To Eriphius.
You are still the same man you always were, my dear Eriphius — hunting, city life, and farming never distract you so much that you do not also find time for the pleasures of reading. And this habit leads you not to disdain even my work — you who tell me, as you write, that I reek of the Muses. That verdict is generously wide of the truth, and clearly comes either from playfulness, if you are in a good mood, or from affection, if you are serious. You want me to send you the verses I composed at the request of your distinguished father-in-law — who lives among his equals with a readiness to command and to obey that are equally matched. But since you want to know the place and the circumstances, I must warn you: the preface will be wordier than the work itself.
We had gathered at the tomb of Saint Justus [an important shrine near Lyon] for the pre-dawn vigil of the annual festival. The crowd was immense — men and women alike — more than the vast basilica could hold even with its surrounding covered walkways. After the vigil — in which monks and clerics had alternated in singing psalms with exquisite sweetness — we scattered in various directions, though not far, since we would need to return at the third hour when the priests were to celebrate the liturgy.
We were thoroughly overheated by the crush of bodies and the countless candles, and the summer night — though already giving way to the first cool of an autumnal dawn — had roasted us under the roof. The leading citizens agreed to gather at the tomb of the consul Syagrius, which was barely a bowshot away. Some sat in the shade of a mature vine, whose tendrils had been trained over raised stakes into a lattice canopy; others sat on the green grass amid fragrant flowers.
The conversation was sweet, playful, and teasing — and, what was most blessed, there was no mention of powerful men or taxes, no word that could betray, no person who would inform. Anyone could have told a story worth telling with worthy opinions, and everyone listened with the greatest eagerness. The narrative was no less well-shaped for being mixed with laughter. After we had been pleasantly idle for some time, it seemed right to do something active.
Soon, with cheers divided by age, a ball was produced for some and a game-board for others. I was the first standard-bearer of the ball faction — for the ball, as you know, is no less my companion than a book. On the other side, my brother Domnicius — a man of the highest grace and charm — had taken up the dice and was rattling them as though sounding a trumpet to summon the gamblers to his tower. We of the scholarly faction played energetically enough that our limbs, stiffened by standing still, were thoroughly loosened by the healthy running.
At this point the distinguished Filimatius — borrowing from the Mantuan poet: "he too dared to try his hand at the youths' contest" — boldly threw himself in among the ball-players. He had once done this beautifully, when he was younger. But now, frequently knocked from his spot by the push of the runner in the middle, and unable either to intercept or to dodge a ball flying past or over him, and often pitched forward in the acrobatic turns so that he could barely pick himself up from a near-fall, he was the first to withdraw from the game, panting, with his insides on fire.
I immediately stopped too — performing an act of friendship by sharing his retirement so that his exhaustion would not suffer the embarrassment of being his alone. When we had sat down, sweat soon prompted him to call for water for his face. A basin was brought, together with a thick-napped towel that happened to be hanging by a pulley-rope from the doorkeeper's hook just inside the open chapel doors.
As he dried his cheeks at leisure, he said: "I wish you would have someone compose a four-line verse for a towel like this — one that includes my name in the meter." "Done," I said. "But my verse," he said, "should include my name." I replied that what he asked was perfectly possible. "Then dictate it," he said. I smiled: "You should know that the Muses only stir when their choir is free from onlookers." He replied — fiercely and brilliantly, as is natural for a man of fiery temperament and an inexhaustible spring of eloquence: "Be careful, my lord Sollius — Apollo might be more upset to learn that you are luring his maidens off to a private meeting." You can imagine what applause so spontaneous and witty a remark earned.
Without further delay, I called over his secretary, who was standing nearby with his notebook, and composed this epigram:
When morning comes, or when the steaming bath
calls out, or when the hunt has warmed the brow,
let handsome Filimatius soothe his damp face here,
and let the moisture pass from skin to thirsty fleece.
Our friend Epiphanius had barely finished scratching out the lines when word came that the bishop was emerging from his chambers for the service, and we all rose.
Grant your pardon to this little song you demanded. But as for the piece that we both consider more important — the one you and your father-in-law recently asked me to compose, a figurative treatment of a certain man who bears his good fortune badly — it is finished and will be sent tomorrow. Review it in private; if it pleases you, publish it and support it; if it displeases you, erase it and forgive it. Farewell.
EPISTULA XVII
Sidonius Eriphio suo salutem.
1. Es, Eriphi meus, ipse qui semper numquamque te tantum venatio civitas ager avocat, ut non obiter litterarum voluptate teneare; fitque eo studio, ut nec nostra fastidias, qui tibi, ut scribis, Musas olemus. quae sententia tamen large probatur vero carere, quamque et apparet aut ex ioco venire, si laetus es, aut ex amore, si serius. ceterum a iusto longe resultat, cum mihi assignas quae vix Maroni [vix] aut Homero competenter accommodarentur.
