To Trygetius [a wealthy Gallo-Roman landowner near Bazas].
Has the city of Bazas — set on dust, not turf — has that Syrtic soil with its shifting, wind-blown sands claimed you so thoroughly that neither public office, nor friendship, nor oysters fattened in their beds can draw you the short distance to Bordeaux? Or does the uncertainty of winter roads hold you back — are you afraid that the Pyrenean storms that scramble the markers on the shifting roads might cause you a kind of dry-land shipwreck?
Where, I ask, has the memory of your recent adventures so quickly vanished — your crossing of Gibraltar, your camps pitched at the western edge of the world at Cadiz, where Hercules himself set his boundary for travel? How can you differ so much from yourself, you who explored the legendary secrets of distant regions until your energy for travel ran out before your desire for adventure?
And after all that, you tread the harbor of Alingon so sluggishly, as if you now had to march to the Danube frontier against raiding Massagetae, or as if your ship now had to cross the crocodile-haunted waters of the Nile. When not even twelve miles can slow you down, what do you think you would have done with Marcus Cato's army in the Syrtes of Libya?
But however much you tremble at the mere names of winter months, the weather is so mild, so warm, so clear, and so gently breezy rather than windy, that the pleasant climate should invite you as strongly as the season tries to hold you back. But if you scorn a letter of summons, at least you will not resist these persuasive verses — the gentle yet vigorous agents, I suspect, of my longing. Their campaign against you will commence in two days.
My friend Leontius — easily the first man of Aquitaine — and Paulinus, barely inferior to his father, will sail to the place I mentioned above on the tidal waters of the Garonne, meeting you not merely with a fleet but with the river itself. There the rowers at their benches and the helmsmen at their sterns will sing your praises in measured rhythm. There a couch built soft with cushions, a game-board set with two-colored pieces, and dice poised to rattle down ivory steps await you. There, lest the sloshing bilge water wet your delicate feet, the curved bellies of the boats will be floored with planks of fir. There, sheltered by the arched canopy of wicker screens, you will escape the treacherous clarity of winter skies.
What more could be lavished on your refined laziness than to find yourself arrived before you realize you have departed? Why are you mumbling? Why are you hesitating? Even the snails, carrying their houses on their backs, seem likely to beat you there. Besides, you have a well-stocked pantry bursting with fine delicacies — provided your spirit for spending matches the expenditure.
In short: come — either to be fed or to feed others, or better yet, both. Come with your inland provisions to conquer and subjugate these coastal gourmets. Let your river fish from the Adour lord it over the mullets of the Garonne; let the lobsters of Bayonne put to shame the common crabs. Farewell.
EPISTULA XII
Sidonius Trygetio suo salutem.
1. Tantumne te Vasatium civitas non caespiti imposita sed pulveri, tantum Syrticus ager ac vagum solum et volatiles ventis altercantibus harenae sibi possident, ut te magnis flagitatum precibus, parvis separatum spatiis, multis exspectatum diebus attrahere Burdigalam non potestates, non amicitiae, non opimata vivariis ostrea queant? an temporibus hibernis viarum te dubia suspendunt et, quia solet Bigerricus turbo mobilium aggerum indicia confundere, quoddam vereris in itinere terreno pedestre naufragium?
2. ubi, quaesumus, animo tam celeriter excessit vestigiis tuis nuper subacta Calpis? ubi fixa tentoria in occiduis finibus Gaditanorum? ubi ille Trygetio meo idem qui Herculi quondam terminus peregrinandi? tantumne a te ipso ipse tu discrepas, ut totus in desidiae iura concesseris, quo peragrante secreta regionum fabulosarum prius defuit actio laboris quam fatigationis intentio?
3. et post haec portum Alingonis tam piger calcas, ac si tibi nunc esset ad limitem Danuvinum contra incursaces Massagetas proficiscendum, vel si nunc etiam tuae navi stagna Nilotidis aquae per indigenas formidata crocodillos transfretarentur. et cum nec duodecim milium obiectu sic retarderis, quid putamus cum exercitu Marci Catonis in Leptitana Syrte fecisses?
4. sed quamlibet sola hiemalium mensium nomina tremas, tam clemens est facies caeli, tam tepida, tam suda et sic auras mage quam ventos habet, ut te non valeat enixius retinere tempus quam invitare temperies. sed si epistulam spernis evocatoriam, credo, vel versibus non reluctaberis impulsoribus blandis et desiderii mei, quantum suspicor, strenuis executoribus, quorum in te castra post biduum commovebuntur.
