quippe ob hoc ipsum sero pransuris, ingemebatur; nam viaturos etsi nondum terebat labore, iam tamen expectatione terrebat.
4. quae cuncta praemissa, domine frater, huc tendunt, ut tibi probem neque animo vacasse me multum neque corpore neque tempore, cum postulatis obtemperavi. ilicet, ut ad epistulae vestrae tenorem iam revertamur, post verba, quae primum salve ferebant, hoc poposcisti, ut epigramma transmitterem duodecim versibus terminatum, quod posset aptari conchae capaci, quae per ansarum latus utrumque in extimum gyri a rota fundi senis cavatur striaturis.
5. quarum puto destinas vel ventribus pandis singulos versus vel curvis meliore consilio, si id magis deceat, capitibus inscribere; istoque cultu expolitam reginae Ragnahildae disponis offerre, votis nimirum tuis pariter atque actibus patrocinium invictum praeparaturus. famulor iniunctis quomodocumque, non ut volebam; sed tuae culpae primus ignosce, qui spatii plus praestitisti argentario quam poetae, cum procul dubio non te lateret intra officinam litteratorum carminis si quid incus metrica produxerit non minus forti et asprata lima poliri. sed ista vel similia quorsum? ecce iam canta.
Pistrigero quae concha vehit Tritone Cytheren
hac sibi conlata cedere non dubitet.
poscimus, inclina paulisper culmen erile
et munus parvum magna patrona cape
Euodiumque libens non aspernare clientem,
quem faciens grandem tu quoque maior eris.
sic tibi, cui rex est genitor, socer atque maritus,
gnatus rex quoque sit cum patre postque patrem.
felices lymphae, clausae quae luce metalli
ora tamen dominae lucidiora fovent!
nam cum dignatur regina hinc tinguere vultus,
candor in argentum mittitur e facie.
Si tantum amore nostro teneris, ut scribere has nugas non erubescas, occule auctorem, de tua rectius parte securus. namque in foro tali sive Athenaeo plus charta vestra quam nostra scriptura laudabitur. vale.
◆
To Euodius [a Gallo-Roman courtier at the Visigothic court].
When the letter-carrier delivered your letter — he confirmed to certain friends that you were about to depart for Toulouse on the king's orders — I too was leaving town for a distant country estate. It was the chance of receiving your letter that, early that morning, tore me from the tenacious crowd of well-wishers, so that I could at least fulfill your request while still on horseback and still on the road.
Meanwhile, my household had gone ahead eighteen miles to the spot where we planned to pitch camp — a place with much to recommend it for unloading baggage: a cold spring on a wooded hill, a grassy field below, a river before our eyes teeming with birds and fish, and besides this, a new house belonging to an old friend whose immense hospitality knows no limit whether you accept or refuse it.
So with my people gone ahead, I stayed behind for your sake, and by the time the boy could be sent back even from the nearest village, a good two hours had already passed. The sun was well up and had drunk the dew of the dewy night with its growing warmth. Heat and thirst were setting in. Against the sun, the only shelter in the deep clear sky was a cloud of dust. The length of the road stretched visible across the green level of the open plain — a torment for men who had no prospect of an early lunch, since the distance, though not yet punishing the travelers with actual labor, was already terrifying them with anticipation.
All of this preface, my dear brother, is to prove that I had very little free time, energy, or opportunity when I complied with your request. To return to the substance of your letter: after the opening greeting, you asked me to compose an epigram of twelve lines, to be fitted to a large silver bowl whose inner surface is carved with six fluted grooves spiraling from the base up through the handles on either side.
I imagine you intend to inscribe one verse in each of the wide grooves, or — better judgment — in the curved spaces at the top, and to present the bowl, so decorated, to Queen Ragnahild [wife of Euric, king of the Visigoths], thereby securing for yourself the invincible patronage of both your prayers and your deeds. I obey the commission as best I can — not as I would have liked. But the first blame is yours: you gave the silversmith more room than the poet. You must know that in the workshop of letters, whatever the metrical anvil produces needs no less heavy and vigorous filing. But enough of such excuses — here is the poem:
The shell that carries Venus on its Triton's back would not hesitate to yield before this bowl. We ask: incline your royal head a moment and accept this small gift, great patroness. Do not scorn your client Euodius: by making him great, you become greater still. So may your son be king — with his father and after him — you whose father, father-in-law, and husband are all kings. Happy waters, enclosed in gleaming metal, that bathe the face of a mistress more radiant still! For when the queen condescends to dip her features here, the brightness passes from her face into the silver.
If your love for me is strong enough that you are not embarrassed to present these trifles, hide the author — you are safer on your end. For in that court, your paper will be praised more than my writing. Farewell.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.