2. haec relinquamus idque, unde causa, sermocinemur. dirigi ad te praecipis versus, quos viri amplissimi, soceri tui, precibus indulsi; qui contubernio mixtus aequalium vivit moribus ad iubendum obsequendumque iuxta paratis. sed quia scire desideras et locum et causam, quo facilius intellegas rem perexiguam, tibi potius vitio verte, quod loquacior erit opere praefatio.
3. conveneramus ad sancti Iusti sepulcrum (sed tibi infirmitas impedimento, ne tunc adesses); processio fuerat antelucana, sollemnitas anniversaria, populus ingens sexu ex utroque, quem capacissima basilica non caperet quamlibet cincta diffusis cryptoporticibus. cultu peracto vigiliarum, quas alternante mulcedine monachi clericique psalmicines concelebraverant, quisque in diversa secessimus, non procul tamen, utpote ad tertiam praesto futuri, cum sacerdotibus res divina facienda;
4. de loci sane turbarumque compressu deque numerosis luminibus inlatis nimis anheli; simul et aestati nox adhuc proxima tecto clausos vapore torruerat, etsi iam primo frigore tamen autumnalis Aurorae detepescebat. itaque cum passim varia ordinum corpora dispergerentur, placuit ad conditorium Syagrii consulis civium primis una coire, quod nec impleto iactu sagittae separabatur. hic pars sub umbra palmitis adulti, quam stipitibus altatis cancellatimque pendentibus pampinus superducta texuerat, pars caespite in viridi sed floribus odoro consederamus.
5. verba erant dulcia iocosa fatigatoria; praeterea, quod beatissimum, nulla mentio de potestatibus aut de tributis, nullus sermo qui proderetur, nulla persona quae proderet. fabulam certe referre dignam relatu dignisque sententiis quisque potuisset: audiebatur ambitiosissime; nec erat idcirco non distincta narratio, quia laetitia permixta. inter haec otio diu marcidis aliquid agere visum.
6. mox bipertitis, erat ut aetas, acclamationibus efflagitata profertur his pila, his tabula. sphaerae primus ego signifer fui, quae mihi, ut nosti, non minus libro comes habetur. altera ex parte frater meus Domnicius, homo gratiae summae, summi leporis, tesseras ceperat quatiebatque, quo velut classico ad pyrgum vocabat aleatores. nos cum caterva scholasticorum lusimus abunde, quantum membra torpore statarii laboris hebetata cursu salubri vegetarentur.
7. hic vir inlustris Filimatius, ut est illud Mantuani poetae,
ausus et ipse manu iuvenum temptare laborem,
sphaeristarum se turmalibus constanter immiscuit. pulchre enim hoc fecerat, sed cum adhuc essent anni minores. qui cum frequenter de loco stantum medii currentis impulsu summoveretur, nunc quoque acceptus in aream tam pilae coram praetervolantis quam superiectae nec intercideret tramitem nec caveret ac per catastropham saepe pronatus aegre de ruinoso flexu se recolligeret, primus ludi ab accentu sese removit suspiriosus extis incalescentibus. namque et iecusculi fibra tumente pungebant exercitatum crebri dolores.
8. destiti protinus et ipse, facturus communione cessandi rem caritatis, ne verecundiam lassitudo fraterna pateretur. ergo, ut resedimus, [et] illum mox aquam ad faciem petere sudor admonuit: exhibita poscenti est, pariter et linteum villis onustum, quod pridiana squama politum casu sub ipsis aediculae valvis bipatentibus de ianitoris erecto trochleatim fune nutabat.
9. quo dum per otium genas siccat: 'vellem', inquit, 'ad pannum similis officii aliquod tetrastichon mihi scribi iuberes.' 'fiat', inquam. 'sed quod meum', dixit, 'et nomen metro teneret.' respondi possibilia factu quae poposcisset. [ait] et ipse: 'dicta ergo.' tunc ego arridens: 'ilico scias Musas moveri, si choro ipsarum non absque arbitris vacem.' respondit ille violenter et perurbane, ut est natura vir flammeus quidamque facundiae fons inexhaustus: 'vide, domine Solli, ne magis Apollo forte moveatur, quod suas alumnas solus ad secreta sollicitas.' iam potes nosse, quem plausum sententia tam repentina, tam lepida commoverit.
10. nec plus moratus mox suo scriba, qui pugillarem iuxta tenebat, ad me vocato subditum sic epigramma composui:
Mane novo seu cum ferventia balnea poscunt
seu cum venatu frons calefacta madet,
hoc foveat pulcher faciem Filimatius udam,
migret ut in bibulum vellus ab ore liquor.