5. ecce Leontius meus, facile primus Aquitanorum, ecce iam parum inferior parente Paulinus ad locum quem supra dixi per Garumnae fluenta refluentia non modo tibi cum classe verum etiam cum flumine occurrent. hic tuas laudes modificato celeumate simul inter transtra remiges, gubernatores inter aplustria canent. hic te aedificatus culcitis torus, hic tabula calculis strata bicoloribus, hic tessera frequens eboratis resultatura pyrgorum gradibus expectat; hic, ne tibi pendulum tinguat volubilis sentina vestigium, pandi carinarum ventres abiegnarum trabium textu pulpitabuntur; hic superflexa crate paradarum sereni brumalis infida vitabis.
6. quid delicatae pigritiae tuae plus poterit impendi, quam ut te pervenisse invenias, cum venire vix sentias? quid mussitas? quid moraris? ipsae mihi tuum videntur adventum reptiles cocleae cum domibus nativis antecessurae. est praeterea tibi copiosissima penus aggeratis opipare farta deliciis, modo sit eventilando par animus impendio.
7. quid multa? veni ut aut pascaris aut pascas; immo, quod gratius, ut utrumque; veni cum mediterraneo instructu ad debellandos subiugandosque istos Medulicae supellectilis epulones. hic Aturricus piscis Garumnicis mugilibus insultet; hic ad copias Lapurdensium lucustarum cedat vilium turba cancrorum.
8. tu tamen etsi ceteris eris in hoc genere pugnandi dimicaturus, si quid iudicio meo censes adquiescendum (neque enim iniustum est credere experto), senatorem nostrum, hospitem meum, conflictui huic facies exsortem; cuius si convivio tectoque succedas, dapes Cleopatricas et loca lautia putas. nam quamvis super hoc studio tam ipse quam patria confligant, olim lata sententia est, quod ille transeat ceteros cives, licet et illa ceteras civitates. vale.
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To Trygetius [a wealthy Gallo-Roman landowner near Bazas].
Has the city of Bazas — set on dust, not turf — has that Syrtic soil with its shifting, wind-blown sands claimed you so thoroughly that neither public office, nor friendship, nor oysters fattened in their beds can draw you the short distance to Bordeaux? Or does the uncertainty of winter roads hold you back — are you afraid that the Pyrenean storms that scramble the markers on the shifting roads might cause you a kind of dry-land shipwreck?
Where, I ask, has the memory of your recent adventures so quickly vanished — your crossing of Gibraltar, your camps pitched at the western edge of the world at Cadiz, where Hercules himself set his boundary for travel? How can you differ so much from yourself, you who explored the legendary secrets of distant regions until your energy for travel ran out before your desire for adventure?
And after all that, you tread the harbor of Alingon so sluggishly, as if you now had to march to the Danube frontier against raiding Massagetae, or as if your ship now had to cross the crocodile-haunted waters of the Nile. When not even twelve miles can slow you down, what do you think you would have done with Marcus Cato's army in the Syrtes of Libya?
But however much you tremble at the mere names of winter months, the weather is so mild, so warm, so clear, and so gently breezy rather than windy, that the pleasant climate should invite you as strongly as the season tries to hold you back. But if you scorn a letter of summons, at least you will not resist these persuasive verses — the gentle yet vigorous agents, I suspect, of my longing. Their campaign against you will commence in two days.
My friend Leontius — easily the first man of Aquitaine — and Paulinus, barely inferior to his father, will sail to the place I mentioned above on the tidal waters of the Garonne, meeting you not merely with a fleet but with the river itself. There the rowers at their benches and the helmsmen at their sterns will sing your praises in measured rhythm. There a couch built soft with cushions, a game-board set with two-colored pieces, and dice poised to rattle down ivory steps await you. There, lest the sloshing bilge water wet your delicate feet, the curved bellies of the boats will be floored with planks of fir. There, sheltered by the arched canopy of wicker screens, you will escape the treacherous clarity of winter skies.
What more could be lavished on your refined laziness than to find yourself arrived before you realize you have departed? Why are you mumbling? Why are you hesitating? Even the snails, carrying their houses on their backs, seem likely to beat you there. Besides, you have a well-stocked pantry bursting with fine delicacies — provided your spirit for spending matches the expenditure.
In short: come — either to be fed or to feed others, or better yet, both. Come with your inland provisions to conquer and subjugate these coastal gourmets. Let your river fish from the Adour lord it over the mullets of the Garonne; let the lobsters of Bayonne put to shame the common crabs. Farewell.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.