To Constantius [Sidonius's literary executor and the dedicatee of the first eight books of letters].
I had promised the distinguished Petronius that I would complete this little work in just a few letters — and in doing so I spared his ears while treating yours with honor. For I preferred that the labor of correction should fall to him while the honor of publication should be yours — so that the volume might reach your hands at another's risk and by my service. The promise is fulfilled; for if your expertise examines the title-marks of the gathered pages, I think a substantial collection already confronts you. We have reached the edges of the scroll-ends; it is time, as the satirist says [Juvenal], for our Orestes to be finished — even on its back side.
I have not summoned a fictitious Terpsichore in the old fashion, nor dragged my pen along the dewy banks and mossy rocks beside the spring of Aganippe [the Muses' spring]. Would that nothing soft, nothing fluid, nothing borrowed from the crossroads could be found here! For a mature reader like yourself takes pleasure not in a boneless, flabby, spineless style but in one that is seasoned, muscular, and almost masculine. But such things are reserved for better writers than I. It is enough for me if you quickly forgive my slowness.
Moreover, if the distinguished Petronius had asked for anything more, we would have fallen into long delays. For among my bookcases and reading-rooms, nothing worthy of publication remained — so you should understand that even if I have not yet learned to be silent, I have at least begun to grow quieter. This is for a double reason: if we please, a small sampling will stimulate the reader's appetite; if we are rejected, a large volume will not provoke disgust — especially in a style that possesses not urban elegance but rustic simplicity.
For where would I find that severe, antique manner of speaking — those Salian or Sibylline words, those archaic Sabine terms that most teachers pass over in silence and that only some fetial priest or flamen or some sleepy specialist in legal puzzles might decipher? I have composed my little works in a dry, thin style — mostly in common language, whose distinction is rare because its use is frequent, and whose approval is hard to win because its discovery is easy.
I do declare boldly: there is nothing sharp or eloquent here, but also nothing included that is not finished or without precedent. But why belabor the point? My writing, which is enough for me, pleases my friends. And in them I embrace both possibilities — whether they are not deceived in their judgment or are deceived by their affection. For the future, I pray to God that those who come after us will either be similarly deceived or will judge similarly. Farewell.
EPISTULA XVI
Sidonius Constantio suo salutem.
1. Spoponderam Petronio, inlustri viro, praesens opusculum paucis me epistulis expediturum; cuius auribus non peperci, dum tuis parco. malui namque, ut illum correctionis labor, te honor editionis aspiceret perveniretque in manus vestras volumen istud alieno periculo, obsequio meo. peracta promissio est; nam peritia tua si coactorum in membranas inspiciat signa titulorum, iam copiosum te, ni fallor, pulsat exemplar; iam venitur ad margines umbilicorum, iam tempus est, ut satiricus ait, Orestem nostrum vel super terga finiri.
2. non hic ego commenticiam Terpsichoren more studii veteris adscivi nec iuxta scaturriginem fontis Aganippici per roscidas ripas et pumices muscidos stilum traxi. atque utinam hic nil molle, nil fluidum, nil de triviis compitalibus mutuatum reperiretur! siquidem maturo, ut es ipse, lectori non tantum dictio exossis tenera delumbis, quantum vetuscula torosa et quasi mascula placet. sed reserventur ista potioribus; mihi sufficit, si cito ignoscas, quod sumus tardi.
3. praeterea si vir inlustris aliquid insuper ampliuscule scribi depoposcisset, in moras grandes incidissemus. nam per armariola et zotheculas nostras non remanserunt digna prolatu. unde cognosce, quod, etsi tacere necdum, coepimus certe taciturire, duplici ex causa: ut si placemus, pauca lecturis incitent voluptatem; si refutamur, non excitent multa fastidium, quippe in hoc stilo, cui non urbanus lepos inest, sed pagana simplicitas.
4. unde enim nobis illud loquendi tetricum genus ac perantiquum? unde illa verba saliaria vel Sibyllina vel Sabinis abusque Curibus accita, quae magistris plerumque reticentibus promptius fetialis aliquis aut flamen aut veternosus legalium quaestionum aenigmatista patefecerit? nos opuscula sermone condidimus arido exili, certe maxima ex parte vulgato, cuius hinc honor rarus, quod frequens usus, hinc difficilis gratia, quod facilis inventio est.
5. sane profiteor audenter, sicut istic nil acre, nil eloquens, ita nihil inditum non absolutum, non ab exemplo. sed quid haec pluribus? dictio mea, quod mihi sufficit, placet amicis. in quibus tamen utrumque complector, sive non fallunt examine seu caritate falluntur, deumque, quod restat, in posterum quaeso, ut secuturi aut fallantur similiter aut censeant. vale.
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To Constantius [Sidonius's literary executor and the dedicatee of the first eight books of letters].
I had promised the distinguished Petronius that I would complete this little work in just a few letters — and in doing so I spared his ears while treating yours with honor. For I preferred that the labor of correction should fall to him while the honor of publication should be yours — so that the volume might reach your hands at another's risk and by my service. The promise is fulfilled; for if your expertise examines the title-marks of the gathered pages, I think a substantial collection already confronts you. We have reached the edges of the scroll-ends; it is time, as the satirist says [Juvenal], for our Orestes to be finished — even on its back side.
I have not summoned a fictitious Terpsichore in the old fashion, nor dragged my pen along the dewy banks and mossy rocks beside the spring of Aganippe [the Muses' spring]. Would that nothing soft, nothing fluid, nothing borrowed from the crossroads could be found here! For a mature reader like yourself takes pleasure not in a boneless, flabby, spineless style but in one that is seasoned, muscular, and almost masculine. But such things are reserved for better writers than I. It is enough for me if you quickly forgive my slowness.
Moreover, if the distinguished Petronius had asked for anything more, we would have fallen into long delays. For among my bookcases and reading-rooms, nothing worthy of publication remained — so you should understand that even if I have not yet learned to be silent, I have at least begun to grow quieter. This is for a double reason: if we please, a small sampling will stimulate the reader's appetite; if we are rejected, a large volume will not provoke disgust — especially in a style that possesses not urban elegance but rustic simplicity.
For where would I find that severe, antique manner of speaking — those Salian or Sibylline words, those archaic Sabine terms that most teachers pass over in silence and that only some fetial priest or flamen or some sleepy specialist in legal puzzles might decipher? I have composed my little works in a dry, thin style — mostly in common language, whose distinction is rare because its use is frequent, and whose approval is hard to win because its discovery is easy.
I do declare boldly: there is nothing sharp or eloquent here, but also nothing included that is not finished or without precedent. But why belabor the point? My writing, which is enough for me, pleases my friends. And in them I embrace both possibilities — whether they are not deceived in their judgment or are deceived by their affection. For the future, I pray to God that those who come after us will either be similarly deceived or will judge similarly. Farewell.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.