To Oresius.
Your letter arrived — sparkling and salty as the rock-salt quarried in the hills of Tarragona. For the reader it is both clear and pungent, yet no less sweet for all that, since a pleasant style can coexist with sharp propositions. It delights with its eloquence even as it commands with its authority — for you demand, with little regard for my station in life, that I compose new verse. But from the very beginning of my religious profession I renounced this particular occupation above all, because the levity of verse could too easily be accommodated to my naturally easy-going nature — and I was being watched by the gravity of my actions.
Moreover, it is a well-known fact that any skill left idle for a long time is hard to resume. Who does not know that in every art and craft, the greatest excellence comes from practice? And when habitual exercises are neglected, arms grow slack on bodies and minds grow dull in arts. This is also why a bow seldom or harshly strung rebels against the hand, an ox against the yoke, a horse against the bridle. My own laziness is compounded by embarrassment: now that three Olympiads have passed since I fell silent, I am as ashamed to compose a new poem as I am reluctant.
It would also be wrong to refuse you, whose affection deserves all the more not to be disappointed because it so confidently expects no refusal. So I will take a middle course: while I will compose no new verse now, I will send you whatever old letters stuffed with verse may be lying around — composed, of course, before the duties of my present office began. And I ask you not to be so unfair in your judgment as to suppose I will never be able to restrain myself from such compositions. For I would be no less flattered if you chose to consider me modest rather than witty from now on. Farewell.
EPISTULA XII
Sidonius Oresio suo salutem.
1. Venit in nostras a te profecta pagina manus, quae trahit multam similitudinem de sale Hispano in iugis caeso Tarraconensibus. nam recensenti lucida et salsa est, nec tamen propter hoc ipsum mellea minus, si sermo dulcis et propositionibus acet: sic enim oblectat eloquio quod turbat imperio, quippe qui parum metiens, quid ordinis agam, carmina a nobis nunc novat petat. primum ab exordio religiosae professionis huic principaliter exercitio renuntiavi, quia nimirum facilitati posset accommodari, si me occupasset levitas versuum, quem respicere coeperat gravitas actionum.
2. tum praeterea constat omnem operam, si longa intercapedine quiescat, aegre resumi. quisnam enim ignoret cunctis aut artificibus aut artibus maximum decus usu venire, cumque studia consueta non frequentantur, brachia in corporibus, ingenia pigrescere in artibus? unde est et illud, quod sero correptus aut raro plus arcus manui, iugo bos, equus freno rebellat. insuper desidiae nostrae verecundia comes ad hoc sententiam inclinat, ut me, postquam in silentio decurri tres olympiadas, tam pudeat novum poema conficere quam pigeat.
3. hoc item nefas etiam difficilia factu tibi negari, cuius affectum tanto minus decipi decet, quanto constantius nil repulsam veretur. tenebimus igitur quippiam medium et sicut epigrammata recentia modo nulla dictabo, ita litteras, si quae iacebunt versu refertae, scilicet ante praesentis officii necessitatem, mittam tibi, petens, ne tu sis eatenus iustitiae praevaricator, ut me opineris numquam ab huiusmodi conscriptione temperaturum. neque enim suffragio tuo minus augear, si forte digneris iam modestum potius quam facetum existimare. vale.
◆
To Oresius.
Your letter arrived — sparkling and salty as the rock-salt quarried in the hills of Tarragona. For the reader it is both clear and pungent, yet no less sweet for all that, since a pleasant style can coexist with sharp propositions. It delights with its eloquence even as it commands with its authority — for you demand, with little regard for my station in life, that I compose new verse. But from the very beginning of my religious profession I renounced this particular occupation above all, because the levity of verse could too easily be accommodated to my naturally easy-going nature — and I was being watched by the gravity of my actions.
Moreover, it is a well-known fact that any skill left idle for a long time is hard to resume. Who does not know that in every art and craft, the greatest excellence comes from practice? And when habitual exercises are neglected, arms grow slack on bodies and minds grow dull in arts. This is also why a bow seldom or harshly strung rebels against the hand, an ox against the yoke, a horse against the bridle. My own laziness is compounded by embarrassment: now that three Olympiads have passed since I fell silent, I am as ashamed to compose a new poem as I am reluctant.
It would also be wrong to refuse you, whose affection deserves all the more not to be disappointed because it so confidently expects no refusal. So I will take a middle course: while I will compose no new verse now, I will send you whatever old letters stuffed with verse may be lying around — composed, of course, before the duties of my present office began. And I ask you not to be so unfair in your judgment as to suppose I will never be able to restrain myself from such compositions. For I would be no less flattered if you chose to consider me modest rather than witty from now on. Farewell.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.