Epiphanius noster vix supra scripta peraraverat, et nuntiatum est hora monente progredi episcopum de receptorio, nosque surreximus.
11. da postulatae tu veniam cantilenae. illud autem ambo, quod maius est quodque me nuper in quendam dies bonos male ferentem parabolice seu figurate dictare iussistis quodque expeditum cras dirigetur, clam recensete; et, si placet, edentes fovete; si displicet, delentes ignoscitote. vale.
◆
To Eriphius.
You are still the same man you always were, my dear Eriphius — hunting, city life, and farming never distract you so much that you do not also find time for the pleasures of reading. And this habit leads you not to disdain even my work — you who tell me, as you write, that I reek of the Muses. That verdict is generously wide of the truth, and clearly comes either from playfulness, if you are in a good mood, or from affection, if you are serious. You want me to send you the verses I composed at the request of your distinguished father-in-law — who lives among his equals with a readiness to command and to obey that are equally matched. But since you want to know the place and the circumstances, I must warn you: the preface will be wordier than the work itself.
We had gathered at the tomb of Saint Justus [an important shrine near Lyon] for the pre-dawn vigil of the annual festival. The crowd was immense — men and women alike — more than the vast basilica could hold even with its surrounding covered walkways. After the vigil — in which monks and clerics had alternated in singing psalms with exquisite sweetness — we scattered in various directions, though not far, since we would need to return at the third hour when the priests were to celebrate the liturgy.
We were thoroughly overheated by the crush of bodies and the countless candles, and the summer night — though already giving way to the first cool of an autumnal dawn — had roasted us under the roof. The leading citizens agreed to gather at the tomb of the consul Syagrius, which was barely a bowshot away. Some sat in the shade of a mature vine, whose tendrils had been trained over raised stakes into a lattice canopy; others sat on the green grass amid fragrant flowers.
The conversation was sweet, playful, and teasing — and, what was most blessed, there was no mention of powerful men or taxes, no word that could betray, no person who would inform. Anyone could have told a story worth telling with worthy opinions, and everyone listened with the greatest eagerness. The narrative was no less well-shaped for being mixed with laughter. After we had been pleasantly idle for some time, it seemed right to do something active.
Soon, with cheers divided by age, a ball was produced for some and a game-board for others. I was the first standard-bearer of the ball faction — for the ball, as you know, is no less my companion than a book. On the other side, my brother Domnicius — a man of the highest grace and charm — had taken up the dice and was rattling them as though sounding a trumpet to summon the gamblers to his tower. We of the scholarly faction played energetically enough that our limbs, stiffened by standing still, were thoroughly loosened by the healthy running.
At this point the distinguished Filimatius — borrowing from the Mantuan poet: "he too dared to try his hand at the youths' contest" — boldly threw himself in among the ball-players. He had once done this beautifully, when he was younger. But now, frequently knocked from his spot by the push of the runner in the middle, and unable either to intercept or to dodge a ball flying past or over him, and often pitched forward in the acrobatic turns so that he could barely pick himself up from a near-fall, he was the first to withdraw from the game, panting, with his insides on fire.
I immediately stopped too — performing an act of friendship by sharing his retirement so that his exhaustion would not suffer the embarrassment of being his alone. When we had sat down, sweat soon prompted him to call for water for his face. A basin was brought, together with a thick-napped towel that happened to be hanging by a pulley-rope from the doorkeeper's hook just inside the open chapel doors.
As he dried his cheeks at leisure, he said: "I wish you would have someone compose a four-line verse for a towel like this — one that includes my name in the meter." "Done," I said. "But my verse," he said, "should include my name." I replied that what he asked was perfectly possible. "Then dictate it," he said. I smiled: "You should know that the Muses only stir when their choir is free from onlookers." He replied — fiercely and brilliantly, as is natural for a man of fiery temperament and an inexhaustible spring of eloquence: "Be careful, my lord Sollius — Apollo might be more upset to learn that you are luring his maidens off to a private meeting." You can imagine what applause so spontaneous and witty a remark earned.
Without further delay, I called over his secretary, who was standing nearby with his notebook, and composed this epigram:
When morning comes, or when the steaming bath calls out, or when the hunt has warmed the brow, let handsome Filimatius soothe his damp face here, and let the moisture pass from skin to thirsty fleece.
Our friend Epiphanius had barely finished scratching out the lines when word came that the bishop was emerging from his chambers for the service, and we all rose.
Grant your pardon to this little song you demanded. But as for the piece that we both consider more important — the one you and your father-in-law recently asked me to compose, a figurative treatment of a certain man who bears his good fortune badly — it is finished and will be sent tomorrow. Review it in private; if it pleases you, publish it and support it; if it displeases you, erase it and forgive it. Farewell.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.