Quintus Aurelius Symmachus→Unknown|c. 373 AD|symmachus
So where am I supposed to find an abundant supply of words when you've lent me nothing in the way of literary capital?
Your Mosella [Ausonius's famous poem about the Moselle River] is flying through everyone's hands and hearts, consecrated by your divine verses — yet it only flows past my lips. Why, I ask, did you want me left out of that book? Did I seem to you too unrefined to appreciate it, or too stingy to praise it? Either way, you've seriously underestimated my talents or my character.
And yet, despite your embargo, I managed — barely — to get access to the poem. I'd like to keep quiet about what I think, to punish you with a fair silence. But my admiration overwhelms my resentment.
I know that river. I saw it years ago when I was following the standards of the emperors — a river equal to many, inferior to the greatest. But you, with the unexpected grandeur of your brilliant verses, have made it greater than the Egyptian Nile, colder than the Scythian Don, and more famous than our own local Tiber.
I wouldn't believe the things you say about the Moselle's origin and course — except that I know for certain you don't lie even in poetry. And where did you find those swarming schools of river fish, so varied in name and color, so different in size and flavor, which you've painted with the pigments of your verse beyond anything nature herself provides? I've dined at your table many times, and while I marveled at much of what was served in the governor's residence, I never once encountered fish of this kind. When did these fish come to life in your book, since they never appeared on your plates?
You think I'm joking? Trifling? I swear by the gods: I rank this poem of yours alongside the works of Virgil himself.
But I'll stop forgetting my grievance and wallowing in your praises, lest you count even my admiration as another feather in your cap — the admiration of a man you've offended. Scatter your volumes wherever you like and keep leaving me out: I'll still enjoy your work, thanks to the generosity of others. Farewell.
gnstias] ♦**♦♦ {U) tibi] ***** (II) 5 res secunda] ***** (J7) 7 reside V, om. M
gratiam V 9 lanus] M(II]^ ianuarias V, ianuariut (F) apibat Z7, apperibat F, om. M 10 ma-
tutine] (/7), maturae V, mature (/•), om. M 11 ablatus V 14 adhuc operiebamur VFM, operia-
mur (IT) accipimus VF 16 etiamnum] V(r), etiamnunc (/7) 17 patiar V crudelita-
tem VM strenuua Pius] /*, strennuus pius V, strunuus pius H, antoninus pius strenuus <P 18 te-
poribui H 19 hinc VM ibi — aetatis om. (77) 20 iUe V 21 fortuna] VFM, natura (Z7)
effadit (77)
A a eomtnsua codieum Ausonianorum ; A^ bb cod. 8t. Oalli 399 s. X; A^ am eodiees Auaoniani ee-
Uri vel omne$ vel aliqui 26 Symmachus Ausonio] (77), •s* ausonio F, incipit epistola symmachi ad eu-
sebium »€d eorr. in ad ausonium Ai, om. V 27 longiores litteras F in nostri amoris A qui
Bim] 77A1, quis in V, qui lum A^, quasi FF 28 mei om. IT mallo A^ multiiugis] supencr.
uel multis nugis A^ 29 paginae A^ in aciem V 30 illius V tui pedibus neque trium F
Q. AtBKLIVS SxMMAOnTS. 2
10 SYMMACHI EPISTVLAE
VFA lectioDe iuvisti. unde igitur sermonis mei largam poscis nsuram, qni nihil litterati
2 fenoris credidisti? volitat tnns Mosella per manns sinnsqne mnltomm divinis a te
versibns consecratns, sed tantnm nostra ora praelabitnr. cnr me istins libelli, qnaeso,
exortem esse volnisti ? ant ajiouooTepoc tibi videbar, qni indicare nolDi possem, ant certe
malignns, qni landare nescirem. itaqne vel ingenio meo plurimnm vel moribus dero- 5
3 gasti. et tamen contra interdictnm tunm vix ad illius operis arcana perveni. velim
tacere, quid sentiam, velim insto de te silentio vindicari; sed admiratio scriptomm
sensnm frangit ininriae. novi ego istum flnvinm, cnm aetemomm principnm iam pri-
dem signa comitarer, parem muUis, imparem maximis : hnnc tn mihi inproviso claromm
versunm dignitate Aegyptio Melone maiorem, frigidiorem Scythico Tanai clarioremque 10
hoc nostro populari reddidisti. neqnaqnam tibi crederem de Mosellae ortu ac meatn
4 magna narranti, nisi certo scirem, quod nec in poemate mentiaris. nnde illa amni-
comm piscinm examina repperisti quam nominibus varia tam coloribus, nt magni-
tndine distantia sic sapore, qnae tu pigmentis istius carminis snpra natnrae dona
fncasti? atqni in tuis mensis saepe versatus, cnm pleraqne alia, qnae tnncin praetorio 15
erant esui obiecta, mirarer, nnmquam hoc genns piscium deprehendi. qnando tibi hi
5 pisces in libro nati snnt, qui in fercnlis non fuemnt? iocari me putas atqne agere
nngas ? ita dii me probabilem praestent, nt ego hoc tnum carmen libris Maronis adiungo.
sed iam desinam mei oblitus doloris inhaerere laudibus tuis, ne hoc qnoqne ad gloriam
tnam trahas , quod te miramur offensi. spargas licet volumina tua et me semper ex- 20
cipias, fmemnr tamen tuo opere sed aliomm benignitate. vale.
XV (Vnn) a. 370—380.
◆
So where am I supposed to find an abundant supply of words when you've lent me nothing in the way of literary capital?
Your Mosella [Ausonius's famous poem about the Moselle River] is flying through everyone's hands and hearts, consecrated by your divine verses — yet it only flows past my lips. Why, I ask, did you want me left out of that book? Did I seem to you too unrefined to appreciate it, or too stingy to praise it? Either way, you've seriously underestimated my talents or my character.
And yet, despite your embargo, I managed — barely — to get access to the poem. I'd like to keep quiet about what I think, to punish you with a fair silence. But my admiration overwhelms my resentment.
I know that river. I saw it years ago when I was following the standards of the emperors — a river equal to many, inferior to the greatest. But you, with the unexpected grandeur of your brilliant verses, have made it greater than the Egyptian Nile, colder than the Scythian Don, and more famous than our own local Tiber.
I wouldn't believe the things you say about the Moselle's origin and course — except that I know for certain you don't lie even in poetry. And where did you find those swarming schools of river fish, so varied in name and color, so different in size and flavor, which you've painted with the pigments of your verse beyond anything nature herself provides? I've dined at your table many times, and while I marveled at much of what was served in the governor's residence, I never once encountered fish of this kind. When did these fish come to life in your book, since they never appeared on your plates?
You think I'm joking? Trifling? I swear by the gods: I rank this poem of yours alongside the works of Virgil himself.
But I'll stop forgetting my grievance and wallowing in your praises, lest you count even my admiration as another feather in your cap — the admiration of a man you've offended. Scatter your volumes wherever you like and keep leaving me out: I'll still enjoy your work, thanks to the generosity of others. Farewell.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.